I Swear in the Prophet's Name

This small hut must have been a guardhouse; as soon as you opened the door, a wave of sweat, mold, leather, iron, and the smell of grease used to maintain iron rushed out.

Shields were neatly hung on the wall, at waist height and easily accessible. Next to the shields were weapon racks, but no weapons were placed on them.

The same style of spear as the guard who pushed open the door was placed on another wall, and in the corner was a wooden barrel filled with water for fire prevention.

Thunderous snoring came from another half-open wooden door. Through the low window, two fully dressed guards could be seen, their spears propped up beside a table, fast asleep on it.

The loud creaking of the wooden door, which hadn't been lubricated in a long time, didn't wake them.

"What's the meaning?"

Amid the snoring, Dante stood outside the door, his eyes unfathomable.

Did Evans see through their plan?

Signs are merely supplementary; eighty to ninety percent of a Witcher's power lies in his sword.

A witcher without a sword is like a bird with broken wings; in Drakkenberg, with its many guards and warlocks, he is at the mercy of his captors.

The guard was also watching him and said softly, "Lord Evans said that there is no need to carry a sword while healing, Drakkenberg will be responsible for your safety in the city."

"Whoosh—whoosh—"

The sounds of snoring rose and fell.

Dante's brown, beastly eyes glanced coldly at the darkness outside the door, filled with screams, before turning his gaze back to the guards.

He was wondering if he could draw his longsword here and kill his way to where Drakkenberg had hidden Bont.

The guard met his gaze quietly, neither urging him nor looking away.

An ordinary guard would certainly not be able to detect the Witcher Master's murderous intent.

Somewhat unusually, when faced with a powerful demon hunter carrying two swords, he didn't wake his companions. Instead, he stood there quietly, staring at them, as if forcing them to draw their swords.

"Give it to him!" Ailin whispered in Dante's ear.

Then he had a sudden thought.

[Ding! Consuming 3 Experience Orbs and 10 Lesser Experience Orbs, your skill: Summon Staff LV1 has been upgraded to Summon Staff LV4 (0/10000)]

[Name: Summon Staff]

[Type: Mixed Elemental Beginner Spell]

[Level: LV4]

[Active Effect: You can leave a "Mark" on five (+1*2+2*1) staves (or other artifacts), teleporting the stave (or artifact) to a location visited within the last two days (+1). Casting the spell again recalls the stave (or artifact).]

He had only discovered this skill two weeks ago from the Sorcerer's Memory.

At the time, I just thought it was an add-on, because witchers are different from warlocks...

Warlocks' different staves may have different amplification effects and other special effects, thus creating a need for replacement.

But the Witcher always carries his sword and rarely needs to summon it, so he never expected it to be useful here.

Looking at the unremarkable weapon rack that had no anti-magic effect whatsoever, Ailin thought for a moment and realized that this magic seemed to be more useful for witchers than for warlocks.

In many places, you need to unarm yourself when you enter, just like now, but no one would specifically use magic-suppressing equipment to carry a Witcher's weapon.

Weapons are truly important to a Witcher. Even for Ailin, losing his favorite sword would reduce his combat effectiveness by at least half.

"This little skill is actually quite useful," Ailin thought to himself.

Dante felt a soft buzzing sound from the Wolf Emblem on his chest, and a pressing sensation came from the two swords on his back.

"Of course, we have complete faith in Drakkenberg's protection," he said softly after a moment's thought.

Then, under the watchful eyes of the guards, they entered the door and knelt down.

He had Ailin, who was half-asleep and groaning, sit on the wooden chairs placed against the walls on either side, then untied his sword belt and handed both his and Ailin's swords to the guards.

"How can we rescue Huus without a sword?"

Dante watched the guard struggling to carry four swords, then looked at Ailin, his lips moving slightly.

"I will Summon Staff," Ailin whispered.

Summon Staff... When Dante heard Ailin's words, his mind raced for a moment, wondering what the swords that had been taken from them had to do with the staff.

Then, after a second of stunned silence, his eyes widened.

"Those swords?" he asked quietly.

Ailin nodded.

Just as Dante was praising Ailin's reliability, another question suddenly came to mind.

etc...

Summon Staff... Summon Staff...

Isn't this the most famous spell that warlocks use to show off and flaunt their status?

"Summon Staff... is that a sign?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Of course it's magic," Ailin gave him a strange look before realizing that not everyone was as used to his peculiarity as Vesemir, so he explained, "It's the kind of magic that warlocks often use, which I learned by accident."

"Don't worry, it can also summon a longsword."

"Oh... oh... I learned it by accident..." Dante nodded slightly, but his heart was in turmoil.

I learned it by accident...

This is described so casually, as if learning swimming, cooking, blacksmithing, and sewing... are human skills that anyone can learn sooner or later if they want to...

But do witchers not learn normal spells and only use signs? Is it because they don't want to?

Of course not!

It's because we witchers don't have that talent; we can't learn it!

Ailin... Ailin, what's going on?

Unfortunately, now is not the time to delve into it, so Dante didn't show it on her face.

"By the way, Master Dante," Ailin continued, "I also know telepathy and the Magic Flash. If it's inconvenient for a while, I'll use telepathy to communicate with you. Also, remember to close your eyes when I shout 'flash'..."

The faint sound, midway through the conversation, moved from my ear to my mind.

Dante blinked blankly and nodded slightly.

"Master Dante, let's go." The guard hung all four of their swords on the weapon rack.

"Okay, please lead the way as soon as possible..."

Dante picked up Ailin, whose eyes were already closed, and followed the guard out of the hut.

Unexpectedly, just as they stepped out of the small hut and into the spacious inner courtyard, the guard leading the way suddenly stopped:

"Master Dante, you're not here to find a doctor to treat your injuries, are you?"

The structure inside Drakkenberg is layered and stacked like a three-dimensional labyrinth.

Slate bridges crisscross the landscape, and the ravines on either side of the bridges seem bottomless.

A series of piercing screams, vicious curses, and the thick stench of blood and rotting flesh rose from the ravine.

Hell seems to be nothing more than this.

There are at least three guards on each bridge, and as far as the eye can see, there are three or four hundred guards. Every now and then, there are dozens of guards on duty, and even better-equipped soldiers patrolling by.

Their destination, however, seems to be the easternmost part of Drakkenberg.

In this atmosphere, no one spoke.

Only the guide, when questioning them from time to time, mechanically took out a rusty iron plate and explained their origin and destination.

The tight security made the two guards, who had just relaxed a little after sleeping in the guardhouse, and the two witchers, tense up again.

"Da da da~"

The guards walked ahead carrying lanterns, the sound of their iron boots striking the ground making the screams along the way seem less alarming.

"Can we find Bont?" Dante asked in his mind.

Ailin squinted one eye and looked at the ground.

On the ground, which had an eerie brown pattern, footprints gleaming with scarlet light stretched into the darkness.

"The footprints overlap; the place where Bont is located is also in the East District."

"That's good!" Dante nodded, glanced at the guards leading the way, hesitated for a moment, and then asked in his mind, "Ailin, do you think the group that drugged Bont guessed our plan?"

Dante, of course, denied the question that had just been raised by the guard.

He couldn't be sure if this was a test, although they had already willingly swum into the fisherman's net like fish, and there seemed to be no need for a test.

"Not really." Ailin frowned, unsure of the answer either.

After hearing Dante's denial, the guard didn't ask any further questions and led the way as if he hadn't heard anything.

You said someone instructed him to ask that question, and this kind of worker's attitude of just getting by and being perfunctory with superiors seems to have no problem.

But they are witchers.

If he were truly just trying to appease his superiors, he shouldn't have risked his life by uttering such probing words in front of a demon hunter who lacked martial prowess.

Isn't he afraid that if he guesses correctly and exposes the truth, he will be killed by the Witcher?

"But whether it's a test or not, it doesn't matter whether they're prepared or not," he thought to Dante. "The group that drugged Bont won't think of everything, so there's no need to worry too much."

That's true... Dante thought to himself.

Who would have thought that a witcher could also use magic? A Greater Griffin carrying eight witchers soared through the sky above Drakkenberg, and among the two witchers who entered the city, the more powerful one was actually a fifteen-year-old child...

Although he felt somewhat ashamed, the thought of Ailin's strength when he killed the Leshen made him, a senior member of the School of the Wolf, feel inexplicably at ease.

"When the gates of Drakkenberg open, every minute we get closer to Bont, every second we are delayed in being discovered, is an advantage for us."

Ailin's voice still echoed in his mind.

A fifteen-year-old boy was comforting him...

Thinking of this fact, Dante couldn't help but sigh softly to himself.

"I'm sorry, I'll need your help with Bont's matter later, but my injuries haven't fully healed yet, so I can only..."

"Don't say that, Master Dante," Ailin interrupted. "Although Bont is your traveling apprentice, he is also my friend and will be my subordinate in the future. There's no need for an invitation."

"What a sensible child..." Dante thought to himself.

He then remembered that Ailin was still the commander of the Monster Hunting Legion, who seemed to be playing house like children.

At Ailin age, all he knew was to visit brothels as soon as he entered the city...

Of course, the same goes for Vesemir.

"The chief truly lives up to his title..." Dante thought to himself.

The three walked in silence, passing through the western district where the city gate was located, and after arriving at the eastern district, they left the screams and nauseating smells behind.

Of course, it didn't disappear.

It's faint and indistinct, yet clearly audible, like the buzzing of mosquitoes and flies in summer. You can't see it when you look closely, but you can't ignore it at all.

Ailin didn't understand.

Although Drakkenberg exists as a prison, there is no need to torture prisoners 24 hours a day.

Especially now that the moon is high in the sky, it must be at least midnight.

Are all the thousands of people in this city psychopaths who can't sleep without hearing screams?

certainly...

He also considered another possibility, perhaps...

"Thump—"

The guard leading the way suddenly stopped, interrupting his thoughts.

Ailin squinted and glanced at it.

They seemed to have reached the edge of the eastern district, with towering, dark city walls standing beside them, obscuring the clouds and casting a somber shadow. Two towers emerged from the undulating shadows, their sharp peaks piercing the dark blue sky.

The scarlet mark, like a straight red line, pointed to the tower not far away.

This is not their destination; clearly, it isn't.

There were no guards stationed here, and few patrol footprints on the ground; this seemed to be a blind spot for Drakkenberg.

so...

Why did the guard stop?

The guard stopped with his back to them, seemingly hesitant. Then he looked up at the distant tower before turning back, gritting his teeth, and said:

"This is your last chance, Master Dante!"

"No matter why you came here, I can still send you back now. Take back your swords and leave Drakkenberg, this hell on earth. But go further..."

There's really no turning back now.

The guard's lips trembled, and his bloodshot eyes looked at Dante pleadingly, begging him to leave now.

This was completely different from the middle-aged man at the city gate who remained indifferent no matter what he faced.

Their sincere gazes made it impossible for Dante to utter the lie that they had come to heal his injuries.

"You know me."

This is a statement, not a question.

The guard was silent for a moment before nodding. "I come from Tretog. Fourteen years ago, you killed the water ghost who dragged my father into the water and ate his entrails, two legs and half of his face."

"I remember all my clients," Dante frowned, "But I don't remember being commissioned by you, not even from fourteen years ago..."

"Of course you won't remember me, Master Dante," the guard said with a wry smile. "Because I wasn't the client. I was just a farmer's son. After you cleared out the water ghost Mezanka's lair outside the village and upstream that day, you confiscated the village chief's bounty, stayed in the village for one night, and then left..."

"You may not even have met me... but you... Master Dante ..."

"Fourteen years have passed, and you are still exactly the same as you were fourteen years ago."

Dante could not discern a trace of falsehood or pretense in those bloodshot eyes; he even saw a struggle.

This is not hard to understand.

After letting them go, the guard in front of him will inevitably be punished, and given Drakkenberg's reputation, the punishment will be cruel and horrific.

Dante remained silent for a few seconds.

"May I have your name?"

"Sam, just call me Sam."

Why are you stopping me?

Sam took a deep breath, his expression suddenly becoming serious:

"Master Dante, I swear in the name of the prophet, a huge trap lies hidden before you..."

"A murder trap..."