The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

The Nilfgaardian officer's gaze lingered on Ron for a moment, as if he had remembered something, then he smiled.

It wasn't the smile of bumping into an acquaintance, but the smile of finally finding a suitable tool.

He pulled the sword from the mud and strode toward Ron, each step accompanied by the clanging of metal.

He stopped a few steps in front of Ron, looked up—he had to look up, his head only reaching Ron's breastplate—and then cleared his throat in a businesslike manner.

He announced the unit number of "Reconnaissance Team Directly Subordinate to the Third Army Corps of the Central Group Army."

His tone was exactly the same as when he read a document he had memorized many times, and he pronounced every word very clearly.

"These blue-clad remnants are members of the Temurian resistance. I have ordered their immediate arrest. You are the sergeant under the Baron."

"Your troops are now being conscripted. Command is officially transferred from this moment on. You are now under my command!"

His voice echoed briefly among the charred thatched huts.

The woman in blue wasn't looking at the officer; she was looking at Ron, her gaze sweeping over his lamellar armor, chainmail, and visor.

Finally, his gaze fell upon the enormous two-handed battle axe held in one hand, and the corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily, forming a bitter smile.

"Another batch of Nilfgaardian dogs has arrived," her voice was hoarse, as if choked by smoke, but the ending note rose sharply, carrying a kind of indifferent sarcasm.

"What, did the Nilfgaardian dogs smell their master's poop? Wagging their tails and following them in circles?"

The officer turned his head, gave Weiss a cold glance, and made a very short hand gesture to the crossbowman beside him.

"After I finish dealing with official business, I'll interrogate you properly," he said in a statement-like tone, without the slightest fluctuation.

"I have so many great young men here, they must really want to have a good 'chat' with you."

The Nilfgaardian soldiers' burning gazes peeked through the gaps in their open-faced helmets, fixed intently on Weiss, their breathing quickening.

Some villagers took a step back, the man holding the pitchfork trembled, and the iron teeth of the pitchfork hit the ground with a soft sound. The woman pressed the child into her arms, not letting the child look up.

Ron didn't look at the officer; his gaze went over the officer's shoulder and landed in the corner of the open space.

The villagers' bodies were piled up haphazardly, with an old woman on top. She had a wound on her back that ran from her shoulder blade to her waist, and her torn burlap shirt was stuck to the wound with blood.

Next to him was a young woman, barefoot, her skirt torn up to her thighs, with a deep gash on her neck that severed her trachea.

Next to her was a child whose leg had been crushed by something at an incorrect angle, and whose face still held the expression from the last moment.

Ron's gaze lingered on the pile of corpses for a moment before he looked away and looked down at the officer in front of him.

"Villager, did you kill them?"

The voice seemed to carry a cold, metallic quality, and the officer's Adam's apple bobbed behind his neck guard.

"First of all, when speaking to a superior, you should say 'Report!'"

The officer's tone shifted from businesslike to impatient, and his brows furrowed.

"However, since you're not a regular Nilfgaardian soldier, I won't pursue such details; secondly, soldier, your job is to follow orders, not question your superiors. This is a secret military mission, you have no right to know the details, and I have no obligation to explain them to you."

Ron moved his hand slightly, turning the axe handle half a circle in his palm, and flipping the axe blade from hanging down to the ground to being horizontal. The movement was very light and almost silent.

The massive battle axe blade slammed down, accompanied by the whistling wind that tore through the air to both sides and the heavy clang of metal striking metal.

Bang!

The Nilfgaardian officer's head was completely embedded in his chest cavity, his twisted and deformed knight's helmet was stuck in his breastplate, revealing half of his broken visor. The feather decorations on his helmet had broken off and lay at the officer's feet, trembling slightly.

Blood and metal fragments splattered in all directions. His body seemed not to have reacted to the sudden impact. He stood still for a moment, then crashed to the ground with a thud, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Ron, covered in blood, remained expressionless and coldly uttered a single word.

"kill"

The Nilfgaardian crossbowman was the first to react; he instinctively pulled the trigger, and the bolt shot out, embedding itself in the shield wall to Ron's left, before being deflected by the shield.

He reached for the quiver at his waist, and the moment his hand touched the leather cover, the ranks behind Ron began to move.

Karl took half a step forward, the military crossbow pressed against his shoulder and cheek. He released it, and an arrow pierced the crossbowman's throat. The crossbowman's body leaned back, and the crossbow slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

Another crossbowman took off running and was about to climb over the door when three crossbow bolts were fired simultaneously from the back of the line, embedding themselves in his back.

He fell forward, hanging from the broken edge of the fence gate. He kicked twice, then stopped moving.

The Nilfgaardian shieldbearers raised their shields almost simultaneously; their reaction was quick, but Miko had already led his five-man squad to press forward from the flank.

A swordsman with a shield raised his shield and rammed it into the side of the shieldman on the left. With a muffled thud, the shields collided.

The Nilfgaardian soldier was knocked to the side, and a spear thrust out from behind the shield-wielder, the tip piercing his thigh and pinning him to his knees. Cole then cut in from the other side, piercing his throat with a single sword stroke.

The two Nilfgaardian shieldbearers in the middle simultaneously raised their shields and thrust forward, their longswords grazing the edge of the shields as they aimed at Miko, the tips of the swords scraping against Miko's breastplate.

Miko didn't use his sword. Instead, he drew his one-handed armor-piercing hammer from his waist and swung it diagonally downwards, accurately striking the side of the shield-bearer's helmet on the left. The helmet dented, and the shield-bearer fell to the side.

Pete filled in from the right, his shield striking another shieldbearer's shield, and the three shieldbearers immediately followed up to surround him.

The four large shields exerted force simultaneously, severely compressing the Nilfgaardian soldiers' movement space. The soldiers surrounded by the shield wall had no time to react.

Several longswords pierced rapidly through the gaps in the shields. Moments later, as the screams subsided, the shield bearers dispersed their formation again, and the Nilfgaardian soldiers' corpses, riddled with sword wounds, collapsed to the ground with a thud.

The last shield bearer was retreating, shield still held aloft, but his legs were trembling, his steps faltering. The edge of his shield bumped into the still-smoking handcart, causing him to stumble.

Once he regained his balance and looked up, he found himself surrounded by the spears and crossbow bolts of thirty soldiers.

He dropped his shield, which slammed onto the muddy ground, and as he turned and ran, he threw away the sword he was holding.

Old Gott caught up from the side and kicked out, causing the soldier to lose his balance and fall to the ground. As the soldier struggled to get up, Old Gott stepped on his back, pressed the tip of his spear against the back of his neck, and stabbed him viciously through the gap between his helmet and neck.

The open space was quiet, but the air was still thick with the stench of blood and burning.

Weiss remained in the position of holding her sword, the tip pointing forward, but there was no one there anymore; a field of Nilfgaardian soldiers lay across the muddy ground at the village entrance.

The blonde female officer looked up at Ron, her bloodstained lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't smile, nor did she mock him; she simply looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze.

"This guy was just trying to conscript you," her voice was still hoarse, but the anger from before was gone.

"Yeah, so he died," Ron said.

"Blue-Clad Iron Guard, Weiss"

"Ron of the Calard Mercenary Group"

Weiss wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, tilted her head toward the officer's corpse on the ground, and stared at the officer's head embedded in his chest cavity for a while before sheathing her sword.