I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Craig's face instantly went from rosy to deathly pale, and finally turned a deathly bluish-gray.

He finally realized that from the moment he agreed to drug the food, he had no way out.

"Aeger...you bastard!"

Craig let out an angry growl from his throat, his thick arm grabbing Egger by the collar, the veins on his forehead throbbing like earthworms.

"You planned this all along, didn't you? You deliberately messed things up just to drag me down with you!"

"Don't put it that way, I'm just putting an insurance policy on our cooperation."

Iger met Craig's bloodshot eyes without fear.

He reached out and slowly but firmly pried the other man's hand away, even carefully smoothing out Craig's wrinkled collar.

Instead of getting angry at me here, think about how to shut them up completely before they expose everything.

Aiger held up two fingers. "After this is done, I'll give you an extra 20% on top of what we agreed on before."

Craig was breathing heavily, his cloudy eyes flashing with struggle and greed.

He glanced at the thick, inky night outside.

He knew that Aiger was right; the merchant's existence had become a deadly death warrant for him.

"Fifty percent." Craig gritted his teeth, his voice hoarse. "I want half of the loot we can plunder from them."

"make a deal."

……

When we left the Undead Settlement, the sky had completely sunk into twilight, and the cold moonlight, like a thin layer of frost, spread across the layered mountains and covered the wilderness.

Two carriages drove into the wilderness under the pale light, their wooden wheels rumbling dully and rhythmically over gravel and dry earth in the dead of night.

Zieg remained quietly seated on the edge of the rear carriage, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, swallowed by darkness and seemingly endless.

In his opinion, they were indeed running fast enough.

But not enough.

—The sound of horses' hooves.

At first, there was only a faint tremor, as if something sleeping deep underground had turned over.

A moment later, the tremor turned into a roar, rolling down from the depths of darkness with an irresistible weight.

"later!"

Ravenna turned around abruptly, her brown curly hair flying wildly in the night wind.

The light of the torches was the first to pierce the darkness.

Seven or eight, then thirty or forty, eventually forming a sea of ​​scorching orange-red, like a tongue of fire emerging from the depths of darkness.

The sound of horses' hooves made the ground tremble slightly, and the figures of the riders became clearer and clearer in the firelight, getting closer and closer.

They don't intend to give anyone time to react.

In the very center of the cavalry formation, a rider suddenly pulled on the reins, raising his arms to the sides with his palms down.

His lips moved rapidly, uttering a string of low, hesitant syllables—

"Vulkan Tram Sur!"

Before the words were even finished, the earth, like a soaked sponge, suddenly collapsed.

Both carriages jolted violently at the same time, their front wheels sinking deep into the suddenly softened mud, causing the carriages to lurch forward and the passengers to stagger and fall due to the inertia.

The horse neighed in terror, its hooves thrashing wildly, but it only sank deeper and deeper.

The carriage could not move.

"get off!"

Ingram had already rolled over the edge of the wagon, and the sound of his heavy armor hitting the ground made a dull thud.

He drew his one-handed warhammer from his waist, gripped the tower shield tightly on his left arm, and strode forward toward the carriage like a moving city wall.

Finn followed closely behind, his spear held at an angle, its tip gleaming coldly in the torchlight.

His steps were light and quick, his toes barely touching the ground, as he spread out beside Ingram, taking up the flank.

The two stood side by side, blocking the carriage and the cavalry.

Zig did not get off the bus.

He knelt on one knee on the edge of the carriage, his yew longbow already in his hand.

The bowstring was taut between two fingers, the arrow was nocked, and my gaze followed the shaft into the depths of darkness.

Ravenna was half a step to his left, her short bow held horizontally in front of her, the arrow already on the string.

Her gaze swept quickly across the cavalry, pausing for a moment on the spellcaster.

The faint glow of the spell still lingered on the man's palm.

She drew an arrow, nocked it, and aimed for less than a breath—

Let go.

The arrow pierced the air, cutting through the night, and grazed lightly past the inside of the mage's right arm.

It was just wiped clean.

The mage glanced down at the thin, shallow bloodstain, then breathed a sigh of relief and hid among the riders.

Then his body went limp.

It's poisonous.

He tried to grab the reins, but the strength receded like the tide, silently and without a trace.

He fell to his side from his horse without making a sound and disappeared among the galloping hooves.

Ravenna has already nocked her next arrow.

Fifty meters is but a few rapid breaths for a warhorse charging at full speed.

In those few short seconds, Ravenna's fingers moved so fast that they were almost a blur.

The bowstring of the shortbow vibrated three times in succession, and three arrows, with a mournful whistling sound, accurately bit into the throats or eye sockets of the three riders.

Zieg's rhythm was completely different from hers.

He didn't deliberately pursue a high rate of fire. The yew longbow, which was difficult for an ordinary person to draw fully, was easily drawn to its full extent with his strength of 7 points.

His equally astonishing agility gave him an almost superhuman sense of stability.

One breath, and the string loosens.

Nock the arrow again, then release the string.

Zig's movements were as steady as a clock running at full speed, without a single unnecessary movement or the slightest hint of panic before battle.

In the four seconds it took for the cavalry to charge at him, he calmly fired six long arrows.

Every dull thud of a bowstring was inevitably accompanied by a scream in the distance and the booming sound of a heavy object falling to the ground.

The six riders at the forefront crashed into an invisible wall, tumbling and slamming to the ground, even tripping their companions who couldn't dodge in time.

The originally dense charging formation was torn open by these two bows, creating a huge gap.

The pressure in the front row decreased sharply.

But the frenzy of galloping warhorses did not completely stop there.

Two riders, who had narrowly escaped the rain of arrows and the corpses of their companions, charged out of the chaotic herd through the gaping wound in the flesh.

Their eyes were bloodshot, and with the momentum of their still-burning horses, they swung their blades straight at Ingram, who stood like an iron wall, the blades whistling through the air.

Ingram stepped to the side, his shield jerking upwards, deflecting one of the swords. The rider charged forward using the horse's speed—Ingram ignored him, his warhammer already swinging towards the forelegs of the second horse.

The dull thud of a bone cracking.

The horse's leg broke, and the rider fell to the ground with the horse. Before he could get up, the warhammer fell a second time, hitting his helmet.

The helmet was dented.

The person did not move again.