Witcher: The Half Elf

"I'm heading to Stormwind, Captain Genset," Wayne stated smoothly. "Where is your next destination? Is the road safe?"

Genset, who was overseeing the aftermath of the skirmish, turned toward Wayne and replied regretfully, "What a shame, Mr. Wayne. We're escorting a shipment of military supplies to Sentinel Hill to support the guards there. It seems our destinations don't align."

Wayne had already observed that the supplies included armor, weapons, and medical kits—clearly intended for military reinforcement rather than delivery to Stormwind City. Acknowledging the divergence in their paths early avoided any misunderstandings.

Captain Genset sighed, his face darkening slightly. "The guards in Westfall are locked in fierce skirmishes with the Defias Brotherhood. Unfortunately, the bandits outnumber us significantly, forcing our forces to remain holed up in Sentinel Hill to protect the townsfolk."

"The most frustrating part is that the supplies from the Noble Council in Stormwind have been delayed. Our men, poorly equipped, are struggling to resist the Brotherhood's attacks. The shipment we're escorting now was urgently allocated by Marshal Reginald Windsor from other units, and it must reach Sentinel Hill without delay."

A shadow crossed his face as he added, "Few people should have known about this shipment, and we avoided the usual trade routes. Yet, we were ambushed almost as soon as we entered Westfall. This is no coincidence."

He looked at Wayne with appreciation. "If not for your intervention, sir, we might have suffered catastrophic losses, even if we'd managed to win."

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Genset suggested, "It's getting late, Mr. Wayne. Traveling at night is dangerous. Why don't you join us and camp here tonight? I even have some red wine I brewed myself—it would be an honor to share it with you."

Wayne was about to decline. With his strength and the Deathclaw Robin at his side, traveling at night posed little danger. Monsters or ambushes would be little more than minor distractions.

But before he could respond, a sudden gust of wind swept by, carrying with it a chilling intent.

Wayne's senses flared, and he felt the cold press of steel against his neck—a dagger, silent and deadly, poised to strike.

Reacting instantly, Wayne activated his flicker ability, his body vanishing and reappearing seven or eight meters away. From his new vantage point, he finally caught sight of his assailant.

It was a burly, middle-aged man clad in dark leather armor that blended seamlessly with the environment. His face was obscured by a black mask, and in each hand, he gripped a gleaming dagger. His posture, slightly crouched, exuded deadly precision.

Wayne's keen eyes noted that none of the guards had detected the man's approach. This was no ordinary enemy—he was a highly skilled assassin, adept at concealment and ambush.

Without hesitation, Wayne reached into his dimensional ring and drew the sword, a massive two-handed blade. Simultaneously, he raised his left arm, firing a bolt from his finely-crafted arm crossbow.

The bolt, propelled by extraordinary force, zipped toward the assassin with deadly accuracy.

But the assassin's reflexes matched his skill. Before the bolt could find its mark, he twisted into a blur of motion, narrowly avoiding the attack and repositioning himself.

Wayne smirked. "Not bad," he muttered, already preparing his next move. He pulled a North Wind Bomb from his inventory, throwing it with precision to cut off the assassin's escape route.

The device detonated with a deafening crack, releasing a wave of freezing air that coated the surrounding area in a thick layer of ice.

Though cautious and quick, the assassin had to divert his path to evade the freezing mist. This gave Wayne the opening he needed. Channeling his formidable strength, he surged forward, his massive sword cleaving through the air.

The ground cracked under the force of the swing as the assassin narrowly dodged the attack. Though his agility kept him alive, the relentless onslaught from Wayne left him visibly on the defensive.

Despite his disadvantage, the assassin displayed remarkable skill. He avoided direct clashes with Wayne's massive blade, relying instead on his speed and precise movements to evade and counter when opportunities arose.

As the duel continued, the guards, led by Captain Genset, surrounded the combatants, cutting off all potential escape routes for the assassin.

Finally, with a clearer view of the attacker, Genset's expression turned to shock.

"It's Edwin Van Cleef!" he shouted, his voice filled with disbelief. "The leader of the Defias Brotherhood himself!"

"Wayne, he's the leader of the Defias Brotherhood, a notorious wanted criminal in Stormwind!" Captain Genset shouted, his voice carrying both surprise and urgency.

Wayne, who was in the midst of combat with the assassin, raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't expected to encounter a figure as renowned as Edwin VanCleef so soon.

VanCleef, the infamous leader of the Defias Brotherhood and the final boss of the Deadmines dungeon, was a name well-known among players of World of Warcraft. According to the game's lore, VanCleef wasn't inherently a villain. Once the proud leader of the Stonemasons' Guild, he had spearheaded the rebuilding of Stormwind City after its destruction during the First War.

However, during the city's reconstruction, the Black Dragon Princess Onyxia, disguised as a noble countess, manipulated events to sow discord. The nobles of Stormwind, under her influence, refused to pay the guild for their work, leaving VanCleef and his compatriots destitute.

Tensions boiled over into a bloody conflict when the disenfranchised workers clashed with the city's guards, culminating in the accidental death of Queen Tiffin Wrynn, King Varian's wife. Branded as criminals, the once-proud craftsmen fled to Westfall, where they evolved into the Defias Brotherhood, a bandit faction bent on vengeance.

Despite VanCleef's tragic backstory, Wayne viewed the situation dispassionately. The world was rife with injustice, and this tale was no exception. Over time, the Defias Brotherhood had transformed into a ruthless criminal organization, committing heinous acts across Westfall. Whatever noble intentions they might have had were now buried beneath layers of banditry and bloodshed.

More importantly, VanCleef's capture presented a significant opportunity. Wayne's thoughts turned calculating: apprehending such a high-profile criminal would catapult him from an unknown adventurer to a recognized figure in Stormwind, potentially easing his future endeavors.

Determined to end the fight, Wayne stopped holding back. Seizing an opening as VanCleef dodged one of his strikes, Wayne swiftly retrieved a North Wind Bomb. Crushing the test tube in his hand, he unleashed a burst of freezing mist that enveloped both himself and the assassin.

The frost spread rapidly, encasing the ground and forming a thin layer of ice over their bodies. The icy mist clung to Wayne's skin, but his enhanced physique rendered him largely impervious to its effects. The discomfort was negligible, and the frost shattered as he flexed his muscles.

VanCleef, however, wasn't as fortunate. While his agility and explosive speed were his greatest assets, his defenses left much to be desired. Trapped within the frost, his movements slowed just enough for Wayne to close the gap.

With a sudden surge of power, Wayne's massive fist connected with VanCleef's chest. The force of the blow shattered the frost encasing the assassin and sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed from his lips as he gasped for air, his body trembling from the impact.

The difference in their physical capabilities was stark. While VanCleef was undeniably formidable, his strength lay in speed and stealth, not brute force. Wayne's punch, bolstered by his enhanced physiology, had inflicted catastrophic internal damage.

The assassin leader lay sprawled on the ground, his breath shallow and labored. His defiant eyes locked onto Wayne, but the fire within them began to dim. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only blood emerged, staining the dirt beneath him. With a final, rattling breath, VanCleef lost consciousness.