Bear School Astartes

The originally friendly conversation between the passing citizens and the patrolling soldiers suddenly turned into a standoff.

The soldiers who had just been showing warm smiles and talking about 'protecting safety' now had a sharp glint in their eyes.

Vesemir had already taken Ciri from the horse into his arms.

Geralt slightly lowered his head and sighed helplessly.

As the one who broke the earlier harmony, Lann remained calmly watching the squinting soldier.

Faintly, many bowstrings being drawn tight could be heard from slightly further away.

"Smart... truly smart."

A flat, indifferent voice of praise, along with half-hearted clapping, came from behind the squinting soldier.

A short and thin man, with fish-like dull eyes, wearing fingerless gloves, and with daggers and short swords strapped to his boots, belt, and thighs, walked out.

An assassin who does dirty work, Lann and Geralt recognized the type immediately.

The assassin approached Geralt and Lann.

"But being smart, yet too impulsive, I understand that seeing something bad on the road makes it hard to ignore without saying something, but didn't you see how many of us there are?"

"Crossbowmen, aim at the old man and the little girl first, to calm down our friends."

Those fish-like dead eyes issued the threat without a ripple.

Vesemir had a pained expression, looking at the two 'youngsters' in front of him.

He remembered the importance of caution when teaching Geralt, how come now... oh, it was that bear cub that spoke? Then it's fine.

The Old Demon Hunter honestly held Ciri tightly, his left hand beneath the girl's cloak forming a seal ready to infuse Magic Power, turning into a Magic Seal.

Geralt pouted, turning his head in another direction. Attention is a finite resource; allocating it to the right enemies before a fight yields better results.

The short, thin assassin, with those rolling dead fish eyes, saw the old and middle-aged swordsman's actions clearly.

Surprisingly, surrounded by a group of fully armed soldiers and with himself approaching, they still managed to stay calm.

Yet, counting on manpower, equipment, and confidence in his skills, he didn't stop his approach.

"Don't be nervous, does everyone in your family have white hair? Quite interesting. Young man, have we met before? You look familiar."

Using chaotic language to distract is a simple yet effective assassin technique.

Now, the bows and crossbows on the perimeter were readied, and the sound of tightening bowstrings was unmistakably heard.

The melee soldiers instinctively began to move their bodies, causing slight armor shifts, producing the 'clink-clank' of steel rubbing and colliding...

These sounds, for flesh and blood, were pure power and oppression!

No one could remain calm and think, observe in such an environment... at least this assassin had never met such people.

The hand wearing fingerless gloves, like a spider, silently crawled toward the dagger's hilt on his waist as the assassin slowly approached Lann.

Lann was certain, while the surrounding dozens of soldiers prepared to cut or shoot, the killing strike aimed at him would indeed be delivered personally.

Because this assassin trusted his own skills more than anything else.

Silver hair slightly narrowed the eyes meeting those dead fish eyes in a stare.

In the next instant, the assassin's fingers were two centimeters from the dagger's grip, but his footsteps had already entered Aron Dite's range!

A silver flash suddenly appeared.

The suddenness of the silver flash sent a chill down the spine of all who witnessed it.

In everyone's eyes, Lann's hands seemed to skip a frame.

In the previous second, those two arms hung defenselessly. But in the next second...

Lann's left hand was unknowingly holding the scabbard on his waist, and his right hand had gripped the elegantly curved Elf Long Blade, raised aside with blood splatter.

The owner of the blood cried out, and a piece of bloody, bony flesh smashed onto the road, a whole hand with a cleanly severed wrist.

This wail seemed like a signal to commence battle.

Arrows flew toward Vesemir and Ciri.

Heavy crossbow arrows and arrows, numbering about ten, instantly surpassed Vesemir's Quen limit.

But this was expected by the Old Demon Hunter. He never intended to block them, merely disrupt the shooting trajectory.

The arrows, weakened in flight speed and force by the first wave of defense, were easily deflected by the steel nail plates around the Old Demon Hunter's wrist with 'clink, clank'.

He charged forward with Ciri! Rushing toward the twisted remnants of carriages!

Admittedly, though the woods and shrubs outside the road, clearly further under the aim of a dozen crossbows, at least had no melee soldiers blocking them.

It was indeed a better cover than the pile of carriage wreckage.

But there are always exceptions—

Clearing all enemies near the carriage wreckage, doesn't that make it a convenient and nearby cover?

"You've got some skill."

Lann looked at the assassin who just leaped back swiftly, only losing a hand instead of being sliced at the waist, with a calm face.

Having some skill meant... in Lann's eyes, he really only had that much skill.

Having swung the long blade with an iai strike, now turning the blade was already a bit late.

The assassin, with a twisted expression from intense pain, had a blatant ferocity. He wasn't the type to crumble after losing a hand; he'd retreat temporarily, then find a chance for a brutal strike.

Lann hated troublesome people like this.

If the blade couldn't be turned, then use the pommel to smash!

The already extended right hand pulled back rapidly, the roaring three-headed bear pommel smashing toward the agile dodging assassin like a chisel!

Sure enough, the assassin was ruthless enough; he used his already useless wrist-hand to block the first wave of impact with the pommel amid cracking sounds.

Then, in this gap, he drew the short sword from his belt with his remaining good hand, 'clang'—totally blocking the Lady of the Lake's Sword pommel strike from Lann.

The assassin's expression first relaxed, then completely collapsed upon seeing Lann's cat-like eyes, still unperturbed.

Because in the moment of blocking the pommel strike, an unexpected and blinding spark burst next to the short sword.

[Iwami Style: Lower Carp]!

At first glance, it seemed to block an attack on the flesh, but this strike was always aimed at breaking posture!

The short sword held defensively at the chest was directly swept aside amidst the assassin's inexplicable, incomprehensible gaze.

In the Iwami Style, it's common sense to follow up with an execution once the posture is broken.

The process of smashing with the pommel is similar to slashing; the two actions align smoothly.

So, after breaking the assassin's posture, Lann's blade was already at the opponent's side neck.

"Rip!" The blade dragged across.

The shiny blade ran directly from the opponent's side neck to the armpit.