Even the slow-witted realized what was about to happen next.

Cries and pleas rose, but they were drowned out by the soldiers' shouts and laughter.

Yet, no one noticed the movement in the wheat field outside the village.

The witchers' footsteps were as light as a cat's.

The slight clinking of their armor would merely be mistaken by the soldiers as sounds from their comrades.

Only when Lynn emerged from the wheat field did the soldier guarding the horses spot the witcher appearing from the crops.

But before he could even attempt to raise an alarm, Letho's thrown short sword, a silver streak, struck him squarely in the forehead.

He toppled over instantly, stiff as a board.

However, the sound of the body falling still caught the attention of the soldiers surrounding the villagers.

The instant they turned to look, Lynn pushed off the ground, sprinting like a gust of wind across the twenty to thirty meters, bursting into the stunned enemy's midst.

Then…

Thud—

A head flew off, and blood gushed out like a fountain.

The headless corpse immediately dropped with a plop, kneeling to the ground.

And that wasn't all.

Immediately after, Lynn plunged his longsword into another soldier's chest.

The soldier's face contorted in pain, his eyes filled with a desperate longing to live.

But the strength in his body receded like a tide.

He was clearly beyond saving.

With two of their comrades instantly slain, the remaining men finally reacted.

Especially when they realized Lynn was alone, they were immediately shocked and enraged, howling as they swarmed him.

On the battlefield, swords were inferior to spears.

A longer reach meant greater power.

This was why, in Japan's Sengoku period, figures like Kamiizumi Nobutsuna, though titled "Sword Saint," wielded increasingly long spears on the battlefield.

But besides weapons, there was another crucial tactic on the battlefield: always keep moving, never allow yourself to be surrounded.

So Lynn executed a sidestep, swiftly flashing before the furthest enemy to his right. Before the man could react, his Gwyhyr plunged into the soldier's chest.

Next, a kick to the chest, extracting the sword while simultaneously turning to dodge a longsword sweeping down from the side. A backhanded slash, and the longsword's owner's throat was slit.

Under the combined effects of the Full Enhancement and Blitz specializations, and the Superior Blizzard potion, the soldiers' movements seemed to slow down.

Even if their chests were filled with rage and hatred, it couldn't change the objective disparity.

Dodging several swinging swords again, he skillfully swept his right hand horizontally, slicing open the belly of a soldier too slow to dodge.

The sharp sword easily cut through his leather armor, and blood and entrails gushed out like a ruptured grocery bag of fresh produce.

His left hand simultaneously struck another soldier's face.

The latter instinctively fumbled a block, but the witcher's left hand suddenly erupted with an invisible gust of wind. This current of air was like an ethereal warhammer, smashing heavily into the soldier's face.

"Aard."

The soldier howled, flying backward and knocking over two of his comrades.

Lynn lunged forward, and before the two could even get up, his longsword stabbed repeatedly, piercing their throats.

When the number of soldiers assaulting the witcher visibly thinned, the remaining men finally snapped out of their arrogant delusion that "he's only one man."

They exchanged glances, then looked at the lifeless bodies of their fallen comrades on the ground, before turning to the unscathed witcher, who wasn't even breathing heavily.

Finally, fear began to creep in.

Someone, nobody knew who, was the first to bolt, and the others, like startled birds, abandoned Lynn and fled towards where the horses were.

In their minds, they all shared one thought:

'Even if this mutant is powerful, he can only kill one person with each swing. I don't need to be faster than him, just faster than everyone else.'

However, as they neared the horses, a sturdy figure suddenly leaped out from behind the herd, wielding two short swords and pouncing ferociously.

The soldiers, preoccupied with guarding against Lynn from behind, never expected an ambush ahead.

Caught completely off guard, they offered little resistance and quickly became fallen souls beneath Letho's blades.

Lynn nodded at Letho in affirmation.

But at that moment, he turned his head as if sensing something.

He saw another soldier standing in the distance, holding a crossbow.

It turned out that when Lynn launched his surprise attack, everyone else rushed forward, but this one soldier instinctively sensed trouble and hid behind a house.

He had initially intended to slip away, but his comrades were too useless, or rather, Lynn and Letho were simply too powerful.

In a few quick moves, they had cut down all his comrades in a pool of blood.

Knowing he couldn't possibly survive, he had planned to ambush Lynn.

But he never expected the mutant to turn his head as if he had eyes on his temples.

Seeing Lynn look his way, he instinctively pulled the trigger.

Thwip, the crossbow bolt shot out.

To ordinary people, this bolt might have seemed too fast to react to.

But any witcher who had undergone the Trial of the Grasses, due to their physical mutations, could perform the "deflect arrows" technique.

For Lynn, it was even simpler.

He swung his sword upwards, effortlessly slicing the incoming bolt in half.

Then, instinctively, he threw Gwyhyr.

The sword, still stained with enemy blood, spun and embedded itself in the forehead of the distant, terror-stricken crossbowman.

From initiating the ambush to killing all the soldiers, the entire process took Lynn less than two minutes.

He walked over and pulled Gwyhyr out, which elicited a gasp of surprise.

The surviving villagers, instead of showing joy at being rescued by Lynn, stared at him with the same fear they had for the soldiers just moments ago.

And when Lynn's gaze swept over them, they all lowered their heads, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"Lynn."

Letho approached, leading the horses the soldiers had ridden.

Even he couldn't suppress a smile on his face.

Horses in this era were like cars in Lynn's home world.

Even though these ordinary soldiers weren't riding particularly good warhorses, even a nag or a mule was still a horse.

Even if he didn't use them himself, he could sell them for a considerable profit.

And all the weapons and equipment on the ground could also be salvaged.

Except for the shields bearing the Kaedwen crest, everything else could be sold.

.....

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