boyutpedia Chapter 101 Beheading
Chapter 101 Beheading
Chapter 101 Beheading (Seeking First Subscription)
Atamon fled in panic, uttering incantations, and a jade bottle inlaid with gold patterns emerged from his bosom.
The cork popped open by itself, and crimson liquid flowed into his mouth.
The wound on my left arm was visibly forming a scab.
He looked at the familiar flag that was gradually appearing in the mist, and at the same time, the emerald amulet that was pressed tightly against his chest in his underwear emanated a wave, and his eyes burst with ecstasy.
"They're here! They're here!"
He suddenly turned around and thrust his staff out forcefully.
A protective shield, similar to the Quen sign, instantly materialized.
A silver light fell!
The sharp whistling of the sword shattered the shield instantly.
At that moment, Atamon shouted.
"Sevilla!"
He was calling out the name of the Marquise de Grafiacan.
All you need to do is press down firmly on the emerald ring that's on her with the finger opposite you.
His body would immediately teleport to Seville's side.
"laugh!"
As the silver light fell, Atamon looked on incredulously.
His right hand, gripping the staff tightly, sliced open his eye, warm blood splattering onto his eye socket, and excruciating pain returned.
An extreme sense of disbelief welled up in his eyes.
Seville did not press the ring to save him.
"Ugh!"
A tremendous force struck his right leg, breaking his kneecap and causing him to involuntarily fall to his knees.
The gray-haired witcher stepped forward, half-turned around, and raised his steel sword high.
Atamon was terrified, and a mental shock erupted from his eyes.
"You want to kill me?"
"How dare you! Have you forgotten your beliefs and the dogma of the Witcher Order?"
"Stay neutral!"
"I'm the Dean of Studies at Ben Ade Magic Academy, you can't kill me!"
Vesemir froze, his chest heaving violently, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword, the blade suspended in mid-air.
Maintain neutrality ——— Maintain neutrality ———
This was the doctrine he dedicated his entire life to.
Atamon gave a bitter, pleading smile.
"Don't you want to restore your reputation? If you release me, I will surrender to the Grand Justice of the Capital and admit my mistakes to His Majesty. Kael Morhen will return to what he was before—"
Vesemir's cat-like eyes narrowed; the word "Kyr Morhan" pierced his heart. With all his might, he swung the sword down.
Overwhelmed by the fear of death, Atamon screamed.
"Sevilla, save me!"
"Heh heh!"
With Vesemir's heavy breathing, hot blood splattered all over his face.
Atamon's head fell onto the lawn, his dark gray hair covering his contorted face as he stared at the white flag with red stripes that was now almost within reach.
The iris of the eye emitted an extremely disordered metallic sheen.
His mouth moved, emitting a sound of resentment.
"Sevilla—why—why did you betray me—to make you—come with me—?"
Before he could finish speaking, a spiked boot landed, crushing the back of his head, and one of his eyeballs exploded into tiny metal fragments.
Vesemir spat and growled through gritted teeth.
"Fuck your neutrality!"
"Hissing sound—"
A unicorn-jeweled banner pierced the fog.
The knight in metal armor charged forward first, his hands gripping the reins.
The horse, adorned with an ivory mask, came to a halt, its harness jingling.
A cold gaze emanated from beneath the semi-enclosed metal helmet, sweeping over the purple-robed man and his head, which resembled an exploded watermelon. He immediately drew his knight's sword and shouted a rebuke.
"Damn it, Witcher, you murderer!"
Vesemir raised his head, his cat-like eyes flashing with ferocity.
"Put down your sword!"
Behind him, well-equipped marquis knights arrived one after another, their sharp spear tips pointed at him.
A cold wind blew across Vesemir's blood-stained gray hair as figures stood beside him.
Geralt, Escalde, Aiken, Paul, Horton, Winston.
Seven pairs of cat eyes, each a different color, glared angrily at the knights before them.
The leading knight frowned, intimidated by the fierce aura emanating from the man.
The warhorse beneath him was gripped by a deep-seated fear, as if it were being watched by a pack of wolves. It whimpered through its nostrils and its hooves kept moving backward.
Vesemir frowned, and Eskar's voice drifted over.
"Grandpa, you're such an old man, but you run really fast."
Paul chuckled and looked at the Knightsway.
"Wow, that armor is really nice. Who's it trying to scare with that sullen look?"
Horton echoed.
"Oh, this damned plague! It's time for a massacre! We can just do what the Cat School does, build a caravan, and go wherever we want. We're not staying in Cordwin!"
Aiken raised an eyebrow and looked at the leading knight, his green cat-like eyes carrying a hint of disdain.
Even Winston, who was usually a nice guy, gripped his sword hilt tightly and nodded vigorously.
Geralt had a faint smile on his lips.
Vesemir stared blankly at the person beside him.
Since the Witcher Order split, when have the Witchers ever been so united?
He felt a warmth in his heart, realizing that all his efforts had been worthwhile, even more so than when he killed Atamon.
He burst into laughter. "You bunch of brats, when will you ever learn to keep your composure like Geralt and Arwin, huh?"
Paul, Aiken, and the others were taken aback, while Aiskar looked thoughtful.
Paul asked疑惑地, "Oh right, where's Alwin? Where did he go?"
Horton joked, "You're not going to run away in fear, are you?"
The cold-blooded Aiken spoke his first words, "Huh? If you utter another word of nonsense, believe me, I'll shove your head up your ass."
"Hahaha."
Everyone burst into hearty laughter.
The leading knight's face was extremely grim.
They were clearly surrounded, yet they were still chatting and laughing, completely disregarding them.
It is a disgrace, a great humiliation, to the Knights of Louis-Tropez!
He roared, his neck red, "Insolence! Take them down!"
The knight beside him, the lance resting on his abdomen, suddenly jerked, sending several chilling beams of light piercing towards the witcher.
Vesemir snorted and pushed his hands forward, causing seven Quen shields to light up one after another.
The gale rushed backwards towards the seven people, and the Alder sign was poised to strike.
"court death!"
Amidst the roars, the magic-blocking shackles around the waists of the knights clanged.
"stop!"
A shout suddenly rang out from behind the Knights.
"Get out of my way, all of you! Put away your weapons!"
Upon hearing the sound, the lead knight paused and quickly spurred his horse to make way.
A man dressed in silver-gilt armor rode out slowly on a white horse and came to the front of the knights.
The armor plates on his body clattered and clicked, and his bulging belly was enough to prove his status.
The leading knight raised his right fist and struck his left chest, speaking solemnly.
"My Lord Marquis."
"My Lord Marquis!"
The surrounding knights all followed the lead knight's lead.
The visitor was the Marquis of Louis-Bold, the absolute ruler of the target land.
The Marquis's eyes were sharp as an eagle's. "Witchers, as you have seen with your own eyes, it's over. Put away your weapons."
Vesemir stared at him and said coldly, "My lord, we would not dare to do such a thing in front of your loyal knight."
Upon hearing this, the leading knight immediately roared.
"How dare you! Should I teach you how to speak respectfully to a marquis with a whip?"
Marquis Louis-Pold raised his hand to stop the leading knight's actions, his tone languid.
"Why do you witchers all speak in the same way? Do your words always have to be barbed?"
After saying this, he glanced at the knight beside him and shouted loudly.
"Knight Commander, what was my order just now?"
The leading knight immediately said, "My lord, they are—"
The Marquis Louis-Pold stared at him.
"Phoenix, I have never doubted your loyalty, but this is an order."
The Phoenix Knight pursed his thick nose and lower lip, then immediately sheathed his sword.
"Yes, sir!"
The other knights had already sheathed their weapons, and the sound of their armor rubbing together could be heard.
Marquis Louis-Pold glanced at the still wary gray-haired witcher, then shifted his gaze to the white-haired man beside him.
"Geralt, it's been almost half a year since we last met—"