"What's going on?"
"You few, quickly go and move that damned tree."
"Don't delay me from teaching those commoners a lesson."
Lord Ignatius of White Orchard sat on his tall horse, imperiously directing his soldiers, completely unaware of what was about to happen.
The soldiers exchanged glances.
Although they vaguely sensed something was amiss, as private soldiers maintained by the Verreres family, they dared not voice any opposition to their now increasingly deranged old lord.
A noble lord wanting to kill private soldiers like them didn't even need a special reason; a simple accusation of disobeying orders was enough to have them hanged by military law.
Just as a few soldiers cautiously approached the fallen tree, put down their weapons, and prepared to move it together, suddenly, there was a strange snapping sound!
Like a rope breaking, a dozen or so liquid-filled objects, resembling earthenware pots, suddenly fell from the sky, flung down from the treetops above them.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Aided by gravity, some of these earthenware pots smashed onto the ground, splashing liquid everywhere, while others hit the soldiers, drenching their armor with an unknown liquid.
However, because it was dark, the soldiers couldn't clearly see what the liquid on them was; they only found its smell pungent and unpleasant.
And those shattered earthenware pots, while not causing any substantial harm to the soldiers, did throw the group into disarray.
Believing they were under some kind of attack, the soldiers immediately dropped the tree, quickly crouched down, and fumbled to retrieve their weapons.
Lord Ignatius's horse also began to sway restlessly because of the sound of the shattering pots, almost throwing its master off.
A second or two later, amidst the White Orchard Lord's incessant curses, a soldier who had experience defending castles and using siege weapons recognized what was on them and suddenly cried out in terror:
"Oh no!"
"It's wildfire, get out of here quickly."
Unfortunately, though the soldier reacted quickly enough, the attacker wouldn't give them time to escape.
A figure, already lying in ambush, swiftly emerged from their hidden position, and with a flick of a hand, several burning torches appeared out of thin air in their grasp.
No words were needed.
Under the soldier's terrified and desperate gaze, these torches were thrown with immense force and precision, some hitting the soldiers, others landing on the ground.
The dark, pungent wildfire ignited instantly upon contact with fire, the rising flames forming a sea of fire on the ground.
In the blink of an eye, the wildfire on the six soldiers also ignited, spreading from their calves to their torsos, from their necks to their hair; even sturdy metal armor could not withstand the scorching flames.
What's more, ignited metal armor wasn't as easy to remove as ordinary clothing; instead, it would rapidly conduct heat, cooking the flesh on their bodies.
In no time at all, they lost the power to resist, becoming screaming, dying fire-people struggling in the flames.
Meanwhile, the attacker was not idle.
After throwing the torches, he approached Lord Ignatius of White Orchard with extreme speed, a sharp steel sword instantly appearing in his hand.
Gripping the sword with both hands, he stepped forward and slashed, mercilessly cutting at the horse's belly and lower legs.
With several times the strength of an ordinary person, the sharp blade transformed into a chilling sword light, instantly severing one of the horse's lower legs, its chest ribs, and its entire belly, even cutting a huge wound into the horse's owner's thigh.
After one slash, both horse and man let out a mournful shriek, blood and internal organs gushing out; having lost a lower leg, the horse could no longer stand, falling to the ground with its master, pinning half of the old lord's body and rendering him immobile.
Suffering such severe injuries, the old man, Lord Ignatius, could no longer bear it; he first let out painful howls, calling for help from his soldiers and cursing the attacker.
When he saw his soldiers ablaze like torches, screaming in agony, and realized he couldn't even push the horse off himself, he seemed to resign himself to fate.
He looked up at the figure attacking him and cursed loudly:
"You damned bastard, you despicable commoner, you maggot from a cesspit, how dare you attack a noble."
"I am the lord here, a noble bloodline of the kingdom."
"Anyone who attacks a noble will be sentenced to death."
"You will surely be caught by the soldiers, someone will flay your skin, cut off your head, and feed your corpse to beasts."
As he cursed, aided by the flames burning on the soldiers' bodies, the old lord suddenly noticed the School of the Serpent Witcher medallion hanging on the attacker's chest, and those amber, beast-like vertical pupils that still gleamed dangerously in the darkness.
He realized the attacker's identity, and the rage in his heart intensified.
"It's a Witcher!"
"I knew it, you damned mutant monsters are enemies of humanity, traitors and scum swayed by those harlot sorceresses and demons."
"You, like the Scoia'tael and non-human races, are all mongrels who should have been exterminated long ago."
The wound on Ignatius's thigh bled profusely, and his face quickly turned extremely pale.
Perhaps realizing his impending death, the noble lord of White Orchard cursed fiercely, completely unaware of his own mistakes, instead blaming everything on commoners, Witchers, the Scoia'tael, and non-human races.
Guilliman listened expressionlessly, indifferently watching the noble, in pain from excessive blood loss, on the verge of falling unconscious.
Only when the torment had lasted long enough did he raise the steel sword in his hand and say in a cold voice:
"Remember, my name is Guilliman Gellman."
"I come for the revenge of the Witcher, Kogrillm."
Having said this, the sharp sword in his hand instantly fell, mercilessly severing Ignatius's neck and cutting off his head.
To show more sincerity, Guilliman reached out and grabbed the ugly, aged head, putting it into his storage space, intending to hang it before Kogrillm's grave as an offering after leaving White Orchard.
As he thought this, perhaps his thoughts and feelings were conveyed to his soul space.
The negative emotions that had enveloped Kogrillm's remnant soul quickly dissipated like melting ice and snow, revealing a small, faintly glowing fragment of soul within.
Guilliman's heart rejoiced.
He glanced at the crime scene, full of charred bodies and headless corpses, then looked far into the distance at the wedding site, still filled with joyful song and dance, unaware that someone had saved their lives, and slipped silently into the woods.
It wouldn't be long before the beasts and monsters, drawn by the smell of flesh and blood, would help him dispose of these bodies.
By the time the remaining corpses here were discovered, he would probably have long since fled far away.