The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Roche's gaze shifted, lingering on the training field for a few breaths, as if he were using that time to consider something.

"Weiss will have to stay here for a while." He turned his gaze away. "The wounded get along well with your people. Who's this herbalist of yours?"

"The former priests of the Temple of Meriteli were driven out by the Nilfgaardians."

Roche didn't speak, but rubbed his chin with his fingers, then let go and put the topic aside.

"She won't be idle."

"I know"

Roche didn't ask any further questions. He took out a stack of parchment from his pocket and spread it out on the table. The parchment contained a simple map of central and northern Velen, with several main roads circled in charcoal.

"The central military camp in Nilfgaard has recently been mobilizing," he said, pointing to a mark on the map.

"A brigade of the Alba Division is sending additional patrols to Velen. The number of troops is small, but the patrol frequency has doubled, and the timing matches the time of the death of that group of Nilfgaardians."

Ron looked down at the map, while Roche moved his finger, circling a forested area at the edge of the map.

"There's an abandoned outpost here, in a well-hidden location. It can serve as a backup camp. If the central army camp gets too aggressive, you can temporarily move here."

Ron memorized these locations. "What's going on with the Merchants' Guild?"

Roche looked up, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. He didn't ask Ron how he knew about the Merchants' Guild.

"Their tentacles in Novigrad have recently extended into Velen. My men intercepted a shipment, not equipment, but documents. They're looking for a new Velen agent; the previous partners have recently disappeared."

Ron didn't speak. Roche folded the map but didn't put it in his pocket.

"You can keep this map," he said, pushing the parchment towards Ron.

"If you need help, send someone to the abandoned mill at the three-way intersection to the north and knock three times on the doorframe."

"Um"

"Weis can be very direct and a bit reckless at times, but she's a good girl. Please keep an eye on her for me."

"it is good"

Roche turned around, took a few steps, and stopped when he passed the swordsmanship area. Weiss was helping a recruit up from the ground. The recruit had been hit by a wooden sword and had fallen to the ground, his shield rolling far away.

Weiss grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him up, patting the dust off his breastplate: "Get up, no one pulls a dead man up."

Roche glanced at him for a few seconds, then continued walking towards the door. His men were lined up at the entrance to the courtyard, their hands on their sword hilts, their posture relaxed but not lazy.

Ron picked up the map from the low table, folded it, and stood by the table for a moment instead of immediately returning to his work.

At the abandoned mill at the three-way intersection in the north, knock three times on the doorframe. This map is a favor Roche owes him; it can provide intelligence support through another channel.

Commands came from the direction of the training ground. Karl was switching the formation from a horizontal line to a wedge, while Miko led a group of new recruits to flank from the side.

The clash of wooden swords in the fencing area was dense and continuous, interspersed with brief corrective commands from the blue-clad Iron Guard instructors and Weiss's signature "You bunch of recruits still have a long way to go."

The sound of Brom's hammer came from the direction of the blacksmith's shop, steady and powerful. Stones were being piled up along the river bend. In the corner of the courtyard, villagers who had just settled down were squatting by the low wall, hammering wooden stakes to lay the foundation for the newly built shed.

Ron picked up the list and was about to head to the blacksmith's shop when Todd jogged across the courtyard and came up to Ron, clutching his knees and still a little out of breath.

"Sir, Master Brom is looking for you."

In the blacksmith's forge, Brom stood beside it, his thick arms crossed over his chest, looking at the armor and weapons on the workbench.

Full-coverage plate armor, tightly riveted, cold steel color, unpainted, with fine forging marks on the surface.

The greatsword has a thick blade, a straight guard, and a leather-wrapped hilt with a simple counterweight. It is devoid of any decorations or unnecessary parts, exuding a rough and untamed primitive feel.

Brom pointed to the plate armor and said

"The breastplate's forged seams were reinforced with keel-like ridges, the joint linings were thickened, and anti-magic metal was embedded in the inner lining, bringing the total weight to nearly one hundred pounds."

He turned the plate armor over, revealing several dark metal inlays on the inner leather lining. "Try it on, and we'll alter any parts that don't fit."

Then, pointing to the greatsword, he said, "I've adjusted the weight distribution on this thing. When I hold it with one hand, the center of gravity is three fingers in front of the guard; when I hold it with both hands, it's half a palm forward. It doesn't affect my movements."

He tapped his stubby fingers on the hilt of the sword.

"The blade has been tempered twice, and with this weight, it can even cut through heavy plate armor. I'm not even sure if this counts as a sword or a blunt weapon."

Then he turned and picked up a suit of armor from the other side. It was much lighter than plate armor. The breastplate was made of tanned and molded grey-brown leather, with leather lining and chainmail twisted together, and an outer layer of lamellar armor covering it, all stacked and arranged.

"This is made from the skin of that petrified chicken-snake." Brom picked up the armor and showed it to Ron.

"When combined with chainmail and plate armor, it's impenetrable by ordinary crossbows and provides sufficient defense against swords, but not heavy crossbows, which can still penetrate it at close range. I've modified the way the armor plates are stacked."

A witcher from the Bear School once approached me, and I modified this armor based on the blueprints, making it both lightweight and sturdy, suitable for everyday use.

He placed the armor next to the plate armor.

"Use this for routine patrols. You can't patrol in full plate armor and that door bolt every time; the horse won't get far carrying you before it's worn out."

Ron first picked up the light armor, the armor plates shifting slightly with his movements. He jumped twice in place, swung his arms, the armor plates gliding smoothly, the sound of the leather rubbing together soft and muffled.

He nodded, took off his light armor, and began to put on his plate armor.

The guards stepped forward to help him fasten the side buckles of his breastplate and tighten the shoulder straps. After he put on the plate armor, his shoulders became much wider, and the skirt armor reached down to the middle of his thighs. His iron boots stomped on the ground with a dull thud with each step.

The helmet visor was pushed down, narrowing the field of vision to a thin line.

He picked up the greatsword with one hand, gripping the hilt in his palm, and lifted the blade off the ground with a motion as steady as if he were holding a wooden sword.

When Ron walked out of the blacksmith shop, a group of people had already gathered around the training ground. Everyone turned to look in Ron's direction. In the militia, someone forgot to hold his spear, and the shaft slipped from his hand. Old Got glared at him and brought him back to his senses.

Ron walked to the weapons testing area, where test poles were prepared, and he donned the captured Nilfgaardian chainmail and breastplate.

The breastplate still bears old marks from sword piercings, and the wooden stake, as thick as an adult man's waist, is deeply buried in the compacted mud.

Ron held the sword in one hand, the blade changing from pointing diagonally at the ground to horizontal. He swung the sword, the blade cutting into the chainmail, the iron rings flying off with a crisp sound and scattering in all directions, crackling as they hit the ground. This was followed by the metallic clang of the iron breastplate tearing, and the muffled sound of wooden stakes being crushed.

The upper half of the wooden stake, along with the shattered breastplate, crashed to the ground, the remaining force of the sword slicing into the ground and creating a shallow crater, raising a cloud of dust.

Ron sheathed his sword, tilting it slightly. The blade was neither chipped nor nicked, and two backfire lines lay quietly horizontally above the guard.