477. What the Witchers Protect!

"This isn't your fault..."

Danthe placed his right hand on Allen's shoulder and gently squeezed.

Sometimes, a witcher's heightened senses were more of a curse than a gift—he had heard every word of Wyatt and the shield guards' conversation loud and clear. Including the fate of Furi and Iron Shield, those two poor souls.

And Allen's senses were even sharper than his.

Looking at the young witcher's expressionless face, Danthe grew worried. "This is war. And in war… we don't always get to choose..."

"I'm fine." Allen gently shook his head.

"Good." Danthe glanced at Allen and dropped the subject.

He turned toward the clear path ahead—opened up under Wyatt's orders—and spoke in a slightly lighter tone, "Well, at least now we don't have to fight again. We can finally get out of Drakenborg in one piece..."

"No. It's not over yet." Allen shook his head, a quiet fury burning in his eyes. "The real culprit has yet to pay the blood price..."

"Allen..." Danthe opened his mouth, about to say something.

"Careful!"

Wyatt's sudden shout came from not far ahead—his voice sharp and laced with agitation. Both witchers snapped their heads up.

All the guards raised their weapons, alert and tense. But Allen and Danthe, having locked eyes with Wyatt, knew that shout wasn't meant for the guards.

It was meant for them.

A single breath of silence passed through the lab.

A faint wind whispered past Allen's ear. In an instant, he drew Balmur from the void and turned to block.

Clang!

The loud clash of metal tore away their magical disguise.

Bzzz—!

The medallions of the two witcher schools buzzed violently.

"Watch out! The enemy is cloaked!"

"A sorcerer's spell—stay clear!"

"Where's the sorcerer? Where's Rissberg's sorcerer?!"

------------------------

Chaos erupted in the lab. Guards drew their swords and turned warily to face the three witchers now exposed before them.

Even the shield guards hesitantly raised their tower shields.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" muttered Blockhead under his breath. "Look at that kid behind Master Danthe. What kind of animal would do that to a child?"

"If I were Master Danthe, I'd charge Drakenborg myself!"

"Shut up!" Wyatt roared, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at Blockhead, who immediately fell silent.

"Alert! Form a defense!" Wyatt bellowed.

Thud! The shield guards slammed their tower shields into the ground.

They deliberately left the right-side path—recently exposed—open. But the unaware guards at the rear quickly blocked off the way to the exit.

"What do we do, boss?" one of the nearby shield guards asked anxiously. "Are we really going in? Everyone's waiting on your command!"

"Don't rush me! Let me think! Let me think!"

Cold sweat beaded on Wyatt's forehead as he stared intently at the dark silhouette.

Karlo... What are you trying to do?

------------------------

"You're Karlo!"

The sudden heavy blow shattered the illusion of the Mirage Pearl and stripped away the enemy's magical disguise.

A figure in pitch-black garb stood revealed—night gear covering everything but a pair of piercing black eyes. Those eyes shimmered faintly with a violet-red magical glow—clearly not human.

Allen instantly knew who it was—Karlo, the assassin Sam had mentioned, who silently beheaded an elven sage.

Karlo's black mask twitched slightly. "Cat-like eyes… Kid, you're not a sorcerer. You're a witcher too..."

"I never said I was a sorcerer."

Allen's right arm tensed suddenly, and he cleaved aside Karlo's blade.

It was a simple short sword, no longer than a forearm. Like a witcher's silver sword, it was etched with runes along its blade. The hilt bore delicate vine engravings, giving it the appearance of an elven weapon.

Which wasn't surprising—Drakenborg might lack many things, but elven relics weren't one of them.

Whatever weapon Karlo wielded was irrelevant to Allen. But Karlo's attack had torn away their disguise and blocked their escape—that was important.

He—or she—what were they trying to do?

Clang!

Karlo, knocked back by Allen's forceful strike, landed soundlessly on a nearby storage shelf. Like a ghost, he made no sound or movement—before darting forward again with incredible speed.

"What are you trying to do?" Allen clashed swords with Karlo once more and reached out via telepathy.

It wasn't that Allen couldn't beat Karlo—rather, once Wyatt had "surrendered" and Karlo appeared, he remembered something from their ambush at the tower.

When they attacked Padrek Vasquez, he recalled that Evenson had also given an order to Karlo.

But Karlo never showed—right up until the moment Danthe killed Padrek. And an assassin was much faster than men hauling tower shields.

Something wasn't right.

Very not right.

"Telepathy..."

Hearing Allen's voice in his mind, Karlo paused, staring into those striking blue cat-like eyes, suddenly uncertain about Allen's identity.

Summoning a wand could be done with simple magical tools—even a mildly gifted person could manage. But telepathy, a sustained psychic spell, wasn't so easy.

Mastering mental energy required delicate expertise—not something a non-sorcerer could fake with enchanted trinkets.

"Are you really a witcher... or a sorcerer?"

As he questioned, Karlo spun away and slashed again.

Allen dodged nimbly.

Ssshh!

Like a branding iron dropped on ice, Karlo's sword sliced into a glass tank.

A tangled mess of organs and murky yellow formalin spilled out.

"That doesn't matter..." Allen dodged the foul liquid and stood between Danthe and the attacker. "What matters is—why are you attacking us? Wouldn't it be better to act like Wyatt?"

As he mentioned Wyatt, Allen instinctively glanced to the side.

The tower-shield-bearing brute stood there, frozen and unsure—clearly unprepared for this turn of events.

As a result, not only were the shield guards awkwardly raising and lowering their shields in mock readiness, but the mass of guards behind them hadn't moved either.

Which made sense.

Evenson wasn't here, and nobody wanted to die for a paycheck.

Which made Karlo's aggression all the more suspicious.

"Need help?" Danthe moved his lips slightly. He'd noticed something was off too—and stayed his hand.

Allen replied via telepathy, "Protect Bond. Get him out of here—now."

The moment Danthe nodded—

Karlo moved like a shadow—silent, without footsteps—as he glided over the spilled organs and lunged forward again.

Clang! Clang!

Two swift strikes, blocked by Allen, glanced off the wooden storage rack.

The ironwood shelves splintered under the blows, and from the second tier upward, dozens of small glass jars slid down the slanted rack and shattered on the floor.

"Not good," Karlo muttered, shaking his head. "Wyatt's approach was too stupid. No one could ever be fooled by that..."

Too stupid...

Allen's eyes lit up at the phrase. "You mean—?"

"Ever seen the operas sung by bards in the city taverns? I need you to..."

Whoosh!

Before Karlo could finish, Allen parried the next attack and spun with a step, his blade flashing with a chilling gleam as it sliced through the waist of a preserved werewolf specimen.

The three-meter-tall beast had been one of the main supports holding up the storage racks in that area.

In the blink of an eye—

Jars and vials tumbled in droves, and the entire lab was overwhelmed with the stench of formalin and rotting protein. And that wasn't the end.

Immediately after—

Allen curled his right middle finger, then thrust his hand forward with force.

"Boom!"

A violent shockwave distorted the air.

Karlo dodged with a roll.

But the storage cabinet behind him, filled with insectoid specimens, wasn't so lucky.

The sharp limbs of a mutated spider flew through the air, severing the head of an Endrega warrior specimen. In the next moment, the entire wall of insect displays shattered, cracked, collapsed, and burst apart in a deafening explosion.

The ordinary guards shrieked and scrambled away in fright from the chaos.

Seeing this scene, even Karlo's movements as he stood up noticeably faltered.

"I'm starting to like you, clever kid," Karlo's clear black eyes flickered as he murmured his admiration in his mind.

"What's your name?"

"Not a kid," Allen said, kicking aside the "subtle" leg Karlo had aimed at him. "Allen. Witcher Master Allen of the School of the Wolf…"

"Alright then, 'kid'." Karlo blinked with what seemed like a playful glint in his eye. "I'll remember you."

Allen rolled his eyes in exasperation.

After explaining the situation to Danthe and telling him not to worry, Allen teamed up with Karlo and began unleashing chaos in the lab.

The Aard Sign knocked over rows of sorcerer-kept curiosities, Igni scorched wood, boar hides, and bear pelts alike…

In the blink of an eye, the entire laboratory had become unrecognizable.

Karlo… Karlo seemed… seemed…

Wyatt, who was frowning tightly and facing the toughest dilemma of his life, blinked his small eyes. The more he thought about it, the more something felt off.

And then—when his eyes unintentionally met Karlo's, who had somehow drifted closer—

A flash of realization struck him.

Since when did Karlo ever fight for this long?

He suddenly turned around and shouted loudly: "Clear the way! Everyone back off!"

"Don't get in Karlo's way! Drakenborg Shield Guards, follow me!"

"Boss, you—!" the big-head bellowed in confusion, "How can you—how can you…"

The other Shield Guards, stout and burly, had the same puzzled look in their small eyes.

These meatheads… Wyatt gritted his teeth, glared with his beady eyes, and smacked the big-head on the head, cutting off his nonsense. Through clenched teeth, he squeezed out another command: "Stop babbling! Move!"

Karlo saw this and his mask twitched—he seemed to smile.

"Wyatt, that thickheaded brute… maybe he's not that dumb after all, huh?"

Allen's mouth lifted in a faint smirk, but he said nothing.

He sidestepped Karlo's straight thrust, glancing at the laboratory still in disarray…

Werewolves, wyverns, trolls, ghouls, mutated spiders, griffins, wraiths…

Countless monster remains floated in the bloody pool of formalin.

In that fleeting moment, it didn't feel like they were fighting Karlo, Wyatt, or the Shield Guards, but rather that they were all fighting side by side—for humanity—against the grotesque horrors.

The School of the Wolf… no—all witchers had, for centuries, sacrificed countless lives to stand between mankind and evil…

And now, in this moment, that legacy seemed to find symbolic meaning.

Allen cleaved through the few remaining display racks with a single swing, and looked toward Danthe—who was still "trying hard" to break through Wyatt and the Shield Guards' "blockade."

From beginning to end, Danthe showed none of the same conflicted emotions that Allen had.

After Allen expressed thanks to Karlo, Wyatt, and the other Shield Guards, Danthe simply returned to focusing on his newly resumed "acting" career.

The witchers once helped humanity. Now, those once saved were risking themselves to repay the witchers.

To him, this logic seemed natural—everything was unfolding as it should. The only surprise was why Drakenborg had so many people who had once benefited from witchers.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…" Allen sighed inwardly, as that line suddenly came to mind.

"We're just about done!"

Karlo's voice rang out, interrupting Allen's thoughts. "Any later, and those annoying mages from Rissberg will be back…"

"Mages from Rissberg?" Allen froze for a moment. There were other Rissberg mages here?

"Padrek Vasquez is actually the weakest of the Rissberg Civil Cooperative's stationed mages in Drakenborg," Karlo explained, noticing Allen's surprise. "The strongest is Ronnie Dickinson."

"He's one of the fifteen seats on the Conclave of Mages. Among the Rissberg Civil Cooperative's mages, he's a rare combat specialist—an archmaster of air-element magic…"

"You were lucky not to run into him today, but no telling when he might return."

As Karlo spoke of Ronnie Dickinson, his brows furrowed, and his pace quickened noticeably.

Allen was about to relay a message when Karlo abruptly cut him off.

"Enough talk." He turned slightly away from the guards and subtly pointed to his ribs. "Stab me here. Deep enough to look serious, not fatal. It'll be enough to fool Evenson."

"With your skill, Master Allen, I trust you won't miss!"

"Oh, and…"

He glanced at Wyatt. "Give that brute a nick on the arm or leg—whichever's easier."

"Wait!" Allen frowned slightly, catching the key point. "All this fighting… was just to fool that Evenson?"

Karlo blinked. "Is that a problem?"

"No problem. Just unnecessary." Allen shook his head. In one sudden motion, he slashed his blades.

Karlo was sent flying by the sheer force, landing lightly on the ground.

"What the—?" Karlo pursed his lips. "You didn't need to go that far. If we're injured, we can rest, that's all…"

Allen followed with an Aard Sign, blasting away the Shield Guards pretending to block Danthe's way, and said coldly:"Don't worry!"

"Evenson won't live to see tomorrow's sunrise!"

.....

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