Chapter 6: Rebellion
"Quen." Bordon's incantation was far more refined than that of his apprentice.
Perhaps due to his own experience and perspective, he couldn't envision the many peculiar applications of the signs. However, with a solid foundation, he could certainly reap tangible benefits from their primary function.
An orange-yellow magical shield materialized in an instant, more robust than Lan's, capable of withstanding greater physical attacks.
Had the three ghouls collided with this Quen shield moments ago, they would have likely become mere decorations on the wall.
Yet, in Bordon's bulging cat-like eyes, two arrows—one long and one short—approached in succession. The longer one, shot from a longbow, struck the shield with a crack. The orange-yellow shield overloaded and shattered instantly.
The power of the longbow exceeded the portrayals in films and games. A battlefield longbow, designed for sustained output with a not overly high draw weight, could pierce modern steel at a distance of just a few meters. As for humans, or witchers, their bodies were undeniably weak against steel.
The fully unleashed Quen sign could only deflect one arrow, but Bordon felt no frustration at this result. It was reasonable and fortunate. The longbowman was skilled, and his arrow had aimed directly for Bordon's throat.
The witcher's armor had no throat guard. If struck by the arrow, it would be no different than if it had hit an ordinary farmer. The sharp arrowhead would pierce skin, muscle, blood vessels, and trachea, then scrape against bone, emerging from the other side.
While a witcher's body was tougher than that of a human, the disparity between steel and flesh rendered that "toughness" nearly meaningless.
The arrow was deflected by the Quen, granting Bordon precious reaction time. Faced with a crossbow bolt that was faster and more powerful but released later, the man barely raised his arm.
"Clang!" The loud sound of metal colliding echoed. The crossbow bolt collided directly with Bordon's metal bracer, deflecting harmlessly away.
His thick arm quaked. Crossbows are more potent than longbows, capable of penetrating several millimeters of plate armor. Even after the bracer's dampening effect, the force was enough to leave significant bruises on a witcher's wrist. Had he been wearing inferior armor, the bolt would have pierced flesh directly.
But pain would not deter a witcher from battle.
Bordon's raised wrist swung back behind him, drawing a shining steel sword with a metallic rasp. The bear school's enhanced physique and strength allowed him to unsheathe and swing the sword in less than half a second.
The air whistled as the sharp steel sliced beside him. Even with a bruised arm, Bordon's swordsmanship was terrifyingly solid. His blade remained steady, his aim precise, maximizing the lethality of the cut. If he were facing an ordinary person, this strike would have decided life and death.
But that presumes the ordinary person isn't holding a shield. A shield is the greatest assurance in combat.
"Thud!" The processed wooden shield emitted a deep thud.
The thicket had been pressed apart slightly by Bordon's sword's wind, though many branches and leaves remained pinned down like vegetables on a cutting board. The tree sap splattered as the blade and shield met, severing the foliage in between.
The leader of the enforcement squad, a seasoned Temerian soldier, now bore a deep sword mark upon his shield displaying the white lily emblem.
With his veteran experience, he should have stood firm against the impending strike, as his stance was meant to withstand the weight of the legion pressing forward. Unless his entire weight, armor included, was shoved aside, it would be impossible to dislodge him.
Yet in this moment, he was genuinely forced back. His murky eyes bulged wide, astonished, as if he had witnessed a ghost.
Though he had traveled widely, he had never encountered a witcher, let alone fought one. His impoverished medieval imagination could not fathom how a humanoid being could unleash such power. Nor could he comprehend how this mutant had discovered his hiding place within the thicket. But the battle had begun; regardless of imagination, they had to fight to the end.
A single-handed sword, designed to be used with a shield, slithered out from the edge of the wooden shield, like a venomous snake.
Its target was Bordon's sword.
The captain, experienced as he was, knew that the length disparity between his one-handed sword and Bordon's steel sword, combined with their differing arm spans, meant he could not threaten Bordon's flesh. Instead, he aimed to strike Bordon's sword, disrupting his offensive rhythm, and with a stroke of luck, perhaps even knock him off balance.
His plan revealed the cunning of a seasoned veteran. But witchers could hunt monsters, in large part, because they possessed spellcasting abilities.
One hand held the sword, while the other of the bearded giant formed an intricate sign. His lips moved beneath his dense beard. "Aard."
"Boom!!!" A translucent shockwave crashed against the shield, and the already-marked shield cracked, splitting in two along the fissure.
The Aard sign unleashed a telekinetic force.
The captain wavered, his wrist flailing in the air. A stone carved into the shape of a Turtle slipped from his sleeve.
"Turtle stone, how foolish." Bordon's expression was as cold as ice.
Magic was a scarce resource, one that only nobles or wealthy merchants could afford to utilize. Yet in this world, it seemed every farmer toiling in the fields or every shepherd milking goats steadfastly believed that their misfortunes and miserable lives were due to magic's curse. Poor soil, sick cows, lost sheep—surely it was all the work of sorcery.
This stemmed from fear and denigration born of ignorance. Thus, rumors about "dispelling magic" and "banning magical powers" proliferated.
The stories were endless; where there's demand, there's a market. And the most famous among them was the "Turtle stone."
Even many nobles and politicians who seldom engaged with magic believed in its efficacy. Let alone the ordinary soldiers before him.
But the truth was—only Dimeritium could counter magic.
The captain's eyes flickered with disbelief and panic, a complex mix of emotions coursing through him. He had lost his balance; with Bordon's swordsmanship, dispatching him would require just a light touch of the blade against his throat.
The flesh would split, blood vessels would sever. Under muscle contractions, the blood vessels located in the neck would be drawn into the chest cavity.
Massive bleeding.
Even a mage present would be unable to save him from such a wound.
Yet, just as he prepared to land that lethal strike, Bordon's solid and steady swordsmanship abruptly halted. Like a towering bear, the robust man suddenly leapt from his original position.
In the next moment, two arrows sliced through the air with a "whoosh."
The sword-and-shield captain regained his balance, half of his shield now protecting him. Aside from the shield being half-missing and the initial panic, there was little difference from the beginning of the fight.
This was the predicament of facing multiple opponents; each member of the enforcement team would fall to Bordon in a matter of moments. But now, not only was it difficult to kill, even causing effective harm was a challenge.
With light-footed steps, Bordon's keen hearing picked up movement in the thicket behind him. He sensed someone charging out, the rustling of branches announcing an opponent with a polearm.
Long weapons were always troublesome adversaries. Even Bordon felt a heavy sense of danger creeping in. He decided swiftly, calling out to his apprentice.
"Lan. Go take out those two archers. They're behind the rocks on the small slope ahead."
Lan was Bordon's "Child of Surprise." In ancient legends, there was a profound connection between them. The fates of both would inevitably lead to significant changes in one another's lives.
After undergoing the witcher mutation, Lan had, like a standard bear school witcher, lost most of his emotional fluctuations.
They were kin.
Connected by fate.
At this moment, Bordon had no doubt in his apprentice's abilities. His sword was broken, unsuitable for dealing with monsters or witchers, but it was sufficient against humans.
Now, Lan stood before the halberd soldier, who had previously been confident in the Turtle stone, now gazing at the young man's cat-like eyes with a mix of fear and forced bravado.
Sweat trickled from the palm gripping the halberd. For the young man before him, his emotionless face mirrored that of the upright bear not far away.
Without hesitation, Lan responded to his teacher.
"Yes, teacher."
Bordon received the response and began to adjust his muscles, preparing to seize the opportunity to eliminate the sword-and-shield soldier before him.
The young man drew the tattered Velen long sword from his back. Just as the halberd soldier swallowed hard to ease his tension...
"I'm here to 'help' you!"
The initial words were as chilling as an iceberg, but the final words revealed the molten fury beneath.
With a twist of his waist and a flick of his hand, Lan's muscles, enhanced by the potion, surged with power. The battered Velen long sword, already swaying precariously, shot forward with a sound more terrifying than a crossbow bolt, aimed straight for Bordon's back.