I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 164 Military Discussion

The afternoon sun hung high, relentlessly baking the open fields outside the city of Skalitz.

The air was thick with a suffocating heat, as if the world would burst into flames at the slightest spark.

The army that had been aggressively approaching the city walls just moments before had now retreated like a tide to a distance of two miles.

The once orderly infantry formation appeared somewhat loose, with soldiers whispering amongst themselves, their eyes occasionally drifting towards the distant castle.

At the very back of the army formation, a huge golden-red canopy was temporarily erected.

Four sturdy copper-clad wooden pillars support the heavy velvet ceiling, on which the Luxembourg red lion and Hungarian red and white stripes embroidered intertwine in the wind.

This was Sigismund's usual pomp and circumstance—even in the wilderness, even at a temporary stop, he had to sit at the highest point, overlooking his army.

But at this moment, the Hungarian king, known as the "Red Fox," was on the verge of exploding in rage.

Clang!

A fine silver wine glass was smashed to the ground, and bright red wine splattered on the expensive carpet like a pool of glaring blood.

"A bunch of useless trash! They're all complete trash!"

Sigismund's once handsome and arrogant face was now contorted with rage.

He paced back and forth, his eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light.

"Three thousand men! I have a full three thousand soldiers!"

He stopped and pointed to the lone, unassembled catapult components, beams, and counterweight boxes abandoned outside the town in the distance, his voice sharp and distorted.

"They actually retreated like a bunch of startled rabbits after just a few arrows—a few damned arrows!!"

"You've completely disgraced me!"

The surrounding servants were so frightened that they dared not breathe, wishing they could bury their heads in their chests.

Just then, a heavy clanging sound of armor clashing rang out.

Markoval von Olitz strode into the shadows of the canopy.

This bald-headed, sinister-looking German knight was Sigismund's most capable lieutenant.

He glanced at the deformed wine glass on the ground, showing no sign of panic, and simply bowed slightly.

"Your Majesty, please hold back your wrath for now."

"That last round of firing was indeed strange. At a distance of 400 meters, every shot hit its mark, and the aim was specifically for important targets. It's understandable that the morale of the forward ranks collapsed."

"Understand? How am I supposed to understand?" Sigismund whirled around, staring intently at him. "Are you trying to tell me that some backwater like Skarlitz harbors a whole squad of witchcraft-enhanced archers?"

"No, based on observation, there is only one archer."

Oritz calmly corrected, "Or rather, only that one person possesses this kind of long-range lethality."

Hearing the word "alone" only fueled Sigismund's rage. He laughed bitterly, a cruel smile curving his lips: "Very well, very well."

"In the name of God—this is truly an absurd farce."

"Consider this: I, the holder of the Crown of St. Stephen (referring to the Hungarian throne), a descendant of Charlemagne. I have fought against pagan sultans and personally imprisoned that cowardly Bohemian king—"

"And now, I'm being kept out of a filthy mine by a lowly ant?"

Olitz stepped forward, a cunning glint in his eyes.

"Your Majesty, since it's such a tough nut to crack, why should we break our own teeth?"

"Radikobila is from Václav, but he's also a shrewd nobleman who knows how to calculate gains and losses. As long as we give him..."

If he has a way out that allows him to maintain his dignity, he might not be willing to fight us to the death for this mining town.

Olitz turned around and pointed towards the walls of Skarlitz: "Instead of filling that bottomless pit with the lives of my soldiers, let me go down to the city and talk to him. As long as we promise to spare the civilians in the city and give Raddy a 'decent' way out—"

"Allow him to leave with his confidants, or pardon his resistance in the name of His Majesty the King. Perhaps without bloodshed, he will obediently open the city gates and hand over the castle."

"negotiation?"

Sigismund narrowed his eyes, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of the proposal.

For a shrewd politician, a problem that can be solved with words is indeed not worth resorting to knives.

However, before he could speak, a rude, barbaric voice with a heavy foreign accent suddenly interrupted.

"fart!"

A burly Cuman chieftain with a thick neck strode over. He didn't bow like a civilized person, but instead casually placed his hand on the scimitar at his waist, and his eyes behind the metal mask revealed a bloodthirsty fanaticism.

"What's there to judge? Do you think our Cuman warriors' sabers are for cutting bread?"

Chief Cuman glanced disdainfully at Olitz, then looked at Sigismund and shouted, "Your Majesty! That bald German is terrified! What archer? I saw it clearly, only that one bow was ringing on the wall!"

He stretched out his large hand and gestured fiercely in the air: "One person, one bow, how much strength can he have? How many arrows can he carry? Even if he could kill one person with every arrow, it would only take us a blink of an eye to reach the city walls!"

The Kuman chieftain's eyes gleamed with a ferocious light, the excitement of a wild beast smelling blood: "We don't need any catapults! They'll only slow us down! I suggest we just have the infantry carry ladders and charge up! Attack simultaneously from every direction that can get close to the walls!"

"Isn't he supposed to be a good shooter? I'd like to see which side he can cover with those two hands."

At this point, the Cuman chieftain patted his chest and grinned maliciously, "Besides, my men aren't pushovers either! Although we can't shoot 400 meters, as long as the attacking force advances to within 100 meters, our 1,000 Cuman bows will be able to pin down the city walls! Then, a hail of arrows will turn them into pincushions!"

On one hand, there's the effortless but verbally demanding negotiation.

On one hand, there is a victory achieved through simple, brutal methods, at the cost of human lives.

Sigismund's gaze lingered for a moment between Olitz and the Cuman leader.

Finally, he looked at the castle in the distance that had caused him such humiliation.

The humiliation from those arrows felt like a poisonous thorn stuck in his heart, making him unable to endure anything in return.

compromise".

He was a king, a conqueror.

If he has to negotiate to take down even a small Skaritz, how can he maintain his rule over the whole of Bohemia?

Sigismund took a deep breath.

He turned around, his back to Olitz, and looked at the Kuman chieftain whose eyes were filled with longing.

I don't like waiting for people.

Sigismund's voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable, bloodthirsty edge: "Do as you say."