Bear School Astartes

Sure, here is the translation:

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The final result was a team of three Demon Hunters and a tree spirit, with the addition of a little human girl.

Geralt wanted to send the little girl out of the forest first, but Bryan refused to guide them. It said that since the girl appeared in Brokilon, she already belonged to Brokilon.

The tree spirits sometimes take girls from human families outside and through their magic rituals, transform human girls into tree spirits.

Logically speaking, Lann should have drawn his sword upon hearing such tales.

But it’s the same old story — once racial conflict is involved, all the originally clear and simple concepts of good and evil become ambiguous and blurred.

The tree spirits did something akin to human trafficking to humans, but humans were also perpetrating genocide against them.

The tree spirits would shoot any humans who dared to enter the forest, regardless of age. But humans were also offering bounties on the tree spirits’ scalps, with prices increasing, also without regard to age.

Moreover, after converting the girls they brought back, the tree spirits treated them equally, living with them, which even made Lann think these girls might be luckier than the farm women outside.

So, the young man decided not to care.

But Geralt knew very well that without a tree spirit to guide him, he would not leave Brokilon alive by acting alone.

For outsiders, this vibrant forest was nothing short of a green hell.

The tree spirits didn’t need to intercept him; they only needed to ignore him.

After more arguing, Geralt could only apologize to Bryan with a smile, saying that he was just talking nonsense earlier.

Vesemir was confident that his apprentice would figure it out, so he didn’t even bother watching the argument between the Demon Hunters and the tree spirits.

He took Lann to dismantle Yogon’s corpse.

The Old Demon Hunter’s technique in extracting materials and trophies was not inferior to that of a surgeon. He extracted a venom gland, venomous fangs, two tentacles, and a red, cell-like thing that resembled an enlarged cell.

”You’re in luck, kid. A red mutagen trigger, useful for brewing potions in the future.”

This was the first time Lann had chopped out such a thing from a monster’s body, and it seemed the drop rate indeed depended quite a bit on luck.

Vesemir stored the mutagen trigger in a bottle of Dwarf spirits, preserving it.

Lann was a bit happy when he received it, not because of the mutagen trigger, but because Vesemir subtly mentioned the potion—something Belengar never taught him, undoubtedly high-level alchemical knowledge.

Vesemir mentioning it meant he was at least starting to open up some of the Wolf School’s knowledge to him.

That was a good start.

Ciri’s ankle was sprained earlier, so Geralt was carrying her.

Lann felt that those two inexplicably seemed very familiar with each other.

Perhaps some people in this world are just born to see eye to eye with each other.

The little girl on Geralt’s back secretly turned her head to look at the silver-haired Demon Hunter walking beside them, then quickly buried her head before he could turn around, sniffed, and tidied her mouse-grey hair.

”It’s no use tidying up, Ciri.”

Lann kept his eyes straight ahead, pretending not to notice, talking while walking.

”Our hair textures are different; yours tends to tangle easily and pick up debris, making it hard to be smooth.”

Ciri didn’t raise her head, only patted her ’steed’s’ shoulder.

”Hurry up, I don’t want to stay by this rude guy.”

But the ’steed’ had something to say: ”My Princess, do you think it’s easy to carry someone in the forest? It’s not that fast.”

”You’re both stalling on me. I’ll have my grandmother order your head cut off! And his too!”

The girl wiped her nose and aggressively looked at the two Demon Hunters, making Lann, walking beside them, burst into laughter.

”Alright then, decapitation, two heads with one blow, how terrifying, bla bla bla...” Geralt humored her.

”But you should at least tell us, what kind of noble and terrifying figure is your grandmother? I think we should start with her name.”

As soon as Ciri heard about having to reveal her origins, she stopped shouting.

”Okay, since you keep asking... I’ll tell you.”

”But after you hear it, you must not take me back to Chris! Can you swear?”

”Chris? Who is that...” Geralt, like Lann, was initially amused by the child’s childish demand, then suddenly realized.

”Goodness! Prince Kristin? The Prince of Videns, Kristin? You were supposed to go to him?!”

The girl fiddled with her mouse-grey hair again, removing two pine needles caught in it, and turned her face away.

”Grandmother wanted me to meet that Kristin, just to meet him, then his father, that...”

”King Aivelle.”

”Yes, that King Aivelle, as soon as I arrived at the castle, only thought about having a wedding! I’m only nine years old! And I don’t even like Kristin.”

”He’s fat, dumb, and has bad breath. Much uglier than in the portrait sent! He even told me I was prettier than in the portrait, but he liked someone named Alvina, a noble lady at the court. Do you understand? I don’t want to marry him, and he doesn’t want to marry me. So what’s the point of this marriage? So, I ran away.”

Everyone loved gossip, including Vesemir and Bryan, who was responsible for leading the way, both unconsciously gathered around Ciri.

They appeared to be walking normally, but were actually listening to the story.

The storyline of a runaway princess was evergreen throughout many eras.

”A Princess should marry a Prince, isn’t that the way things are? In our time...”

Although Vesemir was a long-lived Demon Hunter, he could ramble on just like an ordinary old human.

Reminiscing about how the past was not like it used to be.

But Ciri was a child with opinions, and she looked angrily at the old man with the red nose.

”You’re exactly like everyone else, thinking I’m just a little kid and easy to fool, right?”

Vesemir reflexively retorted, ”I never lied to you!”

”You’re fooling me!”

Vesemir pursed his lips and fell into silence.

The tree spirit walking next to him turned to look at the old guy in surprise, shook his head in a mix of admiration and disbelief, then continued on.

And Lann looked surprised at the amazed Bryan...

The group walked in silence for a while longer, then the princess on Geralt’s back tugged gently on his creamy white hair.

”Sir Jelote.”

”Call me Geralt. I’m not a knight, not even a knight.”

”Alright, Geralt, I’m... hungry.”

Lann heard Ciri’s words and walked over.

Geralt’s package, since he was carrying Ciri, was with Lann.

The young man rummaged through the bag, ”Hmm, I have carrots, cheese, onions...”

Without modern agriculture, there really wasn’t much to eat in winter.

”Cheese and carrots would be fine.”

Ciri wasn’t as delicate as Lann had imagined, but perhaps she was simply very hungry. She quickly nibbled on the raw carrots and cheese in small bites.

”Thank you, Lann.”

The young man tied the bag back up, responding casually, ”Don’t mention it, you didn’t eat much.”

”No, not because of the food. Not just because of the food... You saved my life before, in front of that big centipede. I was completely scared stiff.”

”Ha, you admitted you were scared. It’s rare for you not to be stubborn for once.” Lann laughed heartily, then suddenly put on a stern face.

”There are plenty of dangerous things in this forest; running away from marriage to here was rather foolish. And you should be grateful to the others, whether they made it in time or not, they ultimately put efforts for you.”

”Got it.” Ciri sniffed, gently tugging Geralt’s creamy white hair again.

”Thank you, Geralt.”

”You’re welcome, little one.”

The White Wolf tried hard to suppress the buoyant tone in his voice when saying this. However, even so, Lann felt that this guy even seemed to be stepping more lightly.

If it wasn’t confirmed that Geralt wasn’t a psychopath, Lann probably would have been on guard against him.