After a while of conversation, Zelin managed to make the young girl lower her guard somewhat.

  Yet, to his mild disappointment, the girl before him had no knowledge of Gwent.

  For an intriguing game he thought was popular across the continent, she even bluntly asked Zelin what the cards he took out actually were.

  Despite her lack of familiarity with Gwent, she displayed a keen interest in it.

  Especially when Zelin introduced the game and mentioned that it could hone one's tactical thinking, the girl earnestly quizzed him about his experience and strategies for playing Gwent.

  This left Zelin with a very positive impression of her attitude.

  It didn't matter if someone lacked talent, discernment, or was a bit slow - witted.

  As long as they had an ambitious spirit, Zelin was confident he could train a young lad or lass into a new Gwent master, and then further assist them in becoming a master Witcher.

  After all, how could someone who didn't even know how to play Gwent become a Witcher?

  Of course, Zelin wouldn't voice these thoughts at the Witcher's Griffin School Academy or in front of other unfamiliar Witchers.

  There was no avoiding it; not everyone could understand Zelin's perspective.

  Those ahead of their time were always misunderstood, and Zelin was no exception. However, he simply shrugged off such misunderstandings.

  There were very few Witchers who, like him, had lived for a hundred years. Most of the others were young people who had become Witchers through the Trial of the Grasses in recent years, and they were still quite inexperienced.

  The physical mutations that Witchers underwent during the Trial of the Grasses not only enhanced their combat prowess but also bestowed upon them a lifespan far longer than that of ordinary people.

  If they didn't perish in battles against monsters, there had never been a case of a Witcher dying of old age.

  Their aging process was extremely slow. As far as Zelin knew, Vesemir, the Witcher master of the School of the Wolf, was already over four hundred years old.

  He had even witnessed the Witchers' heyday and its turning point—the Siege of Kaer Morhen.

  Back then, to curb the growing power of the Witchers, the mages incited a large number of humans to besiege the Witcher castle.

  With the aid of magic, thousands of humans breached Kaer Morhen. Among the dozens of Witchers in the castle, only Vesemir survived by hiding among the corpses; the rest were all killed.

  No Witcher wanted to bring up this incident again, but it had sown the seeds of discord between Witchers and mages.

  Besides successfully piquing the girl's interest in Gwent, Zelin also heard a strange tale from her.

  According to the girl, she was a king from a place called Britain, and her name was Altria Pendragon. It was a rather odd name, but compared to her story, the name seemed trivial.

  "You said you're a king?" Zelin regarded the girl with a skeptical gaze.

  In his mind, a girl of her age should just be starting to take on some family responsibilities, like helping her mother with kitchen chores or fetching water for her father in the fields.

  If she came from a wealthy family, she would be sent to a private school to receive a proper education, in the hopes of making a good marriage. But being a king...

  "You don't look like a king," Zelin concluded after spending some time with her and observing her.

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  He let out a soft laugh. "If you said you were a knight or a soldier, I'd believe you. If you told this in Temeria, Foltest, the King of Temeria, might be willing to meet you. "

  "But if you said this in the other northern kingdoms, you'd have your tongue pulled out and be hanged by the roadside as a warning. And if you claimed to be a king in the Nilfgaardian Empire in the South, within three days, you'd be dragged into the noble intrigues in the imperial capital, Nilfgaard. "

  "Before they figured out your true identity, those nobles would use you as a pawn in their schemes until you were of no further use."

  "You don't have the air of a king. In fact, you have less presence than the actor playing a king that I saw at the public theater in Novigrad."

  "Indeed, actors are more convincing than I am. I still have a lot to learn." To Zelin's surprise, the girl named Altria didn't seem offended by his description.

  Instead, she nodded earnestly. Zelin couldn't see her face clearly under the hood, but from her tone, he could tell she was completely serious, which caught him off guard.

  It was rare to find someone who could accept criticism gracefully; most people would react with something like "How dare you criticize me?"

  "Anyway, I'd strongly advise you not to repeat what you just said to anyone, regardless of who they are." Zelin shook his head, propping his forehead with one hand and massaging his temple wearily.

  "So, when exactly did you arrive here? I don't mean this cave. I'm asking about when you first set foot in this... unfamiliar realm."

  "If my memory serves me right, it was ten days ago," the girl replied.

  Ten days ago? Zelin felt a glimmer of realization spark within him.

  "Was it during the day or at night, ten days ago?"

  The girl answered Zelin's question without hesitation. "At night."

  "Was there a full moon then?" Zelin pressed on.

  "Yes, it was a full moon, and the moonlight was so bright that I could clearly see the road outside, even in the darkness."

  "And was it snowing at the time?"

  The girl's tone held a hint of surprise at Zelin's query, but she still answered truthfully.

  "That's right. It was snowing heavily. My best knight, Lancelot, reported seeing something strange. Worried that some malevolent magician was up to no good, I left the castle to investigate."

  "The weather was bitterly cold," Zelin continued, piecing together the details from his memory. "The ground froze solid in no time."

  "The cold was so intense it felt like it could freeze your blood. Every breath you exhaled turned to shards of ice the moment it left your lips. And the snowflakes in the sky weren't pure white—they were a pale yellow."

  The girl couldn't contain her astonishment any longer. She shot to her feet, and beneath the shadow of her hood, her emerald - green eyes fixed intently on Zelin.

  "How do you know all this?! Could it be that I'm here because..."

  "You're not the first to witness this, and you won't be the last." Zelin also stood up, pressing his index finger to his lips to hush the girl.

  Then, he began to recount the ancient legends in a slow, measured tone.

  "Their appearance is an omen of death and misfortune, a harbinger of war. They are the Wild Hunt."

  "According to some ancient elven texts, they are the Aen Elle elves from another world. They possess the power to open portals between realms and hunt the inhabitants of different worlds for their own dark purposes."

  "Hmph. A bunch of ghostly - looking elves? I won't believe it until I see their faces under that armor," Zelin scoffed, his derisive laugh betraying his skepticism towards the ancient lore.

  He crouched down until his eyes were level with the girl's. "I think they've found a new hunting ground, Altria."

  "You mean the Wild Hunt... is after me? Is that why I was driven out of Britain and ended up here?" the girl asked, confusion etched across her voice.

  "No, you're not their target, Altria. I've seen the Wild Hunt before, though only from afar." Zelin shook his head and motioned for the girl to sit down and calm down.

  He'd seen too many people lose their minds after encountering inexplicable horrors, some unable even to articulate their experiences.

  He didn't want the girl in front of him to spiral into paranoia over the possible presence of the Wild Hunt. Doubt could be a powerful and dangerous enemy.

  "Trust me. If you were their target, you'd never have made it here alive. I think you were probably caught in the crossfire of magical forces when the Wild Hunt's navigator steered their black ships through the dimensions."

  "Anyway, don't worry. Tomorrow, you can take me to the place where you first arrived. I might be able to find some clues and perhaps even help you get back..."

  Among all the monster - hunting assignments, the Wild Hunt posed the gravest threat to Witchers.

  After all, the very purpose of the Witchers' existence was to safeguard this world, and the danger the Wild Hunt presented far outweighed that of ordinary monsters.

  Zelin reached out and gently lifted the girl's hood.

  He saw that she had shoulder - length golden hair, and her emerald - green eyes sparkled with determination.

  One look at her expression told Zelin that his concerns might have been unfounded.

  Perhaps due to the disorienting new environment of the past few days, there was a hint of fatigue on her natural - beauty - enhanced face, making her all the more endearing.

  "Get some rest tonight, victim of the Wild Hunt. Don't worry. No one will harm you while you sleep. I'll stay here and keep watch."

  Zelin's gaze traveled upward. The girl's hair was a bit tousled, and a prominent golden lock at the top stood upright, drawing his attention.

  "Your hair's all out of place," he said, reaching out and gently smoothing down the unruly strand.