I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 158 The Cumans

They were a group of foreign cavalrymen who could stop a child from crying at night.

Even from this distance, the guards on the city wall could still feel the overwhelming stench of blood and barbarity.

Instead of wearing the chainmail or cloaks common in Bohemia, they were clad in lamellar armor with an oriental flair, the plates reflecting a cold, fish-scale-like sheen in the sunlight.

What was most terrifying was their faces—every Cuman cavalryman wore the iconic pointed helmet with a metal mask.

They were expressionless, artificial faces forged from pig iron. Behind their dark eye sockets gleamed bloodthirsty eyes, like those of wild beasts.

More than twenty riders.

Instead of rushing forward, they followed the scouts at a leisurely pace, like a pack of wolves hunting a wounded antelope, emitting strange and sharp whistles.

That cat-and-mouse-like composure is more suffocating than direct killing.

"Damn it! The scouts are in their firing range!"

Radji punched the stone wall.

As if to confirm his words, a burly rider in Kuman's group suddenly straightened up.

He doesn't need to stop the horse, or even slow down.

This nomadic warrior, who grew up on horseback, gripped the horse's belly tightly with his legs, yet his upper body remained as steady as a rock.

He drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and nocked it on the recurve bow.

collapse-!

The sound of the bowstring vibrating was masked by the sound of horses' hooves, but in that instant, the breath of death had already touched the back of the prey's neck.

The arrow traced an almost straight, deadly trajectory through the air.

puff.

A dull thud that made your teeth ache.

The young scout running at the very back shuddered.

The arrow pierced his spine with pinpoint accuracy, its immense kinetic energy tearing through his leather armor and penetrating his lungs.

The young scout let out a short, painful scream, and his hands limply loosened their grip on the reins.

In such a high-speed rush, the cost of losing balance is devastating.

His body flew off the saddle like a discarded rag doll, crashing heavily onto the hard, barren ground.

The immense inertia caused him to tumble over a dozen times on the gravel-strewn ground, kicking up a cloud of dust mixed with blood.

The warhorse, having lost its master, let out a mournful neigh, but dared not stop, continuing to gallop wildly towards the castle with its companions.

"No!!!"

On the city wall, one of the guards let out a heart-wrenching cry of despair.

Perhaps the instinct for survival was too strong, because the young scout who fell from his horse did not die immediately.

He struggled in the dust, his face covered in blood, his hands gripping the grass roots desperately, trying to support his already broken body.

He raised his head, his eyes, blurred with blood, looking ahead.

The castle of Skarlitz is in sight.

As long as you run into town—

As long as you run across that bridge—

That's home.

That was the way out.

However, a rapid and heavy thud of hooves mercilessly crushed his last hope.

A Cuman cavalryman had caught up to his side.

He watched the Skalitz man trying to get up, a muffled, thunderous laugh emanating from beneath the cold metal mask.

He didn't slow down, nor did he even glance at the dying prey.

With a flick of his wrist, the gleaming saber, propelled by the speed of the charging warhorse, traced a crescent moon in the air.

The blade flashed like water, yet it was colder than ice.

The scout's head, which had just been raised, froze in that instant.

The longing, fear, and attachment to life in his eyes were all frozen in that moment.

next moment.

The young head flew high into the air, tumbling and spilling a torrent of hot blood, like a tragically beautiful red flower in full bloom.

The air on the city wall seemed to freeze completely after that one strike.

The headless body slid forward several meters due to inertia, leaving a shocking trail of blood on the dry ground, before finally coming to a standstill like a piece of dead wood.

The flying head crashed heavily to the ground, rolled several times, and its eyes, which never closed until its death, were facing the city wall, as if pleading.

"You bastard!"

Radji, an old-fashioned nobleman who had experienced countless battles, looked extremely grim.

It wasn't fear, but a kind of rage that came from watching helplessly as his men were slaughtered.

But he couldn't afford to lose his composure; he was Skaritz's backbone, and if he did, the remaining two scouts would be doomed.

"Archers, once those Cumans are within range, unleash a barrage of fire!"

The archers on the city wall frantically drew arrows from their quivers, their fingers trembling with tension.

The guards beside the winch stared intently at the two surviving scouts who were still frantically galloping away on their horses, their palms sweating profusely.

At this suffocatingly tense moment, the first beat of the gunfire rang out!

A sudden, heavy thud of hooves sounded from below.

That wasn't the light, chaotic hoofbeats of Cuman ponies in the distance, but rather the deep, resonant roar of warhorses pounding on the stone slabs, like the sound of war drums.

The sound didn't come from outside the city, but from inside the city gate!

"What's going on? Who's running around at this hour?"

Radji let out a low growl of shock and anger, instinctively reaching for Sieg beside him, wanting to explain the sudden chaos to the duke.

However, when he turned around, the spot was empty.

The figure who had been standing beside him, dressed in a dark blue velvet hunting suit with a calm expression, had disappeared without him noticing.

An absurd premonition struck Radji's heart instantly.

He lunged at the battlements, leaning half his body out to look down.

Above the drawbridge, a deep blue streak of light shot out like an arrow, bursting out of the castle's protective perimeter.

That's Zig.

"Is he insane?!"

Radji felt like his scalp was about to explode, and the blood in his body seemed to stop flowing for a moment before rushing wildly to his head.

That's Duke Görlitz! He's of royal blood!

What kind of noble commander would charge a whole cavalry unit by himself for the sake of two common soldiers?

But looking at that resolute figure, at that single bright spot on the gray battlefield, Radji's heart clenched violently.

He was deeply shocked.

In that instant, strategy, rationality, and class were all thrown to the back of one's mind.

He only knew one thing—if the Duke died at Skarlitz's doorstep, Raddy would never be able to hold his head high again!

"Quickly! Prepare the horses!!"

Radji turned around and let out a heart-wrenching roar at the servants behind him.

The battlefield at this moment was like a boiling pot of oil.

Ahead were two Skaritz scouts, pushing their horses to their last reserves of strength in order to survive, while behind them were more than twenty Cuman riders brandishing sabers and emitting strange howls.

The overwhelming stench of blood, mixed with the dust kicked up by horses' hooves, was enough to suffocate anyone unaccustomed to battle.

But Zieg, facing the storm head-on, seemed out of place.

He took a heavy, armor-piercing arrow from his quiver, nocked it on Shahbaz's bow, and slowly drew it back.

The bow arm was bent to its limit, containing terrifying kinetic energy capable of piercing through heavy armor.

And ahead of the sharp arrow, a Cuman cavalryman at the forefront was raising his saber, grinning as he approached the last scout.

He could even see the hairs on the back of the Bohemian scout's neck, standing on end in fear.

"Die!"

The thought had just crossed the minds of the Cumans.

call out!

A piercing scream tore through the clamor of the battlefield.

The moment the sound reached them, death was imminent.

The Cuman cavalryman only saw a black line flash before his eyes, and then the world was plunged into eternal darkness in an instant.

That was a blow that was a foregone conclusion.

The arrow, carrying immense kinetic energy, pierced through the eye slits of the metal mask in an instant, hammering into the skull like a steel nail, and then exiting from the back of the head, accompanied by red and white fluid.

The burly figure on the horse suddenly stiffened, and before he could even scream, he fell straight backward like a heavy sack of potatoes.

The warhorse, startled by the loss of its master, neighed and dragged the still convulsing corpse a long way.

First.

Zieg's heart was not stirred at all.

He fired an arrow without even glancing at the enemy who had fallen from his horse.

It could even be said that the moment the arrow left the bowstring, the Cuman was already dead in his eyes.

This is like a skilled carpenter hammering a nail; he knows where the nail will go as soon as the hammer falls.

This is not arrogance, but a certainty based on absolute strength.

He reached for his quiver with his right hand.

Draw the arrow, nock the string, and pull the bow.

collapse--!

Another heart-stopping twang of a string.

call out-!

The second heavy arrow transformed into a deadly streak of light, precisely piercing the eye socket of another Cuman cavalryman who was following closely behind.

This time, the arrow pierced directly through the eyeball and penetrated deep into the brain.

The barbarian who was still brandishing his scimitar and shouting suddenly stopped, his voice cut off like a duck's neck being snapped. His body went limp and slid off his horse, instantly trampled into a bloody pulp by the dense hooves of his companions behind him.

"That is—"

The two Skaritz scouts, who had already closed their eyes in despair and prepared to face death, heard a dull thud as something heavy fell to the ground behind them.

They instinctively turned around.

The expected cold blade did not fall. Instead, what came into view were the two once arrogant pursuers, now twisted corpses on the ground.

And further ahead.

The duke, who was usually aloof and should have been hiding in the deepest part of the castle, was riding towards them.