The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Chapter 101 Henry's Curse Potion

The night breeze, carrying the moisture from the Pontal River, blew up to the second floor of the port tavern, shutting out the noise from downstairs, leaving only the occasional shouts of drunkards.

Erwin spread the drawings on the table, his brows furrowed tightly.

"According to intelligence, this prison is called Delray Prison. It is heavily guarded, and it is said that no one has ever escaped alive. The guards are all selected from witch hunters, the most fanatical ones, who are responsible for interrogation and execution. Their methods for dealing with prisoners are extremely cruel. Torture is the most basic, and there are countless instruments of torture, such as large wooden wheels and dismemberment racks. They only stop interrogating when they are on leave or drunk."

He pushed up his glasses and traced his finger across the tower symbol on the blueprint.

"The prison's courtyard tower is equipped with alarm bells and crossbowmen. If we don't want to alert the city's guards to launch a full-scale attack, we must find a way to destroy the alarm bells first, or at least prevent them from having a chance to ring them. A direct assault is too risky; if we get bogged down in street fighting, Dixter's plans will be affected."

Ron stared at the sketch, tapping lightly on the table, his eyes deep.

"They like to drink? That's a crucial breakthrough, Erwin. Have someone send them a cartload of Mahakam liquor. The reason? Say you're a devout follower of the Eternal Flame, that you were once cursed by a witch, but were later saved by a witch hunter. This is a gift of gratitude. The person who delivers the liquor stays and drinks with them, then takes the opportunity to knock them out. So, this person must have a high alcohol tolerance and be a good actor."

Erwin pondered for a moment, his fingers unconsciously stroking the quill pen.

"How about sending little Henry? He's on the ship too. After returning from Novigrad, he developed a new potion. Henry said it's a poison called 'Calamity,' which is particularly suitable for this situation. When it takes effect, it will cause deep paralysis, making the person look like they're drunk. Most importantly, he has had many exchanges with a follower of the Eternal Flame, and he is far more knowledgeable about the doctrines of the Eternal Flame than most ordinary believers."

Ron sighed and rubbed his temples. "The Eternal Flame Followers, that vampire? Henry... that kid came here to spread Christianity, and his first follower is a vampire. What kind of strange development is this? Could it be that my territory will really have another sect that believes in God in the future...?"

"7

"Christianity? What's that?" Erwin asked, his face full of confusion. "The denomination from Henry's hometown?"

"Yes, I've heard him mention it." Ron waved his hand, ending the topic. "We've decided on Henry as the person to carry out the operation. We'll also send a quick-witted intelligence officer to accompany him. Henry isn't very familiar with many things here, so we don't want him to be mistaken for a Southern spy and arrested."

Dalray Prison sits on a high point in the north of the city. The alarm bell at the top of the tower sways gently in the night wind, and the braziers inside the walls are still burning, the flames swaying wildly in the wind.

Several flickering shadows were cast on the wall, where a few witch hunters on night watch were gathered in the courtyard, throwing dice and cursing as they drank together.

A fully loaded wagon rolled past the heavy gates of Delray Prison, the barrels on it making a dull thud.

Henry sat in the driver's seat, wearing a faded gray robe that Erwin had found in the ship's supplies.

The witch hunter guarding the entrance immediately raised her halberd, blocking the way. "Halt! Who goes there?"

Henry looked up, the firelight reflecting on his face, and gave a simple smile. "May the eternal fire protect you, brother."

At this moment, Ron was leading two squads of regular troops, lurking in the shadows around the corner, his eyes slightly narrowed as he listened to the movements inside the high walls. The soldiers' weapons were pressed to their sides, and their breathing was low.

Henry's voice carried from afar, carrying just the right amount of tipsiness and excitement: "Haha, another one!"

"Good, this is the witch hunter I envision. Strong liquor and fire make the greatest hero! What do those priests who only preach in the streets know?"

True faith is the flame burning in your veins, the stinging sensation of strong liquor exploding in your throat! Brothers, cheers to the eternal fire!

Rough, hoarse laughter and the clinking of glasses erupted from inside the walls, along with the strong aroma of Mahakam liquor.

"Oh, of course, do I look like a cunning person to you? I'm the most devout believer." Henry's voice suddenly became serious.

"The flame ignites us, protecting us from evil; the pure and supreme flame heals our souls. The fire in our hands is a sacred relic that dispels darkness; the ash beneath our feet is a testament to the purification of evil. To the eternal fire, let us raise another glass!"

Among the regular army soldiers behind Ron, one asked in a low voice, "Was his drink also from the batch that was poisoned?"

Another soldier replied, "How could that be? There's a hidden mark on the bottle. Hopefully, he's not mistaken."

The sounds behind the wall gradually subsided, replaced by heavy snoring and muffled thuds of heavy objects falling to the ground, until finally only the crackling of the brazier remained.

The door was pushed open, and Henry shakily poked his head out, waving towards the shadows around the corner.

"Burp! My... sir... it's a success!" Henry let out a loud burp, pulled a bottle of pale green Lazarus from his waist, uncorked it, and drank it all in one gulp. He let out a long breath, and his eyes refocused.

"My lord, most of the witch hunters are in the courtyard. I counted nine drinking, including the tower guards. Only a few who are on duty in the underground prison haven't come up."

Ron stepped forward, sizing him up. "Well done, Henry. Lazarus potion can cure hangovers?"

Henry chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "High concentrations of alchemical products can accelerate blood metabolism, so they're somewhat effective."

Ron didn't ask any further questions, and turned around to make a gesture behind him.

Thirty regular soldiers, like a silent black tide, split into two teams and quickly occupied the high ground in the courtyard and the advantageous positions in the tower corridor. Crossbows were set up, and only poisoned witch hunters remained in the courtyard.

"The rest of you, form groups of three, sword and shield assault formation," Ron drew his longsword, his voice icy. "Clear out all the witch hunters, take no prisoners."

The regular army squad entered the staircase leading underground one by one, without making any unnecessary noise.

Swordsmen and shieldmen were at the forefront, with archers and crossbowmen on the left and soldiers on the right drawing their heavy Calads. The confined space indoors made long weapons unsuitable, and no spears or lances were used in this operation.

The prison's underground was even more oppressive than the courtyard. Dark red bloodstains seeped from the walls on both sides, and the walls at the end of the corridor were covered with instruments of torture: whips of various sizes and red-hot irons stuck in charcoal braziers, sparks flying out from time to time.

On either side, a group of ragged female sorcerers were imprisoned in cages. In the cell near the entrance, a young girl huddled on a pile of grass in the corner, her hands wrapped around her knees, her long hair covering her face.

In another room, an older female sorceress gripped the fence, her wounds already scabbed over. She repeatedly murmured the names of her dead companions, as if reminding herself of them.

Deeper inside, a girl lay prone on the stone floor, bound by a rope soaked in salt water. She tried to use magic, but the magic-blocking gold had locked away all her power. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Faint curses and desperate cries echoed underground, as if the entire prison was groaning softly.