"Get off your horses!"
"Stay silent!"
Riding close to the battlefield, the witchers dismounted under Allen's command, tying their reins to nearby low birch trees, and carefully observed the monsters' positions.
Here, there was no need to strain their senses—one could easily hear the howls of monsters and the desperate cries for help from humans.
The foolish ones who had wandered into the feast of the necrophages appeared to be a group of wealthy merchants traveling with their families.
Thirteen carriages formed a defensive ring, encircling the horses, women, children, elderly, and a hoard of treasures gleaming with gold and silver, in an effort to fend off the monsters' attacks.
Several steel-armored guards led a dozen leather-armored warriors. Each wielded a silver-glinted weapon in one hand and a small round shield in the other as they fought off the ghouls on the perimeter.
It was evident that someone in the caravan was skilled in battle formations. However, despite having proper weapons and a practiced formation, the entire group exuded an air of hesitation.
Even when their silver weapons, crafted specifically to deal with monsters, struck their targets, they held back at the last moment.
The witchers could easily discern why.
For instance, at this moment:
Perhaps distracted by a ghoul's feint, or maybe due to sheer misfortune...
After being slashed, a Rotfiend unleashed a sickly yellow, foul-smelling toxic mist, catching everyone off guard. Then, with a loud bang following its monstrous howl—
"Ahhh—Boom!"
The Rotfiend exploded violently.
A nearby fully-armored guard was instantly blasted away, crashing into a carriage, which set off a wave of panicked screams.
The ones closer to the explosion fared even worse—limbs were severed, and they were immediately silenced.
Those further away, splattered by the Rotfiend's corrosive fluids, suffered grotesque flesh decay. They screamed horrifically, writhing on the ground, only to be dragged off and dismembered by opportunistic ghouls.
The explosion of a single rotfiend left a gaping hole in the caravan's defensive line.
Clearly, though the guards of the caravan were skilled and coordinated, the "monster bomb" tactics were far too advanced for this era.
In other words, under the constant threat of sudden explosions, their ability to hold out this long was already impressive.
"Did everyone see that? Stay away from the Rotfiends!" Vesemir warned sternly. "I don't want to be cleaning up your corpses here!"
The young witchers, crouched low in the grass, didn't retort as they usually would. They nodded earnestly, their expressions serious.
"We..." Allen was just about to speak.
"Barry, Lys, fill the gap!" shouted a fully-armored guard in the caravan, whose helmet was marked with a red cloth. "Be cautious of those bare-muscled, frenzied monsters! Use your shields—don't use your silver swords!"
As soon as his voice fell, two guards on either side of the breached line stepped forward, wielding their shields to block the ghouls and rotfiends, patching the defenses.
"These people are impressive!" Vesemir praised.
"They are, but the line is stretched too thin now—they won't last much longer," Allen nodded, then decisively ordered, "Stick to the plan. Move out!"
The moment he finished speaking, Vesemir and Allen simultaneously sprang forward, charging toward the cluster of Rotfiends between the attacking ghouls and the commanding Alghoul lingering at the edge of the battlefield.
The seven younger witchers maintained a triangular formation, keeping some distance from the two veteran witchers as they headed toward the caravan.
Buzz~
The school medallions collectively hummed.
The group of nine seemed to vanish into the surrounding grasslands.
"The commander's magic is amazing—it's like we've completely blended in!" one of the witchers marveled.
"Shut it, Krei! Watch your footing! Keep your eyes on the ghouls! If you mess up, expect a personal visit from the Gaze of the Witcher's Eye!"
"Got it, got it..." a flustered voice replied from the air. The coveted Gaze of the Witcher's Eye, which could significantly enhance one's abilities, was the dream of every squad member.
Allen and Vesemir paid no attention to the chatter behind them. These witchers, while occasionally frivolous, were reliable in serious situations.
As they drew closer to the battlefield, the unique stench of necrophages became stronger.
Stepping from the green grasslands onto the putrid brown soil of the battlefield, the alghoul on the other side seemed to sense something and raised its head, scanning the area.
"Damn monster, its senses are sharp!" Allen cursed inwardly.
The success of this battle hinged on eliminating the rotfiends as quickly as possible.
If a dozen or so "monster bombs" managed to charge at them, not even Allen would be able to walk away unscathed, let alone the younger witchers.
The longer they could avoid detection by the alghoul, the better.
The two witchers instinctively lightened their steps as they pressed toward the cluster of rotfiends.
As The Ghouls and Alghouls—a classic treatise on monster biology—had noted, alghouls relied primarily on their sense of smell, not ground vibrations or magic.
Once the initial tension passed, the two witchers, realizing they were downwind, felt less concerned about being discovered.
It must have just been a disturbance in the magical field that triggered the alghoul's brief alertness.
Indeed, after flaring its nostrils a couple of times, the alghoul turned its attention back toward the caravan.
But then—
"Roarrr!"
The alghoul let out a bellow.
From the attacking horde of ghouls, yet another rotfiend emerged—its red muscles and pale tendons grotesquely exposed. Contrary to its usual nature, it quietly mimicked the ghouls, crawling on all fours as it blended into the attacking group.
---------------------
"Watch out!" shouted the red-clothed commander.
Nearby, a steel-armored man hacked down a ghoul and found an opening to approach. He shouted: "Captain, this isn't working! Our men are being slaughtered!"
"Roar!" A ghoul's sudden attack interrupted the man, who kicked the monster away and continued: "If this keeps up, we'll all be dead, and we still won't escape!"
Before he could finish, another ghoul bared its fangs and pounced from behind, pinning him to the ground.
The captain roared, swinging his silver longsword down forcefully.
With a sickening thud, the blade sliced through the ghoul's neck and torso, cleaving the monster in two.
Drenched in foul-smelling blood, the captain had no time to clean himself. He hauled the man off the ground.
"You alright, Cole?"
Cole shook his head, breathing heavily. "I'm fine, Captain. But..."
The captain, his bloodshot eyes scanning the carnage in the blood-soaked battlefield, saw Cole's unspoken fears reflected in the chaos around them.
The field was strewn with corpses.
Cole was right.
His men were reaching their limits.
Though the current losses were due to those damnable exploding monsters, it wouldn't be long before exhaustion set in and even ordinary ghouls could wipe out his once-skilled...
"Ahhh!"
A distant scream interrupted his thoughts.
A leather-armored warrior, distracted for a moment, was bitten on the thigh by a ghoul and dragged away.
No!
His men were already at their breaking point.
"What… what do we do?"
"Captain, what should we do now?"
Cole, still shaken from being knocked down by the monsters earlier, spoke with a trembling voice.
The captain gritted his teeth, slashing at the oncoming monsters one by one, despair etched onto his face.
They were surrounded by ghouls baring their fangs. Further away were explosive creatures.
Even farther, massive monsters, larger than several carriages combined, watched them hungrily.
How could they possibly escape?
"Captain," Cole pushed a ghoul away with his shield and moved closer. Glancing at the people protected within the barricade of wagons, he gritted his teeth and said, "Captain, we've already lost too many people trying to protect them…"
"Shhhk!"
A swing of the sword interrupted him, cleaving a ghoul in two.
Cole wiped the bloodstains from his helmet with force, his eyes fierce: "Besides, if this keeps up, we're all going to die…"
"Barry's wife and children are still waiting for him at home… Kenneth's mother is blind… Cline's parents passed away early, and he's the sole guardian of a sister not yet ten years old… Captain! Someone has to make it back alive, Captain!"
Cole's voice lowered, filled with sorrow.
The captain froze for a moment, turning his head.
At the well-guarded center of the wagon barricade, two pairs of innocent, deer-like eyes were peeking out from the gaps between carriages, filled with fear.
Those were the two daughters of their employer, both under seven years old.
As his gaze shifted slightly, he caught sight of another pair of eyes.
It was their employer, a middle-aged, portly man.
When their eyes met, the employer seemed to realize something, despair flooding his face. Yet, he didn't scream or shout.
Instead, he looked to his right, as if pleading.
The captain followed his gaze and saw the employer's two daughters. He quickly looked away, a chill running down his spine, unable to bring himself to look back.
"Captain!" Cole urged.
The captain glanced around again, sighed deeply, and said: "Inform the brothers to break through!"
Cole's eyes lit up momentarily but quickly turned suspicious.
Why… why was he the one being told to deliver the order?
"Captain, you…"
"Hurry, someone has to safeguard the reputation of the 'Free Angren'!" The captain, having made his decision, smiled faintly.
But this smile was hidden behind a steel helmet streaked with blood and dirt.
No one could see it.
Cole stood frozen, his mouth opening to speak, but looking at the captain's resolute back, he bit his lip, unable to utter a single word.
"Take the two children with you!" the captain reminded him.
After seeing Cole nod solemnly, the captain stepped forward, taking on the brunt of the attack.
"Come on, you damned monsters!"
He roared and charged, recklessly cutting down monsters step by step, freeing his comrades trapped in battle.
The back of his armor echoed with heavy thuds.
The force of the blows seemed to want to knock him down, but he used the momentum to push forward. Each swing of his silver sword sent foul-smelling flesh flying.
Until one moment…
A red limb, distinct from the gray-skinned ghouls, flew into the air.
Caught off guard, he looked down and saw a rotting face that seemed like a skinned corpse.
It was then he caught the unique stench beneath the overwhelming odor of decay.
"Is this the end?" he thought.
"Roar—!"
Amid the deafening roar, the severed arm of the monster sprayed yellowish poisonous mist.
The temperature began to rise.
At that moment, he wanted to turn back for one last look, but his body instinctively did the opposite of his thoughts.
He lunged forward like a lion facing its hunter.
Even at death's door, he resolved to take the danger down with him to protect what he cherished.
"Captain!"
"Captain!"
"Ryan!"
Voices called out behind him.
Ahead, the grotesque monster's body had already begun to swell.
"This is it," he thought, feeling his body collide with the monster. He closed his eyes.
"Boom~"
A frenzied wind roared.
"Bang!"
The explosion that followed was deafening.
But…
Huh?
Was this death?
Why did it still feel so heavy, smelly, and exhausting?
Confused, he opened his eyes and was greeted by another pair of eyes—pure blue, like the clear waters of the Ravenvale Lake at the Angren-Mahakam border.
The eyes belonged to a young man—or perhaps… a god?
"Are you here to guide me to the golden oaken table of Kreve's divine kingdom?" he asked.
The young man blinked, his sapphire eyes suddenly warm.
"Sorry, the golden oaken table of Kreve might not yet have your wine ready…"
"And one more thing…"
The young man blinked playfully and smiled.
"Closing your eyes on a battlefield isn't a great habit."
With that, the blue-eyed youth turned and rushed forward.
Ryan blinked, and the youth vanished as though he had never been there.
"Ryan! Ryan!" A figure rushed over, embracing him tightly and breaking his thoughts. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did any of that corrosive fluid touch you…?"
"Da… Dana?"
"It's me… Ryan… it's me… it's me…" The woman's bloodied face was unrecognizable, but her voice was choked with sobs.
At that moment, Ryan snapped out of his daze. He didn't have time to question the sudden appearance of a seemingly divine young man. Instead, he gripped his sword tightly in alarm.
"Didn't I tell you to follow your brother?" He pushed the woman away and scolded her harshly.
Immediately, he tensed up, anxiously scanning the surroundings.
In the next moment, his eyes widened in disbelief.
Somehow, seven or eight nimble figures had appeared around the wagon barricade, weaving through the ghouls.
Silver gleamed in the dim light.
Each flash of silver severed a ghoul's head.
"Boom, boom, boom~"
Before he could get a clear look at the faces of those seven or eight figures, a series of explosions echoed behind him.
Turning toward the sound, he saw a burly middle-aged man retracting his right hand as the explosions sent up clouds of dust.
Then came a familiar "thud" of impact from within the smoke.
It was as if a divine force had summoned a gale. The smoke and dust that had just risen were blown away.
Ryan blinked, removing his sticky helmet and rubbing his eyes, dumbfounded by the scene before him.
"Are they… reinforcements?" Ryan asked Dana hoarsely.
Dana opened her mouth but didn't respond.
At least ten meters away, a small figure spun, slicing off a ghoul's head, and turned back with a proud smile.
"We're Witchers!"
"Witchers of the Wolf School!"
.....
📢20 advanced chapters on p@treaon📢
For advance chapters: p@treon.com/Uchiha_Itachi007 (replace @ with a)
333. A Bountiful Harvest!
334. The Dwarf Princess in Need of Rescue.
335. A Unique Grandmaster Wolven Armor Set.
336. A Stalemate.
337. Neutrality?