System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 280: The Mark of the Hidden Master
Not long after Orin and Kantila set off, Linus used his privilege as an Academy tutor to arrange auditing passes for the Witchers.
For the next three days, they could enter and audit most departments at Oxenfurt with those passes, except for alchemy and espionage.
Those two faculties were strictly supervised and did not accept auditors.
But today happened to be a rest day, so the passes were of no use for the moment.
“Mr. Linus, I still have some questions about raising a griffin.”
“Why is the master interested in that field?”
Roy thought for a moment, then simply told him Griffin’s true identity.
“Using an alchemical item to change form, with its true body being a female griffin less than a year old?” Linus eagerly held Roy’s hands, his face filled with wild joy. “Master, you are willing to raise a griffin rather than kill it. You truly are different from other Witchers.”
“You agree with what I said earlier, yes? Endangered animal protectionism...”
“Ah, partly.” Roy immediately cut him off. “Let us speak of your advice first. How should one better raise a griffin?”
“I must see the griffin’s true body ... give it a full examination,” Linus said, stroking his beard with a serious expression. “Then I can tailor a feeding plan.”
“So you are a veterinarian as well?”
“I have poured many years of effort into the zoo. Everything has been my responsibility, so naturally I understand a little. My level should not be inferior to any veterinarian in Oxenfurt.”
Roy nodded. He also wanted to see whether his usual care had been proper, and whether the little one had developed any hidden illness from poor nutrition.
“But we have to wait until night, when Griffin returns to its true form.”
“Leave it with me first, so I may study it?”
“That is fine.”
That afternoon, they split into two groups.
Roy went alone to the library.
Kael, Letho, and Flavius with his apprentice followed Linus Pitt to continue caring for the endangered animals in the ecological garden.
Compared with dead, lifeless books, they were clearly more interested in living animals.
...
As one of the foremost universities in the world, Oxenfurt possessed deep foundations.
Its library was astonishingly large. Unlike other places, where a library was merely one floor of a building, this was an entire three-story structure buried among shade trees and flowerbeds, larger than the library of the Temple of Melitele.
The first and second floors of the library were open to students and the public, while the third floor was open only to teachers.
The layout of each floor was much the same. Neat shelves stood densely along both sides of the hall. The Witcher made a rough estimate, three or four thousand volumes on each floor, over ten thousand in total.
In an age when literacy was far from common, books were as precious as coins and jewels. Oxenfurt Academy’s wealth was plain to see.
Surrounded by shelves, rows of rectangular tables connected end to end. They could seat two or three hundred people. Delicate, trimmed potted plants stood at intervals along the tables, giving off a fresh fragrance, adding a trace of natural vitality to the library and making the hall more elegant.
With such a fine environment, even on a rest day, the library was Oxenfurt Academy’s most popular place of leisure.
Everywhere the Witcher looked, students sat bent over their books, wandering the ocean of knowledge.
Everyone kept quiet by common accord. In the hall, only the faint rustle of pen tips across paper could be heard.
Roy lightened his steps and took down a volume from the shelf marked Medicine and Herbalism, Rare Herbal Preparations and the Study of Diseases. Since his Alchemy had reached level 2, he was rather interested in books on medicine.
Then, book in hand, he circled several times before finding an empty seat on the library’s second floor, beside the lavatory.
The medical knowledge possessed by Oxenfurt Academy was precisely what he lacked. He did not know many herbal formulas, and several of them were narrow-use remedies taught by Kalkstein.
Now rare herbal knowledge and precious, abundant herbal formulas lay before his eyes. Dazzled, he sank into the book and forgot himself.
...
Time flew in a state of concentration.
Roy did not know how long had passed. People had come and gone around him several times. He had memorized potion formulas for treating three common ailments: influenza, fever, and excess stomach acid.
Restlessness began to stir in his heart. His fingers traced shapes uncontrollably. The painful yet pleasurable addiction to alchemy showed signs of flaring.
It was worth mentioning that even if he mastered these formulas and brewed the potions, he could only use them himself.
If he wanted to publicly sell potions in any major northern city, he would have to pay a large patent fee for the formulas. Northern laws on the matter were quite complete, especially in commercially developed Redania. Taking Oxenfurt Academy’s knowledge for commercial use without permission was absolutely illegal.
Selling in the countryside, or through underground channels, was another matter.
As he pondered this, a wave of warm air brushed his face. Someone stood before him and cleared his throat.
“You are?” The Witcher looked up. Across from him stood a well-dressed man wearing an ocher round-brimmed hat, spirited and vigorous. He looked to be in his twenties, with a strong scholarly air about him, and was smiling at Roy.
“Sir, I am terribly sorry to disturb your study,” the man said, doing his utmost to keep his voice low and not trouble others, though his excitement could not be hidden.
His gaze drifted, almost without intent, toward the Witcher’s right wrist resting on the desk, where an ancient scarlet sign had been accidentally exposed.
Roy hurriedly rolled down his sleeve.
Lately, the mark left by Master Mirror had shown no reaction at all. He had almost forgotten it entirely.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Montes Distans, a graduate student of occult studies at Oxenfurt’s Faculty of Applied Archaeology ... I noticed your eyes. You are a Witcher...”
The man paused, seeming to weigh his words.
A graduate student of occult studies at Oxenfurt Academy?
The Witcher thought for a few seconds, closed the book in his hand, stood, and gave him a firm handshake.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Montes. I am Roy, a Viper School Witcher ... Forgive the question, but you do not look Redanian.”
The man’s face was slightly long and narrow, with a hooked nose and deep-set features. His Common Speech was somewhat stiff, and his accent was not like Letho and the others from the south. It carried a slight curl of the tongue.
“I was originally Ofieri. By chance, I came to Oxenfurt to study, and have already stayed here eight years.”
Ofir, in the Witcher’s impression, lay across the ocean, very far from the lands beneath his feet.
“You came by ship?”
“That is right. I drifted at sea for more than two months and encountered several sudden accidents. By luck, I survived and reached this continent.” Montes smiled bitterly. “It was a dreadful, long experience.”
Roy felt slightly disappointed. “Then you came to me ... where have you seen this mark?”
“In a book from my tutor’s collection ... Shall we speak of the details outside?”
The man glanced around. Several students already looked displeased at the sound of their discussion.
...
The sunlight was gentle and warm.
The green lawns of Oxenfurt’s Academy Island swayed in the wind.
The black-haired Witcher and the scholarly Montes walked along a golden path through the trees.
“What sort of book was the one you mentioned? Myth, poetry, or folk tale?” Roy asked.
“It was a volume of folk strange tales collected by my teacher,” Montes said. “It recorded a dozen or so twisted and bizarre stories.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.