The Witcher: Grinding Experience Starting as a Wolf School Witcher

Chapter 93 Not a Single One Left Behind

Mitchell was emotional and filled with despair.

Alwin lowered his gaze, looking at the silver dagger in his hand.

So that's how it is. The so-called Witcher was actually just a scheme by Atamon from the beginning.

"Two witchers, I beg you, could you please take this silver dagger to Adcalai?"

"Give it to the Grand Justice of the capital, give it to His Majesty the King. The dagger has the little count's blood on it. All it takes is a court sorcerer to prove that what I say is true."

"Butler," Alwin sheathed his dagger, "the matter from back then has already been judged, you can leave in peace."

Mitchell took a step back, paused for a moment, and said, "Witcher, I have one last request."

His voice was indignant, filled with gritted teeth.

"Please help me witness Atamon's death."

Alwin nodded.

Mitchell looked grateful.

"Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Witcher."

"Lord Grafiacan, I am so sorry. I failed to protect the young count."

As these words faded into the distance, as soft as a mosquito's buzz, the illusory body vanished, ultimately transforming into starlight that drifted into the endless night.

The pulsating badge returned to calm.

After a moment of silence, Holt spoke in a hoarse voice.

"We've found the item. Let's go back and meet up with Geralt."

Alwin looked up; besides the smell of burning, the stench of rotting corpses still lingered in the air.

"No, not yet."

Holt paused for a moment, then a smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes revealing a deep killing intent.

The sky gradually brightened.

Shoemaker Village.

Alwin and Holt led their horses back to the village entrance.

As always, it was the village dogs that first spotted them, barking wildly.

An old man was dozing off in the farmhouse.

When he saw the two figures, his long, thin, white eyebrows rose.

The old man saw the two of them, picked up his cane, and slowly walked down the steps.

"Brave witchers, you've returned. Has the matter been resolved?"

Alwin glanced at the woods on either side of the village entrance out of the corner of his eye.

"Resolved."

The elder stepped forward, leaning on his cane, and took out a heavy, exquisite purple money bag from his cotton coat with his left hand.

"Oh, Gods above, this is wonderful! This is the 100 crowns that was agreed upon beforehand."

Arwen scanned the pouch with [Alchemy Sense], and a green fluctuation emanated from it.

It didn't contain money at all, but poison.

The antidote for this poison was held in the elder's mouth.

When Elder Xavier saw that Alwin had no intention of taking the money pouch, his kind face suddenly fell.

"What's wrong? Do you feel the money isn't enough?"

Alwin looked down at the old man's hunched body.

"Old man, you killed those passing merchants, didn't you?"

"Hellhounds are born only in places of the most heinous crimes."

Elder Xavier paused, his aged eyes gradually turning cold.

"Witcher, you already knew?"

As soon as he finished speaking, more than twenty villagers carrying pitchforks and machetes emerged from the woods on both sides.

Elder Xavier took a few steps back. "Originally, I could have let you leave after you took the money, but now that you know too much, I have no choice but to let you die here. Strange..."

The word "fetus" was not uttered yet.

The black-haired witcher quickly raised his right hand over his shoulder and gripped the hilt of his sword.

The dark, ancient blade of the sword had already struck the top of his head.

"Snapped!"

Starting from the skull and descending downwards, the collapsed flesh split in two, and the blood and internal organs, still connected, fell to either side.

Alwin stretched his neck, his cat-like eyes remaining calm and still.

"Old man, I'm just letting you die knowing why, why are you talking nonsense?"

"And another thing," he straightened up, his voice chilling as he looked at the unruly crowd surrounding him, his amber gaze meeting Holt's.

"That will save me the trouble of going to each of you one by one."

The common people were stunned by the brutal scene.

The leader then let out a fierce roar.

"Father! No! Folks, they killed the elder, we must avenge him!"

"There are only two of them, are we afraid of all of us? Fuck them!"

"The greatsword in his hand is definitely worth a lot of crowns."

"Whoever kills him gets to keep him!"

The unruly villagers shouted to embolden themselves, raised their weapons, and charged at the two men.

How dare these troublemakers attack me?

Alwin suddenly burst forward, his speed increasing rapidly, and instantly plunged into the midst of the unruly civilians.

The black sword light, accompanied by a sharp whistling sound, drew a black crescent moon.

Blood and flesh flew everywhere, and everything was destroyed.

In just one encounter, the attack by the troublemakers was thwarted.

Another small group headed towards Holt.

Despite his limp, he moves with incredible agility, centered on his left foot, like a whirlwind.

Facing the incoming pitchfork, he easily dodged it by simply sidestepping, while simultaneously raising his right arm high and bringing down a sharp glint of sword light.

The unruly man didn't even have time to scream before his head was chopped off at an angle.

"when!"

After beheading a troublemaker, Holt drew his sword to parry a scythe that attacked from the side.

When the troublemaker saw that his sneak attack had failed, his eyes widened in surprise as the sword flashed across his throat.

Blood spurted out, and it made gurgling sounds from its mouth.

My vision went upside down, and I fell to the ground.

Immediately following, another powerful diagonal slash came down.

Once again, the head of a troublemaker was chopped off.

Blood splattered on his creamy white hair, chilling and terrifying.

Each strike of the sword takes down an enemy, swift, precise, and elegant.

The last remaining troublemaker, upon meeting the amber cat's eyes, was terrified out of his wits, his arms, gripping the flail, trembling like a leaf.

"A monster..."

Suddenly, a sword's cry pierced the air from behind.

"Pfft!"

The sword pierced his heart, and the dark greatsword rose upwards, suspending his entire body in the air, sliding down the blade like a skewer of candied hawthorns.

He then flicked his sword, and he flew out again.

"Not bad, Alwin."

With a flick of his wrist, Alwin's greatsword trembled, and blood rained down from the scabbard.

The noisy world fell silent, save for the cawing of ravens.

But soon, the two heard a series of noisy footsteps.

Some women slowly walked out of the village alleys.

"Did you hear that? The screams over there have stopped."

"Hey, those two freaks are definitely dead. My Brooke told me there was a hooded witcher carrying a greatsword that was worth a lot of money, at least 200 crowns."

"Oh? That's fantastic! That's more than if I made 100 pairs of shoes."

"Yes, and we don't have to pay taxes to that vampire lord."

The women chatted, even discussing who killed the witcher and who should get more money.

But when you walk around the corner and look towards the village entrance, you see two people standing in a pool of blood, like demons from hell.

Especially the hooded witcher, who slowly raised his head and revealed a faint smile.

Leave no one alive!