The Witcher: Astartes Of The bear School

Chapter 4: The Two "Bears"

The strategy of a single person fighting against a group is to transform the one-versus-many scenario into multiple one-on-one encounters. 

Ghouls are not particularly powerful monsters; a calm and brave farmer armed with a long pitchfork could escape from a single ghoul. Their claws are indeed sharp enough to dig into the ground, but the reach advantage of a pitchfork far exceeds that of claws. 

However, Lan had experienced a few battles in this magical medieval world. He understood well that an enemy easily dealt with in a one-on-one fight could become overwhelming in a one-on-two scenario. 

The reality was that humans, even witchers, had blood vessels and tendons lying merely millimeters to centimeters beneath their skin. For claws or weapons, that thin layer of flesh might as well not exist. 

A scratch was a wound, and a wound would impair one's ability to move. Once that happened, the disadvantages would escalate, leading to a logical conclusion: a severed throat. 

Lan hadn't yet experienced such a situation, nor did he want to. 

Thus, even though the bear school's mutation formula emphasized physicality and strength, and its swordsmanship style was solid and robust, he still frequently shifted his footing. 

Seventeen ghouls were surging toward him, their jeering cries echoing as Bordon's cold, unfeeling gaze bore down from behind. 

To avoid being surrounded by the clustered ghouls required him to be twice as fast as they were. Was that possible for a hungry young man? 

—not just possible! Lan exceeded expectations! 

His thin leather boots stomped down, the combined strength of his muscles propelling him into the soft valley soil, sending a spray of dirt flying. The airborne debris even contained a few roots of grass. In that moment, the not-so-brawny young man charged like a frenzied bear. 

A cacophony of screeches erupted as the ravenous scavengers quickly turned to pursue him. The burst of speed from the scavengers couldn't match that of a witcher. 

In the struggle for straight-line distance, they soon fell behind. However, the last few ghouls in the line had the chance to take the shortest route and block Lan's path ahead. 

Their foul mouths twisted in grotesque grins, dripping with the remnants of rotting flesh. Five ghouls had already positioned themselves in Lan's path, eagerly crouching and sharpening their claws. 

Yet, the young man's expression remained unchanged. It was as if he wore not a cheap cotton armor but rather the ancestral armor of a knight or noble. Or perhaps as if those five clawed monstrosities before him didn't even exist. 

He watched as the ghouls' mouths widened with the approach of fresh flesh, until they could no longer resist the temptation. With instincts honed from years of hunting, they leaped, their small bodies using their weight to thrust their claws downward. In that instant, Lan's cat-like eyes widened slightly. 

"Quen." The incantation summoned a protective shield, glowing with magical energy. 

Under normal circumstances, this sign would remain invisible, activating only when the witcher was struck, deflecting the blow before shattering. 

However, in the knowledge of the bear school, it manifested as an orange-yellow spherical shield. 

This was not a sophisticated application; in the eyes of true sorcerers, the entire sign system of witchers was little more than parlor tricks. Even the assault of a mere ghoul would likely be stopped by only the first hit before the shield overloaded and broke. 

But Lan, this youth tossed from an era of stability into the wilderness, would fully utilize every power within his reach in the face of danger. 

A common spherical shield typically formed from the ground up, closing above his head. But what if— 

What if, at just the right moment in time and space, the shield, while forming, tripped an enemy leaping from the air? 

The ghoul might never have experienced what it felt like to miss a step on the stairs or to not lift its leg high enough on the way up. 

Today, it would find out. 

Balance is an incredibly important factor in any fight, in any technique; the magical world has its own ways of manipulating it. 

Lan's cat eyes met the ghoul's wide, panicked gaze for a brief moment. 

As the ghouls rolled through the air, three of them were "coincidentally" tripped by the shield, losing their balance. They soared over Lan's head, crashing into the throng of ghouls behind. 

That resulted in a chaotic pile-up. 

The sound of the shield shattering echoed, and even without a direct confrontation, the sheer force of the three ghouls colliding was enough to break the Quen. 

Meanwhile, in the air, two ghouls with outstretched claws were already rushing toward him. They showed no concern for the fate of their fellow monsters; they were eager to take the first bite of flesh. 

But without the shield, Lan's gaze toward them was no different from how they viewed him. He looked at them like a piece of meat lying on a cutting board. 

The previous Quen sign had not been cast for protection; how foolish. 

"Bang!" The orange-yellow shield burst into fragments infused with real kinetic energy! 

"Ugh?" 

The two ghouls in the air were still processing what was happening when the outward explosion of the shield knocked them off balance. 

Then came the flash of cold light. 

"Whoosh!" The sound of a blade cutting through the air was chilling. 

Lan held the cheap Velen long sword at the side of his face, its tip aimed directly at the ghoul's body. He deliberately positioned the dingy sword at an odd angle. 

As he lunged forward, it felt as if he were stabbing into well-cooked leather. If it had been a silver weapon, it would have been like slicing through meat normally. 

Though it was a struggle, the ghoul's thin body could not withstand the thrust infused with momentum and balance. 

The sword pierced through the first ghoul's belly, and by what seemed like pure chance, the tip ended up jabbing into the second ghoul's chin, buried in the layers of flabby skin. The blade went straight into its brain. 

It appeared as if a panicked swordsman, fueled by adrenaline, had been lucky enough not to kill one, but instead struck down two enemies. 

Yet beneath that surface, Lan's precision, force application, and control of the blade were flawless. Only at the last moment did his grip slip slightly, colliding with the crossguard of the sword. 

The force of the thrust was immense, and the resistance from the ghoul's body was strong enough that the crossguard emitted a "crack" as it loosened. Under the pressure, the wooden grip developed a fissure. His palm split, blood spraying forth. 

But more critically, while the sword might still function against ordinary humans, it became a death sentence against monsters—even ghouls. Lan had effectively lost his only weapon. 

Meanwhile, behind him, fifteen ghouls were scrambling back to their feet, charging toward him. Yet, Lan appeared to have completed his task, relaxing his arm muscles. He dropped the long sword, now resembling a skewer with meat, along with the ghoul. 

He didn't look back, but amidst the cacophony of the ghouls' footsteps, he heard what he wanted to hear. It was a sound that anyone who had achieved any success in martial arts would recognize, as light and graceful as a cat's tread. 

Amidst the mist behind the fifteen ghouls, a tall, muscular shadow emerged, silent and imposing. For Bordon, safety had been confirmed; there were no foglets here. 

A flash of silver light flickered. Unlike Lan's precise and aggressive swordplay, Bordon's style embodied the bear school's hallmark. It was solid and powerful. 

The sound of blood spraying mixed with the crack of bones breaking. 

Bordon's silver sword, slick with the stench of ghoul blood, swept through the air in a brutal arc. Four ghouls, standing too close, were cleaved in half at the chest. 

The fifth's chest was nearly split open, the sword getting lodged in its ribcage, the tremendous force sending its small body flying. The tip of the sword protruded from its chest, coincidentally slicing through the skull of the sixth ghoul. 

For Bordon, dealing with these fifteen clustered ghouls, exposing their backs, was merely a matter of a few sword strikes. 

This time, Lan's "utilization" was—worth every oren spent.