Zelin stared at the portal Francesca had conjured, his lips tightening into a thin line.

  Given the choice, he'd endure days of bone - jarring horseback rides rather than step through that swirling gateway.

  To him, even pressing on through a raging tempest would be preferable to the moment of entering the portal.

  Despite knowing intellectually that the portal posed no real danger, he couldn't shake the unsettling image of thrusting an unprotected hand into a beehive seething with angry wasps.

  In the past, his only experiences with portals were as an observer during the Council sessions on Thanedd Island.

  It seemed this year he'd have to add a new, more personal encounter to that list.

  "What is this..." Altria gasped, her eyes widening in astonishment as she stared at the dark golden vortex that materialized out of thin air in the guest room.

  The edges of the swirling mass glowed like flickering flames, while the color deepened to a rich, inky hue towards the center.

  At its core, a portal as vast and mysterious as the night sky slowly took form.

  Clearly, the girl had never witnessed such powerful magic before.

  Her hand instinctively flew to the hilt of the long sword at her waist. But when she saw Zelin standing calm and composed, she subtly relaxed her arm, the iron - clad glove dropping back to her side.

  Zelin noticed every nuance of her reaction, though he made no show of it.

  "It's a portal. Assuming Lady Francesca hasn't overindulged in fruit wine and accidentally opens it at the bottom of the sea, the other side should be the Mahakam Mountains," Zelin quipped.

  He chose to ignore the girl's initial startled response.

  He knew from experience that most people's first encounters with teleportation magic were far more chaotic.

  Back when he was training at the School of Griffin Academy, the first time he saw a portal materialize outside the academy walls, he'd drawn his sword, convinced a new and terrifying monster had emerged.

  But after years of facing all manner of horrors, he'd become unflappable. Even if a colossal dragon were to land before him now, he'd remain cool - headed.

  Zelin extended his hand towards Altria and explained, "It's perfectly safe, but... you might find the experience a bit disorienting the first time.

  Just try to stay relaxed. If the light gets too intense, close your eyes.

  The teleportation itself is almost instantaneous. But when you come out on the other side, you'll feel a strong push from behind, so be careful not to lose your balance."

  "I'm not some novice sorcerer who'd make such a blunder," Francesca retorted, planting her hands on her hips and shooting Zelin a playful glare.

  "Maybe I should open the portal 300 meters above the Mahakam Mountains and see if you Witchers can finally learn to fly." With a wave, she beckoned to Altria.

  "Come along, dear. There's nothing to fear. This portal won't gobble you up like some monster. Don't listen to his scare stories. Magic is reliable, especially when wielded by a master."

  Francesca took Altria's hand and stepped into the portal. Zelin understood the elven mage's reasoning.

  For someone unfamiliar with the arcane arts of this world, it was far safer to cross the portal under the guidance of a powerful mage than with a Witcher, whose expertise lay more in combatting monsters than in magical travel.

  Shaking his head, Zelin followed them into the portal. In an instant, he was enveloped in a searing white light.

  Unlike the dark, swirling exterior, the inside of the portal was a featureless expanse of blinding brightness.

  It was as if he'd been plunged into a void of infinite light and density, where all sense of self, all ability to move, hear, or smell, vanished.

  This was precisely why he disliked portals—they stripped away every familiar sensation, every reassuring aspect of his being.

  A single second stretched into an eternity. Time seemed to stand still the moment he passed through the threshold.

  Then, abruptly, it was as if a bubble had burst, and he was violently ejected from the portal.

  Thanks to his past experiences with such travel, he managed to land on his feet, steadying himself against the hard ground.

  The feel of the earth beneath his soft leather boots jolted him back to reality, as if awakening from a strange, disorienting dream.

  A cool mountain breeze ruffled the ends of his hair, carrying with it the faint chirping of insects and the crunch of gravel underfoot.

  Taking a deep breath, Zelin scanned his surroundings for Altria. He soon spotted her sitting on the ground about five meters ahead, her face pale.

  It was clear that her first foray through the portal hadn't been pleasant, but to his relief, there were no signs of injury, no scrapes or dirt from a fall.

  Francesca stood beside the girl, and when she saw Zelin emerge, she motioned urgently.

  "Quickly, we mustn't keep the others waiting. Tonight's full moon is a rare opportunity. Miss it, and we'll have to wait a whole month."

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  "I understand," Zelin replied with a shrug. The portal behind him, now devoid of its magical energy, dissolved into nothingness.

  He rushed over to Altria, concern etched on his face.

  Extending his hand, he asked, "Are you alright? I've got a bottle of Temeria ale that might help settle your stomach." Glancing up at the sky, he noted the thick, dark clouds that obscured most of the stars and moonlight.

  Francesca was right—the early hours of the full moon, around two o'clock in the morning, were when the chaotic forces of the continent reached their peak.

  And with midnight fast approaching, time was of the essence. "Sorry, but we can't afford to rest for long. The clock is ticking."

  "I'm fine," the girl assured him, taking the bottle Zelin offered and taking a small sip. Then, she looped her arm through his and rose to her feet.

  "That experience was truly unpleasant. But let's move on. If going through that portal again can get me back to Britain, I'm willing to endure it one more time."

  "Britain is indeed fortunate to have a leader like you," Zelin remarked as he carefully placed the small bottle back into the leather pouch at his waist.

  He then accompanied the girl as they trailed behind Francesca, delving deeper into the heart of the mountains.

  The Mahakam Mountains, situated at the crossroads of Temeria, Aedirn, Sodden, and Lyria, held a central position in the northern region.

  Far from being an uninhabited, desolate expanse, it was a vibrant settlement predominantly populated by non-human races, with the Dwarves at the helm.

  Although legally falling under the jurisdiction of the King of Temeria, the region enjoyed a substantial degree of self-governance.

  Its emblem, a light yellow backdrop adorned with two crossed blacksmith hammers, symbolized its rich heritage and the prowess of its inhabitants.

  The mountains were a veritable treasure trove of mineral resources, rightfully earning their reputation as the ancestral home of skilled Dwarven craftsmen. Within their bounds lay the majority of the north's mines, foundries, forges, and armories.

  The iron ore extracted from this area was renowned worldwide for its exceptional quality, setting the standard for excellence.

  In addition to its iron ore deposits, the Mahakam Mountains were home to the most renowned armory in the world.

  The craftsmanship of the Dwarven and Gnome artisans here was unparalleled, a testament to their dedication and skill.

  As the largest material export region in the north, it catered to the needs of nearly all the northern kingdoms, as well as the mighty Nilfgaardian Empire, supplying them with high-quality weapons and armors.

  However, gaining access to the region was no easy feat. If the Dwarves chose not to welcome outsiders, those who dared to enter the mountains would inevitably leave empty-handed.

  Perhaps this explained why the girl had roamed the mountains for several days without encountering a single Dwarf.

  "We've already reached an agreement with the Dwarven elder, Brouver Hoog," Francesca informed Zelin as they walked.

  "He has assured us that all nearby Dwarves will keep their distance from this area, ensuring that our ceremony proceeds undisturbed."

  "Not all Dwarves are content with Hoog's rule, but those dissenters have long since left the Mahakam Mountains," she added.

  "So, I can safely remove the Dwarves from my list of potential troublemakers, then?" Zelin asked.

  Engaging in a conflict with the Dwarves, especially in their mountainous stronghold, was a perilous proposition.

  Presumably, this was precisely why the typically haughty Council of Sorcerers had reluctantly stooped to negotiate with them.

  Regardless of the concessions the Council had made to secure the Dwarves' withdrawal, it was a welcome development for Zelin.

  After all, why court unnecessary conflict when it could be avoided?

  "You could say that," Francesca confirmed.

  Their destination was not far from the spot where Francesca had opened the portal. All they needed to do was navigate around a small hill.

  As they rounded the corner, Zelin's gaze was immediately drawn to a dilapidated castle standing majestically amidst the mountains in the distance.

  From the outside, the castle exuded an air of antiquity. Its weathered walls were riddled with cracks, some so large that one could peer through them to catch a glimpse of the interior.

  It seemed as though a single gust of wind could topple the structure at any moment. Yet, Zelin could envision its former grandeur.

  Strategically built into the mountain, the castle had once been a formidable stronghold. With an ample supply of food, its inhabitants could have easily withstood a prolonged siege by an army.

  Upon entering the courtyard, they were greeted by a scene of neglect.

  The area was overgrown with weeds, a testament to the castle's abandonment. In the absence of a master, it had become a haven for wildlife and vegetation.

  Laurel trees, which Zelin surmised had been deliberately planted in the past, encircled the city walls.

  However, due to the castle's long period of abandonment, the unattended trees now appeared somewhat wilted, their once-lush foliage now sparse and lackluster.

  Amidst the weeds, fruit trees, and the occasional scurrying rat, Zelin spotted the individuals Francesca had mentioned.

  Hen Gedymdeith, Tissaia de Vries, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, Artaud Terranova, and Francesca Findabair—all five of the powerful Mages who held sway over the Council of Sorcerers—were present.

  Their gathering filled Zelin with a sense of foreboding. In all his past encounters with the Wild Hunt, he had never witnessed so many esteemed Mages assembled in one place.

  In addition to the Mages, Zelin also recognized several familiar Witchers.

  "O~ Zelin, you're finally here!" exclaimed a man wearing a griffin emblem as he approached Zelin.

  His name was George, a fellow Witcher from the same school who was slightly younger than Zelin, though the age difference was not significant.

  Given their shared background, they had developed a close relationship over the years. "I've heard some fascinating stories about you from Kaedweni merchants. How have you been holding up lately?"

  "I'm doing well, George. And yourself?" Zelin replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand before posing the question in return. "Are you on the hunt for another monster?"

  "I heard that someone recently spotted the tracks of a dragon, an adult green dragon," George said with a sigh of frustration.

  "The most recent sighting was in Velen. I was all set to head there when they dragged me here."

  "I've been tracking that dragon for three long months. I can't bear the thought of it slipping through my fingers like this. And they're making us wait for another half an hour! In that time, that dragon could fly dozens of miles away."

  As they conversed, the other three Witchers joined them.

  Glancing at the emblems around their necks, Zelin identified one from the School of the Wolf, one from the School of the Viper, and one from the School of the Bear.

  He was acquainted with two of them.

  "Don't worry, George. Maybe that green dragon is just waiting for you to catch up, enjoying a leisurely barbecue," Zelin quipped, attempting to lighten the mood.

  He then turned to the others.

  "Good to see you, Geralt. I didn't expect to run into you here. And you, Letho. I thought you were in the southern Nilfgaardian Empire, establishing a new School of the Viper."

  Zelin greeted the two Witchers and then turned his attention to the imposing Witcher from the School of the Bear, whose robust build truly lived up to the name of his school.

  "Five Witchers and five Mages. Quite the gathering. Are we here to save the world, or is this the perfect opportunity for a Gwent showdown?"

  "The Mages are still in the process of preparing for their ceremony. I wouldn't mind a game of Gwent to pass the time," the Witcher from the School of the Bear, Gerd, rumbled in a deep voice.

  "My name is Gerd. Pleased to meet you."

  After shaking hands with each of them as a gesture of camaraderie, Zelin regarded George, Geralt, and Letho with a questioning look.

  While George was more talkative, the other two were known for their taciturn nature. However, Zelin knew exactly how to pique their interest.

  "I've heard tales of your prowess in dice and playing cards, Geralt of Rivia, throughout Kaedweni. Care to engage in a friendly duel to warm up before we figure out what lies ahead?"

  As he spoke, Zelin produced his Gwent deck, a glint of anticipation in his eye.

  "Come on. We've still got some time to spare. Let's have some fun while we can."