Gale! Heed my command!

The journey back was something of a struggle for the two of them. Tawny Owl had worn off, and the adverse effects of its potent toxicity left Witt dizzy and muddleheaded. Geralt was a little better off, but he did not look particularly energetic either.

"If I get back and find Laud soaking in a hot bath, I'm dragging him out and throwing him into the street!" Geralt cursed with a laugh.

"Hahaha, I'll lend you a hand," Witt replied, laughing.

But a series of running footsteps soon interrupted their conversation. Before either could react, several armored city guards ran up to them, then shouted over their shoulders:

"Found them! The witchers are here!"

Someone behind them answered, "Don't let them get away! Grab them!" More chaotic running footsteps followed.

At the sight, Witt and Geralt quickly cast a Quen Sign over themselves.

Looking at the powerful crossbows the soldiers raised, Witt said, "Easy, soldiers. We're just witchers. We came to deal with the monsters in the sewers, understand?"

At the same time, he slowly raised his hand, seemingly in surrender. In truth, he was inching it toward the steel sword on his back without alarming the soldiers, so he could strike first if a fight broke out.

Witt could not help feeling annoyed. The adverse effects of the toxicity had actually kept both of them from noticing that people had already crept up on them.

The torches in the soldiers' hands lit up the sewer and revealed the two witchers' faces.

Because of the lingering toxicity of the Tawny Owl potion, the capillaries in both witchers' faces bulged, poisonous blood covering their faces like spiderwebs. Their entire eyes, including the whites, had turned black, like the void at the bottom of an endless abyss.

Their pale faces made that blackness seem even deeper. To these ordinary soldiers, the two now looked no different from the demons described in poems.

"D-dem ons!" One soldier was terrified, his crossbow trembling slightly in his hands.

Twang! The bowstring cracked, and the bolt seemed to tear through the air, crossing more than ten meters in an instant.

Forcing himself to stay alert, Witt had already prepared. Gritting his teeth, he used the strength remaining in his body to draw his steel sword with all his might and slash downward in the same motion.

Bang!

The bolt struck the steel sword with a tremendous crash. Its wooden shaft snapped from the impact, but the tremendous force it carried also split the web between Witt's right thumb and forefinger. Blood spurted out, instantly staining the ground beneath his feet red.

The attack nearly drained the already exhausted Witt of all strength. His mind seethed like a pot of paste, and beads of sweat kept forming on his forehead. He planted his steel sword in the ground and struggled to remain standing.

"Damn it."

Geralt cursed under his breath, then stepped in front of Witt. He pulled the venom sac from the pouch at his waist and roared, "See this?! This is that giant worm's venom sac! We came to kill monsters!"

Two soldiers who had some conscience and knew all about the monster slowly lowered their crossbows, wavering. One said to the others, "It looks like they really did kill that monster. I saw a few drowner corpses on the other side of the fork earlier, too, and that explosion didn't cause..."

"What do you think you're doing?!" The squad's captain cut him off. Their leader stared unblinkingly at the witchers, gripping his crossbow tighter.

He cursed, "Why are you suddenly growing a conscience?! They dealt with the monster, but so what? We're not the ones who want them dead. Frank does! Henselt does! Let them go now, and we'll be the ones dying in a minute!"

"The captain's right." The other soldier who had lowered his crossbow raised it again and aimed at the witchers, saying with a hint of hypocritical apology, "Sorry, witchers. I have a family. I can't die."

"Ready!" the captain barked. Every soldier raised his crossbow and aimed at the two witchers, including the one who had spoken up.

Geralt swiftly drew his steel sword and charged, intending to go straight for their leader. He knew that unless he dealt with the soldiers now, even if he could block one volley, the next would still turn them both into sieves. Witt had also cast Quen, which freed him from that worry for the moment.

"Fire! Fire!" At the sight of Geralt's rushing blur, the captain hurriedly shouted in alarm.

Whoosh, whoosh... Several bolts flew through the air.

Geralt was utterly calm. He ducked beneath the bolt directly in front of his eyes, while his incredible speed made several others miss. Two bangs rang out as the bolts lucky enough to hit him failed to penetrate his Quen shield. By the time he reached the captain in the blink of an eye, he was completely unharmed.

"D-draw your swords!" The captain moved to draw the longsword at his waist as he spoke.

But the lightning-fast flash of a blade gave him no chance. With one simple diagonal slash, Geralt cut off the captain's head. The cold sweep of his sword carried through, cutting two other soldiers in half as easily as harvesting chives.

Killing people was no harder than killing monsters, especially since humans knew what fear was.

"M-monster! Demon!!!"

The surviving soldiers could not help howling in terror at Geralt, drenched in blood from head to toe. Before he could make another move, they lost the courage to fight the "demon" and dropped their weapons.

Geralt did not pursue them. He returned to Witt's side, because he had seen more soldiers.

The fleeing men had barely taken a few steps before they saw Frank approaching, but they paid him no heed. The terror right before their eyes was far more frightening than the threat of punishment later.

"Bastards! Why are you running? Have you got a death wish?!" Frank cursed. The bruises on his face had yet to fade and stood out against his anger-flushed skin, looking quite comical.

Those soldiers were scared out of their wits. They could no longer hear anything else; only the wet sound of steel slicing through flesh remained in their ears.

When Frank saw the decapitated and dismembered soldiers and the blood covering the ground, he too was alarmed. But then he remembered that he had brought not only the crossbow squad but also the bomb throwers from his personal guard. Besides, the witchers were dozens of meters away. His confidence instantly returned.

He sneered, "I hear those lowlifes from the Iron Rat Gang hired you to kill monsters? Guess what? One of them was the one who told me about this place! Hahahaha!"

"Throw!" The bomb throwers behind him hurled their lit bombs at Geralt. Several bombs with burning fuses flew toward the pair.

Frank had no intention of giving Geralt another chance. He knew these witchers possessed means beyond an ordinary person's imagination.

Geralt desperately squeezed out the remaining chaos magic in his body, struggling to raise a Quen Sign to protect them both.

"What the fuck..."

Eyes closed as he concentrated on casting the Sign, Geralt heard Witt slowly utter those words. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother.

The darkness in Witt's eyes had vanished, replaced by pure white magic.

Endless wind blew from behind them. Even Geralt, who normally could not sense the chaos magic in the air, could now clearly hear the gale's roar. It came from the elven ruins: the air elemental power throughout the ruins was granting Witt the strength to command the storm.

"What kind of fucking sense does that make!"

With Witt's furious roar, the gale swept over everything, silencing all. Nothing remained in anyone's ears but wind, invisible wind filling every empty space.

Frank and his soldiers could not open their eyes against the howling gale. Some who could not keep their footing were blown clean off their feet.

Frank struggled to open his eyes, because he realized that something besides the gale was in the air.

Several bombs whose sparks had not been extinguished turned around and flew toward their owners, carrying the fervor of their imminent detonation.

Knowing full well that he could not dodge them, Frank hurriedly ducked behind several of his nearby men, using their bodies as human shields.

Boom!!!

Smoke filled the air, flesh and blood flew, and screams rose one after another without end.

Geralt seized the opportunity, tucked the unresponsive Witt under his arm, and retreated into the elven ruins. It was not that he did not want to press the attack, but the wind had stopped when Witt lost consciousness, and the soldiers would soon be able to regroup.

Besides, he knew perfectly well that the elven ruins were not a dead end. There was still that portal inside.