Bear School Astartes

Chapter 442. Write a letter

"Even if you say so..."

Lann remained silent for a moment before finally shaking his head.

His dazzling silver hair shone with a soft light under the setting sun.

"I can’t promise you, Your Majesty."

"You just analyzed the international situation and the malicious rumors. If it were just those, that’s fine, I can take Ciri away. I could forge an identity for her, let her live under a different name, a life unlike a royal heir’s. That’s not hard for me, but..."

"When you start discussing that unexpected law, or rather... forgive me for saying this... that inevitable fate, you become vague."

"Am I right to think that you sense something ominous? Your previous life has taught you that this world is full of strange situations manipulated by coincidences and accidents, and now, you feel you are mocking and defying such ’coincidences, accidents.’"

"Because you didn’t hand over Ciri’s guardianship to Geralt according to the oath you made?"

Lann crossed his arms and leaned against the tree trunk. He cautiously weighed his words, ensuring they wouldn’t harm himself or others.

Calanthe indeed didn’t seem harmed.

The Queen of Sintra nodded calmly.

"Yes, I admit, I feel uneasy, increasingly so. But there’s one thing to add: I was willing to hand over her guardianship, but that Demon Hunter was afraid."

Calanthe chuckled contemptuously.

"He was afraid of assuming the responsibility of caring for a young life, worried he couldn’t look after a child, worried he couldn’t make her into an accomplished person... it’s as ridiculous as a husband refusing to believe his wife is pregnant."

"Hmm." Lann pressed his forehead, his expression as if Mentos had just poured a headful of data into him. "From what I understand, he is... a difficult person. Really capable of doing such a thing."

"But this has nothing to do with what I’m about to say, Your Majesty."

Lann lowered his hand: "During Geralt’s travels last year, we briefly discussed the existence of ’fate.’"

"So did the ’Demon Hunter philosophers’ come to a conclusion?"

"A great piece of sarcasm, Your Majesty. But we know all too well, we’re not philosophers." Lann spoke plainly.

"We didn’t come to a conclusion, but Geralt commissioned me to inquire with a certain... individual? about whether ’fate’ truly exists."

"This individual is not well-known to the public, but she does indeed have the qualifications to comment on ’fate’... I got an answer from her."

"You make me feel like I’m listening to a story meant for little girls, but since it’s you saying it," Calanthe lifted her chin, signaling Lann. "Please continue."

"Then I’ll be straightforward: fate exists, and it has its own logic. This is also why I cannot take Ciri away, because it is not her destiny to be taken away by me."

"You and Geralt, regardless of the reasons, one clinging to the guardianship, the other refusing it, that’s not important. What is important is... your feeling is not wrong, Your Majesty. Things are heading towards a concerning outcome because of your entanglements."

Lann spoke calmly.

He did not forget the promise he made to his friend; on the night he returned, he discussed the topic of ’fate’ with the Lady of the Lake.

His words now were simply a direct narration.

"Ciri must be taken by Geralt personally, otherwise it would be irresponsible to the other agents involved, because at that point everyone involved will be drawn in."

"Like... a whirlpool?"

"Yes, like a whirlpool."

Calanthe pursed her lips, her eyes blank as she looked at the distant setting sun, speechless for a long time.

"Then what can we do in the face of the ’whirlpool’? I don’t even know where that Demon Hunter is now, damn it..."

When she spoke again, Calanthe’s voice carried a tremor.

Lann frowned, watching the scene unfold.

"I will write to Geralt and tell him my answer. If he can distinguish the severity of the matter, then this time he should be able to overcome his own immature fear."

"Seems like there’s no better option." Calanthe muttered, "My Royal Spy will also search for him, to bring him to Sintra as soon as possible... Ha, how amusing. I’ve pursued initiative my entire life, successfully many times, and now I have to look for a Demon Hunter."

As darkness began to creep in, Lann’s expression gradually faded into the shadows of the leaves.

"Setting aside the part about fate, has the southern hostility escalated to such an urgent degree?"

"Why else would I be in such a hurry, Lann? War..."

Calanthe lifted her head to look back, directly meeting Lann’s gaze.

"War is coming."

The queen rose from the swing on the long bench, bracing herself as she adjusted her lace dress.

"Tonight, please keep Ciri company again, Hacksaw will entertain you both well, I must... rest a bit."

"Farewell, Hunting Marquis. Take care, I... have a strange feeling... this might be the last time I see you."

"Yes, farewell."

Lann propped himself up on the tree trunk to stand upright and bowed.

"Your Majesty."

-----------------

Meanwhile, Lann couldn’t stop thinking, despite repeatedly reminding himself that war was not his concern.

The soul from the information era has one drawback—

His capacity for association was too keen.

What is war? It is the most violent, the most hideous social activity of mankind.

At that time, even the usual natural disasters seem kind and gentle, at least the harm caused by nature has no malice.

Malice.

The malice laid bare in war is enough to make countless people crumble.

That evening, Hacksaw indeed hosted the three Demon Hunters well as per the queen’s orders.

The King of Sintra, from the Skellig Islands, East Tursek, was a straightforward and hearty man.

With the typical islander features and a strong character.

Upon hearing that the Hunting Marquis had come to his castle, he felt no fear or discomfort, as if he weren’t a noble.

He bellowed heartily, doubling the banquet’s arrangements.

Ged got along with him well, during their drinking contest, the King’s crown rolled under the table, buried by roast pig bones.

Calanthe said for Lann to accompany Ciri, but when she said it, she seemed somewhat scattered.

Ciri wasn’t in the castle tonight; she had an active personality that couldn’t sit still, having fun outside as usual.

She would put on the airs of a princess, arriving at a house of a not particularly eminent but quite interesting noble family to play with the children there for a few days.

This was her usual way of passing the time.

As Lann was not conveniently placed this time, after the banquet he could only bury his head in writing the letter to be sent to Geralt.

The letter would describe the answer he got from the Lady of the Lake, as well as describe the harsh and unfeeling nature of fate.

"She is your destiny, she is your responsibility! Geralt!"

"Even if only for the sake of safety, you should come take her away!"

"Geralt, since Ciri was born, your desires and plans are no longer important, nor is what you refuse or abandon. In the name of plagues and cholera, even you yourself are insignificant! Do you understand?"

The quill pen stopped steadily at the end.

Lann exhaled as he gazed at the gradually drying parchment.