The Witcher: Astartes Of The bear School

Chapter 12: Chapter 12



Chapter 12: Departure

Lan brushed the dirt off his clothes and stood up. His hand rested on the grip of the halberd embedded in the belly of the corpse of Bordon.

"Pfft—" With a gentle tug, the deadly weapon was freed. The imposing body of Bordon collapsed like a sack of mud, and Lan did not glance back. Their grudges had been settled.

The three soldiers, who had already gathered Bordon's body in waiting, cautiously approached.

"Have you finished your discussion?" the halberd-wielder asked tentatively.

Lan didn't respond verbally; he merely nodded, grasping the halberd's shaft and offering it to him hilt first. Seeing this, the halberd-wielder grinned, revealing a hint of admiration, before reaching out to take his weapon.

"You handle it with such steadiness, just like your master. I've never seen anyone move so quickly in such heavy armor. Are all you witchers at this level?"

Without the Bear School armor, or even with slightly lesser armor, Bordon would have surely perished in the first volley of arrows. Heavy armor served as a warrior's second line of defense—the first being the warrior's own combat prowess.

"I'm different," Lan replied, releasing the halberd and shrugging. "In our school, we're stronger than average."

The halberd-wielder began to clean the blood and grease from his blade. Using a weapon to kill was no light task; neglecting proper maintenance would lead to rust by morning. Meanwhile, the bowman sought Lan's input.

"So, are we taking both bodies with us?"

"I need to remove his armor first," Lan said, gesturing to Bordon's corpse behind him. "He gave me this set of armor."

The crossbowman nodded in agreement. "You should definitely keep it. I've never seen armor crafted so well; it must be quite expensive." His tone was filled with admiration, and he shyly glanced down at his own standard-issue armor.

As a regular soldier under the lord of Velen, the finest armor he had encountered was the lord's family heirloom. But everyone in Velen knew that their lord, Vserad, lacked the courage to set foot on the battlefield. While that heirloom armor might still appear splendid, its durability in combat was another matter entirely.

Lan nodded in agreement. 

"The craftsmanship is excellent, but because of that, repairing the large gash in the abdomen will also cost quite a bit."

With the help of the three professional soldiers, Bordon's Bear School armor was quickly stripped away. The Bear School was the only witcher school equipped with heavy armor. This set of armor, weighing nearly thirty kilograms, would make it nearly impossible for an ordinary person to get up after falling, let alone don or remove it without assistance.

The three soldiers dragged both bodies out of the small valley to where their four horses were tethered, which included the mounts of both Bordon and Lan.

"Once again, thank you, master witcher. Whether for your aid in battle or for forgoing the bounty," the three soldiers bowed to Lan from their horses before departing.

"We usually stay at Crow's Perch, which is also Sir Vserad's castle. If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to come by. Regardless of what others think, we will ensure you receive the best hospitality."

"Crow's Perch, I'll remember that," Lan replied with a smile, refraining from correcting their title for him.

The term "master witcher" specifically referred to those witchers capable of hunting large monsters alone. Whether it was an adult griffin, a cockatrice, a basilisk, or a slyzard, it didn't matter; all of them had the capability to slaughter a squad of ten soldiers.

Bordon had achieved such a feat, earning him the title of master. However, even if one could single-handedly hunt large monsters, facing a human warfare—such a different mode of combat—was a different story entirely.

For Lan, although he was still far from being a "master," there was no need for those who might never leave Velen to get hung up on titles.

"By the way, I have a question," Lan casually inquired. "Why was Sir Vserad so intent on pursuing a murderer this time?"

People died every day in Velen; while murder was a serious crime, as long as it didn't happen right under the watchful eyes of the guards, pursuing and capturing the perpetrator often felt like a formality.

He had long been planning to escape from his teacher, but the idea to take advantage of the manhunt opportunity had come rather spontaneously. Bordon's willingness to kill was justified. He had been mutated and stripped of his emotions, but his intellect remained intact.

"This guy was just plain unlucky," the halberd-wielder pointed at the corpse on the horse.

"Oreton was founded by a big shot. I heard he's some sort of cousin to King Foltest. That lord often holds chariot races in Oreton. He happened to be there during the murders, trying to restore order. Lord Vserad couldn't afford to neglect the bigwigs in Vizima."

Thus, what was initially an insignificant murder charge now required a squad of professional soldiers to pursue it. This was no mere "law enforcement"; it was a "political statement."

That made sense.

Lan nodded, his relatively rich knowledge and education allowing him to easily grasp matters that might be difficult for the locals to comprehend. No longer dwelling on it, Lan waved goodbye to the three soldiers.

Bordon's horse was robust and spirited, with glossy black fur and four white-haired hooves. It was a mare as striking as a dark cloud against snow.

Lan stroked the horse's muzzle, meeting its gaze. The horse's nostrils flared as it exhaled, its eyes calm. Even without the Axii sign, this mare had a high level of acceptance toward Lan, especially since he had been the one feeding her.

This was the battle steed Bordon had purchased at a high price. While it couldn't compare to those trained heavy cavalry horses, which could master at least four different gaits for battlefield adaptability, its physical condition was certainly impressive.

This horse had been fed far better than Lan had been.

"Shh, shh… Quiet, Popeye, quiet now."

Lan easily calmed the mare named Popeye, while the ill-fitting and damaged Bear School armor was placed on the back of his old horse.

He was certain his body was still growing, but the disparity in size between him and Bordon was still significant. Though this valuable armor was now in his possession, using it would require not only repairing the large hole in the abdomen but also adjusting it to fit his frame. He wondered if there was a capable blacksmith anywhere in Velen.

As for the damaged Velen longsword, he left it behind in the bloody muck. In its place, Lan strapped two swords—one steel, one silver—embossed with a bear's head.

The Bear School steel sword and silver sword.

The moment he gripped them, the young man felt an immediate difference. It was a palpable sense of "expensiveness." The quality of the blade, the subtle balance, and the comfortable grip—compared to these two swords, Lan felt that the longsword he had previously used was merely a flimsy piece of iron.

Bordon could cleave through four and a half ghouls with a single strike. Besides his strength and swordsmanship, the quality of the sword itself was crucial.

Lan now fully grasped that. With swords of this caliber in hand, he could have easily killed himself of just moments ago, who had only wielded a hunting knife, in half a minute.

As the two horses moved away from the blood-soaked valley, Lan lingered over the feel of the sword's hilt.

The clouds in the sky churned ominously; Velen was coastal, and the weather could change on a whim. Just like the transformation he had undergone himself. When he had arrived, he was merely an apprentice witcher, struggling to control life and death. But as he departed, he had already killed his teacher. 

He had once again become the master of his own life.

On the horse, the young man flared his nostrils, catching the scent of the earth.

"The wind is strong; it's going to rain soon." Lan tightened the worn cotton armor around him, gently nudging Popeye in the belly, and the sturdy mare began to trot forward.

He needed to go to Oreton, the village where Bordon had committed his crime.


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