Bear School Astartes

In the end, Geralt smoothly turned and slashed, severing a man's neck from the upper left to the lower right.

He cared about the blade, so he deliberately controlled his strength, avoiding friction with the hard cervical bones, just cutting through the throat and blood vessels.

Another one got slashed in the back of the knee, uncontrollably kneeling down before Geralt decapitated him like an execution.

The head with a conical helmet rolled all the way to Lann's feet.

"You ended up cutting the bone, didn't you?"

Lann curled his lips, giving Geralt some sarcastic remarks.

Having dealt with nearly ten armored warriors, Geralt took a couple of deep breaths, appearing quite exhausted.

But the demon hunter's quick recovery allowed him to regain his energy quickly.

"Being frugal as a habit, you know? Damage less if you can."

Finally, with white hair stained with blood, the demon hunter habitually added, "After all, I haven't signed a long-term contract with the Airetusa Academy."

... Okay.

Lann fully understood that Geralt, despite his cold look, was actually a sarcastic and petty kind of guy.

"Bro, if nothing else works, why not tell me the name of the female warlock who hurt you? Maybe I can help you mess with her... Seriously, you look like a grumpy housewife now."

Aron Dite's blade remained unstained, so Lann could sheathe it directly after shaking it off. Now the young man, hands on hips, offered the elder some advice while he was wiping blood and fat off his sword.

Whenever Geralt mentioned the unknown female warlock, he appeared awkward and at a loss — nothing like a demon hunter who had visited many taverns across the continent for special services.

"No, I will never tell you her name. Absolutely not!"

Facing Geralt's resolute face, Lann made a gesture with his hands as if playing an accordion in front of his chest.

"Alright, it's your call, buddy."

Lann was quite troubled; he was experiencing his first love and couldn't fathom being treated like a male night demon by a demon hunter elder who had been all over the continent.

The two proceeded to walk toward the carriage wreckage. With just a few steps, Geralt's strength had largely returned.

Vesemir was pulling Ciri up from behind the cover.

The once struggling pack horse was now completely down; Vesemir didn't let the little girl see the scene completely, covering her eyes only in overly 'stimulating' moments.

This intentional training-like behavior made Geralt frown.

"Vesemir, you shouldn't let her see such things."

The old demon hunter raised his eyebrows in some confusion: "Hey, you and Lambert, Eskel were already learning from slippery water ghost innards at her age."

"But she is a princess, the heir of Sintra. She doesn't need to live like a demon hunter."

Upon hearing this, Vesemir's brows furrowed completely, even more deeply than Geralt's.

"You don't want to raise Ciri as your unexpected daughter, Geralt? Is that what you're saying?"

Under the gaze of three adults, the little girl pitifully lifted her head, looking at the snow-white-haired demon hunter tied to her fate.

A discussion was on the verge of starting, but Lann seemed to have heard something, raising his left hand forward.

A spherical golden film appeared, and an arrow collided with the magic shield, deflecting to one side.

The three demon hunters instantly set aside their differences, getting alert.

"The trajectory of that arrow is a long arc; it's probably not aimed at us. It's just an accidental stray shot."

With combat experience surpassing those around him, Vesemir recognized countless strange scenarios and sudden situations. He could even guess whether an arrow was intentional or accidental from intuition.

Lann's dynamic vision allowed him to glimpse the arrow and identify its features at first sight.

"The arrow feathers are made from pheasant tail feathers, dyed yellow with tree sap... They're the arrows of the tree spirits."

As if responding to Lann's speculation, panicked screams echoed from the forest.

It was the crossbowmen who were frightened by Lann and ran away.

The trajectory of those tree spirits' arrows in the air was nearly gliding, the armored soldiers falling like leaves on the road, or as if a bunch of grass was swept away by small sticks.

Only a few survivors frantically ran out of the forest toward the horses they left behind.

The tree spirits didn't shoot again, but that didn't mean they could escape.

The forest on either side of the road started to converge. Under the sunlight, the broad artificial road vanished, replaced by a wall of trees.

Controlled by some magic, the trees extended sharp branches piercing the soldiers astride, leaving the horses unharmed, but suspending the soldiers on their backs.

When all screams ceased, the forest wall disappeared, and the trees returned to their original positions.

A knight appeared on the road ahead once again.

Gold beard, robust build, wearing a sealskin coat, and a woolen belt with a checkered pattern.

Originally wary, Lann relaxed upon seeing the delighted expression on Geralt's and Ciri's faces rather than a cautious one.

As expected, Geralt immediately called out the knight's name: "Moscow."

At the forest's edge, a group of slender figures emerged, waving to the knight and later also toward Lann, then returned to the dense forest.

The druid named Moscow first saluted the tree spirits before turning to the three demon hunters and a little girl.

"You really make my head want to explode, little princess!"

Moscow spoke coldly, but Ciri seemed not to mind the gruff man's cold demeanor, smiling as she ran under his horse.

"Uncle Moscow!"

That voice was sweet and sticky, a tone Lann only heard when a little girl was trying to soften the blow with her father after causing trouble.

But without a doubt, the old bearded man who pierced several soldiers with tree branches was very much taken by it.

His cold face instantly melted, dismounting his horse to embrace Ciri tightly.

"It's me; you're safe now, Ciri!"

While the little girl was being coddled, Lann asked Geralt about the newcomer's identity.

A druid from the Skellige Islands, currently serving as the royal advisor in Sintra.

Sintra, a country known for valor and martial prowess, found it difficult to accept 'malicious, strange, and treacherous magic.'

However, druids who were close to nature, largely strong, and capable fighters were respected there.

Coupled with the fact that the current King of Sintra hails from the Skellige Tursic Clan, Sintra has a deep friendship and exchange with the Skellige Islands, adding to its favorability.

No wonder the Airetusa Academy couldn't get their students into the Sintra Palace.