Swords and Swords

meditation.

Being in a semi-conscious state allows you to quickly regain your energy while maintaining a certain level of alertness.

This is a common skill for Witchers, but not every Witcher can learn it.

At least for School of the Cat witchers, this is a very difficult skill to master.

The flaws in the White Gull Potion recipe have caused most of the Cat Witchers to suffer from some mental and physical problems.

Pain, mania, irritability, madness...

Many Witchers of the School of the Cat rely on alcohol and hallucinogens to numb their nerves even for a good night's sleep.

Moreover, meditation requires an extremely high level of mental focus.

but.

There will always be outliers in this world.

The School of the Cat also has Witchers who are very skilled in meditation.

For example, Guksat.

He can meditate, and he's very skilled at it.

Aside from the leader, Guksat is the only Witcher in the School of the Cat to have mastered this skill.

He was usually proud of this, and even felt a sense of superiority when facing other companions with incomplete or excessive mutations.

But only for one night.

No matter how hard he tried to control his emotions and calm his heartbeat, he couldn't enter that peaceful and tranquil state.

Guksat knew why.

He glanced at his companion who had taken medicine and fallen asleep beside him, then pulled out a wooden bottle from his leather armor that faintly emitted a fishy smell.

This was given to him by Tresius this morning; it contained several ominous, dark red pills.

They have no names and their composition is unknown.

From ancient shamanic traditions, each one can unleash power far exceeding normal levels.

Although the cost is high.

After each burst of power, he needs to stay in bed and recuperate for at least six months.

That's just the standard version.

The bottle that Guksat is holding has been spiked.

The power unleashed by a regular pill might be twice the normal amount, but this bottle will at least quadruple it.

certainly.

The price to pay after taking it is even more expensive—life!

In the quiet room.

Guksat stared blankly at the four cat-faction witchers, the oldest of whom was only twenty-one, for a long time.

Many memories kept replaying in his mind.

Tresius hardly got involved.

For a long time, he was responsible for training new people within the school.

So these witchers in front of him, though called his companions, were actually all his former apprentices.

He brought them back to the caravan from the shadows of a city, from villages ravaged by war, and even from ancient, decaying castles...

Train them, teach them to kill, watch them go mad...

Although they would often argue with him, they would eventually obey him and depend on him...

"The nascent School of the Cat cannot accommodate so many people; they are the necessary sacrifices for the survival of the School of the Cat!"

Tresius's words hovered in his mind like a scavenging vulture.

actually.

Tomorrow's match, these four School of the Cat Witchers are more than capable of winning; there's no need to use such a dangerous pill.

Even if there is a Crimson Fox apprentice, the School of the Wolf's newly trained witchers are no match for their swordsmanship.

Even the outcome of tomorrow's match is not important to the school of thought.

The schools of thought simply no longer need them...

Or perhaps the School of the Cat simply needed them to die...

That's all.

In a daze.

Guksat's gaze wandered aimlessly around the small room.

I don't know when...

Daylight broke.

Outside the window.

The sky was overcast, and the morning glow was like blood.

Tresius's voice echoed in my mind again:

"Guksat, trust me!"

"The wolves in the Ancient Sea Fortress are doomed!"

"The future of the School of the Cat will surely be built upon the corpses of wolves, and become even stronger in our hands!"

Will things really get better...? Guksat sighed softly, gripping the wooden bottle in his hand tightly.

Awaken from meditation.

After a quick wash, the School of the Wolf witchers, led by Robin, arrived at the arena early, only to find that the tournament was still two hours away from starting.

The place was already packed with people, and long queues had formed.

Obviously.

Neither sorcerers nor Sorcerer Apprentice liked witchers.

But this did not stop them from being curious about which of the two Witcher schools in Kedwen was stronger!

Or rather...

It is precisely because they hate witchers that they are so eager to watch witchers kill each other, even if it means arriving early to queue.

Guided by Robin, when they entered the arena, only the main stands were empty.

The other directions were filled with black-robed male wizards who came to watch the spectacle.

However, such excitement did not bring glory or excite the participating witchers; instead, it made them frown.

The School of the Wolf witchers stood at the edge of the arena, in their resting area.

Two steps behind you is a five-meter-high grandstand.

"... Saipan, what brings you here? Didn't you have Potions class this morning?"

"It's over... A freak fighting a freak, how can we miss something like this!"

"It's a pity that it's all Little Monster fighting; I wonder when we'll get to see more..."

"Mutants..."

"Monster..."

These Sorcerer Apprentice didn't care if their disparaging remarks about witchers were heard.

Some apprentices even deliberately faced their direction, provocatively amplifying their voices so that everyone could hear them.

Hearing how brave he was when facing the monsters created by the male wizard!

Fred, whose mood was extremely soured by the detestable Sorcerer Apprentice, muttered a complaint under his breath:

"These male witches are really annoying!"

Vesemir frowned, patted Fred on the shoulder, and said reassuringly:

"Business comes first!"

"I know...I am..." Fred gritted his teeth, "I am..."

"Which mentor are you students of?" Robin suddenly turned around and looked expressionlessly at the noisy Sorcerer Apprentice behind him.

The apprentices glanced at the teacher's insignia on Robin's black robe and immediately lowered their heads and fell silent.

I dared not say another word.

Ailin looked at the usually taciturn Robin with surprise.

Robin, who was reluctant to even approach people in Kaer Morhen, has become so bold after just a few months.

"Envious? This is just a small part of Teacher Ben Ade's prestige!"

Robin adjusted his glasses smugly.

The School of the Wolf has Robin to back them up, but the School of the Cat on the other side isn't so lucky.

Farouk leaned against the steel fence, completely ignoring the Sorcerer Apprentice behind the School of the Cat Sorcerer Apprentice, which only fueled their arrogance.

The cat-like witcher, whose temper was volatile and difficult to control, reached behind his back several times to grip his steel sword.

If it weren't for team leader Guksat stopping them, a bloody conflict might have already broken out.

certainly.

Ban Ade Academy seemed to have anticipated this, as the number of male wizards maintaining order at the School of the Cat witchers' camp was significantly more than double that at the School of the Wolf.

Moreover, their eyes were always glued to the cat-like witcher.

Ailin was watching with glee as his colleague suffered.

A sudden commotion arose from the audience seats on both sides.

A few seconds later.

"Waaah—"

The rousing bugle call rose up, instantly drowning out the noise of the arena.

Then, the sound of servants calling out names came from the main stands:

"King Kedwen, heir to the Unicorn Dynasty, King of Ad Kalley, Grand Duke of Ban Ad, and Haxor, ruler of Cangion and Marull, has arrived!"

This moment.

Every pair of eyes was fixed on the main stand.

"Oh! The king is so fat!"

"Nonsense! Otherwise, why would he be called the Glutton'!"

The Sorcerer Apprentice's whispers came from behind.

Fred was also surprised:

"How come this king is fatter than the wild boars on the hill behind the mountain!"

Even Ailin had to admit that, despite imagining Haxor's size many times, he still greatly underestimated King Kedwen's obesity.

Haxor was so fat that he couldn't walk normally on his own.

They need someone to support or carry them to move.

After the king took his seat with a bang, Soyer and another wizard came out from behind and sat on either side of the king.

Next came the other male wizards, and men and women who looked like nobles.

Six knights in sturdy armor emerged last and stood guard on either side of the main grandstand.

"Why is it a male witch?"

"Where is the leader of the School of the Cat?"

"Ailin I asked curiously."

Since the leader of the School of the Wolf is sitting next to the King, shouldn't the School of the Cat be sitting on the other side?

"Do you think just anyone is qualified to sit beside the king?" Vesemir shook his head. "The chief of the School of the Cat is not worthy to sit on that high platform!"

"They are even less worthy to sit next to the king!"

Ailin was about to ask another question.

Attendants standing beside the king.

He bent down and bowed his head, asking Haxor, who was sitting on the bench, for instructions.

Seemingly aware that he was unwelcome in this place, Haxor didn't utter a single word.

He glanced at Soyer, waved his hand, and instructed the servants to arrange the competition.

Upon receiving the order, the richly dressed attendants faced the arena and loudly proclaimed:

"The Apprentice Combat Tournament between the School of the Wolf and the School of the Cat now begins!"

The quiet arena suddenly erupted into chaos, filled with shouts and noise.

After the Sorcerer Apprentice stopped their wailing, the attendant continued:

"The first battle: a free-for-all!"

Um?

A chaotic battle?

"Isn't the first match a swordsmanship competition?"

The Witcher from the School of the Wolf all looked up at Robin.

"It was... it was Farouk who told me this... Why... why did he lie to me?"

Robin paused for a moment, then instinctively looked at Farouk across from him.

Farouk smiled at them, shook his head, and then looked away.

What does this mean?

Ailin frowned.

Was Farouk deceiving them?

Or was the competition format changed at the last minute, without even Farouk's knowledge?

Most importantly...

Why?

Why would Farouk or anyone else hide this from us?

What benefit would this bring them?

Seeing that the School of the Cat Witcher opposite them was acting normally, it seemed that they had already known about the news.

Ailin and Vesemir exchanged glances, their expressions immediately turning serious.

The servant's explanation of the rules did not stop despite the School of the Wolf witcher's doubts:

"... Eight people wielding swords engaged in a chaotic battle, with no hand seals allowed. The school that survives to the end will be the victor in this melee!"

"Now!"

"Both witchers, change your weapons and put on unsharpened longswords..."

Immediately, attendants came from behind to help the School of the Wolf witchers remove their silver and steel swords, and then handed them an unsharpened longsword.

The School of the Wolf witchers, suspecting a trap, checked several times but found nothing wrong.

Clang!

The longsword is sheathed!

Ailin took a deep breath, suppressing his unease, and said:

"Don't think about it so much!"

"Our strength is there, and no matter how the competition unfolds, the final result cannot be changed!"

Hearing this, Huus, Bont, and Fred felt much more at ease, considering their recent rapid improvement in strength.

Vesemir patted several young witchers on the shoulder, encouraging them:

"Ailin is right. No matter how many tricks those School of the Cat scum pull, trash is trash!"

"Go for it, young men of the School of the Wolf! Show them what you're made of!"

"Don't worry, Master Vesemir, they're doomed!" Fred said confidently.

Huus and Bont nodded seriously.

"Very good!" Vesemir grinned.

I noticed that Robin had her head down, still lost in thought about what had just happened.

Ailin patted him on the shoulder and comforted him, "It's not your fault, don't blame yourself!"

Robin forced a smile and nodded reluctantly.

Seeing this, Ailin patted him on the shoulder again.

Then he leaned close to Vesemir's ear and whispered a reminder:

"Master Vesemir, you must be careful too!"

"If the king wants to deal with the chief, he certainly won't forget that there is a Witcher Master from the School of the Wolf here."

"So you're in danger too!"

"Don't worry! I'll be careful!"

Vesemir squinted at Haxor and nodded solemnly.

Then looking back at the future of the School of the Wolf:

"Be careful! It's not shameful to give up if you encounter danger!"

"Huus, Bont, Fred, you too, don't be impulsive!"

"I'm standing right here, ready to rescue you at any moment!"

"For our school of thought, honor and money are not as important as your lives, understand?"

"Understood!" the young witchers of the School of the Wolf replied in unison.

"Very good!"

Vesemir nodded.

At this moment.

"Witchers from both sides, enter!" the king's attendant shouted.

After taking a deep breath, Ailin nodded slightly to his companions on either side, and then walked into the arena together.

"Shh~shh~shh~"

The sound of leather boots scraping against the sand was exceptionally clear in my ears.

The Witcher from the School of the Cat on the other side was getting closer and closer.

He was so close he could see the fine downy hair on the cat-like witcher's face, his bloodshot eyes, and his flushed cheeks...

Amidst the cacophony, I could hear their excited panting...

Something's not right!

The strange behavior of the cat-like witchers immediately put Ailin on alert.

"Be careful, there's something fishy about these people!"

"Ailin said softly."

"Halt!" the attendant said.

The two witchers were less than ten meters apart.

"Glory to the great Kedwen!"

The attendant, with a reverent smile, loudly praised him.

Unfortunately, no one in the entire arena responded, not even Haxor himself, who remained expressionless.

The attendant could only cough twice, then, as if nothing had happened, solemnly raised the white horn in his right hand:

"Waaah—"

The moment the bugle sounded throughout the arena.

"Clang!"

Almost simultaneously, the eight witchers drew their longswords from their backs, stomped on the soft sand, and charged toward their opponents!

In an instant.

A hazy, yellowish-brown dust swirled in the air.