I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 159 Hexa Kill!

"Duke——Your Highness?"

One of the scouts stared incredulously, his lips trembling violently.

He never dreamed that in this seemingly hopeless situation, the one who would save them was not an angel from God, but the incomparably noble Duke of Görlitz!

Moreover, it was done in such a way that it was like a god of war descending to earth.

The ecstatic joy of escaping a desperate situation, mixed with an instinctive worship of the strong, instantly overwhelmed their reason.

"Nemes (noble)?"

The lead officer, Cuman, tightened the reins sharply, but his well-trained warhorse continued to charge forward due to inertia.

The eyes behind the mask were fixed on the dark blue figure in the distance, the pupils contracting sharply.

As elite cavalrymen under Sigismundmo, they moved through Bohemia as if it were their own territory.

The knights of this land are mostly as clumsy as tortoises, while the infantry are as weak as sheep.

Faced with the Cumans' mounted archery tactics, these so-called civilized people could only wail in despair.

But today, the hunter has become the hunted.

Two hundred meters.

This is the distance at which the Cuman compound bow can only be launched by luck; accuracy and power are largely reduced by the wind and distance.

But the nobleman, dressed in velvet hunting attire and not even wearing armor, shot and killed their two bravest warriors with two arrows from that distance, on the back of a horse that was bouncing at high speed.

That level of precision wasn't just archery; it was witchcraft.

"Élve fogjátok meg (caught alive)!"

The sergeant's greed instantly overwhelmed his fear.

He brandished his saber, his unique, foreign language howling in the wind with a savage fervor: "Ajándék Zsigmond királynak (A gift for King Sigismund)!"

A prisoner with such archery skills and such luxurious clothing would definitely be a valuable gift that could be exchanged for a large fiefdom and countless gold and silver.

"Elöre!"

The remaining eighteen Cuman cavalrymen, like a swarm of sharks that have smelled blood, instantly snapped out of their shock.

They let out piercing screams, squeezed their legs hard against their horses' bellies, and the charging formation, which had slowed down slightly, accelerated again.

Meanwhile, in an attempt to distract the fearsome archer, all the Cumans took up their bows.

Beng bang bang bang—!

A series of chaotic bowstring twanged.

Dozens of arrows soared into the air, tracing parabolic arcs like a black rainstorm, enveloping Sieg.

This is a common tactic used by the Cumans—suppressive fire.

They didn't expect to pierce the nobleman's body at this distance; as long as they could instill fear in him, forcing him to cower on his horse for cover, even if it was just enough to make his bow hand tremble, their objective would be achieved.

Once they rush within 100 meters—once they reach 10 meters—that's their slaughterhouse!

However, faced with the whistling arrows, Sieg did not duck, did not dodge, and did not even blink.

Seize it! Seize it!

Several exhausted arrows whizzed past him, landing limply in the ground in front of his horse's hooves, their fletchings still trembling weakly.

The closest one even flew past, brushing against his flowing cloak.

Zieg didn't even glance at the arrows.

In his eyes, the physical rules of this world were as clear as an unfolded blueprint.

Wind speed, distance, the enemy's power limit—all these data instantly constructed an absolute safe zone in his mind.

His hand rested on the bowstring once more.

At this moment, the two sides charged in opposite directions.

The 200-meter distance is rapidly shrinking at a rate of nearly 30 meters per second.

For Cuman horse archers, two hundred meters was only enough for harassment with volleys; but once the distance was reduced to within eighty meters, their arrows were no longer just a threat, but a real threat.

Zieg had only four seconds left to make a safe move.

Four seconds is perhaps only enough time for an ordinary archer to frantically fire an arrow and then pray for God's blessing.

But for Sieg, who has 8 points in Agility and 8 points in Strength, those four seconds were stretched out indefinitely.

That was a long enough time for him to finish playing this prelude to death.

The third string snapped, its sound crisp and clear, like a broken string.

The moment Zieg loosened his grip, the third heavy arrow had already transformed into a streak of light that was almost invisible to the naked eye.

Before the enemy could even react, a Cuman cavalryman on the far left, who was drawing his bow and aiming an arrow, suddenly had a burst of blood erupt from his chest.

The arrow easily tore through his armor, and the immense impact sent him flying backward, tumbling off his horse and dropping his bow from his hand.

Triple kill.

Zieg's hand, like a tireless machine, drew a fourth arrow from his quiver.

His movements were completely unhurried; the fluidity of his movements gave one the illusion that he was drawing a bow in slow motion.

But in reality, it's incredibly fast.

collapse-!

Fourth tone.

The arrow seemed to have eyes, and it slipped into the gap in the shield of another cavalryman who was trying to protect his body with his own shield.

The cavalryman felt a chill on his neck.

He lowered his head blankly, a blood-stained arrow dangling slightly in his throat.

Quadra kill.

At this moment, the distance between the two sides had been rapidly compressed to 140 meters.

The Cumans' arrow rain became denser and more powerful.

But this did not affect the man's stability on horseback in the slightest.

His heartbeat was steady and strong, and his breathing was long and deep.

That composure, remaining unmoved even when Mount Tai collapses before him, puts even greater psychological pressure on the enemy.

collapse--!

Fifth tone.

This was a precise roll call.

The adjutant of the Kuman squad leader, who had been loudly directing from the rear and trying to reorganize the formation, had just opened his mouth to roar when an arrow accurately pierced his throat, forever silencing the command that had not yet been uttered.

Pentakill.

In that instant, this wilderness, which originally belonged to the Cumans and allowed them to roam freely, seemed to have become Zieg's shooting range all by himself.

Each twang of the bowstring is like the tolling of a death knell, inevitably taking a life.

The distance has approached one hundred meters.

This is the critical point between life and death.

The Cumans could already see the silver buttons on Zieg's dark blue hunting suit and his calm, unsettling eyes.

If they get just a little closer—even just a little bit—their powerful bows will be able to unleash their true destructive power!

However, Zieg's hand reached behind him again.

That was the last arrow in those four seconds.

No aiming is needed.

This is an instinct ingrained in one's very bones, an absolute control that has been refined through countless battles.

collapse--!

The sixth string twang brought this one-sided, remote massacre to a perfect end.