The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Chapter 128 Berserker and the Bear's Ring

The cold wind whipped snowflakes across the rough shacks, and several huge totem poles exuded an eerie feeling in the wind and snow. The whole village was eerily quiet.

Ron stopped and looked around at the empty houses. "There's no one here. Did they all run away?"

Halma kicked a clod of dirt from the roadside, his face full of anger. "Did these bastards know we were coming beforehand?"

We invited the Vilka people to our home for dinner and drinks, and they repaid our kindness with treachery! These beasts must pay with their blood!

"No." Ron said calmly. "According to you, these berserkers shouldn't lack the courage to fight. Besides, the Vilcans are most likely just expendable pawns. Don't rush to kill them all. Keep a few to interrogate and extract information, see if you can find out who's behind it all. Otherwise, even if you ascend the throne in the future, this person will still be hiding in the shadows and causing trouble. I don't want our trade cooperation to be affected by this."

Halma scratched his head in frustration, then gave up thinking. "Fine, I'll listen to you. You're just like Karis, always thinking about these long-term things."

Ron chuckled and glanced at him sideways. "Then why do you keep going against Kairis every day?"

Halma let out a long sigh. "Sigh... Ron, you have no idea how strong-willed my sister is. Sometimes I know she's right, but I just can't help it... I just can't help but argue with her. That... that 'I knew it would look like that' expression on her face, you know?"

Ron was about to speak when his gaze suddenly froze. "Halma, look over there, there's a corpse."

There was a person lying face down in front of me. It was a middle-aged man wearing dark coarse cloth clothes.

Halma turned the body over and examined it carefully. "This person doesn't seem to be from the Vilka region. He has narrower shoulders and no tattoos... Interesting."

Ron looked away and followed the scattered trails. The blood continued intermittently upwards. The two followed the trail and encountered several more corpses along the way, each with a different manner of death. Several sets of clothes were also scattered nearby.

Ron frowned. "Skellig has this custom?"

"I've never heard of such a thing, and even if it existed, I've never seen it." Halma pointed to one of the corpses. "And did you notice? This person was beaten to death with his bare hands; his body is covered in bruises."

Ron stroked his chin, glancing at the empty clothes. "Is this some kind of trial or sacrificial ritual?"

"Look over there, it's an altar. Let's go take a look," Halma said, pointing to the center of the open space.

The two walked to the center of the field, where the altar was made of stone, its surface blackened by soot, and its sides were engraved with twisted runes, the lines intertwined, like some kind of ancient script.

Halma's expression turned serious. "I recognize these symbols. This is the language of our ancestors, it's Swabolo... damn it!"

"What's wrong? Who's that?"

Halma took a deep breath and slowly began to speak, "He is an evil god, the kind that was forbidden to be worshipped by our ancestors long ago. The altars dedicated to him were destroyed many years ago, and the priests who worshipped him were tied up and thrown onto longships without sails, left to the mercy of the sea."

"Why is it forbidden to worship him? Is it related to the corpses we've encountered along the way?"

"Yes," Halma gripped the hilt of his sword, "not only that, his followers nearly massacred the Skellige Islands, because Svalbro needed living sacrifices!"

Ron's eyes turned cold. He gripped the greatsword on his back with a backhand, and with a crisp scraping sound, the blade was drawn.

Let's go.

The two continued up the path of scattered corpses. At the highest point was a longhouse with a thick turf roof. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, they saw decorations made from human scalps hanging on the walls, and piles of tattoo paint and animal hides in the corners. The house reeked of decay.

Ron's brow furrowed even more. He walked around the room, and when he stepped onto the thick bearskin rug, the sound of his footsteps seemed somewhat hollow. He bent down and lifted the rug, revealing a wooden trapdoor underneath.

"Halma, get ready, this way."

The two walked down the steps, the passageway filled with a pungent smell of herbs and a strong stench of blood.

"I'm about to throw up, this smell..." Halma covered her mouth and nose, her brows furrowed.

"Listen carefully, there's movement down there, we've found it." Ron lowered his voice and slowed his pace.

A faint light shone from ahead. After turning the corner, the passage opened up, and someone emerged from the shadows on the other side—it was the bald Vilka man who had been knocked unconscious by Ron at the banquet.

"Are you here to die?" the bald man asked with a grim face, his body still bearing bruises.

Ron glanced at him and chuckled. "What, didn't I leave a good enough impression on you last time? Or were you drunk, which gave you the courage to say that to me?"

The bald man's expression froze for a moment, his eyes flashing with anger and resentment.

"You really think you can beat me? You've never seen true power!"

"I'm not interested in the power that someone of your caliber talks about." Ron leaned on his sword with one hand, his tone casual. "Tell me, why did you attack Kel'Thuzad?"

The bald man sneered, "You'll soon find out how wrong you are. Also, we didn't attend the feast to kill, but we don't regret what happened. Every race has weaklings who must disappear to make room for the strong."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Like those corpses outside?"

"Yes!" The bald man's expression was fanatical as he opened his arms. "To join us, you must enter the Bear Ring in groups of six... but we only accept three. The weak must sacrifice their lives, while the strong can be reborn."

"Oh?" Ron said dismissively, "You, this supposedly strong person, don't seem that strong."

The bald man chuckled, his face contorted. "I told you, you'll know you're wrong right away."

A cloud of smoke rose around him, billowing and expanding. When the smoke cleared, a huge wild bear stood there, its shoulders almost level with Ron's, its eyes glowing with an eerie red, and saliva dripping continuously from its mouth.

The giant bear pounced on Ron, its massive paws slamming into Ron's face with a whooshing sound, the tips of its claws gleaming coldly.

Ron's eyes showed no change. He raised his hand, clenched his fist, and clashed head-on with the giant bear paw.

boom!

A dull rumble exploded, shaking the rocks off the cave ceiling. The giant bear staggered back two steps, its thick forelimbs drooping, and continued to growl in a low voice.

Ron glanced at his palm. "This is what you call real power? It's not that great."

The bear's roar didn't stop, its eyes gleaming with a murky light, showing no trace of reason, only pure bestial instinct and rage.

Ron's eyes turned completely cold. "Ah, after turning into beasts, you've lost even your basic rationality, leaving only instinct? Then you've lost even your last bit of value."

I had high hopes for you guys before I came here, but now it seems this power with such severe side effects is completely useless.

use."

He raised the greatsword with one hand, placing the blade flat, bent his knees and lowered his shoulders, stretched his right hand back, and taut his entire body like a drawn crossbow. A long inhale was heard, and then the tension snapped abruptly.

Boom!

The sharp blade tore through the air, rushing forward at high speed, precisely piercing the giant bear's neck, pinning it firmly to the rock wall behind it. Half of the sword was pushed deep into the rock by the huge impact, and blood spurted out, splattering all over the rock wall and flowing down, forming a dark red puddle.

Ron gripped the hilt of his sword, twisted and turned it, and the giant bear's head snapped off with a thud, rolling away and coming to rest at Halma's feet.

Halma's eyes lit up as she excitedly leaned closer, "Ron, what kind of swordsmanship is that? I've never seen it before!"

"I designed it myself based on my physical condition," Ron smiled, flicking the blood off the blade.

"My greatsword, with its long enough reach and explosive power, can quickly close in and pierce through targets within five meters, especially larger enemies like this. But now is not the time to discuss this. Let's go, there are still people inside."

Halma nodded vigorously, "I couldn't be happier! But leave me a few this time, don't kill them too quickly, I couldn't get involved just now."

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