The Witcher: Serpent School Witcher's Otherworldly Journey

In the Witcher's memory, the cellars of La Valéry Castle were perpetually filled with the mingled scents of aged wine and blood. The Baron's tax collectors would use quill pens to mark merchant ship registers on parchment scrolls, while the coat of arms on the captain of the guard's armor was always stained with fresh blood. To find merchant ships bound for Velen here, silver coins alone were far from enough.

Pulling down the brim of the hood to cover his eyes and letting the hem of his cloak get covered in mud would mislead patrols about the quality of his armor. After all, in the years following the Second Northern War, a fully armed lone traveler often meant deserter or bounty hunter.

The armor, bearing many signs of wear, would make the patrolling soldiers assume they were wandering knights heading to the border to make a living. As long as they didn't get too close, the soldiers didn't want to cause trouble for a knight who looked fully armed, especially during this brief period of peace.

Since the end of the Second Northern War, refugees have become rare sights on the road from Temeria to La Varedi. During the war, refugees fleeing Aden, ravaged by the Nilfgaardian hordes, flooded into every town in Temeria, but now, the harsh laws of Nilfgaard have firmly pinned the southern farmers to their land.

The empire's household registration system was precise down to every single serf, and once escapees were captured, they faced a fate of lifelong hard labor in the mines. This brutal efficiency, though chilling, did indeed restore a degree of peace to the northern border.

The scenery that occasionally flashed by along the roadside was monotonous and repetitive: harvested wheat fields, gray stone walls, villages with rooftops peeking out from behind the trees, and the silvery surface of the Pontal River in the distance. Kiliam's chestnut mare maintained a steady, unhurried pace, its hooves making a dull thud on the muddy road softened by the autumn rain.

However, this calm began to subtly change as he approached La Valédi.

The number of patrol teams on horseback along the road had increased dramatically, so much so that he saw no fewer than five patrol squads pass by him in just half a day. What caught his attention even more was that on a hill not far away, several blue iris flags were fluttering in the wind, standing out conspicuously against the hazy sky.

iris?

Kiliam narrowed his eyes slightly. He remembered that the coat of arms of the La Valetti family consisted of two figures holding up human heads, an unpleasant symbol representing the "glorious" feat of the baron's ancestor in some ancient battle, beheading an enemy general. But the iris... that was the emblem of the Temurian royal family, representing King Foltest himself.

It is no ordinary occurrence for a royal banner to appear on the territory of a border baron.

"Time to change the horseshoes, old pal." He patted his mount's neck, using this simple gesture to conceal the fact that he was carefully observing his surroundings.

The smell of sulfur drifted in on the southeast wind. It was the tarry odor wafting from the direction of La Valéry, mixed with the putrid stench characteristic of human settlements: excrement, bituminous coal, cheap candles, and the sour, rancid body odor of too many people crammed into too small a space. But beneath these common smells, the Witcher's enhanced sense of smell detected something else: the acrid smell of heated metal, the distinctive stench of a large group of horses, and, faintly but clearly, the stench of blood.

It wasn't the smell of stale blood. It was the smell of fresh blood.

The four Temerian infantrymen emerged from behind the willow trees with textbook precision: two blocked their path with spears, a heavy crossbowman occupied the high ground, and the leader's finger remained constantly resting on the horn at his waist. Kiliam's pupils dilated slightly as he noticed the magic-resistant gold plating on the inside of their breastplates gleaming purple in the morning light.

Upon closer inspection, the so-called "coating" was actually just a thin film, unevenly applied, and in some places even beginning to peel off. Kiliam doubted whether this level of anti-magic gold coating could truly withstand a sorcerer's magic; a competent sorceress could easily shatter this ridiculous protection like paper with a single thought.

However, such equipment seems unreasonable even in the border fortress of Temuria. The price of anti-magic gold is quite expensive, and most of it comes from Bovis, the most remote place in the North, which has the largest mine in the North.

Moreover, just plating a layer on the armor surface would cost enough to equip thirty spearmen. In the northern kingdoms where sorcerers often served as advisors to the king, there was only one reason for stockpiling anti-magic gold on a large scale—to guard against sorcerers. But clearly, such a low-quality product seemed to be just a rich nobleman's sudden inspiration.

As far as Giliam knew, Redania had invested the most in this regard. That kingdom, which had allowed the Church of Eternal Flame to expand savagely, had always harbored deep hostility and vigilance towards any form of magic user, and had stockpiled a considerable amount of anti-magic gold for any eventuality.

But this is Temeria's territory. King Foltest of Temeria, though not a particularly enlightened monarch, has never shown hostility toward sorcerers; on the contrary, sorcerers have always served as advisors in his court.

Judging from the quality of their equipment, this is at least a regular elite force of Temuria. But why would they appear in a border territory bordering Redania at this time? Could it be that Foltest is thinking of starting a war with his ally?

Something's not right... Giliam is already regretting his decision to sail from La Valedi to Velen. For a witcher, the ghouls in the swamp aren't necessarily as dangerous as fully armed humans. After all, ghouls won't approach you with a smile and seem harmless, nor will they suddenly draw their swords after a few pleasantries—that's a human prerogative.

"Hey! You! Stop!"

A gruff shout came from ahead, interrupting his thoughts. The leading soldier took two steps forward, raising his other hand, which wasn't on the horn, in a gesture of dissuasion.

"This area is under martial law. Everyone must stop and undergo inspection. Don't you know that?"

Kilyam reined in the mare, bringing her to a slow stop. He didn't answer immediately, but instead glanced at the four men's positions out of the corner of his eye—spearmen blocked their retreat, heavy crossbowmen positioned themselves on high ground on the flanks, and the leader stood directly in front. This standard interception formation indicated that these men were well-trained, not just conscripts grabbed from the fields to make up the numbers.

The leader sized him up, his gaze lingering for a moment on his armor, which clearly bore many signs of use. In the years following the Second Northern War, a fully armed lone traveler usually meant one of two types of people: a deserter or a bounty hunter. But Kiliam's armor, covered in scratches and dents, along with his deliberately pulled-down hood and mud-stained cloak, made him look more like a wandering knight heading to the frontier to make a living.

The soldier's expression relaxed a little, and a slight smile even appeared on his face.

"A wandering knight?" He stepped forward, his tone becoming much more casual. "Are you here to profit from the war? But you're probably too late, sir. The honors here have already been claimed by noble lords; there's no place for a rogue like you."

Kilyam noticed a hint of sarcasm in the corner of his mouth when he said "war profits," a sneer typical of a low-ranking soldier. Clearly, the leader wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the impending conflict. In the northern kingdoms, the honor of war belonged to the nobles, while the cost went to the common people—an immutable law.

He could have easily gotten away with it by playing the "wandering knight" card. Even a fallen nobleman was still a cut above these peasant soldiers, enough to make them turn a blind eye. As long as they didn't get too close to their lines, in these delicate times, most soldiers wouldn't want to clash with a fully armed knight.