The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

At that moment, the hatch opened, and a person stepped out. He was 2.2 meters tall, and his chainmail gleamed silver-gray in the moonlight, instantly drawing Karl's attention.

Ron looked at Karl, his gaze sweeping over the tip of the lance, and then said, "Good alertness."

Karl moved first, raising the tip of his lance an inch.

Then the speed of the entire wedge formation began to decrease, and the rhythm of the horses' hooves changed from dense to scattered.

The lances were raised from horizontal to angled, and the sixteen warhorses went from charging to trotting, then from trotting to walking slowly, stopping twenty paces ahead of the river bend.

Karl pushed up his visor, revealing his face beneath. His eyes swept from the ragged men to the red-bearded dwarf carrying the bucket, and finally landed on Ron.

"One of our own," Ron said.

Karl pulled his lance back to his horse's side.

Brom was still holding the bucket, his mouth still agape, but the growl in his throat had stopped. His gaze shifted from Karl's face to Ron, and then back to Karl's face.

He repeated "one of us," and lowered the bucket from his head, letting it slam onto the gravel with a thud. "Why the hell didn't you say so earlier?!"

He dusted the sawdust off his hands and looked up at Ron.

"Is this how everyone greets each other at your camp?"

Aina's hands were still outstretched, but they weren't trembling as much as before. She watched as Karl removed his visor, revealing his young face underneath.

Ron stepped down the gangway, his leather boots crunching on the gravel.

"Carl," he said.

Karl walked over from beside the horse, the armor plates rustling with each step.

"Move all the equipment from the cargo hold back to camp, every single crate, nothing left behind."

He paused for a moment. "There's food in the lower decks; take it with you."

Karl clenched his fist and pounded his chest, "Yes!"

Ron turned around, his gaze sweeping over the ragged people on the shore, huddled together, shivering. The night wind of Willen carried a chill that seeped into their skin.

Ron's gaze swept across their faces.

"The campsite is behind the courtyard," she added.

"Women and children go first."

The woman in the grey robe turned around, carrying the child, and walked towards the camp. The child, nestled on her shoulder, kept looking at Ron.

Aina followed behind them, gently brushing the pebbles and dirt off the children's feet.

.........

The midday sun shone on the campsite, which became lively as new people joined.

As Ron sat down at the low table in the courtyard, a message appeared on the system panel in the upper right corner.

"Companion System Unlocked"

He placed the ceramic cup on the table, clicked on the prompt, and a new tab page appeared on the panel.

Erwin von Herdmann's name was listed at the very top, followed by a silhouette holding an unfolded scroll of parchment, with a few lines of smaller text below.

Development Direction: Administrative Governor

Ron's gaze lingered on the panel for a moment.

Recruiting companions in the game is not like that. You can spend a few hundred denars in the tavern and they will follow you. As long as you pay enough money, there is no situation where you cannot recruit them.

But this wasn't a tavern, and Erwin wasn't someone he'd hired; he'd met him in the dungeon of a bandit camp.

They confided in each other by the campfire when he said "don't get used to it." The system only added this person to the companion list today, not because Ron only "recruited" him today, but because the system only determined that the loyalty was genuine today.

"No matter how nicely you say it, it's useless," Ron muttered to himself, finishing the rest of the water in his glass.

This mechanism will be very useful in the future. When people come to seek refuge, there's no need to guess who is sincere and who is not. Human hearts are the most unreliable thing, but the system doesn't rely on human hearts; it relies on judgment.

He turned off the comrade tag, and the unit tag popped up with changed numbers.

No longer thirty-seven, Miko and his team now have a new label: fourteen people.

Among the civilians rescued from the ship's hold, some approached Karl within two days of returning to camp and asked to join the group.

But not everyone can wield a sword. Karl only selected a portion of them. Fourteen names were listed under the Imperial Recruits label, and their progress bars were all empty. The total number of troops increased from thirty-five to fifty-one.

Then he noticed a small upward arrow next to his personal level.

"Level Up: Lv.31→Lv.32 Attribute Points Gained: 1"

His gaze lingered on the attribute panel for a moment.

Strength 10, agility 8, constitution 7, and over 300 in single-handed and two-handed polearm archery and horsemanship are more than enough in this world. What's not enough is these stats. What's truly lacking is the ability to sense whether there are ambushes behind the trees, whether there are traps at the attack location, and which of a smiling plate-armored chieftain's words are true.

He clicked it.

Perception: 5→6, the panel flashed, and the number froze. He closed the interface, removed the ceramic cup from the supplies list, stood up, and walked towards the central courtyard.

In the courtyard, Karl was leading the soldiers in changing their uniforms.

Fourteen soldiers who had returned from the beach stood in a row. Except for the wounded Pete, all the others were there. Karl was leading two veterans to hand out the equipment piece by piece from the wooden crates. The crates had been moved back from the bottom of the ship's hold the night before. When the crate lids were opened, the chainmail gleamed finely in the afternoon sun.

Miko was the first to receive it. The long cloak and chainmail clattered as they were put on. The chainmail neck guard was fastened, the finely forged breastplate was put on, the wide-brimmed iron helmet was put on properly, and then the outer cloak was draped over his shoulders.

The robes were made overnight by several women in the camp from coarse linen and dyed light purple. The dye was boiled from the roots of a type of herb dug up near the camp. The color was not very uniform, but purple was the symbol of the empire.

Mico hung the sword Ron had given him at his waist, the leather scabbard gleaming in the sunlight.

Carl walked past him, his gaze lingering on the neck brace's buckle. He reached out and tugged at it; the buckle was taut and wouldn't come loose.

He patted Miko on the shoulder, the armor plate vibrated, and then moved on to the next person.

When all fourteen men had changed, the courtyard was quiet for a moment. Fourteen soldiers in purple robes stood in the afternoon sun, their breastplates gleaming with iron light beneath their robes, the shadows of their wide-brimmed helmets obscuring half their faces. The formation wasn't perfectly aligned, but Karl no longer needed to yell at them to get in line.

Ron stood to the side watching. In the troop interface, every item in the equipment bar to the right of the Imperial infantry icon was lit up, representing complete, standardized, and organized equipment.

Erwin emerged from the steps of the main building, his monocle perched crookedly on his nose, clutching a roll of parchment. He walked faster than usual, stopping in front of Ron and unfolding the parchment.

"Three things," he said, pressing his finger on the paper.

"First, I've looked at the wasteland on the east side of the manor. The soil is of good quality and can be used to grow oats and barley after being plowed. The area on the north side near the river can be turned into vegetable plots to grow turnips and cabbages."

Our population is now approaching eighty, and we can't rely entirely on spoils and purchases. This land has been abandoned for at least two seasons, so the soil fertility is sufficient, and recultivation shouldn't be too difficult. We also have enough manpower.

He paused, then moved his finger to another spot on the paper.

"Secondly, we need a formal name for ourselves."

Ron looked at him.

"Mercenary groups are the most flexible option in the initial stages. They won't arouse excessive suspicion and can also be used to deal with the port management authorities in Novigrad. I've already thought of a name, if you don't object."

He turned the parchment over and drew a sketch of a flag on the back with charcoal. It had a purple background and a standing golden lion in the center with its mane spread out in all directions.

"The Calad Mercenary Group, its banner bears the emblem of your homeland."

Ron looked down at the sketch, the purple flag and the lion emblem. He stared at it for a moment, then folded the parchment and handed it back to Erwin.

"Can"