Bear School Astartes

”Now it’s time to take care of that favor I asked you for.”

Lann got up from the bed. Rong Buqiu, looking bright-eyed and energetic, grabbed his cloak with its tiny paws and climbed up onto his shoulder.

The Demon Hunter walked over and patted Dandelion on the shoulder.

”I’m writing, I’m writing.”

”I told you, once this script is done, I’m gonna make it so those Minstrels who sang about the last North–South war have nothing to sing except my lyrics! You can’t rush art.”

The poet was a bit irritable about it. Creators tend to be like this when they’re stuck, so Lann didn’t take it to heart.

”How about you add me in?”

It was actually Priscilla, who had been watching Dandelion write the script from the side, who cheerfully turned to Lann and asked.

”The story of this script is great. It’ll just take time to polish and rhyme it properly. My skill’s no worse than his—add me in and the work will go twice as fast for half the effort.”

”Add you in?! You want to meddle with my script?!”

Lann hadn’t even reacted yet, but Dandelion immediately jumped up from his stool like a kettle lid brought to a boil.

Lann wisely took a step back right away, clearing the battlefield.

Sure enough, the next second, Priscilla—whom he and Geralt had privately nicknamed ”the female Dandelion”—started bickering with the poet.

”Meddle? Didn’t I already meddle as soon as I came in?”

The female poet asked back in mock surprise, as if what Dandelion had just said was ”one plus one equals three.”

”Besides, I said ’the story is great,’ but I just talked it over with Terry and Geralt. In my view, that’s because the original Sodden Mountain battle itself was intense and full of twists—plenty exciting.”

”As a playwright, your actual contribution in terms of embellishing the story, I don’t really see it. You basically just slap a couple sonnets in later on as lyrics.”

”You...!”

It was rare for Dandelion’s face to flush red with anger like this, and he still couldn’t come up with a retort.

But even so, Priscilla showed no sign of stopping.

”Master Dan, your poetry is moving and brilliant. Even before I met you, I thought you were talented. But forgive my bluntness—your breakout work is a lyric poem about the Demon Hunter Geralt.”

Lann guessed that to Dandelion, Priscilla’s voice right now probably felt like an ice-cold knife stabbing straight into his heart and lungs.

”I used to doubt the idea that a poet’s achievements can soar as long as they pick the right subject. But now, Master Dan, I believe it completely.”

Priscilla rested one hand on her slender waist and opened the other palm outward, as if words failed her.

”You think if you provoke me a bit, I’ll just agree to let you interfere with my script?”

Dandelion’s two little mustaches quivered with rage as he spoke.

Priscilla merely smoothed the swan feather on her hat and smiled with utter confidence.

”Unless you can calm down right this second and stop being angry, otherwise, worked up like this, how are you going to write an epic? You know that yourself.”

Dandelion really should rein in his temper right now, or that emotional turbulence would make it impossible to write anything good.

But if he could rein it in, he wouldn’t be Dandelion.

So the poet could only grab his face in frustration.

Priscilla shrugged, as if she was very used to this.

She turned around with confidence and spoke easily to the group that had retreated to a safe distance.

”Leave the script to us. We’ll pull an all-nighter and finish it tonight.”

She carried herself with such authority that it was like she’d instantly become the lead creator in charge of everything.

Lann looked at the scene, at how completely Priscilla had seized control of the mood, and tactfully nodded.

”Then I’ll leave it to you.”

He then took everyone out of the room, letting the two poets work through the night.

”Those two... can they really get anything done tonight?” Dudu sounded a bit worried. ”We’re talking about Dandelion. The guy can go grab a bite and end up dragging the waitress into bed.”

”That’s not something you need to worry about.” Geralt, who’d known Dandelion longer and understood him better, just shrugged indifferently. ”Dandelion’s pride in his poetry is bigger than his lust.”

”Priscilla’s very pretty, but until the two of them either resolve or get used to their artistic differences, Dandelion’s not going to be interested in rolling around with her. Compared to that, I’m more worried about something else...”

Geralt turned to face Terry.

”Where am I sleeping tonight?”