White Scorpion Poison! Hand Over Your Weapons!

"Drink!"

In a lavishly decorated room in the eastern part of Drakkenberg, a group of people are indulging in a dissolute feast.

The large house had only one window, and the incessant screams that rang in day and night did nothing to dampen the enjoyment of the group's feast.

In the center stood a huge oak table, upon which sat a brass candlestick that had begun to turn green, covered with clumps of hard wax, and burning with a tiny flame.

The firelight illuminated the mashed potatoes, bread, apple pie, and half-cut smoked fish on the oak table... and of course, a large barrel of wine placed right in the center.

"Hahaha!"

A thin, middle-aged man, dressed in an exquisitely fitted purple tunic with a simple brown horse embroidered on the chest, slammed his wine glass down on the table with a "bang," wiped the foam from his mouth with feigned magnanimity, and laughed heartily.

"Lord Evans, thank you so much for introducing such a business opportunity to our House Family!"

"Now I'm just waiting for the Grand Principle Merchant Guild to move into Monte Cavo. Then let's see what the House Kauk will have left to compete with the House Family for mines!"

"Come, Lord Evans! Let me toast you again!"

He raised his glass again ingratiatingly, and without waiting for anyone else, he drank the wine in one gulp.

The man called Evans was a burly man with a thick beard, wearing close-fitting leather armor, who was currently feasting and had not even lowered the ornately decorated longsword at his waist.

at this time.

Looking at Young Huus, whose body was almost completely drained by wine and women, a hint of disdain flashed in his eyes, but he still took a small sip, then looked at the last person at the oak table:

"If we're really talking about credit, it's all thanks to Derek Vascoss's White Scorpion Poison. I never expected that such a small amount would cause that little wolf cub to stop moving."

"Even I know that those freaks have extremely strong resistance to poison; I've heard they can even drink poison like water..."

"Strong resistance to poison... Hmph..." Dressed in a brown mage's robe, Derek Vasquez raised his head and sneered disdainfully, "Witchers are indeed the pinnacle of our male wizardry in Xenogeneic Mutagenesis, but it depends on which witcher it is..."

"Where would a demon hunter who has just passed the trial get immunity to poison..."

Evans' face flushed red and then pale as he was dismissively refuted by the wizard, his right hand gripping the wine glass tightly.

Young Huus noticed this and quickly spoke up to smooth things over, "Speaking of the White Scorpion Poison... tsk tsk... I've never seen someone who's been poisoned, unable to move, yet hasn't passed out."

"Those dark red Little Eye, that incredulous expression, tsk tsk..."

Seemingly flattered, Derek Vasquez smirked smugly.

"A person poisoned by White Scorpion Poison extract will be unable to move their hands, feet, or even a single finger. They won't be able to blink or even swallow. If no one provides the antidote, their eyes will also become uncontrollable, causing visual impairment, followed by excruciating pain that causes their entire body to spasm and tremble violently..."

Derek Vasques became increasingly excited as he spoke, and when he finally mentioned the pain of his whole body convulsing, he even closed his eyes in enjoyment and took a few deep breaths.

This caused the fake smile that had been playing on Young Huus's lips when he brought up the topic to freeze involuntarily.

These male witches are a bunch of perverts.

He cursed inwardly, then glanced at Evans, who seemed used to it, and changed the subject:

"But speaking of witchers, Lord Evans, Lord Derek Vasquez..."

"That Dante from the School of the Wolf, he probably won't survive, right? Otherwise, our House Family would be in big trouble..."

Evans spoke with exaggerated tone, but when he mentioned his family, he seemed to take it seriously, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

"How could that be?" Derek Vascoss scoffed. "That's an 'ancient' Leshen, the present-day forest god, a monster that we sorcerers avoid like the plague."

"Besides, that witcher named Dante was completely unprepared and had three wolf cubs with him. How could he possibly survive..."

Young Huus nodded, took another glass of wine from the barrel, hesitated for a few seconds, and then said:

"But I heard from the family steward that this guy named Dante isn't an ordinary witcher, but Witcher Master from the School of the Wolf. Could it be..."

Derek Vasquez's face turned cold, and he shouted in rebuke:

"With a coward like you, what can you possibly accomplish?"

"So what if Witcher Master? They're just failed experiments. How could they possibly surpass us warlocks?"

"The 'ancient' Leshen even we warlocks dare not deal with, how could they have survived?"

The scolded Young Huus stiffened, and he said with difficulty, "That's right, that's right..."

But in his heart he was thinking, if the Witcher was really just a failed experiment, why go to all this trouble? Why not just crush him?

besides...

Is it really worth it for the warlock to gleefully knock out the demon hunters in the Leshen demon's territory, instead of checking whether they were alive or dead, and rush back home?

certainly.

He only dared to think this to himself, and only after knowing that the person in front of him, Derek Vasquez, was not good at telepathy.

after all.

A wizard from the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate, and with close ties to the behemoth that is Ben Ade College, is not someone the House Family can afford to offend.

Besides, even Sir Evans, who was of a higher status than him, had to bow his head in order to get away from Drakkenberg, that cannibalistic place, as soon as possible...

What's a little embarrassment?

The three men were still clinking glasses at the oak table, and with the deliberate flattery from Young Huus and Evans and the fine wine, the atmosphere quickly became lively again.

And just at that moment...

"Knock knock knock~"

There was a sudden knock on the door.

"Who?" Evans put down his glass, frowned, and stood up from his seat.

Although he was the manager of Drakkenberg and had several thousand men under his command, his title was only that of a baron, and he did not have a personal guard, so he had to open the door himself.

In fact, the original Drakkenberg had thousands of jailers, so the administrator certainly couldn't have been just a baron.

However, this godforsaken place offers no lucrative rewards, no military achievements, numerous rules, and is extremely dangerous. Daring elves frequently attempt to break out of the prison, and monsters occasionally appear within the city...

As a result, the status and position of the administrators naturally declined, and even the higher-ranking nobles would use their connections to shirk the king's assignments.

His family's circumstances were deteriorating, and he had no choice but to take on a position; otherwise, the territory would not be able to maintain the dignity of a noble family and would starve.

The stingy king did not pay his personal guards, so naturally he had no money to hire them.

Of course, even so, one could easily find a few soldiers to serve as bodyguards within Drakkenberg.

But who can tell which one is truly reliable and not a spy from the King, Ban Ade, or the Rissberg Civil Conglomerate?

To avoid any unforeseen disaster, he might as well do it himself, since he wouldn't need to be in Drakkenberg's service anyway.

"Squeak~"

The wooden door was opened.

A warm current rushed over, and Sam, whose hands and feet were freezing cold, paused for a moment, catching a whiff of the wine, grease, and bread.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Evans asked coldly.

Sam instinctively bowed and immediately said, "Lord Evans, I am Sam, the one guarding the city gates tonight..."

"Get to the point!" Evans interrupted impatiently, waving his hand dismissively.

"Yes...yes, there's a Witcher Master the School of the Wolf outside the city gate who calls himself Dante, carrying a child, and he's asking to enter Drakkenberg to heal his wounds..."

Before Sam could finish speaking, he saw Evans instinctively turn his head to look into the room.

He followed the gaze and saw a slender nobleman, like Evans, instinctively looking at the wizard in a brown robe at an oak table laden with food and drinks.

The sorcerer gripped the wine glass tightly, his withered hands bulging with veins, and his face was extremely pale.

Evans and Young Huus certainly wouldn't dare to actually say, "Didn't you say that even Witcher Master couldn't survive?" to provoke Derek Vasquez.

After realizing what they were doing, the two of them casually looked away.

"You mean they want to go to Drakkenberg for treatment?" Evans asked.

"Yes," Sam, though he found the eerie atmosphere in the room strange, but he naturally wouldn't ask. "The witcher named Dante said he was injured, and the child behind him was seriously wounded..."

"Is Master Dante seriously injured?" Before Evans could speak, Young Huus couldn't help but interrupt and ask.

Sam glanced at Young Huus, then looked at Evans with a questioning gaze.

"Answer him," Evans said.

"He must be seriously injured," Sam recalled Dante's appearance. "There were obvious wounds on his leather armor, and he was very pale..."

Evans glanced back at Derek Vasquez, whose eyes gleamed with excitement. Derek stood up and nodded vigorously.

"Let them in, bring them here, I will treat their wounds myself!"

Young Huus's expression was uncertain; he seemed to want to say something but ultimately didn't refute it.

"Go quickly if you hear that! Bring them here!" Evans said. "But don't mention Derek Vasquez. I'll arrange for the city's physician to come."

"Yes, Lord Evans."

Sam glanced around the room discreetly before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Evans suddenly called out to him again.

"Healing doesn't require carrying a sword. Have them put both of the Witcher's swords in the guardhouse at the city gate, both of them."

"Also, call Carlo, Wyatt, and Captain Milo over. I remember they've always admired the Witcher of the School of the Wolf."

Sam hesitated for a second before replying, "Yes, Lord Evenson."

"Bang!"

The wooden door was closed.

"Impressive, Lord Evans!" Young Huus complimented.

Evans nodded and looked at Derek Vasquez:

"Congratulations, Lord Derek Vascoss, you have new experimental subjects."

Derek Vasques excitedly downed his drink in one gulp. "Help me capture these two witchers alive, and I'll help you get away from Drakkenberg!"

Evans nodded vigorously.

"Won't something go wrong?" Young Huus felt a little uneasy.

"What problems could possibly arise between a wolf cub and a badly injured old wolf?" Derek Vasquez glanced at him disdainfully. "Don't worry! I'll treat my high-quality material with the highest standards..."

Considering that both Witchers were seriously injured, Young Huus could only nod.

For some reason, years after his death, a sentence from his father Old Huus, a former hunter, suddenly came to his mind—

A wounded wolf is the one in danger...

Waiting is agonizing.

Especially when a companion is imprisoned in a prison known for its cruel torture.

The rushing water sounded like water flowing over wet paper covering one's face; the whistling mountain wind blew like a whip cutting through the air; and the piercing screams that tore through the night sky seemed to sound just like Bont's voice...

Of course, Bont is not a prisoner; he is now just a newly recruited Witcher of the School of the Wolf, a nobody.

Torture is used to obtain information that is difficult to obtain through normal means, but Huus has no information, so torture is unlikely to be inflicted on him.

But understanding this point is actually more worrying.

Is Bont really still alive?

Uncontrollable wild thoughts fueled his anger, causing his heart to race and his breathing to become labored.

Dante's reaction was even stronger than his.

"We can rescue Bont."

His voice was hoarse, and he murmured softly, it was unclear whether he was speaking to him or to himself.

"Trick them into opening the city gates... find Bont... summon the Greater Griffin... leave..."

"Don't worry about anything else that doesn't concern us. Once we find Bont, we'll leave..."

Ailin lay on his back, occasionally echoing his words, and could feel his heart pounding like a drum, thundering in his chest.

I don't know how much time has passed.

Ailin suddenly raised his head and looked towards the opposite bank of the river.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the cold stone slabs was detected by the Witcher's keen senses.

At the same time, there were faint shouts that were blocked by the city wall.

"Lower the drawbridge!" The guard who went to report the news had his voice echo in the wind, causing both of the School of the Wolf witchers to breathe a sigh of relief.

The plan will succeed.

"Crunch~ Crunch~"

The winch rubbed against the winch, and the wide, long steel-hooped wooden suspension bridge slowly descended with a low growl, crashing onto the stone ground with a "boom".

As Dante carried Ailin across the suspension bridge, it immediately rose again, like a ferocious beast in the forest closing its blood-red maw.

Once the suspension bridge was fully raised, a crisp click was heard as it snapped into place.

The city gate finally opened with a creaking, screeching sound.

The guard who had gone to report earlier came running over, carrying a torch.

"Master Dante," the guard said, panting, "Lord Evenson requests your presence..."

"Where is Drakkenberg's doctor?" Dante asked anxiously.

"Rest assured!" the guard led the way. "Lord Evenson has already sent men to summon the city's physicians. He is currently waiting for you in the Drakkenberg administrator's office."

"That's good!" Dante felt relieved.

But then he discovered that the guards did not lead them into the castle, but stopped in front of a wooden door with a candle burning inside the archway.

"This is?"

"Master Dante, please hand over your weapons!"