The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Two days later, at dawn, Ron set off with two Fiona champions to deal with the flying beasts. The infantry would be easy targets; archers would suffice.

Ron was fully armed, with a full helmet, chainmail neck guard, a heavy two-handed battle axe hanging on his back, and two bags of newly made javelins at his waist.

The javelins were heavy broadswords that Brom had forged himself according to his requirements. Each one was about four feet long and felt heavy in the hand, just right.

The infantry stayed nearby to provide support. The road was narrow and the gravel was very slippery. Fiona walked in front, his footsteps were very light and almost silent. Suddenly, the archer in front crouched down behind a tree and pointed forward.

Ron surveyed the terrain. The pine forest was about seventy paces from the rock wall. It wasn't tall, but it was dense enough with branches that could block the view and hide one's figure.

He pointed towards the pine forest with his finger, and the two archers understood and headed in the designated direction.

Upon reaching the position, Fiona drew arrows from his quiver. The arrowheads were wrapped in coarse hemp soaked in pine resin and sulfur, the resin so sticky it was about to drip.

The flint and steel were passed between the archers, and the flames climbed up the arrow shaft, while the black smoke from burning pine resin, carrying a pungent, acrid smell, spread out.

The first arrow struck the gravel at the edge of the nest, splattering resin and sending black smoke billowing into the cave with the wind.

The second branch, located above the central entrance, saw flames shooting upwards along the dry moss from a rock crevice.

The third arrow drove straight into the depths of the nest.

Black smoke billowed from the cave, growing thicker and thicker, mixed with the smell of burning. A sharp hissing sound came from inside the cave, not a bird's call, but a sound that pierced one's eardrums and exploded from the cave.

Phew! ! !

A grayish-brown shadow emerged from the cave, its wings flapping and dispersing the thick smoke at the entrance. It was smaller than expected and was not a Royal Pterodactyl.

With a long, slender neck, a hooked beak, and a tuft of fluffy feathers atop its head, the tip of its beak coated in sticky saliva, it was a petrified chicken-snake.

Its claws gripped the edge of the rock platform, its neck snapped downwards, and its yellow pupils contracted rapidly, locking onto the direction of the pine forest.

Ron drew his javelin from behind his back, stretched it across his right shoulder, then bent back and stepped back, his body resembling a siege crossbow noose stretched to its limit.

With a sudden snap, the javelin shot straight out, its movement causing the surrounding air currents to bend the nearby weeds slightly.

With a low whistling sound, the spear tip pierced through the petrified chicken-snake's chest and wings, instantly penetrating its thick, tough hide and throwing the monster half a step backward.

Throwing isn't Ron's primary skill, but the petrified chicken snake is much larger than a human.

At close range, with his strength and the added weight of nearly 350 pounds in his armored state, he doesn't need to throw very accurately; even a glancing throw can cause enough damage.

The petrified chicken-snake let out a piercing scream the moment it was injured, and its wings flapped violently against the ground.

With the spear deeply embedded in his chest, he flew off the rocky platform, his posture erratic. As he ascended, the wound was torn open further, and blood flowed down the spear shaft.

The bowstring twanged from the direction of the pine forest, and a specially made armor-piercing arrow pierced its wing and shoulder. Accompanied by its angry screech, it rolled sideways and charged up the rock wall, trying to return to its nest.

The second javelin was already in Ron's hand. He rolled the shaft halfway around in his palm, pressed the butt of the javelin deeper, took a deep breath, and threw it again.

The spear flew faster and harder than the first, piercing through the side of the wing and lodging itself among the feathers with a muffled, crisp cracking sound in mid-air.

The petrified chicken-snake's wings were no longer under its control, and it crashed down from a height of several dozen feet, causing the ground to tremble.

Its wings were still twitching, each heavy breath scraping the gravel ground, its belly still heaving, as it futilely kicked its claws, trying to stand up.

Ron stepped forward, drew his battle axe from behind his back, and was about to deliver the final blow when he noticed a cunning killing intent flash in the reptilian's bright yellow pupils.

But its body still showed signs of impending death, as if anyone could kill it with a single sword strike.

When Ron got within three or four steps, its neck snapped out like a snake.

The venomous beak, emitting a pungent odor, viciously slashed at Ron's face. It was a desperate, desperate attack from a cornered beast, and once it hit, even an iron helmet could not withstand it.

Ron's gaze remained unwavering. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp beak grazing his visor, leaving a white scratch.

He swung his axe in a backhand motion, the blade slicing through the air, slicing cleanly and decisively through the snake's tail that was simultaneously whipping around.

Its tail, covered in fine scales, fell to the ground with a thud, twitched a few times, and then lay still. The petrified chicken-snake let out a weak roar and collapsed back to the ground.

Ron walked forward expressionlessly, gripped the head with both hands, aimed at its still heavily breathing head, and cleanly chopped it down. The brutal light in its yellow eyes finally went out like coal dust.

Ron slammed his battle axe into the gravel. The petrified chicken-snake's corpse lay sprawled among the rubble, its blood almost gone.

The skin from his chest to his abdomen was relatively intact. There was some damage near his shoulder where the spear had pierced him, but the area was large enough. He drew his dagger, and the tip of the blade made a soft sound as it slid across the wound.

He cut off the venom gland from the beak, making a very light cut. The venom sac wall was thin and would break with the slightest force. He wrapped it in two layers of linen and put it into the leather bag at his waist.

This is for Aina, then the thick leather with feathers, the wing claws are done last, the dagger is cut along the joint, and finally it is wrapped in linen and tied together with the leather.

Two Fionas squatted nearby, one holding the bag open, the other quickly stuffing the bundled materials inside. No one spoke.

Ron stood up, pulled the broken spear from the corpse, wiped it clean on the rubble, and put it away. Brom's spearhead was made of good iron; it could be melted down and used again.

One of the two Fionas carried the bag on his shoulder, while the other dragged two thick logs out of the pine forest and wove several crossbars with hemp rope to make a makeshift stretcher.

Ron lifted the petrified chicken snake onto the stretcher, and the three of them, one in front and two behind, walked down the mountain path, leaving a crooked trail of gravel beneath the stretcher.

The infantrymen waited at the edge of the woods. Cole, sitting on a rock with his spear shaft across his knees, was the first to stand up when he heard the noise. He didn't speak, but just looked at the grayish-brown corpse on the stretcher, its huge wings dragging on the ground and its beak half open.

Miko's pupils contracted slightly as his eyes swept over the broad wingspan of the chicken-snake carriage and the snake's tail that Ron had severed.

Then, he whispered something, his voice very low, as if confirming a certain judgment with himself. Cole, who was next to him, nodded but did not reply.

Crow's Nest

Upon entering the village, some people spotted them first on the wooden bridge made of logs, turned around and ran into the village, followed by more people coming out of the wooden houses.

The thin old man stood at the front of the crowd, still wearing the same patched gray shirt he had worn a few days earlier when he had begged Ron at the garden gate.

He saw the enormous monster's corpse on the stretcher, saw its wings dragging on the ground and its drooping snake tail, its mouth opening and closing, its Adam's apple bobbing up and down.