The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Geralt walked into the enclosure, and his guards did not wait. They slashed down with their swords at a diagonal speed, so fast that the recruits on the outer perimeter could barely see the trajectory of the sword.

Geralt dodged to the side, his sword grazing his shoulder armor and missing its mark. Almost simultaneously, he swung his sword upwards from below, the force not heavy, but the angle tricky.

The guard had to sheathe his sword and parry, thus disrupting his offensive rhythm. He managed to deflect the sword head-on and took a half-step back.

Geralt did not pursue, but instead took half a step back to create distance and allow his guards to regain their footing.

The blue-clad guards outside the fence whispered among themselves, suggesting that sending them to fetch the enemy might lead to a faster defeat than sending the personal guards. The new recruits, however, focused their attention on two blurry figures, completely forgetting their commands.

The guards adjusted their rhythm, no longer trying to keep up with Geralt's speed. They lowered their swords, shifted their center of gravity, and adopted a head-on, heavy-hitting style of combat.

The force of the sword swing seemed to tear the air apart. Geralt parried continuously, shifting his feet to avoid the frontal attack, and then launched a counterattack from a blind spot, which landed right in front of the guard's throat.

The guard glanced at his sword, which was still half a foot from Geralt's shoulder, sheathed it, and stepped back from the fence. Geralt looked at the guard, then at Ron standing outside the fence, and said, "Not bad."

Upon hearing this comment, the guard nodded slightly and stepped back from the fence, while Weiss raised an eyebrow.

The lightly wounded soldiers of the Blue Iron Guards became serious, and several regular soldiers whispered among themselves. The fact that a Witcher Master had admitted that the swordsmanship was good said something in itself.

Kayla had somehow appeared by the fence, carrying an exquisite teacup. She had changed out of her usual sheer robe and was now wearing a high-necked, deep blue velvet robe.

His collar was trimmed with extremely fine silver thread. His gaze fell in the direction where the guards had left, then turned to Ron: "Is this the strongest person here?"

Ron didn't look at her, but simply replied calmly, "No, there are more than twenty others at the same level."

Geralt paused for a moment, recalling the few lines of hastily written words in Hentrik's notes, the ranks and discipline of the purple-robed soldiers he had witnessed after entering Raven's Den, and the elite sergeants who had immediately switched tactics after their speed was suppressed.

Kayla's teacup stopped in mid-air, her smile vanished completely, and she looked at the guard again before turning her gaze back to Ron.

There are no more than five swordsmen in the entire North whom Geralt would acknowledge as masters, yet here there are twenty.

She didn't speak again, staring at Ron as if examining a strange island that didn't exist on a map.

Geralt rested his sword on the ground and turned to look at Ron, who was standing outside the fence. For a moment, both inside and outside the fence were silent.

The lightly wounded blue-clad Iron Guards exchanged glances; they had seen Ron cut down wooden stakes on the testing grounds.

I've seen him smash a Nilfgaard officer's head into his chest with an axe, but the Witcher is neither a Nilfgaard officer nor a wooden stake.

Ron lifted the two-handed greatsword from his back, gripped it with one hand, and raised the tip of the sword off the ground. Geralt stared at the sword in silence for a moment, then sighed helplessly.

"You call this for training?"

Ron didn't say anything, put down the greatsword, and walked towards the weapon rack next to the training ground. Geralt picked out a two-handed sword.

He weighed the sword in his hand, then switched to a heavier one. As he walked back, he twirled the sword in his hand, adopting a formal starting stance with the tip pointing diagonally at the ground.

Ron was already standing in the center, without any initial stance, simply holding his blunt sword at his side as if it were a one-handed weapon. The two men stared at each other, and the breathing outside the fence was lowered.

Geralt made the first move, not as a test. The Witcher didn't use the same tactic he employed against the Royal Guards, where he initially gave way.

The cat's pupils suddenly contracted, and the sword tip changed from a slanted angle to a horizontal thrust. It was so fast that the sound of the wind from the sword hadn't even reached his ears before the sword tip was already in front of Ron.

Ron sidestepped the blade, barely moving his feet. His iron-gray lamellar armor shifted slightly with his movement as the sword slashed downwards.

The shockwave from the clash of the two swords caused the onlookers to lean back, with some involuntarily taking a half-step back.

Geralt's hand was numb; he didn't try to block the blow again, but instead sidestepped Ron's heavy attack, his sword gliding along the spine of Ron's blade, the tip flipping.

Geralt changed his attack and thrust at Ron's waist from the side. Ron parried with his sword, and the impact was heavier than before. Geralt could no longer hold back his strength.

Weiss gripped the fence tightly, her hands instinctively tightening. The Witcher's speed advantage was almost ineffective against Ron, who was the most terrifyingly powerful monster she had ever seen, and whose speed was completely out of character for his size.

Kayla seemed to have forgotten the black tea in her hand, her eyes fixed on the two figures on the field.

Geralt is changing tactics. He no longer engages in direct confrontation but turns around to the side, trying to lure Ron into his backhand disadvantage zone. Ron doesn't follow his rhythm but simply slowly closes the gap.

Geralt's wide-ranging heavy slashes and horizontal strikes continuously compressed his opponent's movement space, forcing him towards the edge of the fence. Once he reached the optimal attack distance, he unleashed his final sword strike.

Geralt tensed his arms to block, but the sword finally gave way under the combined force, breaking in half and scattering fragments. Half of the sword flew off and landed on the ground.

Geralt looked down at the broken hilt of his sword, then looked up and surveyed Ron standing opposite him with his gaze.

"This sword isn't very durable," the voice said calmly. "Yeah, it's old, it should have been scrapped a long time ago." Ron put the sword down and nodded.

Jero nodded, bent down to pick up the broken piece of the sword, placed it on the weapon rack, then walked to the fence, picked up a glass of water there, and took a gulp.

Kayla walked up to Ron with an empty glass in her hand, her lazy smile gone, as if she were observing something she had never seen before.

"Cradidia," she said, placing her teacup on the fence, her tone no longer sharp as usual, "I had all my sisters who could still receive my messages check the nautical charts and teleportation coordinates, and there is no such continent."

It's not on the nautical chart, and there are no teleportation coordinates for it. This isn't just something that hasn't been discovered in the ordinary sense; it simply doesn't exist.

She looked up at him. "You are not a lord of any known continent, so the Calard mercenary group recruited refugees, trained new soldiers, and built workshops in Velen."

What is it all for? Is it to restore a kingdom in some place that doesn't even exist on a map?

Ron did not answer immediately. He put the sword back on the shelf and remained silent for a few breaths.

"Live, we'll talk about the rest later."

Kayla gave a soft "hmm," paused for a moment, and then resumed her languid yet sharp tone.

"Fine, whoever you are, don't even think about using a sergeant's salary as an excuse to avoid working on new equipment next time my lab needs it."

She turned and walked toward the laboratory, pausing as she passed the fence and glancing at Geralt.

"Your swordsmanship hasn't deteriorated at all, but you'll need to get a sword that won't break easily next time," he said, then walked away with his teacup, his dark blue robe swaying in the morning light.

Ron put the training sword back on the shelf and walked towards the courtyard. Geralt paused for a moment, then walked away towards the guest rooms. The crowd gradually dispersed, but their movements were much stiffer than usual.

As evening fell, a caramel-colored smell wafted from Kayla's laboratory. In the center of the workbench sat a bottle of pale blue potion, brewed the night before.