The Witcher: Astartes Of The Bear School

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Chapter 64: Thunderbolt and Blizzard

The potions left by Bordon. Enhanced-grade ''Thunder'', and enhanced-grade ''Blizzard''. 

The former significantly boosts physical strength, thereby increasing attack power. The latter, when adrenaline is surging, stimulates the nervous system, creating a state of heightened perception akin to "bullet time." 

When both potions were consumed simultaneously, even a witcher's enhanced body couldn't fully withstand the toxicity. Lan began to suffer continuous damage from the intense poison. 

As he lowered his head, a drop of blood from his nose fell to the sandy ground, sizzling as if it were corrosive! 

The protective shield conjured by the sorceress began to flicker ominously. 

The enemies clearly noticed this. The moment the magical barrier collapsed, six crossbow bolts shot toward Lan. 

Three of them, due to poor timing or the lingering remnants of the shield, were deflected or knocked off course. The remaining three, however, slipped through the dissipating barrier. 

The crossbowmen smiled in celebration as the bolts flew. Some even prepared to high-five each other, commemorating this rare "hunt." 

Kneeling, eyes closed—there was no way to dodge. The bolts were aimed at the largest parts of the body to ensure a hit. 

No one could evade this! 

But soon, their smiles froze. And quickly turned into expressions of disbelief. 

A shadow flashed in front of Lan, and the three bolts were caught mid-air in his hand! 

With a flick of his wrist, the arrows were re-energized. 

The men charging forward to break the magical barrier with their swords and hammers were struck directly. 

Lan's throwing strength couldn't match that of a crossbow, but the thugs weren't wearing armor. It didn't take much force for the bolts to pierce human flesh. 

Three screams, followed by the sound of bodies hitting the ground. 

But this wasn't the end. 

"Where did he go?! Who saw where he went?!" The crossbowmen shouted in panic. 

They had lost track of the figure who, just a second ago, had been kneeling motionless. On the sandy ground, only two impact marks remained. 

'Thunder' enhanced his physical strength, not only increasing his attack power but also giving his leg muscles the power to propel him at incredible speeds. 

'Blizzard' made Lan feel as if the world had slowed down. The once seamless coordination and attacks of the enemies now seemed full of gaps and flaws. 

The crossbowmen's eyes struggled to keep up. With two sharp 'thwips', their bolts only hit the footprints Lan left behind. 

"We—we can't keep up! Why can't we keep up?!" 

Their ability to turn and aim couldn't match Lan's speed. 

The melee fighters, all seasoned veterans, realized something was wrong the moment the crossbowmen's laughter ceased. 

Expecting camaraderie among thugs was laughable. 

Those without shields—swordsmen and hammer-wielders—immediately tried to move behind their shielded comrades. Some even attempted to snatch shields from others. 

In melee combat, shields provided a sense of security second only to reliable allies and armor. 

These thugs, clad only in fur jackets, were now desperate for a shield. Lan's unnatural speed and size had unnerved them all. No one wanted to face such a monster! 

But Lan was eager to face them. 

"Sssshhh!" 

The sound of blood spraying from a throat was chilling. A shield-bearing warrior clutched his throat, blood gushing from between his fingers and mouth. 

No one dared to grab a shield now. The melee fighters, after a moment of wide-eyed shock, didn't even dare to look back! 

They fled in panic, desperate to put distance between themselves and the mutant! 

"This isn't right—this isn't right! He's not human! He's a monster!" People shouted. 

Faced with the shattering of their understanding, the thugs' morale crumbled in mere moments. A skilled shield-bearer, with his shield intact, had his throat slit—how could this be explained? 

A shield protects a "surface," while a blade attacks a "line." As long as the shield-bearer faced the enemy, they didn't need to worry about the direction of the attack or whether it was a feint. 

Just raise the shield! 

The shield was fixed to the arm, and no enemy could circle faster than the arm could move. 

In a one-on-one situation, the shield should provide absolute protection. 

Except in one case— 

With such a speed difference, even an ordinary person could think of dozens of ways to counter on the spot! 

The terror of slitting a shield-bearer's throat lay in the fact that someone truly lived in a world of 1.5x speed! 

'I can circle you faster than you can swing your arm!' 

The inhuman speed and reaction time shattered the enemies' courage. 

When Lan had infiltrated the camp, he had assassinated ten men and now killed six or seven in direct combat. This was a casualty rate of nearly 30%. 

Facing a lone opponent had initially given the thugs a psychological advantage, but a 30% casualty rate was something even Temerian professional armies couldn't sustain! 

For a group of criminals united by profit, when Lan was suppressed, they could ignore the casualty rate. Deaths from ambushes were just accidents, nothing to worry about. They laughed, ready to slaughter the young man. 

But when they realized their violent advantage was slipping, the casualty rate became an unbearable weight on their sanity. 

"Get out of the way! Let me through! I'm leaving first!" 

Without the melee fighters holding the line, even the crossbowmen, who were generally more disciplined, were swept up in the panic. The armed thugs' order was collapsing. 

A camp of over fifty armed fighters was a formidable force in most parts of the world. 

Now, they had been broken by a single witcher. 

On a distant platform, the Head Eater watched the chaos with narrowed eyes. 

At first, he had thought Lan's head would be delivered to him within three minutes. After all, it was just a little rat that had sneaked in. 

But then, after Lan used Igni to severely burn two men and displayed extraordinary physical abilities, the Head Eater grabbed his twin axes and began moving toward the detention area. 

The opponent's combat prowess rivaled that of some renowned knights. 

He knew exactly what kind of scum made up his forces. He didn't care about the casualties, but those casualties could become a reason for the survivors to demand a larger share of the profits. 

That, he couldn't accept. 

So, he decided to step in himself to end the fight quickly. 

But just twenty seconds later, the Head Eater turned around and headed back to his large tent. Two black-furred hounds followed him inside. Once in the tent, he kicked a boiled human head off the table, and the hounds happily gnawed on it. 

He had always thought using cannibalism to assert dominance was idiotic. 

But what could he do? Business was business. So, the heads had to be delivered, but the dogs could eat them. 

"Ledgers, cargo tickets, receipts, letters, and gems... Yep, all here!" 

The short, stocky man, with the typical Skellige warrior look, strapped his axes to his back. 

But his meticulousness as he rummaged through the items rivaled that of the most diligent accountant in Novigrad. 

Soon, he had everything packed into a small bundle, which he slung over his shoulder before heading out. 

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