Chapter 198: War, War Never Changes
Half an hour ago.
Vesemir was curled up, hidden in a narrow pit outside the castle. The pit wasn't large, barely able to accommodate one adult man.
The pit was camouflaged, making it impossible to detect from the outside. The other twenty-two witchers were hidden in pits just like him.
They had been hiding in these pits for several hours. If discovered, it would be a death trap. There was no way to react in such a position.
If even one witcher was discovered, the other soldiers would realize there was something wrong with the ground beneath them. At that point, all the witchers would be trapped.
Vesemir didn't believe in gods, but this time, he prayed devoutly to Melitele. Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps Melitele's compassion. The Kaedweni didn't notice the anomalies underground. They surged towards Kaer Morhen like a clamoring flock of ducks.
Next, just as the Grandmaster and the resident sorcerers had rehearsed, the resident mages first cast Oil on the trench and the ground outside it, then followed up with Fireball.
Flames ignited the earth, devouring countless lives. The wails and screams of the Kaedweni were the best signal.
Vesemir pushed aside the camouflage plank and leaped out of the pit. He saw the soldiers around him, their expressions shifting from stunned to horrified. Without needing any words to slow his movements, Vesemir's figure flashed past a soldier like a phantom.
A cold gleam darted across the soldier's neck. The next second, the soldier's head flew high into the sky, blood gushing out.
That wasn't all. Vesemir thrust his left palm forward, and a stream of fire swept forward like a dragon, the flames penetrating the gaps in armor, causing several soldiers to shriek in agony. He flashed past again.
The steel sword in his hand rapidly harvested the lives of the burned soldiers. As he fought, the other twenty-two witchers also charged out of their pits, one after another, launching a surprise attack on the panicking soldiers.
For a moment, screams erupted everywhere. The Kaedweni descended into utter chaos.
Realistically speaking, twenty-three against several thousand, unless all twenty-three were Astartes, it would be impossible to wipe out thousands of soldiers. Although witchers' physical abilities were enhanced by mutations, stronger than ordinary humans, they were still far from the level of Space Marines.
But the difference between reality and a game is that armies in reality are composed of living, breathing people. Human emotions are complex, not something that can be simulated by a mere morale bar in a game.
These soldiers, who had luckily escaped being burned alive, were attacked by witchers before they could even react. They didn't even know where the enemies had appeared from. In such a chaotic situation, expecting humans to remain calm was a luxury.
Why did armies in the age of cold weapons so easily collapse when attacked from two sides? Besides the fact that armies of this era were less trained than those of later periods, a crucial reason was the lack of information.
When a soldier is part of an army, surrounded by people in front, behind, and to their sides, their behavior is largely influenced by those around them. When the people around them fall into panic, or even rout, very few can remain calm enough to understand what's happening. And when they too join the rout, it triggers even more soldiers to flee, eventually affecting the entire army.
This was a perfect example. No one knew what was truly happening, nor did anyone know how many mutants were attacking them, or if they had received help from other mutants... Or perhaps, this was actually a trap: the mutants had known their plan all along, and mutants from other parts of the world had secretly gathered, setting a snare, just waiting for them to foolishly walk into it.
Such pessimistic thoughts, which might seem ridiculous to an observer, could only be used by those involved to explain what was happening to them.
What happened next became much more logical. More and more soldiers joined the flight, retreating like a tide, leaving behind a multitude of bodies cut by swords.
As for those who died in the trench, the charred corpses were even more numerous. Even after the flames were extinguished by the resident sorcerers, the lingering thick smoke still billowed towards the sky.
In the distant military camp. Władysław and his noble commanders looked as if fire could shoot from their eyes. They stared intently at the witcher castle, which still stood unyielding in the distance.
The fire had swallowed at least several hundred lives, and an estimated hundred or more soldiers had likely died by witcher blades.
It's important to remember, these weren't conscripted farmers temporarily assembled for war; these were all his, and his nobles', full-time standing soldiers who did not engage in production.
Just one engagement, and so many lives were lost here. Władysław and the nobles' hearts were bleeding.
Lynn hadn't imagined that the Siege of Kaer Morhen had actually unfolded like this. But why, then, in later records, did it become a story of a sorceress inciting a mob to breach the castle?
No one could answer his question, and he didn't need anyone else to; he came up with the answer himself: The reason was simple: the powerful couldn't lose face.
History is a young girl dressed up by anyone. Take Joan of Arc, for example; in France, she is undoubtedly a saint. Even in World War II, both Vichy France and Free France used Joan of Arc's story to bolster their legitimacy. But in England, Joan of Arc was considered a witch.
If the Hundred Years' War had ended in an English victory, Joan of Arc might have become another King Arthur — fighting the Anglo-Saxons her whole life, only to be considered an Anglo-Saxon hero after her death.
Similarly, Władysław certainly didn't want the truth to be known by the world. So he would definitely have the scribes distort the facts. After all, the narrative power was in the King's hands; he could twist and slander as he pleased.
As for the survivors, like Vesemir and the others, why didn't they choose to clarify the truth?
On one hand, it would have been useless anyway; with a powerful king on one side and witchers with low social standing on the other, whom would people believe?
On the other hand, from then on, perhaps the King and nobles thought the witchers were no longer a threat, so they ignored them.
Vesemir took Geralt and the others back to the castle, which had become a ruin. Compared to simply surviving, the truth naturally became unimportant.
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