I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 129 Death is like the wind, always by my side.

Zieg climbed in through the open window.

Hawthorne II was startled when his feet made a very faint rustling sound on the soft carpet.

"Who?!"

Hawthorne II jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instinctively holding the boning knife in his hand to protect his chest.

When he realized that the person standing in front of him was a young man, his fear instantly turned into rage.

"How did you get in? Are all the useless trash outside dead?!" Hawthorne II roared hysterically, his voice shrill and piercing. "Guards! Someone's broken in! Kill him!"

The downstairs area instantly erupted in chaos.

A cacophony of heavy footsteps, the scraping of weapons as they were drawn, and the men's gruff curses mingled together, surging toward the third floor.

"You'll regret this—you reckless bastard!" Hawthorne II, hearing footsteps approaching the stairs, seemed to regain his confidence. He grinned maliciously, "I'll skin you alive and use your skin as—"

Before he could finish speaking, a wooden stick appeared in Sieg's palm and struck Hawthorne II's knee the next second.

Hawthorne II fell face down onto the ground with a thud.

The pain forced his curses back down into his stomach.

"It's noisy."

Zieg said it casually.

boom!

The door was violently kicked open, sending splinters flying.

Two burly men, as big as bears and wearing iron masks and crow's beak masks, rushed in first.

They wore chainmail, wielded gleaming two-handed battle axes, and their eyes were filled with bloodthirsty fanaticism.

"Go to hell!"

The burly man on the left roared, his battle axe whistling through the air as it slammed down towards Sieg's head.

This was a simple, unadorned strike; with the advantage of weight and strength, it was enough to split a wooden shield in two.

However, in Zieg's eyes, the axe blow was as slow as an old man waving a cane.

Without receiving extraordinary enhancement, the maximum value of a single attribute for an ordinary person is 5 points, but Zig's strength, agility, and constitution are all 8 points.

This gap cannot be bridged by quantity alone.

Instead of retreating, Zieg took a step forward.

Clang, Gulisa, is drawn.

A silver streak swept out horizontally.

That wasn't any complicated sword technique; it was just a simple horizontal slash.

But this sword strike was too fast and too sharp.

The burly man at the front didn't even see how Zieg drew his sword.

He felt a sudden lightness in his hand, followed by a dizzying sensation in his vision.

The heavy, finely crafted iron battle axe was smoothly sliced ​​in two in mid-air.

The cut was as smooth as a mirror, as if it had always been two pieces of scrap metal.

Langriza's blade continued its trajectory, following the broken line of the battle axe, lightly slicing across the burly man's neck before cutting into the waist and abdomen of another thug beside him.

In that instant, the world seemed to stand still.

Immediately afterwards, blood gushed out like a fountain.

The first strongman's head flew high into the air, and the headless corpse continued to rush forward due to inertia until it crashed into the wall next to Zig.

The second henchman watched in disbelief as his upper and lower body slowly separated. His expensive chainmail was as fragile as a damp piece of toilet paper in front of Langrisser.

"Aaaaaah!!"

Only after the two corpses fell to the ground did the people behind them let out terrified screams.

But this is only the beginning.

Zig flicked the blood off the blade—the sword, which possessed the property of "never wearing out," remained as bright as new.

"Kill him! He's all alone!"

The people behind pushed and shoved the people in front, and more desperados poured into the room.

Just as a thug attempting a sneak attack raised his longsword, Zig flicked his wrist, and Langrisser's sword tip pierced his throat.

Another elite guard in plate armor tried to grab him, but Zieg swung his sword and cleaved a deep, bone-revealing wound through him and his armor.

Limbs were torn apart, and blood stained the originally deep red carpet blackish-brown.

The narrow doorway became the entrance to the meat grinder.

Zieg coldly swung his sword, parried, and slashed, his eyes showing no emotion whatsoever.

To him, these were just humans holding pieces of iron.

"Monster!"

I don't know who uttered that word first.

In just half a minute, more than a dozen corpses had been piled up in the room.

The pungent smell of blood was nauseating, and the once-aggressive desperados finally felt a chill run down their spines.

As they looked at the black-haired youth standing amidst the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood, fear finally overwhelmed their greed and cruelty.

The weapons in their hands trembled, and some people began to unconsciously retreat.

"How is this possible—it can even cut through armor—"

"He's a sorcerer! He used magic!"

Zig took a step forward, his boots making a sticky sound as they stepped into the pool of blood.

This single action terrified the seven or eight burly men who had retreated from the room to the corridor outside, causing them to scramble backwards. Some even tumbled down the stairs in their panic.

Sieg's Langrisser hung at his side, its tip pointing to the ground.

"If you don't want to die," his voice cut through the cacophony of screams, "get out."

The remaining dozen or so desperate men, as if granted a pardon, fled downstairs in disarray, abandoning their armor and weapons.

They pushed and trampled their companions, fearing that the god of death would change his mind.

In the blink of an eye, the once bustling mansion became deathly silent.

Only the night wind blowing in through the open window was howling.

Zig turned around and looked at the corner of the room.

Hawthorne II collapsed to the ground.

The arrogance from before had vanished, replaced by extreme fear.

His crotch was soaked, and the smell of urine mixed with the stench of blood was nauseating.

He witnessed his elite men, whom he had hired at great expense, fall like wheat before this young man.

That wasn't a battle; it was a one-sided execution.

"No—don't kill me—" Hawthorne II trembled as he moved backward until his back was pressed against the wall. "Do you want money? I have money! I have crowns! I'll give you everything!"

Zig ignored his pleas for mercy, and simply walked to the window, rhythmically opening and closing it three times against the night sky.

A moment later, a small figure nimbly climbed up the vines on the wall and vaulted through the window.

Dudu Bieberwitt stumbled when he landed.

When he saw the corpses and severed limbs scattered all over the ground, a scene that resembled hell, his face turned deathly pale, and he almost vomited.

"Goddess Meritelli—" Dudu covered her mouth, looking at Zieg in horror, "This—this is too—"

"You'll get used to it." Zig casually pulled out a piece of linen and wiped the blood and grease off the sword.

He walked up to Hawthorne II and looked down at this good-for-nothing.

"Did you see that clearly?" Zig pointed at Hawthorne on the ground and said to Dudu, "Remember what he looks like, even in this state of excrement and urine."

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