"Aha, it's a pity, I heard that Fanniel of Brugg's court is a great beauty."

Brugg, like Verdon, is a country bordered by the Great Forest of Blocleon. Geralt and Lann were riding horses on the road outside the forest.

I don't know why, the milky white-haired witcher has a little sarcasm in his tone, but there is a little jealousy in his sarcasm?

"It's always been Geralt, you've been weird ever since you learned about my partnership with Eretusa. I'm a long-term witcher for them, and I'm going to work! It's not like you're going to sleep with every witch in the academy! ”

Lan Enhu looked at the seniors beside him suspiciously.

"I said you're so sensitive, it's hard for you to be hurt by a witch"

Speaking of which, the young man decisively judged that he should end this topic through the faces of his seniors.

Geralt's face now stinks like the of his horse-drawn 'Carrot'.

Lan En was in a hurry to remedy it, so he thought about blowing a wave of old-timers.

"Hey Geralt, there's nothing good about witches. The life of the witcher is free, and the witch is just more respected in society, with more money, more beauty, and more mana.

After talking for a long time, Lan En found that Geralt's face was getting more and more ugly, and then the young man himself was stuck.

"Just do me a favor, Lanne." Geralt's voice was like gritting teeth, squeezing out between his teeth. "Can we run quietly for a while?"

"It's up to you, boss."

The young man, who knew that he had broken the defense, immediately dismounted the donkey down the slope.

——

Geralt is the kind of person who looks cold-faced and tough on the surface, but in fact, on the inside, he is a little fragile and sensitive.

Judging from the expression of the old demon hunter just now, Lan En estimated that this guy had been emotionally injured on the sorceress.

And the reason for this injury is most likely due to his self-esteem, which was stung when he was in a relationship with a sorceress.

Demon hunters are a group of people who are discriminated against, and Lan En doesn't feel much because he has only been a witcher for a few months, and then he has made a name for himself.

The peasants despised him and would not be taken to heart by him. And the nobles, who knew what he could do, had no reason to despise him.

So even though Lan En often stayed in the sorceress's academy, he didn't feel like he was inferior.

The sorceress apprentices of knowledge and combat power didn't dare to look at his face in class!

In addition to being relatively poor, he even felt that the sorceress was a bit of a young man in politics.

In this way, he is the one who has a sense of superiority.

But for Geralt, maintaining a relationship with a sorceress for many years will put pressure on his own psyche, and he will suffer from both gains and losses.

It is not difficult to imagine creating a passionate and painful love.

Geralt didn't want to talk about it, so they didn't talk about it.

Lane couldn't discuss himself as a standard sample of witchers, he knew he was different from his peers.

He knew it all along.

After another morning of walking from Brugg City, the two witchers re-entered the edge entrance to the Great Forest of Brockleon.

They couldn't simply go straight into the forest, they had come to find the great master of the Wolf School.

They had to find the right traces before they could follow in.

The traces were soon found. At noon, they found the first body.

The corpse was not unusual, just like the farmer that Lann had seen on the side of the road and shot by the dryads.

It's a very young boy.

The six and three steps outside the corpse each had an arrow with a pheasant's tail feather, and the third arrow, which should have been shot at the foot, was directly inserted into the corpse's eye socket.

The dryads' bows and arrows were still accurate, but patience seemed to be fading fast.

"Viselmir won't enter Brock Leon with ordinary people, but this is indeed his entry point."

Geralt picked up a pinch of dirt from the side of the corpse and sniffed it, the pupils in the cat's eyes constricted. Lane knew that he had turned on the witcher's senses.

The young man glanced at the corpse and spoke his own judgment.

"This man doesn't have the Brugg badge on his clothes, but the Widen badge."

"The news that Verdon wants to push the edge of the forest further in seems to have made the dryads angry. They now have one less shot to warn them to leave. ”

"The situation will only get worse when the war really begins. But that's none of our business, the witchers have always been neutral. We're just hunting monsters. ”

The old-school witcher adhered to the old-school mentality, and Geralt got up from a half-crouched position, carried the sword to his back, and walked into the forest.

Lann followed.

This is the mode of action they have agreed upon: Geralt is familiar with his teacher's tracks and is in charge of tracking them. And Lann is responsible for fending off danger in his warped vision that opens the witcher's senses.

It was the second time that Rann had entered the forest, which had been so dense since ancient times, during the day, but he didn't look very nervous when he saw Geralt.

"I've been here a few times, and I've lived in this forest city of treants for a while, and Viselmir is no different. Humans don't see us as one kind, but this contempt and rejection makes it funny that the dryads and the Nymphs let go of their hostility towards us, right? ”

Geralt explained blandly.

"You're too young, Lane. When you live longer, you will naturally be associated with many long-lived creatures. ”

"Okay, okay, build up relationships. It seems that where there are intelligent creatures, this set always works. ”

Lan En responded casually, splitting the bushes and dead branches in his way with the long, curved knife in his hand.

During the day, Brock Leon is more alive in the sun than at night, with a wild and unrestrained vitality.

Even in winter, the evergreen trees deprive the understory of the forest to sunlight, and the woodpecker pecks hard at the trunk, eager to find a few frozen bugs. The grouse chirped non-stop.

Brock Leon is alive and well.

But neither witcher let her guard down, for they both remembered the body of the boy whose skull had been nailed through his eye socket, and the carnivorous ants that had crawled on the boy's eyelids.

As they made their way into the forest, they encountered several corpses one after another.

If it weren't for the steel sword and armor on the corpse's body, which reflected the cold light of metal, the two witchers wouldn't even be able to spot them from the dense lichen of the forest.

Their shields or clothes are emblazoned with Verdon's black and yellow checkered shields.

Except for the part where the arrow penetrated into the flesh, there were no more stains or damages on the clothes, which was enough to see that this group of people was not ordinary servants or soldiers.

"There are already seven corpses, and they shouldn't have any survivors."

Lan En swiped his hand, and the branches and leaves in front of him, which were dense and swaying in the cold wind, and looked weak, were all cut out in a flat cut in an instant.

The swordsmanship made Geralt, who had opened the witcher's senses, twitch at the corners of his mouth.

He was a little suspicious that Eretusa had enchanted a new rune on the elven knife.

At the same time, Lanne, who had finished wielding the knife, and Geralt, who was half-crouching, looked up at the same time and looked in one direction.

"Is it my delusion?"

"No, I heard it too."

The two cat's eyes looked at each other, and the forest's xylem was the best natural sound-absorbing material, and even witchers would wonder if they were hallucinating.

But the answer that the two people came up with by comparing each other probably can't be wrong.

Not far away in their ears, an old voice full of energy was shouting something in an incomprehensible language.

Lane had heard it once on the night he had entered Brockleon, in the ancient language of the dryads.

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(End of chapter)