The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

It was early morning, just as dawn was breaking.

Ron stood at the camp entrance, a two-handed axe in his hand.

This axe was found in the camp's armory. It was a rough job by a blacksmith. The blade wasn't sharp enough, and the handle was wrapped in old, blackened cloth. The whole axe exuded a savage, pragmatic style. Ron held it with one hand and swung it a few times in the air to test the center of gravity. It was just right.

Beside him leaned an oak shield, its edges reinforced with iron, bearing several old marks from swords and axes. He slung the shield over his left arm, weighed it a couple of times, and decided it was usable.

Carl led a horse over, glanced at Ron's attire, and hesitated before speaking.

"Say whatever you want to say," Ron said.

"Your Highness... are you just going out like this?"

Ron looked down at himself. He had no breastplate, no chainmail, only a thick leather armor he'd stripped from a bandit's corpse, barely enough to fit him, with seams ripping under the armpits.

There was simply no armor in the camp that he could fit into; his size was far too large for the standard equipment of this continent.

"If it doesn't fit, it doesn't fit," Ron shrugged helplessly. "Let's go."

Karl said nothing more, mounted his horse, and behind him, five cavalrymen and two archers were ready to go, while the rest of the men stayed behind to guard the camp.

Horses hooves pounded the muddy dirt road as the column marched north along the river south of the camp. Mist rolled across the river, and the wild grasses on both banks rustled in the wind.

Ron walked in the middle of the group, riding the largest warhorse in the camp that originally belonged to the bandit leader, but his legs were still almost touching the ground. Behind him was Karl, and on both sides were scattered cavalry.

This was the first time they had proactively explored this unfamiliar land.

---

The river made a bend, and a shallow beach appeared ahead.

Ron raised his hand, and the group stopped. He stared at the water—something was wrong; there were unnatural ripples on the surface.

"Your Highness?" Karl asked in a low voice.

Ron didn't answer. He raised his shield to his chest, held his axe to his side, and dismounted.

Two gray-blue figures darted out of the muddy water of the shallows.

They were incredibly fast, faster than an average person. Ron's pupils completed the distance measurement the instant they broke through the water, roughly six and a half steps.

With Erwin, the scholar from the celestial intersection, giving a general knowledge lecture, the soldiers had gained some understanding of the common species in Velen, so they did not panic when faced with the water ghosts.

The water ghost's physique resembled that of a gaunt person, but the texture of its skin was like that of a corpse that had been submerged for weeks, taut against its skeleton, with the outline of its ribs faintly visible.

The sparse scales on their backs reflected the water, and the webbing between their toes made their claws look wider and blunter, like four rusty skinning knives.

The smells arrived before the sights: rotting mud, bloated dead fish, and an indescribable stench—like the smell of human and horse carcasses left to rot in the sun for three days on a battlefield in the height of summer.

"Protect His Highness!"

Karl's voice boomed from behind, and the five armored cavalrymen drew their swords almost simultaneously, the scraping sound of metal blades being drawn merging into a short, sharp metallic hiss.

The three men in the front row had already blocked his way, their swords lowered, aimed at the water ghost's chest and abdomen—a standard counter-charge stance, well-trained.

Karl dismounted faster than his cavalrymen; as his boots sank into the mud, his longsword was already drawn, ready to charge forward.

Ron raised his left hand

A clear and unambiguous "stop" gesture.

"Step down"

Karl stopped in his tracks, mud splashing onto his greaves: "Your Highness!"

"unnecessary"

Ron spoke calmly, as if he were just saying the weather was nice. He didn't even turn around; his gaze remained fixed on the two water ghosts, his pupils slightly contracting—not out of fear, but out of a hunter's focused attention as he surveyed his prey.

"We need intelligence to assess the dangers we will face in the future."

Carl opened his mouth, as if to say something—about duty, about safety, about a crown prince not being able to face monsters alone—but Ron turned his head and glanced at him.

Karl swallowed his words, took a step back, raised his right fist, and made a "standby" gesture. The cavalrymen did not sheath their swords, but they did not advance either; the archers' fingers were on the bowstrings, they were on guard and waiting.

The first water ghost pounced.

Its attack method is very direct—no probing, no feints, it leaps up and lunges forward, its right claw tearing diagonally from the upper left to the lower right, targeting its face.

Ron raises his shield

The claws slammed into the oak shield, leaving four white marks. The impact traveled up his arm, and he automatically completed a strength assessment—it was 30% lighter than the bandit leader's full-force heavy sword, but faster. From start to finish, it would be difficult for an untrained civilian to handle.

Ron sidestepped the second attack, holding the axe horizontally in front of his chest.

He observed the monster's attack.

The water ghost's attack rhythm is two claws followed by a bite: right claw, left claw, then a downward bite. It's a fixed pattern, like a program written into its instincts. But this isn't stupidity; it's efficiency. If the opponent is hit by the first two strikes, the probability of the third bite is very high.

The second water ghost didn't pounce.

It went around to the side.

Its movement was an arc, always remaining at the edge of Ron's side and rear vision, its center of gravity low, staring intently at the back of his neck, making a low gurgling sound in its throat.

This thing has a brain; it's waiting for its companions to create an opening.

The first water monster pounced again, this time using its right claw.

wrong!

Its left shoulder was lower than last time, as it was gathering strength for a bite. Ron's pupils caught this detail. This time, instead of blocking, the shield was pressed down, and the edge of the shield struck its left shoulder socket precisely.

It wasn't the shield surface that was hit, but the shield edge, resulting in a smaller contact area and a greater impact.

The water ghost was knocked back two steps and briefly lost its balance.

At that very moment

The second water ghost moved.

Its attack was almost entirely unexpected, without any prelude, power-building, or roar. The sound of its hind legs pushing off the ground was perfectly masked by the splash of the first water monster. It leaped diagonally from Ron's side and rear, its attack angle aimed at the back of his neck—not a claw, but a stab.

Karl's hand was already raised, his mouth was open, and the first syllable was stuck in his throat.

The archer saw it too; his arrow was already aimed at the water ghost's head, the bowstring was half drawn back, and his finger was just about to release it...

"Don't fire the arrows!"

Ron's voice came from ahead, clear, steady, and without a trace of panic.

As he shouted those words, his body began to move.

This is not hearing, but perception; it is the instinct of fighting etched into the bones, an unconscious anticipation of every threat direction on the battlefield.

Ron stepped back with his right foot, twisted his body, and swept his shield across with his left arm.

The shield slammed into the water monster's side like a door, abruptly interrupting its forward trajectory.

The water ghost's claws swept across his left shoulder.

Then he sprang to his feet, his knee almost touching his chest, like a fully drawn bowstring, and kicked out suddenly.

The foot slammed into the water ghost's chest, the force traveling from the thigh to the foot, and then all of it poured into the monster's thin chest.

Click!

The water ghost's breastbone snapped as easily as a withered branch being broken; its entire body flew backward, tracing a short parabola before crashing heavily into the shallows, splashing mud and water everywhere.

Its front paws struggled to support it on the ground as it tried to get up, but it collapsed again, leaving a noticeable dent in its chest. Its breathing turned into a hissing sound like a broken bellows.

Karl slowly lowered his hand, and the archers put the arrows back into their quivers.

"continue"

Ron calmly turned to face the remaining water ghost.

This water monster showed no fear at the fall of its companion; it had no such emotion. It roared and unleashed a pure, enraged frenzy with both claws outstretched.

Ron did not retreat

He picked up the heavy battle axe.

It's not about chopping; the axe blade isn't very effective against the wet, tough skin of a water ghost.

He raised the axe above his head and brought it down with force, like a blacksmith swinging a forging hammer.

The monster's skull was hard, but Ron didn't care; strength was the last thing he had in abundance.

Bang!

Like a hammer smashing a waterlogged hardboard, the sound was dull and heavy. The water ghost's head was completely gone, and the broken bones and blood were smashed away by the blow, turning into a layer of blood-red mist that permeated the air and adhered to Ron's leather armor.

The water ghost's body collapsed like a bag of wet sand, mud and water splashed onto its corpse, then fell back onto the water's surface.

Ron stood still

He took a couple of breaths, not from exhaustion—his physical abilities meant he hardly needed a recovery period after a fight of this magnitude—but from the emptiness that followed the depletion of adrenaline, like the lingering tremor after a bowstring has been released.

He looked down at the blood on the axe.

"Faster than the average human," he said, his voice low, almost to himself, but loud enough for Carl to hear.

"They have a fragile sternum structure, basic hunting intelligence, and know how to cooperate."

He shook the blood off the axe, then mounted his horse.

"Keep going."

The group set off again, and behind them, on the shallows, the corpses of two water ghosts slowly sank into the murky river.