To the Cintrans, the idea that 'Witchers are unbeatable one-on-one and must be ganged up on to have a chance' had become an unspoken truth. Witchers were warriors far beyond the norm.
That was precisely why, the moment they saw Coën being forced back by someone who looked like a bounty hunter, they immediately understood the gravity of the situation—and rushed to assist without hesitation.
Now, with the two Lion Pride members joining Coën, the three formed a triangle, encircling Bonhart.
"Hey, Witcher!" Bonhart showed no sign of nervousness at being surrounded. Instead, he casually twirled his blade to loosen his muscles and began undoing the fastenings of his chainmail jacket.
Coën's eyes narrowed—and then his expression turned icy.
The man's chest revealed three gleaming silver medallions—engraved with the emblems of the Cat, the Griffin, and the Wolf.
A Witcher would never abandon his medallion. It was more than a symbol of identity; it was a vital magical detection tool, as important as the twin swords on his back.
And if this man possessed three medallions, there was only one explanation—
He had the lives of three Witchers on his hands.
House and Levin crouched lower, ready to pounce at any moment. But they were still waiting for Coën to move—ready to coordinate.
"Your medallion will join my collection soon, Witcher," Bonhart said, sensing Coën's icy stare. His voice was as cold and eerie as a ghost's. "Too bad you're a Griffin. I was hoping for a Viper or a Bear."
The bounty hunter was experienced and knew how to provoke his opponent first.
"Of course, the Griffin medallion from Lannister wasn't bad either. Prey of his level is always worth the effort…"
That was the last straw. Coën hadn't moved yet—but someone else had already been enraged.
With a roar, House lunged forward. Bonhart sneered and parried, counterattacking. The clash of blades rang out across the battlefield.
[Clang!]
As Bonhart swiftly prepared to retaliate, Levin crossed both his blades and locked the bounty hunter's longsword in place. His coordination with House was seamless.
But Bonhart was no ordinary warrior—he was a killer.
Bonhart spat directly in Levin's face, causing the young man to lose his footing. Without even retracting his longsword, Bonhart drove his knee into House's groin, then slammed the pommel into the side of his head—once, twice, three times.
The brutal blows broke open House's temple, cheek, and mouth. His longsword slipped from his hand as his body wavered—and all he saw was a flash of steel.
[Clang!]
This time, it was Coën who parried Bonhart's blade. The Griffin School Witcher had finally shaken off the effects of the Dimeritium Bomb.
Seizing the moment, House snatched up his fallen sword. The three of them advanced on Bonhart in unison.
The bounty hunter, however, only grew more excited.
"Dance! Let the music play!" he roared, his emotionless fish eyes wide with twisted glee.
House leapt forward again, launching the second round of attacks.
Bonhart twisted on the spot and leapt into the air as well, landing firmly on one leg before thrusting his sword.
But before his blade could meet House's, Levin appeared low and swift from the side like a panther, slashing with twin curved blades like a ghost in the night.
Bonhart raised his sword to block, bending his knees slightly to absorb the force and, by a hair's breadth, dodged Coën's well-timed sneak attack.
He then drove his knee into Levin and immediately launched a counteroffensive, hacking and slashing his sword at the three opponents.
Coën, at the front, bore the brunt of the assault. Despite his lingering discomfort, he gritted his teeth and blocked while retreating, nearly losing his balance. Just as Bonhart's sword slashed toward him, Coën jumped to avoid it—but still took a hit to the shoulder.
Before Bonhart could follow through and sever Coën's arm, Levin and House simultaneously lashed out with their weapons, barely forcing the bounty hunter to retreat once more.
"Good, good, good!" Leo Bonhart's three medallions rose and fell with his heaving breath, a sick flush creeping up his neck.
Coën adjusted his stance, repositioning his shoulders as he prepared for the next round of attacks alongside his two comrades.
The killer before them had yet to break through—but instead of wearing down, he was growing more and more thrilled, as though he had found some priceless treasure.
Just as they braced for an even fiercer barrage, Bonhart suddenly did something unexpected. With a crazed gleam in his eyes, he threw back his head and shouted: "Kenna!"
Coën's expression changed drastically—he remembered the magical ambush from the start of the fight.
This was an inescapable move. In that instant, Coën had already braced himself—ready to use nothing but steel plate and flesh to survive the attack and give his comrades a chance.
But nothing happened.
…
The psionicist Kenna covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming, curling up tightly into a ball.
Fortunately, she had quick reflexes. She'd hidden behind cover at the first sign of danger. She wasn't wearing armor, and her appearance wasn't particularly intimidating—so the Cintrans hadn't noticed her.
An arrow had pierced straight through her shoulder.
If not for her extraordinary sixth sense as a psionicist, that arrow would have struck her throat instead.
Either way, she wouldn't be showing her face again for the rest of the night.
Back where the arrow had been loosed, Milva steadied the still-vibrating bowstring, eyes wide with lingering terror.
Just moments earlier, the sound of the ongoing battle had drawn a Frightener toward them—but the beast had noticed Milva first, as she lay in ambush above, sniping enemy troops.
Milva had been about to urge Black Wind to flee with the princess, intending to stay behind and cover their retreat. But the princess had insisted she hold her position and continue shooting. Then… she had launched an utterly baffling assault of her own.
Panting heavily, Ciri stood up from the carcass of the Frightener.
She wiped the blood from her forehead and nimbly hopped over to Milva's side. After observing the battlefield for a while, she pointed toward the intense melee between Bonhart and the others and asked: "See that one? The really irritating-looking one—can you shoot him?"
Milva took a deep breath to steady herself and aimed briefly, then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. They're too tangled up. I'm afraid I might hit our own."
Ciri frowned, but then said softly, "It's alright. You're doing great."
Milva tensed at the princess's words, an uneasy feeling tightening in her chest.
"Your Highness… you're not thinking of—?"
Ciri didn't need Milva to finish the sentence—she already knew exactly what her anxious subordinate was thinking.
"Relax. If even Coën and the other two can't take him down together, what good would I do jumping in? This kind of chaotic melee—charging in, even with the magic I've learned, would just be suicide. I'm not that reckless!"
Milva let out a breath of relief.
"Then please, allow me to escort you to Brokilon Fo—" She still didn't want Ciri staying in such a dangerous place.
But Ciri had already walked over to a wall covered in posters. Standing before one with her own half-body portrait, she gently called out, "Iris, are you there? Iris—"
The poster beside hers—featuring a half-body image of Lann—suddenly burst into flames, glowing with vivid emerald light. From within the burning image, a spirit emerged.
"I'm here," said Iris.
"Ugh, why do you always have to come out of Lann's picture? Never mind, don't answer—I can guess." Ciri puffed up her cheeks. "How's the guerrilla unit doing? And Regis? Can they spare anyone to help over here?"
Iris turned to look at Lann's image, where the flames grew even brighter.
Through the fire, she connected to countless vantage points, taking in the entirety of the Brokilon town battlefield.
"Soon," Iris replied. "The guerrilla fighters are already on their way. Regis is still dealing with a few chimeras in the sky, but he'll be here shortly as well."
Milva stared nervously at the battlefield. "But Coën and the others look like they're at their limit... I'll go stall for time—"
But Ciri's face lit up with sudden determination. "Perfect. That means it's exactly my cue to enter!"
Milva's eyes went wide in panic. "Wait, Your Highness—!"
Ciri leapt onto Black Wind's back as lightly as a swallow. She grabbed the reins, and the warhorse beneath her—its eyes gleaming like a beast's—reared up on its hind legs.
"Neighhh!"
The piercing whinny drew the attention of everyone nearby. Soldiers around the battlefield turned to see the silver-gray-haired girl atop the towering warhorse, mouths agape in astonishment.
"Let's go, Black Wind!" Ciri shouted with a youthful roar. "Let them see what we're made of!"
Milva reached out toward her retreating figure in vain, then turned and glared at Iris, as if demanding why she hadn't stopped the princess.
The spirit in the painting lowered her head.
"Milva, this is her duty," she said softly. "She's a princess… but she's no longer a child."
With those ethereal words, she dissolved into emerald flame, leaving behind only a fading voice: "I'll go hurry Regis along."
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---