I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 178 Even if it's three thousand pigs...

Shortly after Raddy sent his messenger, royalist forces and neutral nobles arrived in Skarlitz.

The long oak conference table was spotless, and sunlight streamed in through the narrow, high windows, casting dappled shadows on the table and making the faces of the important figures appear both bright and dark.

Seated first on the left is Lord Davis, the lord of Talmuburg.

Although the elderly nobleman had white hair and beard, and his face was etched with wrinkles as deep as dried tree bark, he still wore his exquisitely crafted brocade quilted stand-up collar robe with meticulous care.

Although he looked somewhat tired, a light called "shock" shone in his cloudy old eyes.

Upon arriving in Skalitz, he saw with his own eyes that the Skalitz guards had all changed into plate armor captured from the Lords' Alliance.

The visual impact was so strong that even as he sat in the chair, his hands unconsciously rubbed the armrests, as if to confirm that he wasn't dreaming.

Standing behind him was Captain Robard.

He was like a silent rock, his meticulously manicured beard trembling slightly with his tightly pursed lips.

He was fully armed, his hand never leaving the hammer at his waist, his eyes scanning his surroundings warily, as if assessing the power this castle, which had escaped death, now possessed.

On the other side of the long table sat a burly, imposing middle-aged man—Lord Hannash, the acting lord of Rattay.

He wore a deep blue noble robe with wide gold piping that draped from his shoulders to his chest. Beneath the open robe was a steel breastplate polished to a mirror-like shine.

His face was covered with a thick beard, his brows were furrowed, and his eyes held a characteristic air of authority and irritability.

Sitting next to Hannah was the young Hans Capon.

Although young, this rightful heir to the Lathai dynasty dressed in an extremely flamboyant manner.

He wore a well-tailored yellow brocade coat with intricate gold thread embroidery on the collar, and his blond hair was carefully combed.

At this moment, he was idly playing with a silver wine cup in his hand, his face bearing a hint of arrogance and nonchalance typical of a young nobleman.

But if you look closely, you'll notice that his gaze occasionally drifts towards the entrance of the hall; it's a mixture of...

His expression was a complex mix of curiosity, resentment, and a hint of anticipation.

Clearly, he also wanted to see what the rumored "Duke of Görlitz" actually looked like.

Finally, there was Sir Barnard standing behind Hans Nash and Hans.

This military commander of Ratai looked like a weathered old sword, not shiny, but absolutely deadly.

As a pure soldier, he knew better than any of the lords present that the truly terrifying thing about those Skalitz guards outside was not just their newly donned plate armor.

The soldiers' eyes changed.

They no longer resembled a group of rural garrison soldiers who had luckily held the city walls, but rather a group of people who had witnessed miracles and were convinced that they were following victory itself.

That kind of pride and fervor that emanates from the very bones cannot be built from a few cartloads of captured armor.

And so, the most powerful figures in this region gathered together at this moment.

They sat around the long table, some silent, some anxious, some curious.

The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; only the occasional whistling of the wind outside the window could be heard.

Everyone is waiting.

Waiting for the man who will change the course of the battle to appear.

The heavy oak door bearings creaked and made a dry, grinding sound, which was particularly jarring in the quiet hall, instantly breaking the suffocating wait.

At this moment, all eyes were drawn to the door like iron filings attracted by a magnet.

The first thing that catches the eye is Radji Kobila, the Skaritzburger.

This old-fashioned nobleman, who usually stood ramrod straight, was now bowing slightly, not because he was tired, but because of a deep sense of humility.

Instead of striding towards the main seat as usual, he stepped aside, making way for half a body, like a servant leading the way for a king, respectfully bringing the person behind him into the center of everyone's view.

Immediately afterwards, a foot wearing a black soft leather boot stepped in from the point where light and shadow met outside the door.

He wore an exquisitely tailored dark blue velvet hunting suit, looking so clean he seemed to have just stepped out of a court ball in Prague, completely out of place in this somber castle fortress.

However, the moment the nobles present saw the emblem on his chest, the air in the entire lord's hall seemed to be gripped tightly by an invisible hand, instantly freezing.

A sharp, hissing sound rang out clearly in the deathly silent hall.

That was Lord Davis.

His cloudy eyes widened instantly, staring intently at the mark representing the highest bloodline of the Holy Roman Empire.

That is the coat of arms of the Luxembourg family.

It is proof that His Majesty Charles IV's blood flows in his veins.

In this rigidly hierarchical era, this emblem signifies that the young man before him shares the same blood as King Wenceslaus, who is now imprisoned in Prague Castle, and King Sigismund of Hungary, who is currently feeding on the flesh and blood of Bohemia!

Hannah, who had been sitting in a relaxed posture, looked as if he had been pricked by a needle. For the first time, his face, which was always full of irritability, showed surprise and panic.

The usually cynical Hans Capon froze in mid-air with his silver goblet in hand, his nonchalant smile instantly replaced by a sense of helplessness in the face of a true superior.

As for Sir Barnard and Captain Robard, they also subconsciously tensed up, a conditioned reflex of professional soldiers facing absolute authority.

No one gave the order, and there was no prior rehearsal.

With a series of synchronized, ear-piercing sounds of chairs scraping against the floor, all the lords and soldiers present seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, and spontaneously rose from their seats.

They lowered their usually proud heads and bent their noble backs, performing an instinctive and perfectly standard aristocratic salute to the handsome young man who was walking slowly towards them.

Sieg's expression remained unchanged as he faced the almost reverent bows of these nobles.

"There's no need for such formalities, everyone."

"Both Lord Davis and Lord Hannah are guardians of this land. Here, we are allies fighting side by side, not rulers and subjects bound by red tape."

"Please sit down, I think we have a lot to talk about."

Having said that, he stopped being polite and walked with a composed gait to the oak high-backed chair at the top of the long table, a symbol of supreme power.

Radji, who had been following him the whole time, did not go to his seat, which was quite tacit.

The lord of Skarlitz walked straight to Lord Davis of Talmuburg and pulled out a chair to sit down.

With a screech of chair legs scraping against the floor, the lords sat down again.

"That... Your Highness, the Duke?"

Hans Capon seemed to want to show the demeanor of the heir to Rattay, but his voice, which was usually tinged with a hint of mockery, became somewhat stammering due to nervousness.

This young nobleman, who was usually impetuous and arrogant, felt his throat go dry as he looked at the Duke of Görlitz, who was about the same age as him, sitting in the main seat. He subconsciously licked his lips and said, "I—we heard on the way that Sigismund brought an army of three thousand men—soldiers from the Lords' Alliance and Cuman cavalry—and they have surrounded Skalitz completely."

"But—but it looks like—"

Hans swallowed hard and finally asked the huge question that had been on everyone's mind, his voice filled with an unbelievable sense of absurdity.

"This doesn't look like a battle that went to the death at all—not even many of the crenellations on the city wall are missing—Your Highness, how—how did you do that?"

"Hans! Shut up!"

A deep reprimand came from the side.

Hannah glared at his nephew, his bearded face stern. "In front of His Highness the Duke, drop that air of utter ignorance! It's disrespectful!"

Although he was verbally reprimanding him, when Hannah turned to look at Zieg, his sharp tiger eyes also burned with undisguised confusion and inquiry.

It wasn't just him.

Even Lord Davis, who had been sitting silently to the side, was now gazing intently at the composed young man in the main seat, who was calmly adjusting his cuffs.

Three thousand troops besieged the city.

Just one night later, the enemy not only retreated, but Skaritz also appeared to be almost unharmed, and even the guards had been given a new set of equipment.

To these experienced lords, it was nothing short of a miracle.

Before Sieg could speak, Radji turned around and bowed slightly to Sieg, who was seated at the head of the table: "Your Highness, regarding the 'miracle' that occurred that day and night, may I give a brief explanation to you gentlemen?"

Zieg raised his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

"Since Lord Hannah and Lord Davis are so curious, then I'll trouble you, Lord Radji."

"After all, you are the guardian of this castle, and your perspective is probably more objective than mine."

Having received approval, Radji took a deep breath and straightened his back.

Skaritzburger was not a cultured man, but surprisingly he had the potential to be a bard.

Under his vivid description, everyone seemed to have personally experienced the perilous siege that day in Skaritz, and also seemed to have seen the Sigismund army retreat like a tide the next night, leaving behind only corpses, hundreds of horses, and a chaotic military camp that looked like it had been swept by a storm.

As Radjid finished speaking, the entire hall fell into a long, deathly silence.

Such a story sounds too absurd, even like something a bard would make up when drunk in a tavern.

However, the Skaritz guards outside, now equipped with new guns and plate armor, and Raddina's solemn, almost pious expression, all told them that this was indeed the case.

Lord Davis opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately chose to remain silent due to being too shocked.

Hannah stared wide-eyed at Radji as if he were a monster, seemingly unable to process what was happening.

In the midst of this almost frozen silence, a young and somewhat untimely voice suddenly rang out.

"Wait a minute—something's not right."

The speaker was Hans Carpon.

Although the young master of Lathai had been scolded by his uncle earlier, his youthful curiosity and inquisitive spirit had clearly not diminished.

Unlike his elders, he wasn't overwhelmed by the shock of the outcome; instead, he keenly perceived the most crucial missing element in the story.

He looked at Radji, whose eyes, which always carried a hint of cynicism, were now filled with curiosity and a touch of doubt.

"Lord Radji, your story was truly captivating; it kept my palms sweating."

Hans Capon leaned forward, tapped the table lightly with a finger, and asked the biggest question on everyone's mind: "But—you told us the beginning, and you told us the end. You told us the enemy was powerful, and then you told us the enemy collapsed on its own."

"But you still haven't told us—how did all this happen? What exactly happened that night? Three thousand soldiers couldn't have just collapsed from a nightmare, could they?"

"Who defeated that army? And how was it defeated?"

Faced with Hans Caponna's persistent questioning and the curious eyes around them, Radji's face displayed a complex expression.

It was not simply pride, nor the relief of surviving a disaster, but an expression mixed with deep awe, and even a hint of fear.

Just like a mortal who has witnessed a god unleash a furious thunderbolt, their soul still trembles involuntarily when recalling that moment.

"Young Master Capon, if you are asking how our Skarlitz soldiers fought so bravely, or what ingenious tactics we used—then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you."

He gave a bitter laugh, spread his hands, and said with an almost absurd honesty, "That night, my soldiers and I did nothing."

"What?" Hans Capon was stunned, blinking instinctively. "Didn't do anything?"

"Yes. We just stood on the cold city walls, like a group of helpless onlookers."

Radji turned his head and looked at the figure sitting quietly in the main seat, playing with a wine glass. His eyes were filled with a kind of pilgrimage-like fervor. "It was His Highness the Duke who walked alone into that pitch-black night."

"Then--

"We just watched. We watched that once invincible, massive army go mad, howl, and kill each other in that darkness."

"We don't even need to lift a finger. It's like a huge beast that's been blindfolded, driven by fear in the dark, tearing at its own flesh piece by piece until it's completely devoured."

At this point, Raddy's voice became extremely hoarse, yet carried an iron-like certainty: "This is the truth. That night, Skaritz's only military action was to open the city gates at dawn to sweep away the corpses scattered on the ground and to receive the spoils piled up like small mountains."

As the last word fell, the Lord's Hall fell into an even deeper, deathly silence than before.

Hans Capon's mouth gaped slightly, his usual nonchalant expression completely froze, and his eyes darted back and forth between Radji and Zieg, as if trying to confirm whether the other was telling some kind of lame joke.

Hannah frowned.

He was a rough man, but it was precisely because he was a rough man that he understood the cruel law of the battlefield—quantity is truth.

A person?

How is that possible?

Even the oldest lord, Lord Davis, took out a silk handkerchief and kept wiping away non-existent sweat, as if trying to wipe away the mad words he had heard.

"This—this is simply—"

Davis muttered to himself, unable to find a suitable word to describe it.

All eyes were fixed on the person in the main seat, like an impenetrable net, filled with shock, doubt, and...

Awe and fear enveloped the young duke.

"This is not witchcraft."

"I have neither the power to summon wind and rain nor the incantation to summon hellfire."

Zieg placed the tin cup in his hand on the table, making a barely audible crisp sound.

He then leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, his tone revealing a worldly-wise understanding: "We always tend to view the enemy as a whole, a steel behemoth called an army."

beast."

"But we often forget that, beneath that hard iron shell, an army is made up of people."

"And people—"

"Once they fall into darkness, once they lose command, once they are blinded by suspicion, they are more vulnerable than frightened wild beasts in the wilderness."

The light in the hall seemed to dim slightly as he spoke, and everyone could almost see the carnage that had unfolded in the darkness that night through his calm narration.

"I didn't kill all three thousand people, nor did I need to. I merely gave their fear a gentle push. The rest, they did on their own."

>