The thrower was not a professional soldier, nor was he the type of rural farmer typically conscripted during wartime.
He was a city dweller, living in a very ordinary shack in the lower district of Ellander, near the city gates.
He had once served in the military, and the shack in the lower district had been bought with the military pay granted by the old duke.
Of course, the thrower wasn't actually called "the thrower," he had a name, but aside from the registered priestess, no one had ever asked for it. Probably because everyone knew that people like him were bound to die.
There was no need to know the name of a dead man.
He made a living by hauling goods and often used his childhood skill of throwing stones to hunt birds, supplementing his household income. No one in Ellander could throw more accurately or steadily than he could.
He had no special affection for the monster hunting regiment soldier's who were later granted titles.
Because one of his children had died on the night of the May Festival.
But he didn't hate them, because the monster hunting regiment soldier's, who was only a few years older than his deceased child, couldn't be blamed.
He just couldn't associate that shy, inexperienced young man, who had nervously held his beloved girl at the May Festival but couldn't even muster the courage for a kiss, with the distant, detached hero he had become in the tavern.
Saving the world wasn't something for children to do; it was the responsibility of adults.
So he came.
Even though the city guard had come to recruit him hastily, shouting through the crowd and selecting strong men with good throwing skills, only to leave shortly afterward…
Even though the priestess at the recruitment station had been honestly foolish, explaining all the nearly certain-to-die processes clearly, afraid that the recruits wouldn't know this was a one-way trip...
Even though he had a plain but gentle wife and two mischievous children...
Of course,
The real reason he came, even knowing the high probability of death, was because they couldn't escape.
When the army left Ellander, the grand carriages lined up from the city gates all the way to the upper district.
Leaving was a privilege, a right reserved only for the noble lords and wealthy merchants.
The poor couldn't escape; they could only pretend that nothing would happen and live their lives normally in the city, waiting for a thunderstorm or a clear sky.
It had been like that in the past.
Just like after the May Festival, many houses in the upper district were empty, but the population in the lower district had increased.
But now, things were different.
Since he knew how to throw and was the best thrower in Ellander, and since Ellander's future—his wife and children's future—would be determined by this war, he had no reason to entrust his and his family's fate to those less capable than him.
No man liked to see his child die in front of him, helplessly crying out, especially when that experience could happen a second time.
So he said goodbye to his wife and children and, with the eyes of his children—who saw him as a hero—he set off, stepping toward what could be the end of his journey.
As for what would happen to his wife and children after his death?
He trusted the old duke. Though the duke was also a noble, Duke Mason had never let down his subjects, and there was the temple as a guarantee.
Naturally, it was better to survive if possible.
But could that child, not yet fourteen, really play with explosives better than the dwarves?
"Did we fail?"
The thrower anxiously watched the wriggling flesh not far away.
The monster nest showed no response and continued to spew out ghouls. As it sensed the enemy's approach, the speed at which the ghouls were ejected only increased.
Plop~ plop~
The ground near the monster nest was covered with ghouls wrapped in mucus, struggling desperately to rise.
But they were quickly slaughtered by the soldiers holding light blades.
"Just as I thought…"
"How could these little toys compare to the dwarves' big ones?"
He thought to himself.
Seeing the monster nest remain still for so long, the thrower took a deep breath. It seemed he couldn't expect much from a fourteen-year-old child.
Suppressing the anxious flutter in his chest and the image of his wife and children flashing in his mind, he removed the dwarf bomb from his back, cradled it in his arms, and turned to Sara:
"Clear a path for me…"
"Shh~"
Sara furrowed her brow, placing her finger to her lips.
Pop~
A soft sound, like a bubble popping, came from the monster nest.
Realizing something, the thrower quickly turned his head toward the nest.
Gurgle~
The monster nest suddenly convulsed, and the exposed flesh appeared to spasm. Then, countless unformed chunks of meat and foul-smelling mucus were constantly sprayed out.
A puff of white smoke emerged.
The monster nest ceased to show any signs of life.
"Did… we succeed?" The thrower stood there, dumbfounded, lifting the heavy dwarf bomb.
"Of course!" Sara slapped the thrower's shoulder with force. "Sir Allen never disappoints! Let's go, to the next monster nest!"
The thrower took a deep breath and nodded firmly.
He knew that he could survive.
And like him, all those who had volunteered to risk their lives as city guard throwers would survive as well.
As long as they could expel that damn dark god from their world.
"By the way, what's your name?" After escorting him back to the main force, Sara suddenly asked.
"Lawson Roche, Lord Sara."
"Good!" Sara patted his shoulder again. "Good fortune always favors brave soldiers. Hurry back to your squad, Lawson Roche!"
---------------------------
"It really worked..."
Vesemir listened to the cheers roaring from the ground and looked at Allen in surprise.
"I remember that your inspiration seems to strike only after hunting monsters. What monster gave you the inspiration for the grapeshot bomb?"
He asked curiously.
To be honest, when Vesemir found Ianna with the necrophage oil and grapeshot bombs, he had thought that the hive bomb was just a supplement to the dwarf bomb.
Even though Allen had emphasized that the hive bomb should be able to destroy a monster nest.
After all, logically speaking, with the weight difference of thirty or forty times, the dwarf bomb should be the more powerful one.
But still, three or four grapeshot bombs could destroy a monster nest, so time was tight. If it didn't work, they could switch to the dwarf bombs. Following Allen's guidance, he hadn't expected that just one would destroy a monster nest.
"It's the monster nest," Allen lied smoothly, "It's just that when I saw you during the day, carrying the dwarf bomb, you looked very unbalanced, so…"
"Wait!"
Suddenly, Vesemir's peripheral vision caught something, and he abruptly stopped talking, looking down at the ground.
After observing for a few seconds, he exclaimed in surprise:
"It moved!"
"The ghouls near the summoning ritual finally moved!"
Not long after the first monster nest was destroyed, the summoning ritual, which had been completely still, suddenly showed signs of movement.
"Roar!"
A terrifying, frenzied scream tore through the night sky, causing the towering mountains to shake. The sound rose and fell, trembling uncontrollably.
From the perspective of the Cat's Eye Potion, the valley where the summoning ritual was located burst with rising smoke and dust, clearly visible even from high above.
"Rumble rumble~"
The ground trembled, as though a thousand soldiers were galloping through the mountains of Mahakam.
"Good girl, fly lower! Get closer!" Allen patted the back of the griffin's neck.
"Caw~"
With a sharp cry, the griffin passed through the sparse clouds and descended.
"Avoid that tall tower, don't let the dark god's gaze fall on us…" Vesemir reminded from the side.
Allen nodded slightly, ordering the griffin to fly around, avoiding the elven-style tower spire.
In fact, this wasn't difficult, because it seemed that the dark god had already scouted the landing site. The valley was flanked by high peaks, which seemed to have been artificially carved, forming a curve that blocked the view of the valley below.
Perhaps it had been carved by humans. Aen Seidhe, who called himself a mountain dweller, loved building secluded palaces and towers between mountains and valleys.
So, the angle from which the ritual could be seen was very narrow, almost perpendicular to the valley.
Honestly, if Allen hadn't used the Wild Speech and directly asked nature itself, even if he rode the griffin to search the skies, he might not have been able to find the summoning ritual's hiding place.
However, the discovery of the dark god's ritual during the day seemed to be because the monster hunting regiment soldier's' gaze had fallen on the enormous eyeball under the elven tower. Therefore, Allen remained extra cautious.
The jagged peaks of Mahakam were now only black silhouettes against the deep blue night sky.
Darkness spread from them, as if they were falling into a giant mud pit.
"Rumble rumble~"
The ground was shaking, as though an army of thousands was charging through the mountains.
The closer they got to Mahakam, the stronger the earth's fury became.
"Ianna and the others are in danger!" Vesemir pointed to the griffin's other wing and furrowed his brow.
At some point, the cheering had stopped.
When Allen looked in the direction Vesemir pointed to, he saw...
Six monster nests.
The second monster nest, which had been constantly sending ghouls to the valley, suddenly ordered the ghouls to withdraw around the nest.
The other five, however, increased the ghoul supply, especially the last two "Barons."
Around the towering black meat mountains, countless ghouls had disappeared.
Only ghouls were still being spewed from the meat mountains, quickly catching up to the advancing army after shaking off the thick liquid from the ground.
"Sly monsters!" Vesemir cursed loudly, "Those monsters didn't plan to let Ianna and the others destroy the nests one by one. Instead, they plan to eliminate them all at the second 'Baron' nest!"
Indeed, it was clever.
But in reality, it wasn't like in the old games where everything was balanced and neatly designed.
After leaving the newbie village, monsters would appear in the newbie village, and the Demon King's castle would have several levels, with heroes having to defeat each before advancing to the next.
The fruit orchard would be level one, Velen level five, Novigrad level ten, Skellige sixteen…
It didn't work like that.
Flooded with wraiths, monsters could appear all over the continent, and vampires wouldn't stay only in Toussaint.
As soon as you stepped off the main road between cities, the forests were full of bandits, maniacs, and ghouls…
And often, after leaving the newbie village, there'd be a massive beast wave, with the Demon King wandering the map, randomly destroying cities.
But at least now…
"This isn't a bad thing…"
"Huh?" Vesemir suddenly turned around, his eyes wide.
Allen explained, "The one giving orders is clever. Although we don't know if it's a alghoul or the dark god itself commanding, they don't know that divine powers have a time limit."
"Don't forget."
"Even though it would be better for Ianna to lead the human alliance and destroy all the monster nests, they don't actually need to go that far."
Vesemir's amber cat-like eyes lit up: "I see. Right now, the divine powers are at their strongest. The more ghouls gather at Ianna's location, the fewer there are at the ritual site."
"Better this way for us."
"However…"
He paused: "The casualties will only increase in the short term…"
War always brings death.
Even with divine powers, the soldiers led by Ianna were not invincible.
Just during the recent skirmish, Allen had already seen many soldiers, their divine powers drained by continuous attacks, fall to the sharp fangs and claws of the monsters.
"So it's up to us now."
Allen took a deep breath and pointed to the other side.
As the smoke cleared, the valley where the summoning ritual had been located was now empty.
After the first monster nest was destroyed, the "dark god," whether in a fit of rage or actually "clever," seemed to have decided to wipe out all the humans who dared to approach.
"Vesemir, it's our turn now!"
The blue and dark gold beast-like eyes met.
"Mm!" Vesemir nodded firmly.
Clink!
The silver sword was drawn!
The cold, gleaming blade reflected the pale moonlight.
Vesemir instinctively reached into his reagent pouch to pull out the necrophage oil for coating the blade, but found that Allen had already handed him three bottles of blood-red, oil-like potions.
"Enhanced necrophage oil," Allen explained.
"More powerful than regular necrophage oil?" Vesemir took the potion and glanced at it curiously.
"It should be much stronger than necrophage oil."
"Should be?"
"Yes, should be." Allen's right hand paused momentarily over the Balmur, then, seeing that it didn't show any sign of excitement, sighed and pulled out Elsa. "This is my first time using it after I brewed it."
Vesemir's hand, as he carefully applied the sword oil, paused imperceptibly, his hesitation hanging in the air.
"You've never used it before?" he asked, testing the waters.
Who would use an untested alchemical product for the first time in such an important moment?
They were about to face an dark god, and possibly other powerful ghouls. Every little advantage mattered.
After applying the sword oil, Allen observed the blade for a moment, seemingly satisfied by its bloodied gleam.
Seeing Vesemir still hesitant, he reassured him: "Don't worry, it'll definitely be better than regular necrophage oil."
"The reason it's the first time I'm using it is because it's a bit expensive. It wasn't that I didn't find the right person to use it on, I just forgot for a while."
Vesemir looked at Allen, who was so confident, and, still somewhat doubtful, applied the enhanced necrophage oil to his silver sword.
The battle was about to begin, and he wouldn't ask any more questions at this moment.
As both witchers prepared for battle, the ghouls had nearly all arrived at the battlefield, now mixing in with the human forces, fighting fiercely.
The dark forest was ravaged.
Countless trees were flattened by thorn-like magic, and the sorceress's flames, thunder, frost, and boulders wreaked havoc among the flesh and bone.
The sounds of battle filled the air, so deafening it seemed to tear apart the clouds in the sky.
"Almost there!" Vesemir reminded.
"Remember to close your eyes in a bit," Allen nodded slightly, giving an odd warning.
Vesemir looked at him strangely but nodded without asking further questions.
"Let's go, good girl."
The moment Allen finished speaking.
In an instant.
"Caw—"
The griffin, who had been suppressed all night, finally released its kingly aura of the skies in a vengeful scream.
The fierce battle on the ground paused for a second due to the immense pressure.
Then, it swiftly dove toward the earth.
The howling wind sliced through the air like a blade, cutting into the witchers' tough skin.
"Roar~"
Amidst the furious roars of countless ghouls, the giant eye on the high tower, which had been closed and covered with blood-red flesh, suddenly opened wide.
The dragon-like red vertical pupils glared furiously, their rage visible to the naked eye, and then it lifted its gaze.
Allen gripped the griffin's mane tightly with his right hand, his own blue cat-like eyes wide open, staring intently at the giant eye.
As they descended to a certain height, veins bulging on his forehead, he shouted over the howling wind:
"Close your eyes, Vesemir!"
.....
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