The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Ron looked at him, his face flushed from alcohol, with a hint of domineering seriousness—not suspicion, not a test, but a father issuing a warning.

"She's only nineteen," the Baron said, his voice much lower than before, as if he didn't want anyone to hear, "She's still a child."

Ron didn't explain; he just nodded slightly, his lips twitching slightly in a way that suggested he was amused but not quite found it funny.

Tamara was indeed more like a curious child to him. Her eyes lit up when she asked about snow-capped mountains and grasslands, but that was all. He was neither used to nor needed to explain it to anyone.

The baron glared at him for two more seconds, then snorted, placed the wine jug on the stone table, sat down beside it, and let the wine spill from the rim of his cup without wiping it away: "The quartermaster has sent someone."

Ron remained silent, waiting.

"We've sent quite a few supplies," the baron said, dipping his finger in the spilled wine on the table and drawing circles on the stone surface.

"Several truckloads of new supplies arrived, along with a message saying that they would no longer requisition supplies from Crow's Nest, and that they would make up for the previous requisitions through other channels."

He looked at Ron: "What do you think?"

"When the venomous snake temporarily retreats into its burrow, it is the moment we lower our guard to unleash its fangs."

The baron tapped his fingers slowly on the stone table, pushed his wine glass away, rested his hands on his knees, and leaned forward slightly.

"The snake won't change; it's not giving up, it's because you heard the sound of its movement," he said.

"The Nilfgaardians are more patient than snakes; they are never in a hurry to bite, but every bite they take hits the mark."

Ron nodded.

"He will come. When he comes, he will be better prepared than last time. He still has that heavy infantry company in his hands. He hasn't moved, not because he's afraid, but because he's calculating."

The baron stood up, picked up the empty wine jug, and said, "Be vigilant until then." With a wave of his hand, his burly body swayed, and he turned and strode toward the castle.

Ron sat on the stone bench for a while longer, then stood up. Several villagers were waiting under the tree outside the garden.

The leader was a thin old man, dressed in a gray cloth shirt and clutching a tattered hat. He saw Ron come out, took a step forward, and twirled the hat in his hand.

Sergeant Major, please help us! There's a monster, huge, it can fly, and its screams can be heard even across the mountains.

It built its nest on the northern cliff and initially only preyed on sheep, but later it even targeted shepherds; a young man from the village was carried away by it, and when it caught up, it only found half a boot.

Ron looked at the old man but didn't interrupt.

"We went to plead with the Baron," the old man continued.

"The Baron sent seven men, but only three returned alive; the rest died on the mountain. That thing was too cunning; it wouldn't move when people were at the bottom of the mountain, but would pounce on them when they were halfway up."

Its wings and claws are like knives. Our bows can't hit it, and even if they do, they can't penetrate; its skin is like a layer of armor.

The baron said that sending more men would be suicide, and he couldn't control the situation; he could only post a request and wait for a passing witcher to arrive.

He looked up, his eyes not filled with expectation, but with the last vestige of something that had been exhausted and was still burning.

"We don't know when the witcher passed through here, but no one in the village dares to graze their sheep anymore. If this continues, the sheep will be gone, and the people will be gone soon too. Please help us."

After listening, Ron did not answer immediately. He first asked about the monster's size, attack methods, lair location, and surrounding terrain.

The old man turned and beckoned to a short, stocky young man, who explained in detail—its wingspan was as wide as a carriage, its claws were as big as a blacksmith's pliers, it would pounce on people from above, knock them down with its wings, and then tear them apart.

The nest is in a cave above the quarry, opposite a grove of low pine trees, and above the rock wall is a protruding platform.

Ron memorized the information, then nodded to the old man: "I understand. Go back and tell everyone not to approach that mountain for the time being."

The old man opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then swallowed it back. He just nodded his head vigorously, but the expression on his face relaxed a little.

Ron turned and walked toward the barracks. He was interested in the monster, and not just in the shepherds.

The monster's lair overlapped with his soldiers' patrol routes, and Bromti had mentioned that the hides of large monsters were the best material for armor linings—lightweight, cushioned, and highly protective.

It's like wearing an extra layer of leather armor under plate armor, but hunters don't usually get their hands on this kind of leather, so this is a rare opportunity.

He returned to the barracks, ordered his guards to prepare his horse, and went back to the manor to discuss the matter with Erwin.

Scholars have studied various creatures brought about by the convergence of celestial bodies, so they should be able to recognize what kind of monster this is.

When Ron returned to Calard Manor, it was already afternoon. Before leaving Raven's Den, he had his guards set off ahead of time to re-survey several low-lying areas along the route where people could easily hide.

He hadn't seen the truckloads of supplies that the quartermaster had sent, but the baron had sent an old soldier to escort them, and they should be unloading the goods at the manor by now.

As the horse's hooves trod on the gravel path surrounding the manor, he heard a sound that was not quite right.

It wasn't the sound of a blacksmith's hammer, nor was it Karl's training commands in the courtyard; it was the voices of many children coming from the direction of the abandoned chapel.

The children's voices were pouring out from the half-open wooden window, muffled and drawn out.

He dismounted and walked in the direction of the sound.

The church door was open, and there were several rows of crooked low wooden tables and benches of varying heights. Some were benches that had been moved directly from the kitchen, while others were wooden crates turned upside down and placed on the ground.

Aina stood at the front, writing on a wooden board hanging on the wall. She was still wearing the old gray robe from the temple, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her thin but strong forearms.

Her hair was still braided in the same style, tied with a faded blue cloth strip, the end of the braid draped over her shoulder. She noticed the light in the doorway dim for a moment.

She turned her head, her green eyes meeting Ron's, nodded, and then continued.

Erwin stood by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression focused and cautious, his brow slightly furrowed. Ron noticed that he wasn't carrying a notepad, which was unusual.

"Erwin helped compile the textbooks," Aina said, putting the charcoal pencil aside after writing the last letter.

"I cut most of it out. What he wrote is suitable for Beefburg Academy, not for kids who can't even write their own names."

Erwin pushed up his glasses and his lips moved; he really couldn't refute it.

When class ended, the children squeezed out from between the tables and ran past Ron's legs like a flock of sparrows released from their cage.

A girl with pigtails ran to the door and then turned back. She rummaged in her pocket for a while, pulled out a handful of pine nuts, and stuffed them into Ron's hand.

It was the little girl who had given him the flower wreath. She looked much better now, her cheeks were fuller. She looked up at him, didn't say anything, and grinned.

Ron looked down at the handful of pine nuts in his palm, said nothing, just reached out and rubbed her head, then walked to the window, took the pine nuts out of his pocket and handed them to Erwin.

"Thanks," Erwin said, taking the egg, cracking it open, and rubbing off the shell.