"Hurry up, you damned bastards! Faster! Faster! Get him inside!"
Unaffected by the standoff between the knights and the city guards, the hospital entrance was still crowded with people coming and going. Another wounded person had been carried over, accompanied by several others.
Angoulême ignored them and let them enter. There was naturally order inside for matters inside.
Not long ago, when she had escorted Shani here, the girl had been rather curious at first, watching from the side with great interest. But she was soon deeply shaken by what she saw.
After taking over the work of chief surgeon, the senior who directed the medical staff seemed like a completely different person from usual.
...
"Ladies and gentlemen, congratulations are in order. We have successfully removed the small intestine, colon, and kidney, and completed the suturing of the liver. This damned riot only needs a few seconds to turn a person into this, but it takes us this long to work. I must say, that is a question well worth some serious study by philosophers. Please suture the patient for me, Mr. Speyer."
"But Lady Shani, I've never sutured a wound before!"
"There's a first time for everything. Unless you still have a foreskin? Go sew red to red, yellow to yellow, white to white. Sew it like that and you definitely won't make a mistake!"
Listening from the side, Angoulême, who had graduated from the Department of Philosophy, felt this had great speculative significance. She was confident she could create an even more severely wounded patient in a few seconds, but treating one required sweating for a very long time.
...
"Bastards!" Stepping back from the operating table, Shani waved the blade in her hand and cursed bitterly. "Damn it! Why? Why does it have to be like this?"
No one could answer her question. Patina, the mage responsible for casting healing spells, blinked. Speyer lowered his head like a quail. Angoulême sniffled.
The girl, who had been dragged in to help, stared at the wounded man who had just died, while the wounded man stared at the air, his vacant gaze frozen in place.
...
A knight with the Flaming Rose on his armor shouted, "Hey, you! Doctor! Come help take a look!"
"I'm busy," Shani said without raising her head. "Put him on a stretcher first. I'll examine him when I'm done."
"Forget that damned nonhuman! Today's riot was all started by them. Come treat the lord immediately, you damned quack! You should know that this is the noble Viscount Serian!"
"Shut up! In this hospital," Shani raised her voice. She was very angry now, because a piece of arrowhead had lodged in a dwarf's intestine, and the knight's shouting made it impossible for her to concentrate on using the forceps, "everyone is equal. At least on my operating table, they are."
"What?"
"Can't you understand?" Shani continued searching through the wound with the forceps. "I don't care whether I'm removing pieces of iron from the body of a nonhuman or a human, and I care even less how precious your viscount is! Anyway, to me, every person lying on the operating table has equal value."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean your viscount has to wait in line!"
"You damned bitch!"
"That's it, Speyer. Use a hemostat to clamp that artery. Help me, Patina, a little more magic. Don't let him move so violently! If he keeps struggling like this, I can't do anything!"
The ignored knight gritted his teeth and took a step forward, armor clanging.
"Bitch!" he roared. "Do you know what you're doing? This is murder!"
"Shut up, Patrick," the severely wounded noble said weakly. "The doctor is right. Shut your mouth, leave me here, then go back and fight. Remember the virtues of a knight."
"But, my lord! I cannot..."
"That is an order!"
A loud explosion suddenly rang out in the distance, stirring a certain panic. Roars and slaughter, mad cries and the snorting of horses seemed to be right beside their ears. The wounded all began wailing at once in different voices.
And amid those cries of grief, Viscount Serian, who had not managed to wait for treatment, died. Angoulême noticed the knight carrying the noble away with hatred in his heart.
...
Facing the wounded patient whose belly had been opened, the doctor kept her hands busy without stopping, while her mouth continued muttering nonstop.
"Angoulême, don't you think this looks like hotpot? The kind Vic made for us last time. Look! So colorful, and with so many fragments for garnish! Dear Patina, have mercy and cast your miraculous magic to calm him a little longer! If he keeps struggling like this, I can't do anything! Speyer, hold that damned hemostat tight! Oh, dear Ang, help me, are you asleep? Pull tight! Harder!"
Breathing heavily, Angoulême swallowed with difficulty, feeling as though she was about to faint.
She could not take it. She could no longer bear that smell, that terrible smell mixed with blood, vomit, feces, urine, undigested matter from the intestines, sweat, fear, and death.
Sobbing and mourning rose and fell without end. One pair of bloody, sticky hands after another reached toward her, as though the girl were their savior, someone who could save them and carry them out of this hell....
"Bandages! Cotton swabs! Hemostats! Not there! Speyer! Be careful when you work! I swear, if you dare make one more mistake, I'll hit you over the head with a hemostat! Do you hear me? I'll hit your head!"
Shani's scolding was not directed at her, but Angoulême knew very well that her own performance was even worse than that of the male assistant.
This is not where I should be, she thought. Here, I can't do any better than any ordinary person. There must be work better suited to me.
For her, the constant accumulation of exhaustion and pressure was far more painful than cutting people down. Even more terrifying was that the wounded were still being sent in endlessly, wounded people of every kind and variety.
"Wow! This is a lucky girl, her condition is improving! Bring me another hemostat, Angoulême. Here, clamp the blood vessel! Well done, Speyer, keep it up! Patina, wipe your eyes and face. And mine too..."
Finally, during this brief gap, Angoulême grabbed a nurse to replace herself, then sat on the steps outside the door and wiped her steel sword, taking up the promising job of "gatekeeper."
...
She recognized him. He was the knight who had brought in a certain noble not long ago. The viscount's name seemed to be Secian or Serian. In any case, he had been too badly wounded and died before there was time to treat him.
Now the middle-aged knight before her had pale skin, a thin face with sharp nasolabial folds, narrow brows twisted together, and a gloomy, cruel gaze.
In truth, the girl did not have to stop these knights. Although their spectrum leaned red in Eagle Eye, the color was very faint and pale, which meant their hostility was mainly not directed at her or Shani.
Then was it directed at the others inside the temporary hospital? She suddenly guessed what this man had brought people here to do. Putting herself in his place with her leader, perhaps she too would want to kill and slaughter.
But this would cause great chaos and render all her senior's hard work meaningless!
Recalling what she had seen in the hospital, she took a deep breath and stared into the other party's pupils. "Angoulême Corion. Knight, what is your name?"
Recognizing the girl as the assistant from inside earlier, the other party narrowed his eyes in some surprise. "Patrick de Weyze," he replied coldly.
What I'm doing is really stupid, Angoulême thought.
She slowly drew her weapon. Golden Eagle blocked horizontally before her. "Knight Patrick, I know what you're going to do, but this road is closed!"
The clouds were dense, and heavy rain was coming.
When the bystanders nearby saw someone draw a sword, they scattered one after another, while Patrick chuckled coldly. "Little girl, do you understand what you're doing? You're drawing a sword against a group of fully armed knights!"
One Rose Knight seemed to recognize Angoulême and stepped forward to whisper a few words to Patrick. The gloomy knight's expression changed.
Raising her thick brows, the girl exhaled and raised her voice. "I am Angoulême of the Phantom Troupe! If you insist on passing, then you can only step over my corpse!"
Patrick burst into laughter. "Hahaha, how interesting. Golden Eagle Angoulême! Since you are a mercenary with a name, you must be prepared to die when you draw your sword against knights!"
With a click, he shut his visor and roared, "Knights! Attack!"
...
"Killing is always killing, regardless of motive or circumstance. Those who have killed, or are prepared to kill, are evil men and criminals, no matter what identity they possess: king, prince, marshal, judge... Even one who considers violence carefully before committing it is no better than an ordinary criminal. For in essence, all violence inevitably leads to crime."
, Meditations on Life, Happiness and Prosperity
Nicodemus de Boot, first chancellor of Oxenfurt Academy and philosophy tutor
...
Dark clouds covered the sky, gray and gloomy, just like her mood.
She had once been a happy twelve-year-old girl, with a father who loved her, an honest, dutiful leather merchant, and a gentle, kind mother, a loving and simple housewife.
Their family's life in Vizima could not be called wealthy, but being able to live in the Temple Quarter was already quite a decent condition.
But all of that had turned to nothing in the riot. Her home had been set aflame, her father had fallen to the ground and been kicked and beaten, and her mother had been dragged into the haystack and assaulted.
Tears fell silently. She recognized the men doing it as several of the uncles who often delivered leather. They clearly were not usually like this. They had always been kind and friendly, and had even brought her candy.
...
"Find Shani and Angoulême. Help others afterward if I still have strength to spare."
Victor had thought this very rational idea would be easy to accomplish, but carrying it out was incredibly difficult. Especially when he saw five men surrounding a little girl, preparing to torment her in every way imaginable, the boy truly felt that some things were a crime if one merely stood by and watched.
Monsters! You deserve to die!
Drawing Blazing Strike, the boy gave no loud warning. He advanced and ambushed from behind, cutting open the backs of two men's necks.
Hearing the screams, the remaining three hurriedly drew their weapons and prepared to counterattack. Their weapons consisted of a pitchfork, a longsword, and an axe. But they immediately felt their movements become difficult and slow, as if they had sunk into a swamp.
This was the effect of the Yrden Sign. Victor spread his five fingers, bending his index and ring fingers back to form the Sign. Centered on the location where it was released, enemies within a certain distance would have their movements slowed by obstructive magic.
Then, like the choreographed killing scenes in Japanese films, the three men with the pitchfork, longsword, and axe struggled to swing their weapons in slow motion, while Victor moved smoothly and gracefully among them. In an instant, he spilled their organs across the ground.
Thunder suddenly cracked, lightning flashed, and raindrops the size of beans began to fall.
At least this girl he had saved did not scream in terror. Victor sheathed his sword, then took a cloak from his herbal satchel and draped it over her mother. She looked at death's door, but she would survive.
Her father climbed to his feet, panting, wanting to thank the boy, but when he saw those eyes, his voice immediately stuck in his throat.
"Er... you... may I ask, are you a monster hunter?" the leather merchant stammered.
Doing business in a large city, the leather merchant had of course seen witchers before, but this was his first time seeing one as special as the person before him.
The blue pupils were still round, but inside them were three layers of concentric circles, and nine small black dots were evenly distributed across the three rings in groups of three.
If Victor had to explain it himself, this had a technical term. It was called the Rinne Sharingan, or the Nine-Tomoe Rinnegan. That bastard Corion was only two years old, and his adolescent fantasies were beyond saving.
The boy nodded and lowered his voice. "Help your wife up and follow me. I'll take you to the Trade Quarter to hide on my way."
After saying that, Victor turned and walked onward through the rain, no longer looking at their family. Killing Spree really was extraordinary. Different from the exhilaration of killing a great villain, the stacking of small, certain joys was also quite nice, making him energetic now.
But the side effects were also intense. For one moment just now, he had the thought of cutting down the other three victims as well. Although the impulse was immediately suppressed, killing people really did have to be done with restraint.
...
"Killing must be done with restraint!"
That was what the boy thought in his heart, but once he had started, it was very hard to persuade himself to return to leaving people to die. After one or two times, he simply gave up on himself, drawing his blade whenever he saw injustice on the road.
Thus, by the time he finally led the leather merchant's family to the Middle Gate, their group had already expanded to more than twenty people, an extremely rare mixed group of nonhumans and humans. And all of them subconsciously kept their distance from the witcher.
Jethro, the squad leader responsible for guarding the Middle Gate, knew Victor. He moved aside the sandbags to let them pass. However, he was quite surprised to discover that Victor was escorting so many refugees. Of course, what shocked him even more were those eyes.
"Mr. Victor! Your... your eyes, what happened to them...?"
"Monster hunter," Victor answered briefly, breathing rapidly. But it was not because he was tired, it was because he was restraining the overwhelming power inside him that was almost impossible to suppress.
"Are you all right? You look terrible, and your eyes are completely red. Do you need to rest here for a while?" the squad leader asked.
Victor shook his head in refusal. Although Killing Spree was troublesome, good deeds did indeed receive good returns. Because the trail lost in the rain had actually reappeared in the gate tunnel as the scent of rowan flowers.
"Did Lady Shani pass through here? Was someone with her?"
"Ah... how did you know? Yes, Lady Shani and Lady Angoulême passed through here last night on their way to the Trade Quarter. The doctor even asked me where there was a temporary hospital. Truly a respectable lady."
"Where are the two of them now?"
"I had guards escort them to the frontline command post. It's at Natalis Square, across from Vivaldi Bank. The mayor and the captain are both there."
At last, he had obtained exact information. Victor patted Jethro's shoulder and pointed at the Licker corpse nearby. "Thank you. Also, stay alert. There may be even more dangerous monsters."
Taking out vitality broth and tawny owl to replenish his strength, the monster hunter continued forward.
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