The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

Chapter 61 Langvid of the Small Swamp

In the early morning, Ron and Erwin stood at the edge of the training field, the sunlight shining down from above, making the white and gray lines on the field gleam slightly.

The guards are getting new equipment. Brom's suggestion is very practical. The forging of full-body plate armor is too slow. Even with the help of water-powered forging hammers, it is still a very time-consuming task to forge more than twenty sets of plate armor.

His proposed transitional solution was plate armor, with an outer layer of brown coarse cloth and an inner layer of curved plates stacked and riveted together. It was lighter than full-body plate armor, and the production process and assembly were much simpler than full-body plate armor.

It is equipped with a helmet with a chainmail neck guard, shoulder armor, arm armor, and leg armor, with chainmail and armored clothing underneath. Its defensive capabilities are only slightly inferior to full plate armor, and it can be used as an alternative equipment for core troops in the future.

The Fionas did not change their clothes. They stood beside the weapon rack, handing out new plate armor to their companions one by one, while they themselves only received new T-shaped helmets and retied their old bearskin shawls.

One of the Fionas said something to his companion in Calradian, his expression indifferent, as if commenting that the wind was a bit strong that day.

"Their primary weapon is the bow and arrow," Karl said, standing next to Ron, his helmet tucked under his arm.

"Wearing plate armor would be too much of a problem. Full-face lamellar armor with a T-shaped helmet, with the inner lining unchanged, would not affect mobility or visibility."

They refuse to take off their bearskin shawls; they are a testament to their tradition and honor. Every bearskin in Fiona requires the bears they hunted themselves.

Ron nodded, shifting his gaze from Fiona to the direction of the arena fence, where a figure was getting up from the ground.

The man was wearing old training armor and holding a wooden sword, while Fiona opposite him didn't even have a starting stance.

He rushed forward, but was knocked away after less than two swings of his sword, falling backward into the sand. He then rolled over, braced himself on his elbows to stand up again, and aimed his sword at Fiona, ready to strike once more.

"Who is that?" Ron asked.

Erwin opened the whiteboard, where a few lines of notes were scribbled on it.

"He calls himself Longvid of the Little Swamp, and a few days ago he insisted on challenging the patrolling Fiona Champion at the entrance of Raven's Nest. It is said that he did this for a lady he admires and vowed to defeat a hundred knights."

The first time he was taken down by Fiona, he lasted less than three breaths. In order to continue the challenge, he simply joined the army and even boasted that he would beat all the guards down sooner or later.

Erwin paused, adjusted his glasses, and said, "I initially thought he was just a boastful guy, but he's challenged Fiona twenty-nine times, starting with three breaths and now able to last seven breaths without losing."

Langvid fell again inside the fence, this time struck in the back of the knee by Fiona's backhand strike, causing him to kneel on one knee. He knelt there, catching his breath, before getting up again.

Fiona across from him shouted something in Calradian, a brief sentence that Langvid couldn't understand, but he could guess the gist: "Stand up, let's try again."

Ron withdrew his gaze, turned and left: "Seven breaths, keep practicing."

Ron sat at his bedroom desk, his quill pen gliding across parchment. Every single expense, income from the estate, payroll, and trade settlements at Calard Estate and Raven's Nest required his personal confirmation and signature.

Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. Kayla stood in the doorway, not wearing her usual robe, but a light purple, deep-collared casual dress with the neckline open, revealing her delicate collarbones.

Her long, light blonde hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders, and she carried a bottle of blackberry mead. Light shone from behind her, outlining her silhouette with a soft edge. Ron paused, his pen still. "Kayla, what's wrong?"

Kayla rolled her eyes at him. "Aren't you welcome? Do I need something special to see our esteemed sergeant major?"

Before Ron could answer, she stepped in beside him, bringing with her a faint floral scent. Ron glanced at her helplessly and closed the door.

Kayla sat down at the table, unscrewed the cork, poured half a glass into each of the two glasses, and pushed one of them toward Ron.

He leaned back in his chair, took a sip, and then glanced around the room filled with documents and maps.

"You know what?" she said, her tone less sharp than usual, with a touch of languor, as if she were just saying it casually.

"I never imagined I would one day adapt to a place like this, without palace gardens, lavish banquets, or people vying to flatter you."

It was just a swamp, a dilapidated manor, and a guy who signed autographs every time we met, but I think it's not so bad now.

Ron picked up his glass but didn't answer. She was telling the truth, and the truth doesn't need agreement.

Kayla looked up at him, scrutinizing him. "What are you thinking about? You never seem to mention the past."

"There's not much to say. Back then in Calradia, the empire's territory was too vast, and there were rebellions and uprisings everywhere. My memories are almost entirely of military camps, battlefields, soldiers surrounding me, and endless transfer orders to sign."

Kayla didn't let him finish; she interrupted him by changing the subject, her tone suddenly becoming lighter.

"Remember? Someone promised me a huge favor in the cellar of the Hunchback Swamp, and that should be considered a formal request. Now it's time to fulfill that promise."

Ron nodded, readily agreeing. He put down his cup and began listing what he could offer: the latest dresses, newly released perfumes, and rare magical materials. He would arrange for Erwin to go to Novigrad to purchase them tomorrow.

"No need for that," Kayla's voice suddenly came very close. Before Ron could react, her lips were sealed with a kiss, soft and warm, carrying the lingering sweetness of mead. "I can get it myself."

Before being overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the person opposite him, Ron's last thought was that the contract did not mention that he had to repay in this way. Then his thoughts were paused by the hand that was unbuttoning his collar.

Outside the window, the waterwheel on the river was still turning, the rhythmic clanging of the forging hammer accompanied by the soft whistling of the wind, one after another, without stopping all night.

The next day, in Kayla's laboratory, Gretka pushed open the door, rubbing her sleepy eyes, a tuft of hair still sticking up above her ear, yawning as she walked to the lab table and plopped down on a high stool.

Kayla emerged from behind the bookshelf, glanced at her, and said, "Didn't you sleep well? Why do you look like this?"

"Teacher, there were strange noises last night that kept me awake all night."

Gretka yawned again, wiping away the tears that had welled up in her eyes: "It sounds like the wind, but not quite, it keeps making a whirring sound."

Kayla raised her glass to cover half her face, took a small sip, and said, "Oh, that's probably a mouse."

Gretka's little face scrunched up, clearly not entirely convinced: "Really? Are mice that noisy? And why does it feel like they're coming from..."

Kayla placed her teacup on the table, her clear voice interrupting her question.

"Alright, snap out of it. Today's lesson is about practicing the control and manipulation of magic. It's time to put those basic spells you copied down last week into practice."

Gretka pouted, lowered her head and opened the thick book, scribbled a few lines on the paper with her pen, and then secretly glanced at Kayla.