The Witcher: Grinding Experience Starting as a Wolf School Witcher

Chapter 78 Diaomin

Margot collapsed to the ground, red liquid flowing from her lower abdomen, staining her gray robe.

"Oh! My stomach! My stomach!"

She opened her lips wide and let out a hysterical scream.

Logan's initial worry turned into ecstasy and ferocity. He lunged forward, grabbed the corner of the temple door with his left hand, and pushed it open forcefully.

He raised the machete in his right hand, its rusty blade flashing with a dull luster, and swiftly brought it down toward Mia's pale face.

At the critical moment, a dark figure appeared out of nowhere in front of Logan.

The dark brown spiked boots slammed out, the powerful force striking Logan squarely in the lower chest.

Logan's face contorted, and he hunched over.

"Ugh!"

As he spat out his saliva, his body flew backward at an astonishing speed, like a cannonball, and crashed heavily to the ground.

"Wow!"

A large amount of fresh blood gushed from his mouth.

There was a noticeable collapse in the lower chest area, and a broken rib was inserted into the heart.

Logan's vision went black, and he gradually stopped breathing.

Arwen emerged from the shadows of the temple gate, his cold cat-like eyes beneath the hood staring intently at the grey-clad Margot lying on the ground.

The latter sat on the steps, the smugness in his eyes vanished, and his body trembled violently. This time, he couldn't fake it anymore.

Alwin twitched his nose and sniffed the air; the smell of rust and blood was mixed with a foul odor.

"Stained blood, no, it smells like human blood too..."

"Mia."

Nannick ran over and helped Mia up as she swayed.

A cold, silver knife was stuck in her lower abdomen.

Mia gasped in pain, looking at her bright red hands, her voice trembling with panic, "I...I'm bleeding..."

"Let me help you inside," Nannick said urgently. "Don't be afraid, Mia, it's just a dinner knife, it's alright, it's alright."

With that, her usually gentle gaze turned fierce as she looked at Alwin. "Witcher, please, I have to help her first, then I'll help you."

Arwen's cat-like eyes narrowed, anger making his heart race, and he stepped out of the temple gate completely.

With his right hand over his shoulder, he gripped the hilt of the sword with a gauntlet studded with silver nails, raising the broad sword high in the air.

Margot, dressed in gray robes, stared with wide, triangular eyes, his hands flailing backward.

She saw a strong murderous intent in the cat's eyes as they drew closer.

She tried to run away, screaming in terror.

"Don't come any closer! Monster! Monster! Help..."

"Troublemakers."

A deep voice came from Alwin's throat.

A silver light fell, the sword wind was fierce, and the blade of the giant sword cleaved directly at her head. Flesh, bone fragments, and milky white liquid exploded, splattering all over the ground.

Alwin stepped forward, raised his right foot, and kicked the still convulsing body.

An object covered in red liquid was kicked out of Margot's body, tracing a graceful arc in the air.

The thread had come undone, and red and white duck down was spilling out; it was a round pillow.

His gaze looked down.

The steps of the Temple of Meriteli were bathed in the yellow-red light of the setting sun.

Baron Marcus came from the crowd and cried out in grief.

"No!"

"It was the Witcher, that infamous freak, who killed my woman!"

"This damned place not only has infanticide witches, but also witchers who steal our children!"

"They are all criminals, murderers!"

"Citizens of Cordwin, let us slaughter them all and hang these vile bastards at the city gates!"

These words ignited a volatile situation, like a powder keg that had been set ablaze.

The protesters behind them raised their weapons—sickles, flails, and hoes—and shouted insults.

Amidst the cawing of crows from the weeping willows not far away, a group of twenty people rushed out quickly.

The ten men at the front wore silver armor with blue-green stripes tattooed on their chests, each holding a halberd in their right hand and a square shield in their left.

The ten men behind them wore leather armor, had long, strong arms, held longbows, had quivers hanging from their waists, and sharp eyes.

The fact that these twenty men were fully armed and instinctively positioned themselves indicated that they were definitely elite soldiers from among the nobility.

Arwen cast a Quen sign, and blue light swirled around him.

Anyone with eyes can see that the other party had planned this all along.

The man holding a pitchfork, his face flushed, rushed up the steps and forcefully stabbed at Alwin.

The latter turned sideways with his right foot as the center, easily dodging the pitchfork's attack.

Then the greatsword swept out horizontally, its light flashing, the blade slicing through his abdomen and cutting him in half at the waist. Blood and internal organs splattered on the steps, emitting warm white smoke.

"what!"

He screamed in agony as his two body parts tumbled down the steps.

This horrifying scene briefly intimidated the mob.

The black figure leaped down the steps, its cloak billowing in the strong wind.

The heavy sword slashed down with tremendous force, tearing through the crowd and instantly slicing off the shoulder of a rioter holding a flail.

The mob stared wide-eyed at Alwin, his broken right arm still attached to the flesh, dangling in the air.

His eyes widened, he staggered backward, and screamed.

They were used to bullying the weak and fearing the strong, and never imagined that the people of Meritelli would actually kill people.

Alwin didn't care about any of that. He bent his knees, exhaled a breath of foul air, and pushed off with his right foot, shooting off wildly.

He twisted his waist, and the giant sword in his hand spun like a whirlwind, drawing three dark arcs.

[Whirling Blade] is triggered, limbs and flesh fly everywhere, and screams continue.

Arwin looked up and locked his gaze on Baron Marcus, who was not far away.

The latter was terrified by that look and shouted in a panic, "Quick, stop him! Stop this monster!"

The halberd guard beside him snapped out of his daze, gripped the halberd handle, and pushed aside the mob in front of him. His armor gleamed with a metallic sheen and made a sharp scraping sound.

His lips, hidden beneath the metal nose guard, parted to their maximum, and he roared.

"Freak!"

"Go to hell!"

As the sharp halberd thrust forward, Arwen raised his left hand and formed a hand seal.

Orange-red flames rapidly grew from his palm and were unleashed in a fan-shaped attack.

Flames coiled around the two halberd guards like tentacles, scorching their metal armor.

"what!"

The halberd soldiers screamed, billowing white smoke rose from their metal armor, accompanied by the sizzling sound of roasting meat.

"Witchcraft! It's witchcraft!"

Baron Marcus had already rushed up behind the armored guards who were arriving.

"Shoot the archers! Forget the protesters, just shoot him dead!"

The archers at the rear of the column received the order and nocked their arrows.

"call out!"

One of the arrows was fired first.

Arwen [Dual Soul] caught the trajectory and quickly rushed to the flank, his left hand reaching out to grab a mob member by the collar.

The mob looked panicked, their yellowed teeth snapping open and closing as they uttered pleas for mercy.

"No! Please, let me go!"