Chapter 35: Thickening Fog of Doubt
Beyond swordsmanship, Arthur had gained another reason to admire Kolgrim: his experience in choosing a battlefield. The Witcher's choice of campsite was extremely seasoned, tucked into a rocky hollow with a difficult-to-traverse steep slope above and a stream not far below.
Arthur had initially thought this was to avoid direct night winds. Only when the unwelcome guests arrived did he realize the genius in restricting the enemy's formation:
The cloud of dust suddenly split into three groups as it drew near. Three riders charged straight from the front, while the other two groups attempted to flank them from above and below. However, they were forced further and further off course by the interference of the steep slope and the scree.
Undoubtedly, this group meant no good.
"Halt!" Arthur shouted, but the riders charging toward him did not slow down.
So, he raised his hand-and-a-half sword above his head, posing as if ready to cleave the horse's legs. This was, of course, a feint; he would not trade his life for a horse's leg. If the opponents truly relied on their strength and recklessly charged, he wouldn't mind using an Aard Sign to teach them negotiation etiquette.
The reason he struck a desperate pose was to demonstrate their side's firm stance and prevent the conflict from erupting without clear warning.
"Whoa!" The lead rider charged up to about six or seven meters in front of Arthur. Seeing Arthur's figure as solid as a boulder, he yanked the reins hard. Two horse hooves, the size of dinner plates, landed on the ground almost scraping past Arthur's face.
"Halt!" Arthur shouted again, grass stems and mud clods kicked up by the hooves flying past the corner of his eye.
"Who are you people? What are you doing here?" The rider pulled up his helmet, revealing a scar-covered face, and yelled at Arthur.
"Who are you people? Daring to trespass on our campsite?" Arthur did not back down. Instead, his gaze fixated on the warhorse beneath the opponent, and he swallowed a regretful mouthful of saliva.
That truly was a fine horse, its coat as smooth as high-grade silk, its muscles firm as rock much better than Kolgrim's! The scarred rider shifted uncomfortably on his horse. The young man in front of him felt too strange. Not only was he unafraid of a charging horse, but he also seemed a little… greedy?
Normally, if someone dared to show that look, he would have thrust a lance through them. But right now, with the flanking teams from above and below failing to get into position, he suddenly felt that being stared at was no big deal.
"Sir, we are the mounted soldiers of Sir Roberts. Have you seen a woman of average height? We are pursuing her."
"What crime did she commit?" Kolgrim stepped in front of Arthur. As if to de-escalate the situation, he put his sword back on his back.
"You're a Witcher?" The scarred rider did not directly answer Kolgrim's question. Instead, he snorted dismissively through his nostrils: "That despicable woman! After the Sir trusted her so much, she stole his money and ran off in the middle of the night!"
"If you have any clues, speak up. Besides the twenty Crown reward for capturing the thief, you will also earn the friendship of Lord Roberts."
Only twenty Crowns… Arthur recalled the fake noblewoman's extravagant initial offer of a hundred Crowns and couldn't help but sigh at how stingy this so-called noble was.
"We haven't seen a woman like that," Kolgrim answered after feigning a moment of thought. "I did, however, see an abandoned carriage on the road we traveled. But there was no woman nearby."
"An abandoned carriage?" The scarred rider immediately roared: "It must have been bought by that damned thief! How dare she spend the Sir's money without permission!"
Arthur frowned. Those two draft horses were tall and sturdy with great endurance; they were not the kind of common horses you could buy just anywhere. Furthermore, when the fake noblewoman led them, they behaved affectionately, a bond that couldn't possibly be formed overnight.
Thus, there was only one truth the carriage was the fake noblewoman's own, used for years, and the scarred rider was lying!
Seeing that he couldn't elicit any information and that Arthur and Kolgrim's attitude was very firm, the scarred rider was about to give up.
It was precisely at that moment that another burst of hoofbeats sounded from behind.
It turned out the other two teams of riders had circled several times, unable to deploy their formation due to the constraints of the steep slope and the stream, and had been forced to turn back.
"How is it? Did you get any clues?"
A helmeted rider asked loudly.
"They said they saw the carriage abandoned by the thief, but no trace of people," the scarred rider replied.
The steel-helmeted rider was clearly dissatisfied with this answer and immediately roared: "Is this how you do the Sir's bidding? All these paupers are the same they won't speak the truth until a sword is pressed to their neck!"
The steel-helmeted rider aggressively waved his hand, the metal plates on his arm guard clanking dully: "Search!"
He appeared to be the leader of the gang. At his command, several riders immediately spurred their horses, preparing to forcibly charge the campsite.
"Who dares!" A cold flash streaked through the air. Several timid horses immediately whinnied and reared, nearly throwing their riders.
"You ruffians! Daring to impede noble affairs! Do you want to end up on the gallows?" The steel-helmeted rider roared, drawing his saber as if to strike.
But his hand froze just as it was raised, and a feeling of inexplicable fear welled up in his heart I can't swing the sword. If I swing this sword, I will surely die.
But there are only two people opposite me!
Arthur took a deep breath, and a surge of fighting spirit churned in his chest! He squinted, eyeing the unprotected thigh of the steel-helmeted man he didn't look like a hardened warrior who could take a sword to the thigh and still sit steady on his horse.
A strange silence descended upon the area outside the camp until it was broken by the steel-helmeted rider's cry of pain.
Wailing, he dropped the saber in his hand as if the hilt were a red-hot iron brand. The saber fell to the ground, and the surrounding dry grass quickly turned into tiny embers it had indeed been burned red.
"Witchcraft! This is the power of the devil! You dare to use witchcraft to attack the staff of a noble! Do you truly dare to commit such a rebellious act?"
"Charge them! Use your sabers and lances to tear them to shreds!" The steel-helmeted rider's horsemanship was astonishing. He retreated while clutching his burned hand and cursing. The cursing stopped only when he had retreated to the end of the cavalry line.
Seeing their superior frustrated, the riders exchanged glances and hesitated, unwilling to advance. Fortunately, the steel-helmeted rider's shouts were mainly to mask his own cowardice, and he hadn't truly expected these hired thugs to charge aggressively.
Just as the scene descended into chaos, a clear voice came from inside the caravan. Triss pulled the curtain aside and stepped out:
"Are Sir Roberts's men always this rough?"
The Sorceress was wearing a velvet, pale green, narrow-sleeved formal gown with a wide neckline that extended down to her waist. Her lace bustier was as thin as a cloud, revealing her assets with the slightest movement.
Arthur gasped. The carriage was so confined, and time was so short. How had she managed to change into such an elaborate formal dress?
However, whatever Triss had done, the effect was undeniable facing such a captivating beauty, the riders collectively lowered the swords and lances in their hands.
Slandering common folk was one thing, but they dared not offend a Sorceress. Their connections were intricate, and they all associated with the upper class.
The steel-helmeted man lightly squeezed his horse's flank, making a graceful maneuver to jump back to the front of the line, his voice so soft it bordered on fawning: "Madam, no offense intended. I didn't realize you were associating with these low-class people."
Triss's gaze was not on him but on the dry grass in the distance: "I am a Sorceress. Sorceresses do not adhere to complicated etiquette; we only care about efficiency who I travel with is my own business."
The steel-helmeted man held his helmet in his arms and grinned widely, revealing teeth severely eroded by alcohol and assuming a charming and enthusiastic smile: "Of course, of course. That is your prerogative. May I be so bold as to ask where you are heading?"
Triss stopped far behind Kolgrim, her tone polite but distant: "Can you present the coat of arms of the Roberts family?"
She was intending to negotiate through official channels. The steel-helmeted man's face instantly became tense. He rubbed his hands together and gave an awkward laugh:
"I'm truly sorry, Miss Sorceress. I've thought about it again, and I believe what these two gentlemen said makes a lot of sense."
"The thief must have fled into the woods after the carriage broke down. We will return and search there immediately."
"Very well. I was just worrying that I hadn't brought enough food for myself." Triss coldly issued the order for them to leave.
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