I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 157 is here, they're here!

On the solid training ground inside the castle, two figures were rapidly passing each other.

when--!

A crisp metallic clang reverberated through the air.

Henry was breathing heavily, sweat streaming down his young and stubborn face, dripping into his eyes and causing a stinging sensation.

But he didn't even dare to blink, gripping the practice sword tightly with both hands, his feet apart, assuming the standard "bull stance".

Opposite him, Zieg held a sword in one hand, his deep blue velvet hunting suit spotless, and his breathing was perfectly steady.

He stood there, the tip of his sword pointing diagonally at the ground, his posture as casual as if he had just attended a court ball rather than engaged in intense combat training.

"Too hasty."

"Don't just focus on the tip of the sword, look at my shoulders, waist, and steps." Zieg flicked his wrist, the blade drawing an elegant arc in the air. "The sword is merely an extension of the arm; intention always precedes action."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

Henry let out a low growl and launched another charge.

This time, he didn't use the brute force he had shown in the previous days.

Just as he was about to get close, he suddenly shifted his stance, and his longsword, which seemed to be about to sweep horizontally from the right, suddenly stopped halfway and turned, the tip of the sword pointing towards Zieg's left rib.

This was a brilliant change of tactics. If it were one of the straightforward guards in Skalitz Castle, they would probably have a sword pointed at their throat by now.

But in Zieg's eyes, the movement was as slow as a rusty gear turning.

Just as Henry's sword tip was about to touch the hem of his clothes, Zieg simply turned slightly to the side, and as if he had foreseen the future, his longsword precisely met Henry's blade.

A slight scraping sound was heard.

Zieg pressed down on his wrist, deflecting Henry's sword tip, and simultaneously took a half-step to the side, avoiding Henry's forward momentum.

Immediately afterwards, he slashed his sword outwards, using the force of Henry's forward charge to make Henry lose his balance.

The next second, the cold spine of the sword gently slapped against Henry's neck.

If it had been the blade instead of the spine that fell, that head, brimming with blood, would already be rolling on the sand.

"How...how did they do that?"

Henry staggered to his feet, his eyes showing no sign of defeat, only an almost obsessive fervor.

Zieg sheathed his sword.

"Use your opponent's strength as your own. Don't try to block it head-on, and don't just think about deflecting it. First, make his sword move away from its intended position, and then make his body lose its balance due to his momentum."

He looked at the panting young man in front of him.

"Rest for fifteen minutes, then practice your footwork. Your lower body isn't strong enough—"

Before he could finish speaking, a series of hurried and chaotic footsteps broke the silence of the training ground.

Hinek and Matos, the two guards who had been assigned by Raddy to protect Sieg, were now running towards them, their faces pale.

"Your Highness! Your Highness!"

Hinek ran so fast that he even stumbled on flat ground, his voice trembling noticeably: "Smoke—smoke! It's over there!"

Even without them saying anything, their terrified expressions, as if the sky had fallen, said it all.

Henry, standing to the side, froze, instinctively gripping his practice sword, and stared blankly to the north.

In contrast, Zieg's reaction seemed rather bland.

He simply straightened his cuffs, then turned and walked steadily toward the stone steps leading to the city wall.

The moment Zieg stood on the battlements, the northern sky had already changed color.

At the edge of the distant hills, a thick, inky column of smoke, like a ferocious venomous dragon, stood out starkly on this clear morning.

This means that the enemy's vanguard is less than the distance of a single forced march from here.

The air seemed to carry the scent of burning, the very essence of war.

"My God—" Henry muttered to himself, his face turning deathly pale in an instant.

As the son of a blacksmith, he had never seen a real war.

At that moment, a tremendous, unknown fear gripped his heart like a cold hand.

The next second, his body's instincts drove him to move.

"I'll go ring the bell!"

Henry shouted and turned to rush toward the main tower.

The repeated drills over the past few days have left a deep impression on him—when he sees the signal, he goes to ring the bell.

"stop."

Henry stopped abruptly, turning to look at Zieg, his eyes filled with anxiety: "But Your Highness, that's a signal of an enemy attack! We must—"

"You don't need to do that this time, Henry. You're not a knight who can turn the tide of battle yet."

Zieg stretched out his hand and pointed in the direction outside the city, where the blacksmith's shop was located.

"Go and bring your parents in. Now, immediately."

These words instantly shattered the chaotic surge of heroism in Henry's mind, bringing him back to reality.

parents!

Father Martin is still in the shop, and Mother is still cooking!

If the enemy comes—

Henry's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat.

He glanced gratefully at Sieg, nodded heavily, and then rushed toward the blacksmith's shop outside the castle.

Watching Henry's departing figure, Zieg turned his gaze away and looked at Hinek and Matos, who were already completely bewildered.

"Shinek, go to the main tower and ring the alarm bell. Remember, keep the rhythm steady, don't let the bell sound like a mournful wail."

"Matosh, go and invite Lord Radji over."

Zig rested his hand lightly on the hilt of the Langrisser sword at his waist, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon billowing with smoke.

Tell him that the guests have arrived.

19

As Radji Kobila strode onto the city wall, his chest heaved violently, not only from running, but also because the huge weight that had been pressing on his heart for so long had finally been lifted to the ground.

"Your Highness————"

Radji's voice was somewhat hoarse: "Are you from Sigismund?"

Actually, there was no need to ask; he already had the answer in his heart.

In this season, no one but Sigismund the Red Fox, who covets the Bohemian throne, and his greedy army would ignite war at such a time.

"Who else but him would be so fascinated by the Skaritz silver mine?"

-

Upon hearing this affirmative answer, Radji's shoulders strangely relaxed.

People are often like this: the process of waiting for punishment is far more agonizing than the moment the punishment is handed down.

When the sword of Damocles that had been hanging over their heads finally fell, fear was replaced by a resolute calm.

"Finally here." Radji let out a long breath. "Let's see if the teeth of Hungarians are as hard as legend says."

Just then—!

when-!

when-!

The alarm bell in the castle's main tower rang out with a deafening roar as Hinek pounded it with all his might.

The sound was rapid and violent, like the roar of a giant, instantly sweeping across the entire valley.

Immediately afterwards, in the direction of the distant mining area, the guards also used the largest iron hammers to frantically strike the thick iron plate that originally only made a sound during the underground disaster.

An astonishing scene unfolded.

A month ago, such an alarm would have been enough to send the entire city of Skarlitz into a frenzy of panic.

People will scream, run around like headless flies, and trample each other in the streets.

But today, there is no chaos.

Zieg looked down at the city below.

Although the crowds on the street were dense, they presented a strange sense of order.

No one pushed or shoved to get to the road—because all the evacuation routes had been practiced repeatedly over the past few days, and they could find their way to the castle gate even with their eyes closed.

In the direction of the mining area, the group of miners who had just crawled out of the ground were panting heavily, but their steps were not disordered at all.

They carried pickaxes, supporting each other, like a black river flowing swiftly and efficiently into the road leading to the castle.

Less than twenty minutes.

The once bustling town is now deserted, with only a few bewildered poultry wandering the streets.

Nearly a thousand citizens and miners have already poured into the outer fortress of Skalitz.

The guards in charge of the resettlement divided the crowd according to the pre-established plan.

As the last elderly man, who was walking with difficulty, was helped through the gate by the guards, the open space outside the drawbridge was deserted.

The atmosphere on the city wall was extremely heavy.

Dozens of archers and spearmen stared intently at the distant horizon, their palms sweating and their breathing heavy, like bellows.

For these rural guards who had only ever fought bandits, the oppressive feeling of facing the regular army was enough to make even the bravest man's legs cramp.

But whenever their gaze swept over the dark blue figure standing at the very front of the battlements, their wildly beating hearts would miraculously calm down a bit.

If even the esteemed Duke isn't panicking, why should we be?

"Your Majesty the Duke."

Raddy glanced at the empty drawbridge and urgently requested instructions: "Everyone—I mean all the civilians—is already inside. We must raise the drawbridge and lower the lattice gates immediately! Once the Hungarian cavalry charges, it will be too late!"

Zieg nodded: "Send spearmen to guard the gate first, and don't raise the drawbridge yet. The scouts are still outside; we can't leave them to the Hungarians."

"Once they cross the bridge, immediately raise the drawbridge and lower the grille gate."

The silent shock fermented in the air, with only the sound of the wind blowing through the banners.

Everyone's eyes involuntarily followed Zig's gaze, fixed intently on the north.

Every second of waiting felt infinitely long, as if someone were cutting through the veins of time with a dull knife, and a suffocating anxiety filled the air.

A rapid, chaotic yet intensely survival-driven clatter of hooves finally shattered the chilling silence, pounding heavily on everyone's eardrums.

At the edge of the field of vision, the previously blurry smoke and dust gradually dissipated, revealing the true face of the runner.

Those were three warhorses whose hooves were almost broken from running. Large clumps of white foam were coming out of their mouths, and their hooves were making a heart-wrenching thud on the ground.

Skalitz, the scout on horseback, crouched low, almost pressed against the horse's mane, his whip falling like a torrential downpour, each lash accompanied by a desperate howl.

"They're our people!"

Matos lay on the battlements, his voice trembling with a hint of surprise.

However, this joy lasted only half a breath before being frozen in his throat by a bone-chilling cold.

Because less than two hundred meters behind the three scouts, more dark figures tore through the dust, like a horde of demons pouring out from a rift in hell.

"And the Cumans—" Matos unconsciously tightened his grip on the spear in his hand.