I'm in an American comic book, and all my teammates are main characters and bosses.

Chapter 29: In New York, the boss is the boss.

Smoke and dust billowed everywhere, inadvertently filling their nostrils, causing Ethan and Tony to cough involuntarily. Looking up, Geralt's armored figure reappeared amidst the thick smoke and dust.

The amber-colored beastly eyes looked at Tony and the others. Although it did not speak, its aura, which came from years of fighting against thugs and monsters, could be easily felt even without saying much.

Feeling the pressure, Ethan was too afraid to speak. He looked at Tony tremblingly and nudged him, as if to say, "Old Tony, say something!"

Tony wasn't intimidated. After a brief moment of panic, he quickly regained his composure, looked at Geralt in front of him, brushed a stray hair from his forehead, and said in a flamboyant manner, "Hey, handsome, how are you?"

"……Hello."

Tony wasn't annoyed by Geralt's indifferent response; instead, he seemed slightly excited.

The fact that this guy was willing to respond meant he wasn't an enemy. And judging from the skills he had just displayed, if he was willing to help, then he could definitely—

While Tony was still thinking, Geralt said, "You just mentioned New York, right?"

Hearing this, Tony was taken aback, but he quickly recalled his earlier comment about "what if it were Broadway in New York," and then nodded hesitantly, saying, "Yes... uh, you're unhappy? Or do you hate Broadway? I apologize and promise to wait until I get back to New York..."

Before Tony could finish speaking, Geralt said, "I need to go to New York to find someone. Do you know the way?"

"Of course I know! I'm a long-time New Yorker!"

Upon hearing Geralt's request, Tony's eyes lit up, and he said enthusiastically, "But you have to help me first! I can only take you to New York after I'm free! I'm not trying to blackmail you, but as you can see, I'm just a prisoner. Those terrorists outside won't let us leave here easily!"

As he spoke, Tony pointed to the metal can armor behind him, which had been forged but whose engine had not yet been activated or assembled.

Upon hearing Tony's request, Geralt nodded thoughtfully.

He didn't doubt Tony's words. After all, judging from their interaction just now, the people in this world were obviously very impolite... especially those weapons that looked like crossbows. If he hadn't been so perceptive and prepared to dodge beforehand, he probably would have been riddled with bullets on the spot!

Indeed, in any world, it is not the weapons that cause tragedies, but the people who use them...

Geralt's ears twitched a few times as he thought this, then he looked towards the door and said, "I'll help you, but you can't lie to me. You have to take me to New York. There are people outside. What do you need me to do?"

"Help me stall them for a bit!"

Upon hearing Geralt's answer, Tony excitedly exclaimed:

"Ten minutes...no, just five minutes! Ethan! Go activate the engine, I'll assemble the armor right away!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Five minutes isn't a long time, but it's not short either. Geralt glanced at the two hurriedly assembling their battle suits and nodded.

Although it was just a fleeting glimpse, Geralt could roughly discern the personalities of the two. The guy named Tony, though seemingly unreliable, was bold and meticulous; even in such an urgent situation, his assembly movements remained precise and swift.

In contrast, Ethan clearly lacked experience, and even with something as simple as activating the engine, he was still somewhat flustered. The conversation between the two was also clearly dominated by the guy named Tony.

Identity, status, knowledge, reputation… Geralt glanced at the two men and nodded thoughtfully. Having clarified the relationship between them, Geralt didn't linger. Instead, he drew his steel sword once more and turned to walk towards the door.

The number of enemies was not large, because the cave entrance was only so big. Even if there were many people outside, only about twenty could enter the cave.

Thinking it over, Geralt also twirled his sword—to be honest, Geralt didn't want to try fighting so many people at once. Besides the unknown "crossbow" in the opponent's hands, he also didn't have many of his tools with him.

Geralt hasn't officially joined the team yet. Although he's completed the transmigration, he doesn't have a system space. And until he completed the transmigration, many of his weapons and spoils were still with Robert.

However, based on the experience just now, the people in this world are extremely reliant on the crossbows in their hands, and their understanding of close combat is limited to wildly swinging knives.

In other words, as long as you can break into the opponent's formation in a short time, you can secure the victory.

As he thought about it, Geralt's amber-colored beast eyes began to expand, and his aura emanated from his body. Thanks to the Witcher's extraordinary senses, he was able to clearly see and notice details that ordinary people could not.

Meanwhile, hearing the sounds coming from the cave, the terrorists also rushed into the cave in groups of three or five, guns in hand.

Their eyes held a hint of wariness, but more so, undisguised arrogance. In their view, even if Tony Stark could destroy the cave, escaping from here would be absolutely impossible.

Upon entering the cave and seeing the still tightly closed iron gate, a hint of contempt flashed in their eyes.

Just as the leader was about to shout out some questions, a junior officer pointed to the wall and said, "Boss! That wall over there has been blown up! They're trying to escape!"

Upon hearing this, the leader's eyes turned cold and ruthless. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger. With a spitting of fire, the leader said swiftly and coldly, "Search! They can't have gone far yet. Find them immediately—"

Before he could finish speaking, a cold glint flashed from the corner.

It wasn't a steel sword, but a sharp throwing knife.

In Geralt's hand, the throwing knife seemed to have eyes, striking the leader's forehead with swiftness and precision.

The steel throwing knife, imbued with powerful kinetic energy from being thrown with all its might, still pierced the leader's forehead upon impact, even though it wasn't a bullet.

laugh!

A splatter of blood erupted as the leader fell backward to the ground. Startled by the sudden turn of events, the surrounding terrorists instinctively swarmed around him. But then, a round object landed at their feet and exploded into thick smoke.

The gray smoke contained some toxic components, and the skin would itch instantly upon contact, causing eyes to turn red and tears to stream down uncontrollably.

Geralt actually intended to use bombs. However, there were still many people outside the cave, and there seemed to be some flammable and explosive materials inside. Out of caution, Geralt chose the slightly slower method.

Without hesitation, Geralt darted from a dark, shadowy corner towards the crowd the instant the smoke billowed. He paid no heed to the poisonous fog—

Prolonged exposure to these poison mist bombs from the Griffin School can cause swelling, numbness, and even blindness and confusion, among other negative effects. However, this only applies to ordinary people. What makes a Witcher a Witcher, besides their formidable physical abilities, is their unimaginable poison resistance.

Especially when hunting large monsters, witchers often take alchemical drugs that would kill an ordinary person if they came into contact with them in order to enhance themselves.

However, there's no need to use precious alchemical potions to deal with just a few petty thieves...

After all, with Luo Bo not around, and only a few bottles of potions on him, who knows how the world will replenish them once they're gone.

While he was thinking, Geralt's movements did not falter or hesitate in the slightest. His muscles were tense. These terrorists, who were only wearing thin clothes or even shirtless, were like pork on a chopping board in front of a sharpened steel sword. Often, all that could be seen was a flash of silver light, and the next moment their heads were separated from their bodies.

There was no deliberate pursuit of gore; Geralt's heavy steel sword slashed continuously through the poisonous fog. With faintly visible trails, by the time the smoke cleared, all twenty-odd people who had entered the cave were dead.

Decapitations, heart piercings, throat slits, even being cut in half at the waist... Geralt took a deep breath as he looked at the corpses scattered all over the ground.

He wasn't a bloodthirsty man, but how should I put it? Geralt could sense their determination to kill him... no, not even determination.

For these armed thugs, killing a person requires no decision; they simply kill because they want to...

Such people have no reverence for life, and any discussion, conversation, or compromise in communicating with them is completely unnecessary, because they simply don't care.

Thinking this, Geralt glanced at the cave entrance, then focused his mind and waved his hand forward. Instantly, dense psychic energy enveloped the area in front of him, forming several shimmering runes around it—the Sign of Yard.

A simple magical trap, though not particularly destructive, can severely hinder a person's movements—of course, this lack of destructive power is relative.

No sooner had they been released than several terrorists who had rushed to the scene were restrained and unable to move. At first, they only felt their bodies become heavy and their movements slowed down. But then, the runes at the edges began to emit bolts of electricity, striking them.

As the electric current entered their bodies, accompanied by screams of agony, the terrorists who had rushed in collapsed to the ground, their eyes rolling back and foaming at the mouth, trembling violently.

Seeing this bizarre scene, the other terrorists around did not dare to make any rash moves. They called to their buddies to bring over a few prisoners to scout ahead, while they stood there holding their guns, their faces full of vigilance.

Geralt didn't seem to care much about this, and instead turned around to ask:

"Is your armor assembled?"

"alright!"

Upon hearing Geralt's question, Tony's excited voice echoed from inside the house. Then, clad in armor as thick as an iron can, Tony charged forward and slammed open the tightly closed iron door!

"Hey bro! How do I look right now?!"

Tony's voice sounded like a child who had just received a large toy. Geralt raised an eyebrow at this—how so? He didn't dislike Tony, because he didn't sense the same viciousness in Tony as those armed thugs.

To be fair, this guy named Tony is a good person. It's just that when a good person appears in this kind of environment, it inevitably gives the impression of a husky appearing in a pack of wolves…

After thinking it over, Geralt calmly said, "It looks good, but it would be better if it were also practical."

"That's a must! Ethan! Do you remember the retreat route?"

"There's no route! Let's just run!"

Picking up an AK-47 from the ground, Ethan looked around shakily and said, "Once we reach an open area, we can send out a distress signal!"

Hearing this, Tony nodded and said, "Okay! The plan is set! Ethan, follow behind me. And... uh, what's your name?"

Geralt.

"You follow behind me too!"

Geralt nodded upon hearing Tony's words. It wasn't that he intended to follow Tony blindly, but rather that he was certain Tony wasn't a bad person. Or rather, that Tony respected life.

Just as Geralt was about to say something, he sensed something, and his eyes suddenly widened, his beastly pupils shrinking to pinpoints in an instant. Without a word, he abruptly turned around, simultaneously slashing his sword with both hands—clang!

It wasn't a roaring sound, but rather a burst of fire followed by two clouds of dust erupting behind Tony and the others.

Seeing this, Tony, though unsure, said in disbelief, "This...you...you split the bullet?"

"Bullets? You mean the stuff that crossbow fires?" Geralt thought to himself, quickly raising his hand to block in front of him. He released his mental energy, instantly forming a semi-transparent psychic shield in front of him—the Sign of Quen.

A shield in the literal sense, meaning to block damage.

With several gunshots, a series of bullets struck the psychic shield, their kinetic energy being rapidly absorbed. However, in order to digest this kinetic energy and maintain the Quen shield, Geralt could feel his energy rapidly diminishing.

Fortunately, they were all small-caliber rifle bullets, so the decline in Geralt's stamina was still within a manageable range.

Unfortunately, I didn't have many alchemical potions on hand, otherwise, I might have been able to force my way out.

Thinking this, Geralt quickly went to Tony's side and said, "Head west, there are fewer people there! Move quickly, some people on the outskirts are starting to gather here!"

(End of this chapter)