I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 151 I wave my sleeves, leaving not a single cloud behind.

Just then—

Squeak.

The door opened.

Istvan turned around abruptly, his expression instantly shifting from smugness to wariness.

He instinctively reached for the sword at his waist, but then released his hand.

In this castle, the only person who would dare to push open the door without prior notice is its owner, Radji Kobila.

Although that guy was stupid, he was still a burgler and had this privilege.

Moreover, if you appear too nervous, it might arouse suspicion.

Istvan quickly adjusted his facial expression, donned his usual gentle mask with a hint of a smile, and turned to face the door.

But what he saw was not Radji.

Standing at the door was a young man.

Duke of Görlitz.

Istvan's pupils contracted slightly, but he regained control of his expression almost instantly, and a look of surprise and respect returned to his face.

"Your Highness the Duke?"

He bowed slightly, his tone tinged with confusion, as if he were somewhat bewildered by the distinguished guest's late-night visit.

"It's late at night. I didn't expect Your Highness to come in person."

"If there is anything important, you only need to send a message through your servant, and I should go to see you in person."

Zieg did not answer him.

The young duke simply stood quietly at the doorway, as if admiring a piece of exquisite porcelain about to be shattered, and looked Istvan up and down.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became somewhat eerie.

Istvan keenly sensed something was amiss, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the source of that unease.

There was clearly no hostility on the young duke's face.

But why—is my heart suddenly beating faster?

Was the fireplace burning too brightly? Istvan felt beads of sweat sliding down his back.

"Your Highness?"

He spoke tentatively, his mind racing as he tried to guess the duke's purpose for visiting so late at night.

Just as Istvan was still speculating, Zieg raised his right hand slightly and opened his palm.

Istvan instinctively looked at the hand, his pupils suddenly contracting to their maximum size.

A sword appeared out of thin air.

As countless specks of light coalesced, the long, sharp blade silently appeared in Sieg's palm.

The sword's blade was as smooth as a mirror, gleaming with a pure silver light in the fireplace glow. It was so beautiful that it didn't look like a weapon, but rather like some kind of sacred scepter.

"this----!"

Istvan's face turned deathly pale in an instant.

He finally understood where that sense of unease came from—from the moment he stepped through that door, the Duke had shown no intention of treating him as an ally.

That look in his eyes—

It is a kind of indifference, like a god looking down on ants.

He was seen through.

The thought struck Istvan like a bolt of lightning.

His body reacts faster than his brain.

His survival instinct kicked in, causing him to stagger back three steps at the last second. His right hand swiftly drew the slender sword from his waist, and simultaneously, his mouth gaped open, a piercing cry for help about to burst from his throat—

"Come----"

But before he could utter the word "person," Istvan's voice abruptly stopped.

Because he saw a silver light.

It was a silver streak shot from Zig's hand, faster than the limits of human reaction, so fast that it even left a blurry afterimage in the air.

The light was reflected in Istvan's pupils, and then—

puff.

A slight muffled thud.

It felt as if something had been pierced through.

Istvan lowered his head, staring incredulously at his chest.

The longsword that appeared out of nowhere was now deeply embedded in his heart.

The blade was mostly embedded in the wall, with only the hilt and a small section of the blade still protruding, reflecting a cold light in the fireplace.

He didn't even feel pain immediately.

The overwhelming impact caused the body to temporarily lose its ability to judge, leaving only a cold and absurd sense of bewilderment.

István is in this state at this moment.

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

Blood gushed from the wound, dripping down the blade onto the floor with a soft, rhythmic dripping sound.

Zieg looked at Istvan's gradually unfocused eyes, watching the light of life fade away little by little from those eyes that were once full of scheming and plotting, and a sigh appeared in his eyes as if he were watching a tragedy come to an end.

"Your Excellency István."

Zig's voice echoed in the silent room, as if he were saying a final goodbye.

"Please go ahead—when I send Sigismund to join you in the future, I will remember to give him my regards."

Istvan's lips moved, as if he wanted to say something.

But only a muffled gurgling sound came from his throat, the sound of blood rushing back into his trachea.

His knees buckled first, and then he fell straight backward like a felled log.

thump.

His body fell onto the edge of the thick carpet with only a dull thud.

Istvan's eyes were still open, but his pupils had begun to dilate.

That face, which had once been able to deceive everyone with ease, was now twisted into an expression of disbelief, as if it had never understood how it had been seen through until the moment of its death.

A deathly silence returned to the room.

The fire in the fireplace was still crackling, and the smell of burning firewood mixed with the stench of fresh blood filled the air.

Zig stepped forward and glanced down at the corpse on the ground.

Istvan's face still bore the last expression of pure, utter confusion and resentment.

He died without understanding at which point his meticulously prepared perfect disguise went wrong.

Zieg had no intention of explaining anything to a corpse.

He gripped Langurisa's sword hilt and pulled hard.

puff.

The moment the blade was withdrawn, a spurt of warm blood gushed out, quickly spreading into a dark red puddle on the floor.

Zieg straightened up and gracefully wiped Langulisa clean off Istvan's expensive coat.

There was no blood left on the blade.

Zig put Langrisser back into the Book of Adventures, took one last look at the corpse on the ground, and sighed softly.

"What a pity. Actually, I also thought about keeping you around to see if I could get more information about Sigismund out of you."

But you're such a capable dog, we can't keep you."

The corpse, of course, did not answer him.

Zig turned and walked toward the door.

His footsteps were so light they were almost inaudible, like a shadow sweeping across the night sky.

The corridor outside the door remained deserted, and the guards on night duty continued their patrols along their fixed routes, completely unaware that a silent death had just occurred inside the castle.

Zig closed the door and left along the way he had come.

In the guest room behind them, István Toth's body lay silently in a pool of blood.