Chapter 53

Chapter 53: Drawing the Sword from Behind

Philip didn't want to confront Lan while the situation was unclear. It wasn't a matter of whether they could win or not. That was a given. A dozen cavalrymen on the land of Velen should have no enemies.

Moreover, these dozen cavalrymen were seasoned veterans from the battlefield.

Even without Lan's intervention, the enforcement team might have been able to take the head of a witcher with just one casualty during the ambush of Bordon. Crossbows to disrupt the enemy's attack and movement rhythm, close combat soldiers swarming to hack them to death. Or close combat soldiers restricting the enemy's movement and defense, while crossbows take them out from a distance.

when it is cold weapons against cold weapons, numbers do matter!

The real reason Philip didn't want to confront Lan was... if Lan had truly gone mad, what price would they have to pay to win?

There were no battle mages with the army, and Philip and his men had little experience with witcher magic. On the battlefield, missing information had to be compensated with lives. Philip was not only managing these dozen cavalrymen, but they were also the foundation of his status. Losing one would be an unacceptable weakening of his position.

Moreover, these soldiers generally had a good impression of Lan from previous collaborations. Including Philip himself, no one wanted to draw swords against a friendly acquaintance. Everyone wants to be friends with good people. At least in this chaotic world, it brought a rare sense of security.

***

Lan followed the scent and footprints, climbing two slopes and crossing a stream in the hilly terrain. He discovered another small camp. His cold, cat-like eyes were hidden behind layers of trees, and Popeye was left in a safe spot behind.

This time, it wasn't about asking for directions or dealing with roadside soldiers. The moment Lan saw this camp, he made up his mind.

This time, blood would be shed from the start!

The structure of this camp was similar to the previous outpost. Large canvas tents, storage boxes, various cloth bags, and a campfire. But there were some minor differences.

A human arm was roasting on the fire. A few people were laughing and chatting, eagerly waiting for the food to cook. The hand on the arm was being meticulously trimmed of meat and bone by someone sitting in the tent. It looked like it would make a fine hand necklace.

Seven people in the camp mostly wore only a fur vest on their upper bodies, open at the front. Some wore only shorts on their lower bodies, while others, like farmers, had long pants with ropes tied at the ankles. In short—they had no armor.

Weapon-wise, they mostly had a Velen sword at their waist, or simply a wooden stick wrapped with cloth, with a few nails haphazardly driven into the striking end to make a makeshift mace.

"Sir, there are seven people in the camp. One of them is out of sight, but his footsteps are clearly audible," Mentos warned, knowing Lan was observing as well. But regardless of the main observation results, it had to provide its own observation report as a reference supplement.

"Yes, I noticed," Lan's voice was as calm as his eyes.

"Please note, sir, based on the position of the person out of sight, I estimate there is a 70% chance he is a ranged enemy."

"It doesn't matter, Mentos." Lan began to move.

No sneaking, no sprinting, just like a leisurely walk, gently pushing aside the branches and grass in front of him as he moved forward. The clear sound of drawing a sword was not concealed in this forest. The sound of rustling branches mixed together.

The cannibals quickly became alert. Although not professional soldiers, they were still criminals who made a living by killing, and they had the necessary alertness.

A man with a bulbous nose drew his Velen sword from his waist, bent over in an attacking stance, and walked towards the source of the noise.

"Hey, someone's delivering food to us today!" He said casually, but his defensive sword stance and serious eyes showed he wasn't relaxed.

But as Lan had said, Whether the enemy was serious or lax, it didn't matter to him.

The sound of rustling branches grew louder. A figure in heavy armor slowly emerged from the shade of the trees. Due to the lighting, the first thing visible was a pair of leather boots with steel shin guards. From the dim light, it could be seen that the person's sword was behind his back, and he was drawing it out.

At first glance, the bulbous-nosed man felt a moment of panic. He knew very well the difference between wearing armor and not, and between heavy and light armor. But seeing the number of people and swords, he smiled.

"Ahaha!" The bulbous-nosed man laughed and lunged forward.

His inferior Velen sword swung in a wobbly arc from his side. The sword wasn't aimed at Lan's body but at the air in front of him. This wasn't a sword swing to injure but to block Lan's possible downward slash.

In sword fights, the scene of two swords clashing and pushing against each other was not common. Because swords injure not only by dragging but also by instantaneous impact, cutting into the body like punching. And to deal with a slash, a hand-like block was a better choice. It saved effort and time.

The bulbous-nosed man didn't expect to break through the heavy armor with his sword. He had even decided that no matter if Lan managed to draw his sword and slash down, once close, he would drop the sword and use his body to hug the opponent.

A heavy armor plus a person, this weight would make even a knight into a weakling. An immobilized heavy armor warrior could be stabbed to death with a dagger.

The bulbous-nosed man's companions in the camp quickly understood his intention. Their mouths, hanging with meat and blood, grinned. They each moved a few steps, some preparing to pounce on the heavy armor warrior once the bulbous-nosed man hugged him, adding more weight. Others had already grinned wickedly, drawing wooden clubs and swords, ready to bleed the delivered food.

No one thought there would be an accident. Seven of us against one.

And the opponent couldn't even fully draw his sword, still reaching behind his back. It was unbelievable that someone would carry a sword on their back. No one felt tense. Everyone felt victory was certain.

But accidents always happen at such times.

The bulbous-nosed man finally saw the face of the approaching figure clearly from the shade. The calm, exotic face didn't make him hesitate. He had seen many unfamiliar races; he didn't care. But a dazzling cold light suddenly fell rapidly from the upper edge of his vision. So fast that the bulbous-nosed man thought it was his floaters acting up again.

But the cold sensation told him—something was terribly wrong. Panic and fear surged from the bottom of his heart in an instant. Just like that cold light... in an instant!

"Clang—Pierce!"

First, the clang of steel, the bulbous-nosed man's block indeed intercepted a downward slash. But blocking doesn't necessarily mean stopping it. The Bear School steel sword pressed down on the opponent's sword and slashed through.

The price was just that the sword, expected to vertically split the head, was deflected to the shoulder. Bones cracked. Not broken by the sword, but smashed. The blade sank into the bulbous-nosed man's shoulder flesh as if it were soft mud. Bones and muscles were churned into a mess, and severed blood vessels spurted blood.

Everyone present, those ready to pounce and those already drawing weapons, all froze after that slash.

"Am I dreaming?" A cannibal muttered. His dynamic vision completely missed the process of the sword being drawn. A second ago, the sword was still half in its sheath. The next second, his companion was split from the shoulder, the blade's depth seemingly cutting through several ribs.

"Ah." The bulbous-nosed man seemed startled by the suddenness of it all. His first soft cry was so stunned that it didn't even seem like he was in much pain. But with the second cry...

"Ah!!!"

A scream. As his face rapidly contorted, a bone-chilling scream erupted!

Lan expressionlessly pressed down on the sword, forcing the bulbous-nosed man to his knees before him. Then the young man kicked him in the chest. With a soft "puff" sound. The sword was pulled out, spraying blood like a fountain. The bulbous-nosed man fell to the ground, unable to scream again due to severe blood loss and lung damage.

The witcher, holding his sword, loosened his shoulder that had just delivered the blow.

"Alright, scum." The bright cat-like eyes under the shade of the trees looked at the remaining crowd. "I've drawn my sword. Let's begin."