I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 173 Camp Roar

This statement is like a drop of water falling into boiling oil.

The surrounding Cuman soldiers exchanged bewildered glances, their alcohol-numbed brains beginning to race.

Why are the corpses of Lord Alliance soldiers falling from the sky?

Why did it fall into our campfire?

Has something happened over there?

Or perhaps—that daytime devil has already broken in?

"Alert!! Everyone, draw your knives!!"

The centurion, whose face was half-burnt red and whose beard and eyebrows were singed, scrambled to his feet. Ignoring the excruciating pain, he roared hysterically, "Whoever it is! If they're not speaking to us, kill them if they get close!!"

The entire Kuman camp was in complete chaos.

The shouts, the sound of swords being drawn, and the hurried footsteps mingled together, like a sudden gust of wind that swept from the pile of embers, half-extinguished by the corpses, all the way to the entire felt tent.

The first to react were the dozens of Cumans gathered around the fire.

They retreated almost instinctively, the metallic scraping of swords being drawn filling the air.

Those dozens of faces, which had been drunk, were now all staring intently at the corpse on the ground, the effects of alcohol completely washed away by fear.

Immediately afterwards, the unrest spread rapidly outwards like a plague.

The sleeping Cumans were startled awake by the roar outside, and one tent flap after another was thrown open as disheveled soldiers, clutching scimitars, rushed into the night.

Some people had just woken up from their dreams and, before they could figure out what was happening, were terrified by their companions' shouts and the sight of corpses in the distance.

The sentries near the hitching post also panicked.

They held torches high and shouted into the darkness, trying to see where the enemy was hiding.

But the firelight only illuminated the panicked figures running around, the wine sacks lying scattered about, and the few corpses bearing the emblems of the Lords' Alliance.

Within a dozen or so breaths, the entire Kuman camp was alerted.

Hundreds of Cumans were forcibly dragged back to reality from their drunkenness, exhaustion, and slumber.

Torches were lit one after another, scimitars were drawn one after another, and rapid Cumanese was transmitted back and forth between the felt tents.

But they couldn't find the enemy.

All they could see was the smashed campfire, the several dead Lord Alliance patrolmen with their eyes wide open, and the pitch-black night surrounding the camp, a night so dark it seemed to swallow them whole.

Fear and doubt spread rapidly amidst the chaos.

Just a few meters away from this chaos and noise.

A dark blue figure glided silently past like flowing water, skimming the thick shadow cast by the tent.

Zieg did not turn back to appreciate the farce he had orchestrated.

For him, that "testing the waters" move was merely a way to clear the way for his next move.

At this moment, the attention of most of the Kuman camp was drawn to the corpses that had fallen from the sky. Even the sentries who were originally guarding the rear were drawn by the shouts in the distance and couldn't help but look back frequently.

The rear of the camp, which should have been heavily guarded, now resembled an open doorway.

He lightly touched the ground with his toes, and the effect of "Swift Step" made each step as light as walking on cotton.

He passed through rows of messy felt tents, avoiding the wine jars scattered on the ground and the overturned wooden barrels, like a ghost gracefully moving under the enemy's nose.

A stronger, more pungent smell wafted towards us from ahead.

That was the distinctive smell of sweat, hay, and manure that comes from a large gathering of horses.

Zig stopped and hid behind a thick wooden stake, his gaze piercing through the darkness to the area temporarily cordoned off by stakes, long ropes, and several trucks.

That was the Cumans' horse-tethering area.

Hundreds of warhorses, still shaken from the day's events and not yet fully calmed, are crammed together between stakes and long ropes.

They snorted uneasily, their hooves occasionally digging into the ground with irritating sounds, as if they too sensed the ominous atmosphere that was about to erupt in the air.

"Found it."

Sieg took out Shahbaz's Bow from the Book of Adventures.

This time, he didn't need to aim for the vital points.

Boom!Boom!Boom!

The three bowstring vibratos almost overlapped.

The arrow flew over the outer edge and pierced the rump of the largest and most temperamental lead horses in the very center of the herd.

A long, mournful neigh ripped through the night sky.

The lead horses, writhing in pain, went berserk instantly.

The excruciating pain drove them to complete madness; their powerful hind legs slammed into the ground, propelling them forward like an out-of-control chariot.

They instinctively steered away from the pain and the arrows shot from the darkness, desperately crashing into the nearest and weakest section of the fence in front of them.

Unfortunately, that side was directly opposite the densest concentration of felt tents and campfires in the Kuman camp.

The already crumbling temporary fence was smashed to pieces like a biscuit under the first wave of impact.

The wooden stakes were knocked askew and collapsed, and the broken crossbeams rolled around in all directions.

Immediately afterwards, the black torrent burst its banks.

The earth began to tremble with a rumbling sound.

That's not an adjective, but a physical tremor.

Thousands of iron hooves struck the ground simultaneously, producing a sound like muffled thunder rolling across the earth, causing dust to fall from the surrounding tents.

The Cumans, who had just been disturbed by the corpses, were still holding torches, warily watching the darkness surrounding the camp.

"Listen! What's that sound?!"

The centurion, whose face was scalded, suddenly stopped cursing. He lay on the ground with his ears pressed against it, his face turning deathly pale.

"An earthquake? No—that sound—"

Before he could react, a hot, pungent wind, mixed with dust, rushed towards him.

He suddenly raised his head and looked in the direction of the horse-tethering area.

By the dim firelight in the camp, he saw a scene that made his soul leave his body.

In the depths of that darkness, countless pairs of eyes glowing red were rapidly approaching with the smoke and dust.

Immediately following was the herd of horses that surged forward like a black tsunami.

"The horse—the horse is startled!!"

"Run!!"

That scream came too late.

For infantry, encountering a pack of frightened horses charging in open ground, even during the day, is a near-certain death, let alone in a chaotic camp at night with obstructed visibility.

There was no time to organize a defense, or even to turn around and run away.

The black torrent instantly submerged the outer tents.

Those shelters made of felt and wooden frames collapsed and shattered instantly under the impact of the warhorses, as fragile as paper toys.

"Aaaaaah!!"

The screams were cut short by the dull thud of hooves.

The centurion watched helplessly as a soldier who tried to stop him with his sword was knocked away by a galloping black horse, the sound of his ribs shattering clearly audible.

Immediately afterward, before the unfortunate fellow even landed, he was trampled into a bloody pulp by the hooves of the horses that followed.

There is no logic to it, and no possibility of distinguishing friend from foe.

The frenzied herd of horses had no eyes for survival. They rampaged through the camp, trampling campfires, overturning tents, and crushing any living creatures in their path.

The already chaotic Kuman camp was now completely transformed into a battlefield.

The brazier was kicked over, setting fire to the hay on the ground and the collapsed tent.

Flames shot into the sky, illuminating the Cuman soldiers who were fleeing in all directions, crying out for their fathers and mothers.

They were like a swarm of ants caught in a millstone, so small and helpless under the iron hooves of these out-of-control behemoths.