I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 170 Halftime

The clamor, like the receding tide, slowly faded from the walls of Skalitz as the defeated armies, abandoning their armor and weapons, disappeared into the distance.

After the last heavy infantryman disappeared into the distant folds of the hills, a suffocating silence remained on the city wall for a moment.

Immediately afterwards, someone threw away the shield, which was already soaked with sweat, with a crisp clang.

"We won—we won!!"

"Long live His Highness the Duke!!"

The cheers erupted like a volcano that had been suppressed for a long time, instantly piercing the sky.

Those guards and militiamen, their faces covered in blood, who had just escaped from the Grim Reaper's scythe, were either embracing each other wildly or kneeling on the ground, wailing and crying, expressing their ecstatic joy at surviving the ordeal.

They brandished their weapons and roared in the hoarseest voices, their voices so loud they seemed to shatter all the fear of the past few days.

But soon, this chaotic cheering gradually converged into a common focus.

Hundreds of eyes turned to the dark blue figure standing on the edge of the battlements.

The sunlight shone on Zieg's exquisite and luxurious velvet hunting suit, giving him a sacred golden edge.

On this desolate city wall, filled with smoke, blood, and corpses, his spotless cleanliness seemed so out of place, yet so captivating.

The way the soldiers looked at him changed.

It's no longer the initial awe of royal status, nor the simple fear of the strong.

It was a kind of almost fanatical worship, even bordering on religious.

In their eyes, the figure who had just casually unleashed a devastating golden light and caused the collapse of an army of three thousand with a laugh was no longer a mortal, but a saint sent by God to save Skaritz, a miracle walking among men.

"Your Highness————"

Radji strode over.

Even this usually calm and experienced man could not hide the excitement on his face at this moment.

His helmet was nowhere to be found, his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his resolute face was flushed with a kind of extreme excitement.

"A miracle—this is simply a miracle!"

Radji's voice trembled slightly with excitement as he looked at Zieg, his eyes filled with indescribable gratitude and awe.

"I've fought a lifetime of battles, and I've never seen a victory like today! Three thousand men—a whole army of three thousand—have been terrified by you!"

He took a deep breath, turned to the equally excited soldiers around him, and shouted, "Pass down the order! Open the wine cellar! Bring out all the good wine! Have the kitchen bring out all the salted meat, sausages, bread, and cheese, and slaughter a few fat pigs!"

Radji looked at Zieg again, his eyes gleaming with fervent light: "Your Highness, we must celebrate tonight! For this great victory, and for your legendary bravery worthy of being recorded in history, Skaritz will host the grandest celebration banquet in your honor!"

The guards around him lit up their eyes when they heard about "wine" and "meat," and their cheers seemed about to reach another climax.

However, Zieg simply raised his hand.

The moment he raised his hand, the surrounding fanatical soldiers seemed to be summoned by some invisible force. Their clamorous cheers subsided in the blink of an eye, and everyone held their breath, awaiting his divine decree.

"The celebration will probably have to wait a while, Lord Radji."

Zieg's voice was steady and mellow, like a bottomless lake, instantly extinguishing the feverish excitement in Radji's heart caused by victory.

"Treat our wounded first," he said.

"Gather the wounded who can still move in the lord's hall. Those who cannot move, carry them there using door panels and shields. Summon everyone who can bandage, suture wounds, and boil water."

At this point, he looked at Radji.

"Also, send a few more people to my room and move those wooden crates that are against the wall out."

"Inside are medicines I prepared in advance: chamomile medicine, water of life, fever reducer, pain reliever, and calendula medicine."

"Hytar, tell them which medicine to use in what situation."

Haitar immediately bowed his head in respect.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Radji also fully regained consciousness at this moment.

He didn't mention the wine cellar or the pork again, but instead issued a series of orders to the guards behind him in a stern voice.

The guards and militiamen, who had just been immersed in the euphoria of victory, also began to move again.

The doors to the lord's hall were pushed open.

A long table was moved to the wall, and hay and old blankets were spread on the floor. Basins of hot water were brought in from the kitchen, and the smells of blood, sweat and herbs mingled together.

Haitar left in a hurry with a few guards, and soon returned carrying a wooden box.

After the wooden box was opened, rows of glass bottles and ceramic vases appeared before everyone's eyes.

Chamomile preparations, water of life, antipyretics, analgesics, calendula preparations.

Only after the seriously wounded were carried into the lord's hall and received orderly treatment did Radji's extremely tense expression finally ease somewhat.

As dusk fell, he handed over the affairs of the hall to the castle steward and returned to the city wall.

Zig stood by the battlements, looking into the distance.

"Your Highness, what are you looking at?"

"Smoke from cooking fires."

"Smoke?"

Radji squinted and looked in the direction Zig was looking.

The sky was much darker now than when the battle had begun. The shadows of the distant trees were stretched long, shrouded in a dim, yellowish light.

About three kilometers from Skaritz, thin plumes of smoke rose. The defeated army did not continue their retreat; they stopped there and began to build fires and set up camp.

Radji's face darkened.

Three kilometers.

"For an army that truly wants to withdraw to Kutenberg, this distance is too short. They haven't even left our sight."

Zig turned his head and looked at Radji, whose expression was grim, but there was no hint of tension in his tone. It was as if he was chatting with an old friend about the progress of a chess game.

"Sigismund was a proud man and a gambler. Although he was terrified, he was unwilling to give up."

"He's observing."

"He's betting that the powerful weapons we have might only last two rounds; he's betting that we're already at our limit. This three-kilometer distance is both his safety line and the distance he's ready to counterattack at any time."

"If we really get completely drunk tonight—tomorrow morning, his horse's hooves will once again shatter the peace here."

Radji felt a wave of fear wash over him.

Yes, if it were a real rout, the enemy would have already run ten kilometers or even further. How could they dare to set up camp so close by?

"Then—what should we do?"

Radji gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his brow furrowed.

"don’t worry."

Zieg interrupted his worries.

He gazed at the campfires gradually merging into one in the distance, his deep black eyes reflecting the flickering flames, yet remaining calm and serene.

"Since the guests neither want to come in and sit down, nor are they willing to leave—"

Zieg calmly adjusted his cuffs, his tone as gentle as if he were offering to trim a neighbor's overgrown branch: "Then I'll make the decision for them."