I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 176 How Powerful

"They've gone mad—they've all gone mad!!"

Sigismund stood at the entrance to the main tent, his usually somber and dignified face now twitching slightly with extreme rage.

He gripped the sword hilt tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning white. His eyes reflected the raging fire and the soldiers killing each other, revealing for the first time a deep sense of powerlessness.

He tried to find even one officer who could command the army, and tried to get the bugler to sound the rallying call.

But it didn't work.

Every time an officer tried to step forward to organize the ranks, a silent arrow would fly from the darkness, precisely extinguishing that tiny spark of order.

The devil lurking in the shadows is like a patient gardener, cruelly pruning away the "brains" and "nerves" of this army, leaving only a shell called violence twitching and rotting in place.

"Your Majesty! We can't stay any longer!"

Markowal von Olitz charged forward, covered in blood, his expensive armor scratched and with a broken arrow dangling from his left shoulder.

The loyal German knight shoved aside two approaching soldiers, beheaded them with a backhand stroke, and then rushed to Sigismund, shouting anxiously, "The camp is completely out of control! The Cumans have gone mad, and our soldiers can't tell friend from foe! If we don't leave now, the mutinous soldiers will storm this place!"

Sigismund gritted his teeth, his gaze fixed on the Skarlitz Castle, which stood silently in the night in the distance.

He was not reconciled.

Whoosh!

An arrow grazed almost to the side of Sigismund's face and embedded itself hard in the main tent pillar behind him, its fletching still humming.

This chilling warning of death instantly extinguished the last embers of "dignity" in the king's heart.

"----Walk."

Sigismund squeezed the word out between his teeth, his voice hoarse as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.

He took one last deep look at the darkness, as if trying to etch the unseen adversary into his very bones, before abruptly turning away, his movements resolute yet disheveled.

"Protect His Majesty!!"

With a roar, hundreds of heavily armored, elite royal guards quickly converged, forming an impenetrable wall of steel that tightly protected Sigismund in the center.

"Those who block the way shall die!!"

There is no mercy to be shown before this guard that represents the highest authority.

Wielding greatswords and halberds, they charged forward like a relentless bulldozer, pushing their way into the unaffected rear of the camp.

Whether they were fleeing soldiers seeking refuge or bloodthirsty Cumans, any living creature that dared to block the king's retreat route was mercilessly slaughtered on the spot.

The red and white striped royal flag, symbolizing the Hungarian monarchy, was abandoned in a muddy pool of blood by the panicked guards.

Countless pairs of boots, stained with mud and blood, trampled mercilessly over it, crushing it completely into the mud, just as the pride of this great army was utterly shattered tonight.

As the first rays of dawn pierced the heavy, leaden-gray clouds in the east and shone upon this ravaged land, the seemingly endless clamor of the previous night finally fell into utter silence.

The morning mist, mixed with lingering gunpowder smoke, swirled bleakly in the low sky.

The nauseating stench of blood, burnt corpses, and fermenting entrails in the air was even stronger and more pungent than at night, as if it were trying to pickle one's lungs.

Sigismund's camp, the massive war machine that was once an invincible force with its banners billowing in the sky, has now become an open graveyard.

Without the veil of darkness, the brutal truth was laid bare in the sunlight.

There were broken corpses everywhere.

The Cumans' iconic pointed helmets overlapped with the armor of the Lords' Alliance soldiers, and many of the corpses remained in the position of strangling each other or plunging short swords into each other's ribs.

The once orderly camp is now nothing but charred wooden stakes, collapsed tents, and burnt-out trucks. A few stray warhorses wander the edge of the ruins, the only living creatures still active in this dead land.

"Glug."

The silence was broken by a difficult swallowing sound.

Radji Kobila rode his warhorse, the reins in his hands soaked with sweat.

The Skalitz guards behind him were all pale-faced, their fingers gripping their spears trembling slightly.

Although they had witnessed the fires from the city walls the previous night, the combined visual and olfactory impact of stepping into this battlefield still made these veterans, who had seen blood, feel a nausea in their stomachs.

"My God—"

Radji muttered to himself, his gaze sweeping over the gruesome corpses, and even spotting many noble knights in expensive robes lying like trash in a mud pit of horse manure and blood.

"An army of three thousand men—all within one night—"

He couldn't imagine what kind of human tragedy had occurred here last night that could have driven this heavily armed army to such a degree of self-destruction without any large-scale external attack.

With a sense of awe and fear akin to that of Xi Jinping's pilgrimage, Radji rode slowly through the scattered limbs and broken bodies, heading towards the central location of the camp, where Sigismund's tent had once stood.

As his gaze moved forward, a striking scene unexpectedly came into view on the most central ruins.

The giant gold and red tent that symbolized the dignity of the Luxembourg royal family had long since collapsed, leaving only a few charred pillars pointing forlornly to the sky.

In the very center of that mess, a huge red and white striped Hungarian royal flag lay slumped in a pool of muddy blood, its once vibrant colors dulled by the smoke and fire.

But what truly made everyone's pupils contract violently was the person sitting on that royal flag.

Zieg sat casually on the flag that symbolized royal power, as if it were not the face of an enemy monarch, but a slightly cleaner picnic mat.

His dark blue velvet hunting suit was still impeccably tailored, standing out starkly against the backdrop of bloodstains and charred ruins.

A gentle morning breeze ruffled the stray hairs on his forehead as he slowly and methodically wiped away a speck of dust from the scabbard of Langrisser with a clean white handkerchief.

Upon hearing the sound of hooves, Zieg did not immediately get up. Instead, he folded and put away his handkerchief before slowly raising his head.

His lips curled slightly upward, revealing a polite yet distant smile, as if he were not sitting in the center of a carnage, but rather on a bench in his own garden, waiting for a guest to arrive.

Good morning, Lord Radji.

"It seems the air quality around here isn't great, but that doesn't stop us from appreciating the results of this night."

Seeing the burgler hurriedly dismount, Sieg rose from the tattered royal banner and gracefully flicked non-existent dust off his robe.

"Sigismund seemed to have gone a little too far last night."

Zieg's voice was gentle, with a hint of helpless mockery in his tone, as if the earth-shattering commotion of last night was nothing more than an out-of-control aristocratic party.

"He left in such a hurry that he even forgot to take this flag with him. It's really—not very dignified."

He glanced around at the mountains of supplies, warhorses, and corpses, then pointed casually, "Lord Radji, S..."

Karitz has just been through war; he must be short of supplies and horses, right?

Radji nodded subconsciously.

"Then I'll trouble you to have someone clean this place."

"After all, it was a 'gift' from a guest; wasting it would be a sin. As for me—"

Zieg raised his head and looked at the Scarlitz Castle bathed in the morning light in the distance. His eyes softened. "I'm a little tired. I'd like to go back and have a cup of hot tea."

After saying that, he didn't look at the royal banner he had trampled under his feet again, and strode towards the castle.

"Get out of the way—get out of the way!!"

Without Radji giving any orders, the Skalitz guards in front seemed to be pushed aside by an invisible force, retreating to both sides in a flustered yet orderly manner, making way for a wide passage.

All eyes were fixed on that dark blue figure.

Radji only realized that his back was already soaked with cold sweat when Zig's figure completely disappeared into the morning mist.

He glanced at the royal banner at his feet, then at the priceless spoils scattered across the ground, took a deep breath, and roared at his men, "What are you all standing there for! As His Highness the Duke ordered—clean up the battlefield!!"