Bear School Astartes

At the end of it all, even Lann found it somewhat strenuous to bring along an ordinary person like Stuart.

He stood at the exit of the ravine, pulling from the alchemy pouch at his lower back a North Wind bomb infused with magic power by the Great Mage.

Just one thrown down extinguished the fiery barricade that had taken hundreds of the Niflgaard soldiers to no avail.

The flames seemed to be subdued by the cold in an instant.

The hot air became cool and refreshing.

Duke Adal, who was pushed by Lann into the pile of corpses, entangled with the dead bodies, looked furiously at the scene.

Why... why could the mountain fire that wiped out his entire regiment’s strength not obstruct a mere demon hunter?! How could it be possible?!

His bloodshot eyes seemed cannibalistic, his still movable hands and one leg clawing, moving frantically in the disordered heap of corpses.

His eyes saw only that small cool spot, an exit within the raging flames.

But just as that tall figure which offered him a path to life stepped out, he tossed a small orb behind him.

Thus, the flames briefly suppressed by the cold burst forth vigorously with a ’boom’.

Right in front of Adal, just when he was nearly crawling into that way to life.

One North Wind to exit, one Dragon’s Dream to shut the door.

For the Niflgaard people, the fire that destroyed their entire regiment’s strength was something Lann could have left any time.

He stayed inside with the Niflgaard people just to prevent them from using any special method.

Like signaling some distant warlock to open a portal or something.

Of course, such high-end and extravagant actions could only benefit the noblest, after all, even someone as elite as a Great Mage like Tishaya couldn’t open a portal that far, for that big or that long.

And noble Duke Adal Epp Darcy was undoubtedly among the most powerful and wealthy in the Niflgaard Empire. The empire’s warlocks would probably even fight to be the Darcy Clan’s dog.

But it was these ’noble people’ who started the war that Lann was determined to kill, he cared little for the other ordinary Niflgaard soldiers.

That’s why Lann annihilated the army in the ravine to collapse.

One was to ensure the Niflgaard Army lost cohesion, unable to withstand the mountain fire as a group.

The other was to confirm there was no new chaotic magic power disturbance or new arrivals of warlocks.

As Lann helped the nearly crippled Stuart out, behind them, the burning valley still echoed with Duke Adal’s shrill screams and curses, a step away from life but blocked again.

The sound mixed with the remaining Niflgaard soldiers’ screams, painful moans, and the ’whooshing’ of the burning mountain flames.

Like the devil’s breath wafting from the fiery cave’s depths.

Twisted and terrifying.

And after Lann came out, he saw a group unexpectedly but not surprisingly.

On the ridge at the Ring Mountain exit, a head of white hair once tied behind now in disarray, the sword in hand stained with blood and grease, clearly from a grueling battle, Geralt led them down.

Around twenty people behind him.

Looking behind him, Ged wore the advanced Bear School Armor inherited from Lann, many places burst cotton at the cotton armor’s outer cover, and the white cotton dyed black by floating ashes from the mountain, looked filthy and worn.

Apart from the minstrel still wearing a hat with a heron feather, Ciri was most notable.

She was struggling to hold a normally materialized Bear School Steel Sword, with only one bloodstain on it, and on her left cheek, a scar running through the upper and lower eye sockets.

They fought a tough battle.

Lann thought briefly, knowing they intercepted scattered soldiers fleeing the fire from the mountain.

Those scattered soldiers had lost their units but were proper Niflgaard soldiers, equipped and skilled, and just escaped bloodthirsty from the dead pile.

Like a tense, starving, human-meat-tasting beast.

Yet despite this, they all appeared cheerful.

”Well done, everyone.”

Lann smiled at them with effort.

Geralt waved it off, as if he had lent a small hand to a friend on an ordinary day.

”Not as hard as yours... you’ve caused quite the ruckus today.”

”It’s not just ’quite the ruckus’!” Dandelion shouted dissatisfied, opposing Geralt’s understatement.

”This will be an epic! One person against a regiment! Never before! Only those berserk warlocks with indiscriminate attacks did. Like Alzur and his notorious Double Cross Star, no one else has!”

Geralt, the old friend of the minstrel, and his new friends seemed indifferent to his words, just shrugged.

”What happened to Ciri?”

Lann cupped the little girl’s chin with his hand, turning her head back from embarrassment, examining the scar.

”Believe it or not... no, even though I saw it with my own eyes, I still can’t believe it.”

Geralt’s tone was deep, complicated emotions. Was it regret? Guilt? Or...

”She wandered off for a while just now, the burned forest became chaotic, easy to lose sight. When I found her again, she had used Ged’s handed-down sword to kill a Niflgaard soldier... though the soldier was already delirious from burns. Still, it left her a scar.”

”Is it ugly?” Ciri muttered, baring her teeth under Lann’s gaze.

”No, it’s brave, and once properly healed, it will be very distinctive. At least more so than those drugged tattoo punks in the streets.”

Ciri looked at Lann with surprise.

The part-time Demon Hunter and Magic Academy research project participant continued.

”And if you want, you can come to me, a little scar is nothing.”

Immediately after, Ciri turned her head, her face once tense from the injury softened by Lann’s comfort, yet a moment later, her expression grew worse.

”Stuart...”

The little girl looked at the young knight, his entire left-side ribcage caved in, the spine bent for lack of support, and quickly covered her mouth.

”He...”

”He will be fine.” Lann declared firmly.