I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 172 Let's Go

Disposing of these bodies requires little effort.

Zieg slowly raised his hand, his palm facing the five patrol corpses and the two archer corpses on the ground, and made a loose grasp.

The corpses, along with the weapons on the ground and the fallen torches, all turned into silvery dust and entered his palm.

The area below the watchtower, which had been in complete disarray, was restored to cleanliness in the blink of an eye, as if the patrol team had never existed, leaving only the whistling sound of the night wind blowing through the grass.

Zieg casually straightened his cuffs.

After doing all this, he looked up and fixed his gaze on the simple observation tower above.

Lightly touch the ground with your toes.

While the afterglow of "Swift Step" had not yet dissipated, he used the wooden frame of the observation deck as leverage to leap into the air, landing silently on the observation deck like an elegant night owl.

The view here is excellent.

Standing on high ground, the entire layout of Sigismund's army camp was laid out before one's eyes.

Zig narrowed his eyes, his gaze passing through the crisscrossing campfires, quickly constructing a three-dimensional plan in his mind.

Just as he had expected, this was not a monolithic army.

The campsites were laid out in a clear and distinct manner, even conveying a sense of mutual wariness.

The most central area of ​​the camp, between the Chinese and English sections, consisted of neat, square tents surrounded by Hungarian and Lords' Alliance flags. It was heavily patrolled and was clearly where the nobles of Sigismund and the Lords' Alliance were stationed.

On the westernmost side of the camp, in a low-lying area near the edge of the woods, the scene is completely different.

There were hundreds of domed felt tents of varying sizes scattered haphazardly there, along with many bonfires.

Beside the burning fire, you can vaguely see people roasting a whole lamb. Even from a distance, you can hear the rude sounds of drinking games and shouts in a foreign language.

More importantly, the area reeked of horse manure and a strong, fishy smell.

"The Cumans."

Zieg's lips curled into a faint smile. "It seems that even when these wild dogs have lost their alpha wolf, they don't have their master's complete trust."

There was even a temporary barrier made of fences between the Cuman camp and the central camp, which was clearly a precautionary measure.

Zig had already planned his route in his mind, and then, with a swift movement, he leaped directly off the observation platform.

It landed silently.

Like a ghost wandering on the edge of light and shadow, he swiftly slipped into the shadows surrounding the camp.

This stealthy journey might be a near-death experience for an ordinary person, but for Sieg, who now possesses extraordinary skills, it's like taking a stroll in his own backyard.

He used the piled-up grain carts and huge military tents as cover, and every move he made was precisely positioned in the blind spots of the patrolling guards.

Several times, patrol teams carrying torches passed by him within two or three meters.

The soldiers' weary complaints and the scraping of their armor were clearly audible, but none of them noticed that in the shadows within reach, a pair of calm, deep eyes were watching the back of their necks.

And so, Zieg crossed the outer defense line without incident and quietly made his way to the edge of the Cuman camp, which was filled with the stench of mutton.

The defenses here are much weaker than those in the central camp.

Perhaps due to the crushing defeat during the day and the death of their leader, the morale of these mercenaries is now low.

Several Cuman sentries on duty were leaning haphazardly against the hitching posts, clutching wine flasks, muttering curses in their incomprehensible Cumanese, clearly trying to drown their sorrows in alcohol.

"Good location."

Zig hid behind a hay wagon piled high with hay and estimated the distance.

The nearest campfire was only about ten steps away. Seven or eight Cumans were drinking around the fire, with several sentries on night watch leaning against them.

On the other side is the road that the Lord Alliance soldiers must take when patrolling.

It's a perfect spot to dump a body.

Zig took a deep breath.

He raised his left hand, palm open.

With a thought, the corpses he had just stored in his Book of Adventure appeared one after another in the shadows behind the hay cart.

Five patrolmen.

Two archers.

The seven corpses lay silently piled together, cold, heavy, and stiff from recent death.

The smell of blood lingered.

Zieg grabbed the body of the sergeant major, who was wearing plate armor.

He swung his arms in a wide arc, using his waist and abdomen to forcefully throw the heavy corpse away.

The corpse flew over the hay cart, over the heads of the drunken Cuman sentries, and crashed heavily into the nearest, blazing campfire.

Then came the second and the third bodies.

boom! boom! boom!

There was no time for the Cumans to react.

Seven heavy corpses crashed one after another into the fire and the crowd around it.

The first bonfire that was hit collapsed on the spot.

Several burning pine logs were broken by the corpse, and scalding charcoal and sparks exploded, spraying ash in all directions.

"Wow!!"

A Cuman centurion, who was sitting around the fire, was the first to be hit.

He had just raised the wine flask in his hand, preparing to gulp down a mouthful of strong liquor, when a corpse slammed down like a heavy sandbag.

On his back.

The normally strong nomadic man didn't even have time to utter a sound before he was knocked to the ground at the edge of the fire.

The scalding hot charcoal instantly scorched his beard and eyebrows, causing him to let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"Enemy attack!!"

"There's an assassin!!"

The Kuman camp, which was originally drunk and demoralized, was thrown into chaos by this sudden turn of events.

The Kuman mercenaries, who had been either sleeping in their tents or huddled together complaining, emerged from every corner in a panic, like an anthill that had been kicked hard.

They clutched their scimitars and shields haphazardly, their faces filled with bewilderment and terror.

"What is it? A catapult?"

"A dead person fell from the sky!!"

In the chaos, a few of the braver Cuman soldiers, enduring the pain from being hit by sparks, rushed forward and hastily pried the body off the centurion.

By the flickering firelight, when they finally saw the corpse, everyone froze.

It was a corpse.

A corpse with its neck twisted at an eerie angle, its eyes wide open in death.

But that's not the point.

The key point is that the robe covering the corpse was embroidered with the emblem of the Lords' Alliance.

"Is it...is it someone from over there?"

A Cuman veteran stared wide-eyed, his finger trembling violently as he pointed at the corpse, uttering a string of rapid Cumanese.

"They're patrolmen from the Lords' Alliance! Look closely! This is their sergeant major!"