The Witcher: Grinding Experience Starting as a Wolf School Witcher

Baron Marcus's face turned cold.

Suddenly, Alwin used his strength to lift the former's body up and slam it heavily against the pillar.

"Ugh!"

Baron Marcus's head slammed hard against the stone bricks, and the excruciating pain caused his vision to go black.

Alwin's other hand quickly searched his body and soon took out a small gray bottle from the inner lining of his brocade robe.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints, his nose twitched, and he caught a faint scent of mint.

He recognized the smell all too well; it was from the medicine bottle he used to store potions.

Alwin held the bottle up to Baron Marcus's face, his voice icy.

"Where did you get this bottle?"

Baron Marcus was terrified by Alwin's chilling voice, feeling as if he had fallen into an ice cave, yet he still grinned menacingly.

"Does he look familiar? The Witcher?"

Do you think I'd tell you?

Alwin flipped his hand, loosened his collar, and turned it into an iron clamp, tightly gripping his neck.

With a forceful squeeze of his five fingers, Baron Marcus's face flushed red, his mouth opened involuntarily, and he began to breathe with difficulty.

"Freak... if you have the guts... then kill me..."

Baron Marcus struggled incessantly, trying to pry Alwin's arms off.

Nannick rushed forward. "Calm down, kid. We should send him to trial. Don't let anger cloud your judgment. At the very least, you need to know what happened."

Arwin understood this, and slightly loosened his left hand. Baron Marcus breathed a sigh of relief and greedily inhaled the air.

Before he could catch his breath, the former formed a hand seal with his right hand, and spiritual energy surged out of his cat-like eyes like a tidal wave, impacting Baron Marcus's soul.

With the blessing of a dual soul, the opponent's mind was shattered in an instant.

"Where did this bottle come from?"

Baron Marcus, head bowed, mumbled incoherently, "In...in Trousers Village...in the hands of a lowly scoundrel named Ian..."

Alwin felt a chill run down his spine, sensing something was wrong.

Where is he now?

"He...he lied to me...saying the Witcher went...went south...I...I killed his whole family..."

Extreme anger surged into Alwin's heart, his heart pounding, and even his mutated body could not suppress this rage.

"Take a deep breath, Alwin."

Nannick noticed the black-haired witcher's unusual behavior and quickly spoke up.

Alwin took a deep breath, clenched his right hand tightly, and the medicine bottle shattered with a crack.

"Who, who sent you here?"

Baron Marcus said, "Jennings... Viscount Jennings's orders... He gave me men... to kill... the Witcher... to destroy the Temple of Meritelli..."

"Viscount Jennings?"

Upon hearing this name, Alwin recalled a scene he had witnessed in White River Territory.

Those nobles with powdered faces and arrogant behavior.

Nannick's face darkened. "Viscount Jennings is the lord of Franktal Town."

Where is Jennings now?

Baron Marcus said, "Two miles to the east... in the camp..."

Alwin knew the information he wanted, and his left hand suddenly clenched into fist.

"Crack!"

Baron Marcus's neck was twisted into a pretzel, his eyes bulged out, filled with resentment, and blood churned in his throat.

With his hand loosened, Baron Marcus's body slid down the pillar to the ground.

Arwen turned and walked toward the temple gate.

"Arwin?"

Nannick called out from behind.

Arwen did not respond. He quickly walked out of the temple, went to the stable not far away, untied the reins from the wooden stake, and mounted his horse.

The mare snorted and stomped her limbs as she walked out of the stable.

Nannick chased after him from the temple, his voice urgent, "Arwin, child, where are you going?"

Alwin did not answer her question, his gaze sweeping around.

A thug lay on the ground, panting heavily; dismembered corpses; cold armor; ravens gnawing on flesh and blood.

His eyes were icy cold.

During Kayle Mohen, there was heavy training every day.

But his life was fulfilling, and he was full of longing for the future.

But now, in just one month of living on the mountain, he has experienced the dangers of this world.

He wasn't burdened with heavy tasks, but he was still exhausted.

tired.

I'm really tired.

It was more tiring than killing water ghosts in the White Stone River for a whole day and then running back to Kaer Morhen.

It's even more tiring than before, when I worked overtime day and night but only earned a few thousand yuan.

What now?

These scoundrels and thugs can breathe here.

Nobles can ride on his head and defecate.

They can all live well.

But the honest village chief, whose hands were calloused, couldn't live.

But the nuns behind him, who upheld the principles of charity, could not live?

Why should I?!

What kind of fucking world is this?!

These pigs and dogs, these beasts who treat human life like dirt, why are they allowed to live?!

He gripped the reins tightly, the giant bloodline within him surging. Despite possessing immense power, he felt a profound sense of powerlessness.

At this moment, only one thought can bring liberation.

kill!

Suddenly, a slender pair of fingers grasped his hand that was tightening the reins.

Alwin lowered his gaze, while Nannick's expression turned serious.

"Child, I know you are angry right now, and I know what you want to do, but anger and hatred will only blind you."

"Nannick, they, and you, are all implicated because of me."

"No, even without you, these nobles would still drive us away. Ultimately, it is we who have undermined their interests."

"Child, do you know what you're about to do?"

"You've already killed a baron; if you go and assassinate a viscount, there's no turning back."

Alwin's gaze was resolute.

Nannick sighed softly, took his hand, moved it from the reins to the saddlebag, and then to the exposed wolf-head sword hilt.

"Child, grasp your silver sword," Nannick lowered his head, and Alwin, understanding his meaning, slowly closed his eyes.

Nannick murmured the prayer of the goddess Meritelli.

A moment later, she raised her head and looked at the black-haired witcher whose eyes were still closed.

"Are you calmer now?"

Alwin did not speak, did not open his eyes, and did not nod in response.

Nannick raised the corner of his mouth.

She took something out of her pouch and put it into Alwin's hand.

The cool sensation came through the boxing gloves; it was a glass bottle.

Under the influence of Alchemy Perception, he sensed a ring of snow-white magical energy fluctuations, sweeping across his palm like a storm.

Nannick's eyes were kind, and he recited another prayer, but the last sentence changed from a tolerant tone to a sharp one.

"By the goddess Meritelli, may you forgive his wrath."

"Go, child, go."

"Go and kill these bastards."

Alwin looked up, revealing his venomous, yellowish-gray vertical pupils.

As the setting sun gradually disappeared, the sky turned fiery red, reflecting the blood and corpses on the bluestone bricks.

He gripped the glass bottle tightly in his hand, the pale liquid swirling continuously, just as its name suggested.

【snowstorm】.