Chapter 51: From Now On, Riches and Glory, Big Golden Tickets
The tall knight gradually closed his hand around Istrad's neck.
An opportunity to kill a member of the royal family was not one that was presented to everyone.
Not to mention, when he returned, he would have high honor and the fine reward that was waiting for him from the King of Lyria.
He would receive a large area of fertile land and the title of a noble earl.
Although a knight could not exactly be considered a noble, he was practically the lowest of the low among nobles.
The moment he became an earl, he would no longer be ordered about, but a high-ranking blue-blooded nobleman.
Just as the tall knight was dreaming of a bright future.
Bang!
The door behind the tall knight was kicked open.
Unconsciously, the tall knight raised the two-handed giant sword and drew it back with force.
In his opinion.
If it was Istrad's minion, after seeing Istrad was trapped in his hand, he would definitely be overwhelmed by the impulse to save his master and rush over right away.
Then the two-handed giant sword swung over would hit the target directly.
Still, Lynn did not jump over right away, but dodged the swinging giant sword by a forward roll.
On the other hand, the tall knight's action of swinging the giant sword opened his door wide and exposed his weak points. After being shut in by Lynn, he could not make an effective defense.
Lynn drew out his sword and stabbed it into the gap in the greaves on the tall knight's right knee.
Even if he were fully armored, there would be gaps in places that needed to move.
The tall knight pained and involuntarily dropped Istrad, the "cargo." His right leg could not support him even standing straight, so he used force with his left leg and dove at Lynn.
That is, according to him, at such a close range, Lynn couldn't help but dodge. If he were knocked over, then definitely he would be capable of counterattacking.
However, to the tall knight's astonishment, Lynn swept past him like a gust of wind.
His hands swung in the air, grasping at nothing. Nothing but the hard earth was there to greet him.
Ignoring the dizziness from the fall, the tall knight tried to get up. As soon as his arm bore the weight of the ground, he was powerfully kicked on the side of the head.
His head was saved by the full helmet, yet he was toppled over, face up.
The figure at once leapt onto him, opened the armor of his helmet, and got his hand directly on his face.
Before he could wriggle, he heard a cold voice.
"Aard."
Bang!
Blood gushed like exploding watermelon juice. Lynn let go of his hand, only to discover that the face of the tall knight was indented as if struck by a warhammer, and it was obviously impossible to survive.
He wiped his bloody hands on the sheets on the bed, then turned to Istrad, who was clutching his neck and gasping for air.
"Lord Istrad, are you alright?"
"I. I'm fine, thank you, Master Lynn."
Istrad could feel the scrapes on his neck, which were grazed by the iron gloves of the tall knight.
But now was not the time to pay attention to this.
He said anxiously.
"Master Lynn, we need to depart as quickly as possible."
Actually, Istrad had been extremely on guard throughout the journey.
It wasn't until he stepped foot on Tretogor soil that Istrad lowered his guard.
Since Tretogor possessed numerous Tyssen family branches, it was also Istrad's second hometown.
He contemplated that he might be ambushed but never believed it would be in the Duchy of Tretogor.
Istrad had but a single thought left other than that of being lucky for surviving the disaster:
It was to return to Tretogor City as soon as possible.
Only then could he truly be protected and safe.
But Lynn grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into the room.
"We cannot venture out. They will set up ambushes outside. We are safest in the inn."
A sound of footsteps was heard in the hallway outside just then.
Lynn made some motions, commanding Istrad to hide in the corner of the wall farthest from the window.
He himself slid along to the wall beside the door.
He cast a Quen shield and drew Gwyhyr, ready to fight.
.
Four or five killers stood outside the door.
Their companions had attracted Istrad's men to the first floor of the inn.
Istrad never showed up on the first floor, so he was likely still on the second floor.
Their leader and second-in-command had reached the second floor stealthily before the assault was officially launched.
But strangely, there was complete silence on the entire second floor.
They did not know what had happened, but they knew that the mission would be fulfilled only if they went back with the head of Istrad.
So these assassins did not hesitate.
Having looked at each other, they rushed in.
The one rushing forward had just seen Istrad trembling in the corner and the tall knight on the floor with his face ruined when a cold light fell rapidly.
It fell on his face.
There was the slicing sound of blade through flesh and bone.
The assassin had no time to even raise his weapon to parry and was already sliced across the face by the sword.
Then, he experienced a kick.
As his body toppled backwards, the cold-glowing sword also separated from his face.
It drew an arc in the air, from a vertical slash to a horizontal slash, and slashed down hard on the stomach of the next close assassin.
The extremely sharp Gwyhyr effortlessly cut through the leather armor that covered the assassin's body.
Blood gushed out happily.
The third assassin raised his hand crossbow.
This was not the war crossbow wielded by the regular army. This was a smaller one, and its range and strength were relatively less.
However, the advantage was that it was portable and light.
His experience of killing people told him that since the Witcher had just turned his body and swung his sword, he could not dodge the crossbow bolt at short range.
Nobody could.
Not even a Witcher.
The crossbow's trigger was pulled.
The crossbow's string whined.
The crossbow's bolt shot out.
But before it could hit the Witcher, it was deflected by a shining orange shield that suddenly appeared.
The crossbow bolt arced upwards with a metallic screech, whirled into the air, and finally embedded itself into the beam of the room.
At this sight, the assassin quickly threw the hand crossbow at Lynn as a hidden weapon.
Lynn did not even sidestep.
The master-level Quen shield was no longer a brittle piece of glass that would break upon the first impact.
The thrown hand crossbow was not as lethal as the crossbow bolt, let alone penetrate the defenses of the Quen shield.
He did not even flinch, and plunged the bloodied sword into the stomach of the third assassin.
The last assassin swung his long sword at Lynn from above.
But he missed the Witcher.
Lynn evaded and drew Gwyhyr.
Then he slashed his sword backwards.
This sword was too swift and too accurate. The last assassin did not even feel it.
When he tried to attack again, his legs were already out of control.
It was only when the killer landed headfirst on his partner's body, who had passed away, that he realized his legs had been cut off by Lynn at some time.
He screamed in terror and tried to stand up, but his legs, having lost the lower portion beneath the knee, were not under his control.
Finally, among the dispersed corpses, his head dropped, and his body was covered with the constantly dripping red liquid.
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