The Witcher: Astartes Of The Bear School

Chapter 61: Severing Steel

The eyes of a frightened child resemble those of a startled fawn.

At this moment, White stood amidst a group of children his age, engulfed in a collective panic that no child could withstand—not even one who had already endured his share of hardships.

His clothes, though old, had been meticulously washed and mended by Mrs. Donna, their seams fine and neat. Now, they were soiled and stretched out of shape, clinging to his small frame like a second skin of despair. His slightly oversized head swiveled anxiously, survival instincts driving him to gather as much sensory information as possible.

Humans' longing for light stems largely from their fear of losing visual information.

In a sense, information is the guarantee of life.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lan stepped forward. The sight of White, unharmed, brought a wave of relief to his nerves, which had been stretched to their breaking point.

'The boy is safe… Thank the gods.'

But that relief was short-lived. A more pressing sense of crisis surged within him as two lines of torchlight advanced like fiery serpents through the darkness.

'The boy is safe, but the situation is dire!'

Lan stood before the large wooden cage that held White. The cage was constructed from logs as thick as a man's forearm, lashed together with sturdy bindings. Unlike the flimsy prison cells from the dramas Lan had watched as a child, the gaps between these logs were so narrow that not even a hand could slip through. The structure was dense and unyielding.

The wood was freshly cut, still brimming with moisture. While it lacked the hardness of steel, it possessed remarkable resilience. Even a heavy axe would need several swings to break through a single log.

The door of the cage was similarly made of bound logs, and the lock, as Mentos had predicted, was iron—a testament to the value of the "cargo" even to cannibals.

Lan stood before the lock, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't know how to pick locks, but the idea of being thwarted by a mere piece of metal when the person he sought to save was right before him was absurd.

His left hand hovered a few centimeters above the iron lock.

"Igni."

Mana surged, transforming into a stream of searing orange flame, much like what Lan had once done to his sword. The lock absorbed the intense heat, glowing a fiery red as if it had been thrust into a forge.

Unsurprisingly, the children in the cage fell silent for a moment before erupting into screams. Whether out of fear or the thrill of hope, it was unrealistic to expect a group of terrified children to remain quiet.

In the glow of the magical flames, White caught a glimpse of the figure before him. Though Lan's face was distorted by the potions he had consumed, making him appear monstrous, there was no mistaking him. White recognized Lan, and his heart leapt with joy!

No matter how Lan looked, in White's eyes, he was first and foremost a good man.

White had even dreamed of helping Lan gather herbs, thinking they might become friends. Mrs. Donna had taught him that friendship couldn't exist if one person only took or only gave. True friendship required mutual aid. It was for this reason that White had been so eager to help Lan.

The group of twenty-odd men, already heading toward the detention area, saw the magical flames and heard the children's screams. They immediately realized the source of the disturbance and roared for reinforcements to surround the area.

White's initial cry of "Lan!" was filled with joy, but as the torchlight drew nearer, his expression shifted from delight to panic.

Yet that panic lasted only a moment.

The boy, no older than ten, made a split-second decision. He broke away from the huddle of children that had provided him a semblance of safety and rushed to the front of the cage.

"Go! Lan, run!" he shouted, pounding on the wooden bars. "They're coming! Dozens of them! You're fast, right? I've seen you move like the wind! You can escape! Turn back now, and you can get away!"

White was on the verge of tears. He didn't know what fate awaited him, but he was willing to let someone else escape danger.

Lan, however, was even more frantic.

His mana flowed into the lock, but the mechanism was far thicker than a sword blade. Under the strain of his anxiety, sweat dripped from his forehead to the tip of his nose as he struggled to heat the lock to the point of softening.

"Shut up… shut up!" Lan snapped. "Whether I save you or not is my decision! You're just a kid—sit down and cry like one!"

At that moment, Mentos issued a warning.

"Sir, calm down! You must remain composed! Your mana flow is on the verge of spiraling out of control!"

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, and Lan's heart pounded as if trying to escape his chest. He was so close to saving White—just one step away!

Anxiety, fear of failure, fear of the power that had defeated Margarita, fear of the unexpected… a flood of negative emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Yet, he had to maintain his focus to control the mana flow.

Lan felt as though his mind might shatter. With a sizzle, the sweat on his nose dripped onto the lock, instantly evaporating into a puff of steam.

In one swift motion, Lan drew his steel sword, his body bending backward as he raised the blade high above his head. The muscles in his arms bulged, and the buckles of his armor groaned under the strain.

"This lock… not even plate armor could stop me today!"

His spine coiled like a spring, and the steel sword, guided by the Bear School's techniques, lashed out like a whip.

The flash of cold steel momentarily outshone the approaching torches.

The blade struck the lock's shackle, and the red-hot iron erupted in a shower of sparks, as if it had been struck on an anvil.

In truth, the lock's structure was nearly solid iron, its strength far surpassing that of a few millimeters of plate armor. Yet, under Lan's furious strike, even iron yielded.

The lock split apart.

Lan didn't have time to catch his breath. He yanked the door open, scooped White under his arm, and bolted southward.

The person he had fought so hard to save was now by his side, but there was no time for relief.

Two crossbow bolts whistled through the air, embedding themselves in the ground just ahead of Lan. If he took another step forward, he'd be impaled.

Lan skidded to a halt. With one arm holding White and the other gripping his sword, he had no way to cast a Sign or block both bolts simultaneously. Surrounded by enemies, a single bolt could cripple him, spelling disaster.

But the bolts revealed an unsettling truth: "These men… they're not cannibals!"

This wasn't a repetition of an earlier conclusion—it was a realization. The men now blocking his path were far more skilled in combat than any cannibal.

In short… they knew how to fight as a group.

"Hello there, mutant!"

A man wielding a two-handed hammer charged forward, his weapon swinging in a wide arc. His attack was perfectly timed with the crossbow bolts, leaving Lan no room to recover.

Before Lan could steady himself, the hammer came crashing toward him.

At the same time, another man with a longsword struck from the side, aiming not at Lan but at White's lower body.

The angle was peculiar—the sword would likely glance off Lan's armor, but it was clear the attacker intended to sever White's legs.

Trapped between the hammer and the sword, Lan had no choice.

He hurled White to the side, interposing his steel sword between himself and the hammer. The impact sent Lan flying backward, the hammer's momentum overwhelming him.

The sword, now without its intended target, tore through the padding of Lan's gambeson, sending a cloud of cotton into the air.

Lan crashed into the wooden cage door, the bindings snapping under the force.

He lay on the ground for several seconds, struggling to rise.

The hammer strike to his chest would have shattered his ribs and punctured his organs if not for his armor. Even so, Lan gasped for air, his lungs refusing to cooperate.

Blunt force was the bane of armored combat.