Psionic Ascension Starting with The Witcher

There were too many people gathered around Streep.

If Sintra was a calm body of water, then the destruction of the city in flames was like throwing a boulder into that water.

People fled at the first sign of trouble, like ripples spreading across the water, surging towards the shore in layers. Everyone wanted to leave Sintra to escape the sword hanging over their heads, but no one could escape.

From Brundane, Affinso learned that the situation in the entire Kingdom of Sintra had now become three-way.

Large swathes of southern territory near Nilfgaard, occupied at the outset of the war, are now relatively stable, with the army firmly in control. All native inhabitants were stripped of their lands, with ownership transferred to soldiers and officers who distinguished themselves in the war, as well as to Nilfgaardian immigrants who migrated there. The original inhabitants of this land were enslaved and forced to serve the Nilfgaardians.

The northwestern region, where Sintra is located, is teeming with rebel forces led by Duke Atreus. They occupy vast rural areas and wage guerrilla warfare against the Nilfgaardians, who are based in towns. The Nilfgaardian army has perpetrated numerous massacres in this region, just as they witnessed upon their landing. The rebels are gradually weakening, and large areas of no man's land have emerged under the Imperial army's slaughter; they are losing the foundation for their resistance movement.

The northeastern region descended into complete chaos. The Sintra people from the northwest attempted to flee north, but the Yaruga River was blocked by the Nilfgaardian army. They were forced to try to move east to the Soden region, which the Nilfgaardian army could not fully control, to cross the river. The Nilfgaardians, too, attempted to control the entire Sintra region. However, due to insufficient troops and pressure from the north bank, they could only establish several large outposts and send out small patrols,不敢散全军入驻入村地 (daring not to deploy their entire army to the rural areas).

Effinso always felt that the Nilfgaardian Empire's practices were strange.

After conquering a piece of land, instead of making efforts to stabilize the situation, rebuild order, restore production, and appease the local people, they carried out massacres and established an unequal system, which aroused the local people's resistance.

This behavior is completely different from the medieval warfare that Effensor remembers.

It is not a holy war for faith, nor a war for the claim of titles.

It was more like... a colonial war.

The Nilfgaards conquered Sintra, then killed or drove out a large number of the locals to prepare for the arrival of subsequent waves of colonists.

Effinso wasn't entirely sure; perhaps it was the long-standing feud between Sintra and Nilfgaard that drove Nilfgaard to such ruthless measures. Or perhaps the emperor wanted to use this to intimidate opposing forces both domestically and internationally.

Despite his doubts, Effensor knew that he was still "in the thick of it," and his understanding of the war was like looking at flowers through a fog, seeing only a part of the whole picture.

More importantly, we should focus on doing our current tasks well.

……

Two days later, in the afternoon.

The summer sun relentlessly scorched the earth, and Brondan ordered a rest when he tracked them down to a grove of trees in Affine.

Everyone found a shady spot to rest. Drakarov's white beard was soaked with sweat, and he leaned against a tree and squinted.

It was quite obvious, however, that the team that originally consisted of one person and one horse now had six horses and six fewer people. And the remaining people all had some kind of injury.

It was indeed dangerous here. In less than three days after entering the Streep area, they encountered four battles and lost six men.

Aside from the time he encountered the Nilfgaardian patrol, of the other three times, one was when he was ambushed by a group of bandits, and he was killed alone in the melee.

On one occasion, they encountered a group of refugees who, thinking themselves superior in number, attempted to rob them. Effensor threw an Ignis fireball, which scared them all away.

The fourth time, in the afternoon when a thick fog suddenly rose, they unfortunately ran into a Nilfgaardian grain convoy.

The convoy was escorted by ordinary soldiers, a squad of Nausicaä cavalry, and more than twenty Black Infantry archers, who were definitely elite troops.

After a chaotic battle, Brondann seized the opportunity while the Nilfgaardians were being repelled and the fog had not yet dissipated, and led everyone to a swift retreat.

Four people died in this battle: one Sintraman and three Cordwinians. The Nilfgaardians paid the price with twelve lives.

Although it seems like a good casualty exchange ratio, in reality, of the 12 casualties suffered by the Nilfgaardians, ten were ordinary soldiers, and the remaining two were Black Foot Archers who died because they failed to retreat in time.

As for the heavily armored knights in plate armor—the Nausicaä division cavalry—they suffered no casualties.

on the trail.

Unaffected by the scorching summer heat, Effensor, along with the in-better-feeling Brondan and Gitov, continued their search for clues in the woods.

Of course, only Effensor was actually putting in the work; Brondane and Gitov weren't hunters and hadn't learned tracking, so they could only watch the show.

"About fifteen people, very fast, they passed through here a day ago. They should be the spies, but there are a few more, probably soldiers responsible for guarding them."

Effensor crouched down and gently blew away the branches and leaves that were obscuring the road with the Sign of Aard.

On the slightly damp soil were a series of hoof prints.

Then he stood up, used a stick to push aside the leaves, revealing broken branches high up.

"Too high." Effinso pondered, quickly conjuring up a model of a knight in his mind, galloping along a forest path, inevitably bending over, so the actual height would be a bit lower.

Then it couldn't be that the knight's armor or weapon hit the branch. Judging from the way the branch broke, he was probably holding something very long, probably a stick, with something at the top.

"……flag?"

Effensor considered a possibility and began searching along the path, pushing aside the dense bushes.

Perhaps their unit can be identified by their military flag...

A short while later, he actually found a torn piece of cloth.

However, it wasn't the flag he had imagined. Underneath the tattered cloth was a small, decaying corpse with a huge wound on its chest.

It's a baby, probably not even a month old.

"Did you find anything?"

When Brondan and Gitov saw Effensor stop, they both crowded around to look.

"Now I know what that thing is... a spear with babies strung on it."

Effensor sighed. War really is a time when human-like brilliance shines.

Without laws, morality, and constraints, the strong will unleash the full force of human evil upon the weak.

"Damn bastard..." Gitov's already flushed face turned even redder after seeing the baby's corpse, like a ripe crab.

Brondan frowned, patted Gitov on the shoulder, and said, "Let's go, dig a hole and bury the poor little guy. No need for a tombstone, lest someone dig it up again for burial goods."

Effensor looked at the hoofprints on the ground, which stretched into the distance.

He seemed to be deep in thought.

At first, he thought these people were headed for the Yaruga River.

But now he discovered that although these spies were constantly on the move, they were generally moving along the edge of the Streep Mountains.

Furthermore, their speed was far too fast; it didn't seem like they were searching for anyone at all. They were in a frantic rush, killing wherever they went, slaughtering any refugees they encountered. These people never stayed in one place for more than a day.

The good news is that the Nilfgaardians did not find Ciri.

The bad news is that the trail is about to go cold.

Even if they manage to catch up with these spies, if the spies don't have any useful information, they won't even have a direction to search.

Hope is even more elusive.

……

Even the strongest person has moments of exhaustion.

The Black Knight was incredibly brave, able to fight his way out of the chaotic city of Sintra unscathed, but after galloping across the wilderness for most of the night, he finally felt tired.

When he stopped to rest against a large tree, Ciri, whom he had placed aside, used a shard of a sword hidden in her palm to cut the rope and then immediately fled into the forest.

When the Black Knight was jolted awake from his half-asleep state by the sound of Ciri's escape, it was already too late.

He saw the rope on the ground and immediately followed the sound, but being tall and wearing armor, he could hardly move in the forest and soon lost track of Ciri.

Ciri, meanwhile, ran aimlessly through the forest until she reached the banks of the Yaruga River.

Exhausted, she drank deeply from the river, only to soon discover that she wasn't the only one there to fetch water.

When Ciri saw the Nilfgaardian soldier carrying a bucket of water, he also saw her.

The soldier dropped the bucket with delight, his eyes gleaming with bestiality, and charged forward laughing, while Ciri screamed and fled back into the forest.

Realizing the dangers outside, Ciri dared not leave the forest again. She endured hunger and hardship in the forest, surviving alone for two weeks.

Eventually, she could no longer endure it and, in search of food and water, she finally risked leaving the forest.

This time she was lucky; she didn't encounter the Nilfgaardian army, but rather a group of refugees.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before Ciri discovered that these refugees were no different from bandits, and would mercilessly slaughter another group of refugees for a little food.

Even worse, due to food shortages, these people reached for corpses.

They cannibalize people.

Ciri fled again, dodging a group of bandits plundering a village. She encountered another group of refugees, all good people, but within a few days, they inadvertently ran into Nilfgaardian cavalry and were easily slaughtered by these fierce knights.

In the very end, Ciri hid in the mountains of Streep.

Here she met a group of refugees who were heading to Soden and then crossing the river into Temuria. Only then did she finally end her solitary life of wandering.

It was at this time that Brøndane and Affinso's group arrived at Streep.

……

late at night.

Under the firelight, the village burned fiercely.

The fire wasn't started by Effensor and his men, but the corpses in the village were their doing.

The villagers had fled long ago. Nilfgaardian spies, who were resting nearby, searched the village but found nothing to take, so they simply set it on fire to provide light...

In the distance, Brondan wiped the blood off his sword and walked over carrying a head.

"it's over?"

Effensor leaned against a lonely tree trunk and saw Brundane approaching, so he casually asked a question.

"Hmm." Brondan replied in a dull groan, spat hard at his head, and then kicked his head away, sending it flying high into the air before landing in the bushes to the side.

"That bastard doesn't have any definite news about the princess either. The information he got is that the princess was last seen near Streep. A refugee said he saw a gray-haired child in the crowd."

"That's just as I initially thought; the princess couldn't possibly be alone."

"However, he's not entirely without value..."

"That bastard, he was running around Streep, notifying and asking around at the outposts along the way, looking for people everywhere. Ha, he wasn't looking for anyone at all."

"He was just using the excuse of looking for someone to kill people everywhere."

"In the end, we compiled a map like this."

Brondan's frustration grew stronger.

Suppressed rage, deep-seated despair...

These two emotions are something almost anyone can feel, and Brøndane makes no attempt to hide them in his daily life.

"Brondan, it's over." Gitov's voice brought Effensor back to reality.

Several Sintra warriors, their hands stained with blood, returned to report for duty.

Their numbers dwindled again.

In their attempt to capture one alive, they paid the price with three lives: a Cordwin man was killed by an arrow, and two Sintra men died in battle.

After burying their comrades and interrogating the prisoners, they executed the prisoners at their comrades' graves, using the blood of their enemies to console the spirits of the fallen heroes.

Some of the blood on their hands belonged to their comrades, but most of it belonged to the Nilfgaardians.

De Lakarov is back too.

Like the other Cordwinians, he carried a bag in his hand. Inside were valuables, such as jewelry and precious stones, all stained with dark red blood.

The Nilfgaards had plundered it from elsewhere, and now it had been taken away by these Cordwinians.

Seeing that everyone had arrived, Brondan roused himself and announced the next step of the plan to everyone.

"Now we're going into the Streep Mountains."

He shouted, then pulled out a map with bloodstains on the edges.

These Nilfgaardian spies have been running around these past few days, gathering information from various outposts about the locations of most of the refugees, gangs, and other groups in the Streep Mountains. Their next plan is likely to request support from a large-scale military operation to search the mountains.

Now, this map has benefited Brondann.

He identified 12 markers on the map, including seven refugee camps, two bandit hideouts, and three guerrilla groups composed of defeated soldiers.

"We need to search these places!" Brondan said, pointing to the map. "If the princess is still alive, these are the most likely places. Only in these places have children been seen."

"And we have 13 days."

"After that..." he said grimly, "the main Nilfgaardian army, having rested and regrouped in Unasel, will enter Sintra, and the Streep Mountains will be cleared out. Even if the princess is still alive, we will have no chance to find her."

"Now, pack your things and get ready to leave."

This is a way of taking a chance.

But now that things have come to this, Affinso can't think of any other way, so this may be the best option.

The warriors dispersed, but Gitov went to Brondane.

"What about supplies? Our food is almost gone."

He said, frowning.

"No need to worry," Brondane replied, pointing to a bandit camp on the map.

"They will have it."

Effensor listened intently, somewhat surprised.

As Bronn had previously stated, supplies would be obtained through raiding.

Effensor thought he was just being polite, but he didn't expect him to be serious.

Perhaps... well, it seems that Brøndane didn't have the brilliant plan he thought he had at all; he was just taking it one step at a time.

For him, this trip was a must, even with huge supply gaps, he had no other choice...

……

A long time passed after Bronn, Effensor, and the others left.

Footsteps echoed through the deep woods, and then a hand reached out from the darkness and lifted a head.

"Sir, is this really alright?"

A voice, tinged with dissatisfaction, asked.

"What's wrong?" another voice replied. "That son of a bitch Balian, that traitor, became Nickyfulus's dog and then turned around and rode on our family's head."

"Perfect timing! Let's just kill this bastard. We won't get another chance like this."

"But if I stand by and watch my colleague die, what if Lord Lydock finds out..."

"stop."

A man dressed like a defeated soldier emerged from the woods, carrying the head that had been kicked away by Brondan, and then casually kicked it into the fire.

"When we found Lord Barian, he had already tragically perished. We only found his body at the scene."

He turned and shouted loudly into the woods.

"Isn't that right?!"

He roared again.

"right!"

"right!"

"Yes."

Responding voices came from the woods, and then one by one, people emerged looking like defeated soldiers.

Although their armor and clothing were in the Sintra style, it was clear that they spoke Nilfgaardian.

Their identities are not hard to guess—another group of the emperor's spies.

"All right."

A young man frowned, sighed, and reluctantly accepted the reality.

He then stepped forward and asked, "Lord Morian, now that Lord Balian, who joined us, is dead, what should we do next? Go back and report to our superiors?"

"No, no, no."

Morian shook his head and said earnestly, "You don't understand yet."

"From the superiors' perspective, Barian went missing after leaving the Kodak camp at noon. According to the plan, we should have met up with Barian in Kodak."

"And now, we're late. Although it was because that bastard Barian deliberately took the outpost map, Barian was dead before we got there."

"No matter how we report in the end, whether we shift the blame to this dead man or use other excuses, we must face one fact—on the surface, Barian did not make any mistakes, but we made the mistake of being late."

"In other words, we might be pushed out to take the blame."

Morian sighed and continued, "So we'd better do something before we go back—for example, who do you think those guys who just killed Barian were?"

"..."

The young man did not answer, but lowered his head as if deep in thought.

"They're following that idiot Balian, haven't they?" Morian said with a laugh. "They're also looking for that little princess."

"Think back to before, after the burning of Sintra, the official news was that the princess had been captured, but we all knew that the princess escaped, and that good-for-nothing Cassirer failed."

"Then we, the ones doing the dirty work, all received orders to find that little princess as quickly as possible, at all costs..."

"Later, someone leaked the secret, and the northerners also learned that the princess had escaped."

"Not long ago, we obtained another battle report."

"A grain transport team was attacked by a very strong enemy, numbering around thirty, including a mage."

"Major General Tidenal has specially strengthened the defenses for this purpose, and urgently requested the Nausicaä Division of 500 men from the Marshal, which were dispersed and deployed in ten outposts along the logistics route."

After explaining everything, Morian looked at the young man encouragingly and said, "What did you conclude by connecting all these clues?"

"The attackers were barbarians from the north."

The young man nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

"That's right! With a major battle imminent, Sintra has been infiltrated, but we've discovered the enemy forces."

Morian nodded, then pointed in the direction Effensor and the others had left: "Now we only need to do one thing: catch up with them, then fight them. We don't need any results, just get one person's head, then retreat."

"In that case, although we made mistakes, we also took timely remedial measures. We can easily exaggerate the number of enemies, their strength, and even claim that Barian's group, which outnumbered us, was completely annihilated. In that case, it would be reasonable for us to be unable to defeat them despite our best efforts, wouldn't it?"

"In short, by then we will have done our best for the empire. Even if we are punished... as long as there is a suitable way out, the family will provide us with protection. Those punishments will be nothing to us."

"And what about the princess?" the young man asked skeptically. He frowned, seemingly somewhat displeased. "That should be Lord Lydocks' primary concern..."

"Hey!" Morian interrupted him, "Have we received a mission to search for the princess?"

"No, Lord Tabas only instructed us to assist Lord Balian and obey his orders. But..."

"Then let's not meddle in other people's business. We know neither the details of the mission to search for the princess nor the arrangements involved. And since Barian, who knew all this, is dead, there's no reason for this mission to be handed over to us."

Then Morian solemnly admonished, "The more you do, the more mistakes you make; the less you do, the less mistakes you make. Constantly thinking about important people, as if they'll share the spoils of victory with you..."

"Besides, neither of us knows how deep these murky waters are. If we rashly get involved, we might lose our lives!"

The young man immediately calmed down, gave Morian a deep look, and then nodded in agreement. But Morian could tell that this greenhorn hadn't taken his words to heart.

He sighed. This nephew was good in every way—smart and cautious, strong and handsome—but—he had never even met the Emperor or Lord Lidock himself, so how could he be so loyal to the Empire, no, to the Empire of these powerful figures?

Morian simply couldn't understand it.

He couldn't even imagine what the Malthus family would become if this child, as the most outstanding descendant of the family, inherited the family in the future.

Between the interests of his family and the interests of the empire, which would he choose?

Morian once thought he was the hope for the family's rise, but now he's a little uncertain.