Chapter 8: Smoke Over Velen Fields

No choice left.

“Your move, teacher.”

The halberd’s thrust could not be stopped by armor alone, not even the finest school-made plate. Brushing the blade with a vambrace, forcing it off course, would achieve nothing. It was already too close. The broad, sharp tip driving toward the torso—what difference would a slight miss make?

The halberd’s edge was wide and lethal. Any cut to the body would pierce at least two organs: heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys—none could remain untouched. To stop the thrust, he had to intercept it with steel. But in doing so, the alchemy sack would be left exposed. Inside lay the Elixirs and bombs that were his only hope for survival in the coming fight.

Two archers, one tough soldier wielding a polearm, and one of his own students—a witcher ... there was no chance without drinking an Elixir to drive his body beyond human limits or deploying expensive explosives.

Lannor had led the Enforcement Squad along a trail they could follow, luring them here. Three volleys, twenty seconds at most, and already he had sealed Bordon’s fate.

Careful observation revealed it in the youth’s cat eyes: cascading calculations, probability trees streaming like a waterfall from his pupils. Lannor had paused all other cognitive processes, pouring every ounce of his biological intelligence into the scene before him.

No matter what choice remained, Bordon had no chance. He would die here.

Bordon recognized it instantly. His massive frame froze. Bear School witchers had long lost the capacity for ordinary emotion; after mutation, life existed only to maintain itself. Bordon had faced death countless times on missions, yet each time his cold mind found a thread of survival, dragging monster heads back for payment.

But in this trap, engineered by human cunning and lethal intent, with death closing in from every direction, his usual detachment left him helpless.

Worse, Lannor’s hands now glowed with magic.

Axii Sign.

A technique Bordon had used only in front of Lannor, never properly taught. He had never imagined the boy could employ it in combat.

The strong witcher’s mind spun; even worse, his confusion deepened. Confronted with the inevitability of death, the impulse to take an enemy with him vanished. Hatred could not be summoned. Survival instinct faltered for a single instant—and in that instant...