Witcher: Master Kiliman’s Grand Ambitions-Chapter 13: Revenge of the Serpent

“What’s going on here?”
“You all, hurry up and move that damn tree.”
“Don’t waste time; I want to teach those filthy commoners a lesson.”
The lord of White Orchard, Ignatius, sat tall on his high-headed horse, commanding his soldiers with an arrogant air, completely unaware of the looming danger.
The soldiers exchanged glances.
Though they vaguely sensed something was wrong, as private mercenaries sponsored by the Virellis family, they dared not voice any objections to their increasingly unhinged old lord.
If the noble lord wished to kill them, he needed no special reason. Disobeying orders alone could get them hanged under military law.
Just as several soldiers cautiously approached the fallen tree, setting down their weapons and preparing to lift it together,
Suddenly, a loud *boom*!
It sounded like a hemp rope snapping, followed by a dozen or so clay jars filled with liquid falling from the treetops above them.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Driven by gravity, some of the jars smashed onto the ground, splattering liquid everywhere, while others crashed onto the soldiers, drenching their armor with an unknown substance.
Because it was dark, the soldiers couldn’t see clearly what had soaked them but noticed a sharp, pungent smell that made them uncomfortable.
Though the broken jars caused no direct harm, they threw the formation into chaos.
Thinking they were under attack, the soldiers immediately abandoned the tree, crouched down, and scrambled to retrieve their weapons in panic.
Lord Ignatius’s horse also grew restless at the noise of breaking jars, swaying from side to side and nearly throwing its rider off.
A second or two later, amid Ignatius’s cursing, a soldier with experience in city defense and siege weapons recognized the substance on his body and shouted in horror:
“Bad news!”
“That’s burning oil! Get out of here now!”
Unfortunately, though quick to react, the soldier didn’t get the chance to escape.
A figure hidden nearby suddenly emerged, and with a wave of his hand, several burning torches appeared out of thin air.
No words were spoken.
Under the soldier’s terrified, hopeless gaze, the torches were hurled with brutal precision—some struck the soldiers, others hit the ground.
The pitch-black, acrid burning oil ignited instantly, flames rising rapidly and spreading into a sea of fire on the ground.
In the blink of an eye, the burning oil on the six soldiers caught fire, flames crawling from their calves up to their torsos, igniting necks and hair alike.
Even their sturdy metal armor could not withstand the blaze.
Worse, burning metal armor was not easy to remove like ordinary clothing; it quickly conducted heat, scorching the flesh beneath.
Within moments, they lost all ability to resist, becoming wailing, flaming corpses struggling in agony.
Meanwhile, the attacker didn’t rest.
After throwing the torches, he dashed toward White Orchard’s lord Ignatius at incredible speed, instantly conjuring a sharp steel sword in his hands.
Gripping the sword with both hands, he stepped forward and slashed mercilessly at the horse’s belly and legs.
With strength many times beyond that of a normal human, the blade transformed into a terrifying sword light, severing the horse’s leg, ribs, and entire belly in one strike, carving a massive wound that even cut into its rider’s thigh.
After the slash, the horse and rider both emitted a piercing scream, blood and entrails gushing out.
The horse, missing a leg, collapsed and dragged the lord down with it, pinning half of Ignatius’s body beneath, rendering him immobile.
Severely wounded, old Ignatius could no longer bear it.
He howled in pain, called for help from his soldiers, and cursed the attacker.
When he saw his soldiers burning like torches, wailing in agony, and realized he couldn’t even push the horse off himself,
He seemed to resign to fate, lifting his head to glare at the figure attacking him, shouting curses:
“You damn bastard, despicable commoner, maggot in the cesspit! How dare you attack a noble?”
“I am the lord here, a noble of the kingdom’s esteemed bloodline.”
“Anyone who attacks a noble will be sentenced to death.”
“You’ll be captured by soldiers, skinned alive, beheaded, and your corpse fed to wild beasts.”
As he ranted, aided by the flames burning on the soldiers’ bodies, the old lord suddenly noticed the attacker’s emblem hanging on his chest—the Snake School Witcher badge—and those dangerous amber beastly vertical pupils still gleaming in the darkness.
Realizing the attacker’s identity, his fury grew even more intense.
“A Witcher!”
“I knew it. You damned mutated monsters are humanity’s enemies, traitorous scum corrupted by those filthy witches and demons.”
“You, the squirrel faction, and the non-human races—all of you are bastards who should have been wiped out long ago.”
The wound on Ignatius’s thigh gushed blood like a fountain, and his face rapidly turned pale.
Perhaps sensing his impending death, the noble lord of White Orchard cursed wildly, oblivious to his own mistakes, instead blaming commoners, Witchers, the squirrel faction, and non-human races for all his woes.
Kiliman listened expressionlessly, coldly watching the noble suffer from blood loss, on the verge of unconsciousness.
When the torture time was nearly up, he raised his steel sword and said in an icy voice:
“Remember, my name is Kiliman Germann.”
“I come to avenge Witcher Kovirghm.”
After finishing, his sharp sword fell instantly, mercilessly severing Ignatius’s neck and beheading him.
To show his sincerity, Kiliman grabbed the ugly, aged head and stored it in his inventory space, planning to hang it at Kovirghm’s grave as a tribute once he left White Orchard.
As he thought this, perhaps his thoughts transmitted to the soul space.
The negative emotions enveloping Kovirghm’s remaining soul melted away like thawing ice and snow, revealing a small cluster of softly glowing soul fragments inside.
Kiliman’s heart lifted with joy.
He glanced over the crime scene filled with charred corpses and headless bodies, then looked far toward the wedding celebration still filled with singing and laughter—unaware someone had just saved their lives.
Silently, he slipped into the forest.
Soon enough, beasts and monsters drawn by the scent of flesh would help him dispose of the bodies.
By the time anyone found the remains here, he would have long since fled, leaving this place far behind.