Chapter 8: A Choice
"Choose now, teacher."
The charge of the halberd could not be resisted by armor, even if it were the highest grade armor. Even if he managed to deflect the halberd's sharp edge with his bracer, it would be futile. It was already too close.
With the blade aimed at his torso, what difference would it make if it missed?
The halberd's blade was wide and sharp; as long as it opened a wound on the torso, it would likely affect at least two organs.
The heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys—none could remain unscathed.
He had to use his sword to stop the thrust. But at the same time, the pouch would be lost. Inside were potions and alchemical bombs, the only hope for survival in the upcoming battle.
Two archers, a troublesome soldier holding a halberd, and his apprentice—a witcher.
Aside from relying on enhanced physical capabilities after consuming potions to overpower them, or pulling out an expensive bomb, there was no other chance.
Along the way, Lan had left traces that could lead the enforcement team to him, drawing them in. It had only been about twenty seconds since the battle began, just three rounds of shooting.
Yet, Lan had already effectively locked Bordon in.
Upon closer inspection, the calculations and potential outcomes flickered in the depths of the young man's cat-like eyes, cascading like a waterfall from his pupils.
Lan temporarily ceased the input into the "processing" task, fully applying the potential of his brain cells to the present situation. His biological intelligence had indeed achieved its goal.
No matter the choice, Bordon had no chance.
He would die today.
Bordon himself immediately recognized this fact. His imposing physique stiffened.
Most witchers of the bear school had lost their capacity for emotion; after their mutations, their lives were spent merely sustaining themselves.
In previous assignments, Bordon had faced death more than once. Yet each time, he had used his calm mind to find hope for survival, dragging monster heads to collect his rewards. But in this situation, constructed by human intelligence and murderous intent, where both ends led to death, that cold demeanor left him feeling lost.
What was worse, a magical aura now erupted from Lan's hand.
The Axii sign.
This was a technique Bordon had only ever used in front of Lan, and he hadn't even properly taught it once. He never expected that Lan would reach a level capable of practical application.
Bordon's mind suddenly grew heavy, and more terrifyingly—his confusion intensified. Faced with the undeniable truth of survival, he even lost the impulse to take down an enemy along with himself.
Because he could not muster any hatred.
Even the instinct to survive was momentarily suppressed, and it was in that moment—
"Pfft—"
Finally, the halberd, redirected by Lan, plunged into Bordon's abdomen.
Bright red fluid splattered forth.
At the same time, Lan darted from beneath the bear school steel sword to his teacher's side, the dagger slicing through the strap of the pouch with lightning speed. In one swift motion, he secured it in his embrace.
Bordon's last hope of turning the tide had been nullified.
As the blade penetrated his body, even a witcher's resilience could not withstand the overwhelming sense of weakness that engulfed him in an instant.
He staggered several steps, pushed by the halberd soldier, until he collided with a tree, finally collapsing to the ground.
The tense halberd soldier had yet to regain his bearings, still gritting his teeth and pressing forward with the halberd. Then Lan approached, placing his hand on the soldier's, which gripped the halberd.
"Calm down, buddy. It's over."
The soldier finally seemed to awaken from his daze, gasping for air. This process felt longer than the entire preceding battle.
The two archers descended from their elevated position on the hill. The crossbowman didn't unstring his weapon, the arrowhead glaring menacingly at Lan.
The longbowman rushed to check on the fallen sword-and-shield soldier, who lay silent, having ceased even his cries of pain. In the eyes of the long halberd and crossbow soldier, he examined his captain's eyelids and pulse, then shook his head.
Lan wasn't surprised; given the amount of blood lost, even a mage would struggle to save him.
"Damn mutant freak!" The halberd soldier spat, muttering curses.
The people of Velen were already accustomed to death, and professional soldiers were even more so. Thus, aside from venting their fear and anger toward magic and mutants, there was little else to say.
The halberd soldier stepped forward two paces, intending to retrieve the halberd still embedded in Bordon's gut.
Perhaps due to a witcher's extraordinary survival capabilities, this brawny man had not yet died; he merely slumped quietly.
His cat-like eyes fixated on his apprentice.
But if he pulled out the halberd, the resulting blood loss would surely ensure he wouldn't survive long.
Lan did not flinch, meeting his gaze head-on, and raised his hand to stop the halberd soldier from drawing his weapon.
The remaining three Temerian soldiers instantly became tense, as if their fur had been ruffled. The crossbowman readied his bolt, and the longbowman pulled back his bowstring, aiming at Lan.
They had just witnessed the capabilities of a witcher, complete with genuine magic wielded with blood and life.
And Lan happened to possess a pair of cat-like eyes. It was hard not to make them anxious. The alliance between Lan and them had formed quite abruptly.
"What do you want, freak? Death?!" The crossbowman yelled fiercely, but Lan could see his finger trembling on the trigger. The halberd soldier and longbowman also wore angry expressions, yet they were swallowing hard.
Lan stood sideways, quietly turning his head to observe them until their breathing steadied.
After a long silence, Lan spoke calmly.
"I only have a small knife, gentlemen. But you have two arrows nocked."
The three men's tension eased slightly at his words. Or perhaps it was not the words that calmed them but the advantage they perceived. But Lan's next statement swiftly shifted the atmosphere.
"But can those two arrows kill me?"
"Come on and try, freak! Hurry up and let me test it!"
Facing the spitting crossbowman, Lan remained expressionless, which only served to highlight the other's bluster.
"Gentlemen, you just witnessed the survival and killing capabilities of a witcher. And you, a halberd soldier without a weapon, and two archers armed only with short swords, standing within five paces of me. If I choose to strike, you won't last ten seconds."
In truth, they could likely last at least a minute; Lan's physical condition, equipment quality, and swordsmanship were all vastly inferior to his teacher's. Yet Bordon's intimidation had been so great that it had temporarily thrown them into disarray.
"I—we still have two arrows!"
"Exactly, two arrows," Lan nodded, maintaining his side stance.
"But if you want to kill me in ten seconds, you'll need to hit my heart or my head."
As Lan spoke calmly, the soldiers' gazes shifted to those two vital points. But immediately afterward, their expressions turned grim. They were veterans; they understood the situation they were in.
"Yes, gentlemen. I'm standing sideways, so if you aim for the heart, the arrows must pass through my arm, through cotton armor, and a layer of skin, ribs, and lung. They won't make it through. That would give me time to kill you after being hit, so you can only aim for the head."
"And if you limit your target to such a small area, even with a small knife, I'm confident I can deflect both arrows."
The young man's arm, holding the hunting knife, had already risen to the side of his face, the intent clear.
The heart is left open for you; whether those arrows are released is up to you. But I've already made it clear what the consequences of those two arrows being fired will be.
The words ceased, and the three Temerian soldiers gritted their teeth, staring at him. The young man's expression remained calm, as if the terrifying hypothesis he had just made about "death" were nonexistent.
Then he suddenly smiled lightly.
"So, there's no need to escalate things to that point, right? I just want to have a talk with my kin. It's clear he won't be saved. Even a priest of Melitele couldn't bring him back, could he? You could take this opportunity to gather the remains of this respectable soldier, and when he has passed, you can carry his body to the lord's castle to collect your reward. We've seen enough blood for one day."
Their positions remained unchanged but the atmosphere began to relax. Perhaps it was Lan's smile, or perhaps it was the mention of money.
The longbowman's lips trembled for a moment before he hesitantly spoke. "A-are you not coming with us? The lord has offered three hundred sixty orens for this murderer, which is…"
"That's quite a sum," Lan interjected, nodding.
"But gentlemen, let's be honest here: I owe you a debt of gratitude—each one of you in this squad. While we're both holding knives to each other, the truth is: you saved me from my teacher, and as a result, a respectable soldier lost his life. We all witnessed how strong my teacher is; I had no hope of escaping him on my own."
"You are the enforcement team dispatched by the lord, and it is indeed your duty to apprehend him. That's correct. But life is precious. Regardless of whether this is your duty, I must repay the favor of your saving my life. Especially since you've lost a man; I won't take a single oren from the bounty."
His sincere words lightened the atmosphere, and the two archers slightly lowered their arrows. In response, Lan turned to face them directly.
"People say that witchers with cat eyes are as emotionless as snakes; it seems they have been gravely misjudged." The longbowman pulled his arrow back into the quiver and nodded at the young man. The crossbowman also withdrew his bolt.
"We appreciate your honesty, but Captain Barren was a widower. The bounty you're forfeiting won't benefit his family, to be honest; you should reconsider."
"Let it go, gentlemen." Lan smiled and shook his head, sheathing his dagger.
"This is what I owe you. If this soldier has no family, then please use the bounty to give him a decent burial. I believe my life is worth more than three hundred orens."
Lan could not bear to leave the debt of life unacknowledged; he would look down on himself for that.
The three men exchanged glances, then nodded in unison toward the young man, making space for the two witchers.
At that moment, Bordon's beard was already stained with blood, the blood from his damaged lungs. He continued to watch his apprentice.
And Lan, looking down at him, slowly crouched. "Finally, we can have a good talk, teacher."
There was no longer a need to hide, no need to remain an iceberg.
Lan smiled with relief and liberation.