Our Family Has Fallen

Chapter 412: Chapter 275: Invading the Town_1

Geralt did not follow the cavalry; instead, he chose to stay behind.

It wasn’t that he was afraid to fight those Fanatics.

Although he was capable on horseback, his style was more suited to one-on-one combat. He hadn’t received the same training as the cavalry, and joining them rashly could easily disrupt their charge.

Moreover, being on horseback somewhat limited his abilities. He was faster than any steed, and only on the ground could he fully unleash his potential.

Once the cavalry charged, the infantry would find it very difficult to stop them. Armored cavalry against unarmored believers—it was an outright massacre.

Geralt observed the cavalry’s condition with some surprise. He had seen many armies in the United Kingdoms, but only the Church’s Knights executed commands so decisively and maintained such unwavering, high morale. And now, such a force had appeared under a small town’s Lord. This truly piqued his curiosity, especially concerning the mysterious Lord himself.

The dozen or so individuals the cavalry had swept past now charged. Some believers, having undergone the Flesh Rite, could rise again even when wounded, as long as the injuries weren’t critical. Covered in their own blood, they were still driven to kill these invaders.

Watching the swarming enemies, Geralt slowly drew his Longsword from his back.

Dismas, at his side, calmly reloaded his musket, his eyes sweeping over the believers.

However, facing these believers, he didn’t fire. Instead, he drew his Short Sword and axe.

The moment they engaged the enemy, both men moved. In that instant, their speed was too great for the naked eye to follow.

Geralt’s Longsword flashed, each strike lethal. His combat style was fierce, aggressive, and wolf-like.

He precisely targeted vital points, each blow a killing strike. It was clear he had observed the believers’ extraordinary regenerative abilities; for a Witcher, identifying an enemy’s weaknesses through observation was a crucial lesson.

The fallen believers attested to his skill as a Master-level Witcher.

Dismas’s fighting style was more chaotic than Geralt’s, resembling a street brawl. His hand axe and Short Sword moved without discernible rhythm, yet his incredible reflexes ensured each blow landed true.

His Short Sword often targeted the neck. Experience from countless battles had taught him that a slit throat meant unstoppable bleeding.

Later, after learning about human anatomy, he understood the significance of major arteries, leading him to target these areas with even greater purpose.

Meanwhile, his hand axe hacked away. The wounds it inflicted were tainted with a corrosive poison. The believers’ boasted regenerative abilities were useless now; their flesh rotted, and the encroaching decay tormented them.

After his Strengthening, Dismas had improved in every aspect. He now felt no fear facing enemies who wielded mere farming tools.

Soon, all dozen or so were downed. Geralt and Dismas exchanged a glance, then looked at the enemies each had slain.

The wounds on the corpses showed clear differences. Geralt’s kills were mostly single, decisive blows, often piercing the heart or neck.

The bodies around Dismas, however, usually bore multiple wounds, blood spraying wildly. Some weren’t even fully dead, still suffering from the poison’s corrosion and blood loss.

Dismas, however, would casually end their suffering with a swift axe blow to the head, showing no hesitation.

Geralt frowned slightly at Dismas’s thuggish methods, but he was more intrigued by the hand axe, which seemed to possess a strange power. No one would want to face such a weapon.

Dismas retrieved his axe. Looking up, he saw the main force engaging scattered believers. He even spotted Boudica, a whirlwind with her War Halberd. However, the few believers on the town’s outskirts didn’t impede the main force’s advance.

At that moment, he couldn’t help but glance back at the drawbridge, now fully lowered. He immediately vaulted onto his horse and charged across.

Dismas’s urgency made Geralt turn back, just in time to witness an unforgettable scene.

The Lord stood alone at the city gate, facing a surging tide of believers intent on retaking it. He wielded an absurdly large greatsword. A direct hit wasn’t necessary; even a graze from it meant severed limbs and shattered bones. The air filled with flying bodies and sprays of blood.

Even having witnessed its power before, he could hardly believe it was a weapon meant for human hands.

He then saw the besieged Lord, carving a path through the mob, draped in a glistening sheet of blood, like a demonic god descended upon the mortal plane.

At that moment, it felt to Geralt not as if the believers were surrounding the Lord, but rather that the Lord had surrounded them.

He snapped out of his daze in an instant and hurried to follow. Now he understood why the soldiers’ morale was so high.

He himself was feeling a similar surge of excitement!

By the time Geralt and Dismas rushed up, Lance had already dispatched most of the enemies. The three of them quickly finished off the few who remained.

”My Lord, are you alright?” Dismas asked urgently, looking uneasy at the sight of blood on the Lord.

”I’m fine. These small fry can’t threaten me.” Lance paused, frowning at the severed limbs on the ground. ”But... I really don’t like the sight of blood~”

As he spoke, he raised a hand to Sacrifice the bloody remains. He was reluctant to cause such slaughter, as it would strengthen the ancient ancestor, but sometimes he had no choice.

However, after this small replenishment of Spiritual Essence, Lance’s expression noticeably relaxed.

Geralt was momentarily speechless. You don’t like the sight of blood... so you slaughtered them all?