The Witcher: Astartes Of The bear School

Chapter 5: Ambush

With a sharp "crack," the cold, gleaming silver sword severed the last ghoul's head. 

Bordon, the burly man with a thick beard, expressionless, carefully wiped the grime from his sword with an oilcloth before sheathing it with a "whoosh." The monsters that had dwelled in this magical mist were now completely eradicated. 

This task had unfolded just as Bordon had anticipated—effortless, easy, and cost-effective. 

Seventeen ghouls, if faced head-on, would have overwhelmed him. Even with his armor, he could not have held up against a swarm of monsters. In the best-case scenario, he would have sustained some injuries. 

Moreover, repairing his armor would cost at least thirty orens, and sharpening the silver sword would take another ten. If he had to drink potions and apply oil to the sword, that would add even more to the expenses. 

For a witcher, to make a profit, one must carefully calculate costs. 

Fortunately, his luck had been good lately. 

Tightening the buckle of his armor, slightly loosened from movement, Bordon raised his cold, unfeeling cat eyes to glance at his "apprentice." Lan was leaning on the now nearly useless Velen long sword, panting heavily. 

"Regulate your breathing." Bordon's voice was commanding. 

"Our feelings have been erased by the mutation process; we won't feel fear. However, the body's instinct for crisis will manifest—adrenaline surges, strength drains; these are normal reactions. Just adjust your breathing, and our bodies will recover quickly." 

Though Lan's head hung low and he showed no visible sweat, a hint of surprise flickered beneath the shadow where Bordon couldn't see. 

This was a rare moment of common sense from his "teacher." Usually, Bordon focused solely on combat skills to enhance his apprentice's usefulness. It seemed that Lan had genuinely saved him a considerable amount of money this time. 

As he wiped his forehead with his palm, mimicking the motion of wiping sweat, he raised his head, once more adopting that ice-cold expression. Like most in this school, he appeared as unyielding as a block of ice. 

"I understand," he replied, acknowledging his teacher's instruction, and subtly adjusted his already steady breathing. Then, he instinctively drew his hunting dagger and began to slice off the ghouls' ears—these were the proof of their hunt. 

Bordon utilized his knowledge to harvest more valuable alchemical materials from the monsters. This was information he'd never shared with Lan, and for now, he showed no intention of teaching. 

"This mist wasn't created by foglets, nor is it related to the ghouls. Have we fulfilled the village's request?" 

With a "snip," he cut off one ghoul's long ear, the rancid blood splattering onto the ground. 

The village's original intent was to re-harvest valuable fungi, but now, with the magical mist, they didn't even understand its cause, let alone disperse it. The monsters were gone, but the mist itself was still toxic to ordinary people. 

"That's not our concern," Bordon replied dismissively. "The corpses of the monsters are our proof of payment. Now that there are no creatures left in the mist, we've done our job and are entitled to our payment." 

He then cast a glance at Lan's long sword. 

"Your swordsmanship is so poor it's embarrassing; even your grip is weak. Stabbing a ghoul in the belly is a joke even farmers know; it doesn't prevent them from retaliating before they bleed out. You were simply lucky that the second one offered its head up to your sword tip, leaving you to face a monster burdened by its own body. Otherwise, your hand would have been torn apart." 

"I'll give you another sword, but you owe me ten orens." 

Ten orens. Even if the silver coating on the bear school sword had worn off halfway, repairing it would still cost ten orens. And what Lan would receive in return would likely be yet another cheap Velen long sword. Its market price is typically ranged even lower than two orens. 

Yet there was no trace of resentment on Lan's face as he accepted the deal with indifference. 

Considering the cost of the mutation potions, he was now indebted to his teacher for over four hundred orens. 

In reality, this debt was what kept Bordon tethered to him as a "pathfinder." As for whether Lan agreed? That was of little importance. 

However, Lan understood that continuing to follow Bordon meant facing not only the risks of monsters and tasks but also a lifetime burden of high-interest debt. 

Witchers were long-lived, and very few experienced a decline in physical ability with age. 

Thus, Bordon's high-interest debt could very well hang over Lan for hundreds of years. No one liked the feeling of being in debt, but Lan especially detested it. 

The sounds of slicing flesh and rupturing blood vessels echoed for a time. The stench of monster blood wafted far and wide. Bordon had thoroughly harvested all the valuable alchemical materials from the ghouls, including claws, livers, and hearts. 

However, Lan, by contrast, still hadn't finished even cutting off the ears. The clattering noises were incessant, irritating the witcher's keen senses. 

"What are you dawdling for?" The man asked flatly, devoid of emotion; he had no time to waste. 

The two had already been in this mist for over twenty minutes; even with a witcher's toxin resistance, the burning sensation in their respiratory tracts was becoming apparent. 

With his back to Bordon, Lan seemed to still be busy with something. 

"I'm trying to fix the crossguard on the Velen sword; I can't be without a weapon." 

That was a perfectly reasonable statement. No one dared to venture out into this land unarmed; it was a death wish. 

But Bordon didn't care for the logic behind it; his voice grew colder. "I said I would give you a sword. Now, move out. Immediately." 

Lan's busy figure halted for a moment before he bowed his head slightly. He wasn't actually repairing the crossguard; he was just banging on it, creating noise. 

"Twenty-seven minutes, and that's all you could manage." 

Compared to Bordon, Lan's body had only recently become a witcher; his toxin resistance was weaker, and his respiratory tract, nasal passages, and lungs felt as if they were being scorched by fire. Now, two streams of bright red blood flowed from his nostrils. 

Yet the young man's expression remained calm and resolute, seemingly indifferent to the pain within his body. 

Standing upright and facing his teacher, who loomed over him, Lan wiped away the blood beneath his nose. 

"Teacher, we can leave now." 

"Your sword," Bordon replied, not moving, but fixing his gaze on Lan's cat-like eyes. "Is it repaired?" 

"You never taught me, so my earlier efforts were in vain." Lan responded bluntly, meeting his teacher's gaze without flinching, his expression as unyielding as Bordon's. 

The burly man nodded indifferently before turning to walk out of the mist. Lan followed closely behind. 

Once they stepped outside the mist, both instinctively took deep breaths. Witchers had strong toxin resistance, but the body's craving for clean air was instinctual. 

As they walked, Lan maintained a slight distance behind Bordon. He observed his teacher closely. The first breath of fresh air was pure enjoyment, even for a bear school witcher, whose emotions had been most severely erased. 

But with the second breath… 

"Ha—wait!?" As if sensing something with his keen sense of smell, Bordon's usually expressionless face suddenly tightened. 

That scent was… someone was nearby! 

Lan silently took a step back. 

Then—"Whoosh!" Two flying arrows shot straight toward Bordon's face! 

With a fierce exhale, the bearded giant transformed into a fearsome beast.