Witcher's Atelier

“Crack…Crack…Crack!” After opening and fixing the last bear trap, Victor inserted several pieces of gravel into his teeth, sprinkled several kinds of liquid medicine on it, and then covered it with leaves.

“Captain…Captain, don’t worry about me, you go first!” Angouleme sat slumped under the oak tree, his face pale and sweaty. “Go to the floating port first to book a room for me. If the squirrel party doesn’t catch up, I can rest when I get there. If I’m caught up, I can also help you delay some time.”

It was evening now, and the Phantom Troupe had been carrying out jungle cross-country obstacles since early morning. This ancient sport tested not only physical strength but also skills. Therefore, after six or seven hours, the witcher apprentice showed an overwhelming physical advantage over the girl. When the activity lasted for more than twelve hours, it showed that he still had strength and was dying.

Victor, who no longer needed to conceal the function of the herbal bag, took out one bear trap after another to set up while giving Angouleme a short breath along the way.

Walking back to the oak tree, Victor squatted down and stared at the girl, his blue eyes staring at the brown eyes, until the brown eyes bowed their heads in guilt.

"Angoulême Corleone, with your intelligence, it is difficult for me to explain to you why you are almost dead if you are caught, but I have an 80% chance of survival if I am caught." The boy said. "Anyway, do you still remember the rules of the brigade?"

"Remember, the leader has the final say..." the girl whispered.

Leader: "Very good, now I say, it's not time to give up! Do you hear me?"

Looking up and looking at each other for a moment, the girl nodded, and then the leader of the Phantom Troupe pulled up the members who were taking a short break and continued to flee along the river.

Finally, I don't know how long they ran. Faintly, there were sparks in the distance. It was the night lighting of the floating port. Seeing this, the two of them couldn't help but speed up their pace, and then Angouleme suddenly turned sideways and pounced Victor down. The two rolled into a ball and also avoided the arrow that pierced their hearts.

…

Amid the sound of “swish…swish…swish…” arrows raining down, the two men rolled and crawled to hide behind a thick beech tree trunk.

The rustling sound of leaves was the sound of elves moving and the approaching footsteps of the god of death. The situation was critical. Victor had no time to hesitate and shouted loudly: “Ceádmil, Wedd Dol Blathanna!”

The shout was loud and far-reaching, and then the swish of arrows stopped, but the rustling of leaves did not stop.

Angoulême happily pulled Victor’s arm and said: “Captain, they stopped shooting arrows! What did you say that was so effective?”

Shrugging off the pull, Victor was not so optimistic: “Just a greeting, Dol Blathanna—the son of the Valley of Flowers.

Now shut up and let me concentrate on thinking, otherwise I will add the rule that all members of the brigade must learn the Elvish language!”

Angoulême immediately fell silent. In addition to the existing reading and swimming, she did not want to add any other burdens.

He moved his mouth to make sure that the tongue bounced in rhythm, "Caelm, evellienn! N'aen aespar a me. (Calm down, everyone! Please don't shoot.)" Victor shouted again.

The rustling sound of movement gradually stopped, perhaps it stopped advancing, but Victor was more inclined to think that it had already been positioned.

Anyway, footsteps sounded in the silence, "Glaeddy van vort! (Put down the sword!)" The elf's response finally appeared, the voice was low and majestic.

Leaning out half of his body from behind the tree, the boy observed the object of the response.

Under the crimson turban, he once had a beautiful elf face, and the ugly scar that ran diagonally across his forehead, eyebrows, nose and cheeks to his chin gave him a male charm with eagle eyes and wolfish looks.

He was very tall, looking taller than the macho man Eskar, carrying a longbow on his back, two elven one-handed swords hanging at his waist without being pulled out, and a chain-link leather armor covering the muscles of his ape arms and wasp waist, but it couldn't cover up the domineering aura that was exposed.

Judging from his appearance alone, the person who spoke was the most powerful person Victor had ever seen since he traveled through time.

Patting Angouleme's hand, "Hide here, I didn't tell you not to come out." After that, Victor gently threw the steel sword and silver sword from behind the beech, keeping it slow enough to not cause any misunderstanding.

Then the boy walked out from behind the tree with his palms facing outward, and under the aiming of a dozen elves who stopped hiding, he officially faced Iorveth, the notorious butcher.

Iorveth glanced at the two swords on the ground and the silver sword blade that Victor deliberately exposed when throwing it, "Vatt'ghern? (Witcher?)" Then he observed the boy's pupils and said, "Vatt'ghern wed. (Witcher apprentice.)"

Victor didn't speak, he hadn't learned enough words by himself.

As if he could see the embarrassment of the boy who couldn't respond, Iorveth laughed, "Que l'en pavienn, ell'ea? (You're just a monkey, aren't you?)"

This taunt was obviously loved by the Scoia'tael, and laughter rose and fell in the shade of the trees. This is the phrase most often used by elves to mock humans, and similar insults in the Vergen tavern are saturated.

So the boy answered without hesitation: "Nell'ea, T'en pavienn, Aen Seidhe. (No, you are the monkey, Ain. Sheidhe.)"

This standard version of the response made the elves who had the upper hand very happy. They laughed even more happily. It is certainly more interesting to say that others can understand but can only respond weakly with words than to curse others in a language that they don't understand.

Ignoring the sneers around him, Victor knew that the only one who was truly qualified to decide the life and death of the brigade was the elf in front of him, so the boy stared into his eyes and said: "M'aespar que va'en, ell'ea? (Are you going to shoot me, or are you?)"

Iorveth smiled and said naturally in the common language: "Don't force yourself to speak Elvish, human, if you still want to say something, take the time to say it now! Before you are disemboweled."

As soon as the words fell, Victor knew that it was not good. Sure enough, the steel sword was unsheathed with a "clang!", and Angouleme jumped out from behind the tree and protected Victor. Thank God, she was not stupid enough to attack Iorveth directly. Otherwise, Pang Tong, Zhang He, and Sun Jian would be with her at this moment.

Iorveth put away the smile on his face, "Glaeddyv vort, beanna." Realizing that the girl didn't understand, he switched to common language: "Put down the sword, woman!"

Victor hurried forward to take Angouleme's sword, but Iorveth suddenly drew out his left-handed sword and threw it in front of his feet, "Stand there and don't move! Shoot him if he takes a step forward!" The second half of the sentence was an order to the surrounding elves.

Then Iorveth twisted his neck, drew out his right-handed sword, and waved to Angouleme with his left hand: "Come on! If you beat me, I'll let you go!"

Victor didn't know what made Iorveth suddenly change his mind, but he didn't think this was an opportunity. Regardless of whether the girl could defeat the famous elf, this challenge was obviously made in anger, and victory could not guarantee that the other party would keep their promise.

Angoulême didn't think so much. She squatted down and took a stance, staring fiercely at the elf who held the sword with one hand and looked flawed at first glance.

When Victor saw the blood on Angouleme's hilt, he understood everything in an instant.

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