Psionic Ascension Starting with The Witcher

As it turned out, Brøndane was right.

There was plenty of food in the bandit camp, mostly dried meat.

only……

These are all human flesh.

There are indeed children here, but they are kept in cages, like lambs to the slaughter.

Outside the camp, Brondan watched this scene, his face immediately turning grim. By this time, he had led his men to eliminate all the sentries, and Drakarov had completed the encirclement from the other side.

So he couldn’t wait to order an attack, vowing to kill all these inhuman bastards.

"kill!"

With a roar, Brondan charged forward, raising his greatsword. A bandit instinctively raised his sword to parry, but his broken sword was no match for the powerful blow and snapped in two the instant they made contact.

The heavy sword slashed into his shoulder, easily breaking through his shoulder blade and ribs, then slicing through his internal organs, and finally leaving from under his ribs.

This person was thus cut in two.

Effensor couldn't help but glance at Brondann with an envious look. His gaze was fixed on Brondann's two-handed greatsword.

"A divine weapon."

He thought to himself, "This is truly a rare treasure. The steel sword in Effensor's hand is of good quality, but compared to Brondann's greatsword that can cut through iron like mud, it's just junk."

Effensor snapped out of his reverie and focused on the battle at hand.

"Whoosh!"

A stray arrow flew by, but he caught it with ease.

The arrows were terrible, flint arrowheads, only good for hunting small prey; the bow was also terrible, weak and feeble.

Effensor turned his head and saw a hunter-like man who pulled out another arrow, intending to shoot Effensor.

But when he nocked the arrow, he found that the white-haired man had already rushed to him in three steps and raised his left hand.

What is he going to do?

Before the hunter could think any further, he saw a purple light emanate from Effensor's palm, which then suddenly transformed into three slender magical chains that grabbed his ankles.

Effensor raised his left hand, then clenched his fingers sharply, pulling the man to the ground. He then gripped his longsword in his right hand and stabbed the man twice.

One sword to the throat, one sword to the heart—the hunter-dressed fellow froze instantly and walked away swiftly.

Effensor reflected on his earlier experience and concluded that this method of improving the Arden sign was indeed feasible.

Perhaps it's more effective to attack or disrupt the opponent simply by using magically generated purple chains, rather than focusing on completely trapping them.

While this eliminates the effect of suppressing trapped enemies, it also avoids the need for full concentration, leading to the drawback of not being able to do other things while maintaining magic.

The only downside is that the flaw of the improved signs consuming too much magic power has not been fixed. Those three tiny chains require a massive amount of magic power to maintain their existence, control their movement in the air, and ensure they accurately entangle the enemy.

Effensor glanced at the battlefield, then wiped the blood off his sword and sheathed it.

These guys are truly professional soldiers; they kill with ease and are incredibly skilled.

Almost every previous battle was similar to this one.

Even when facing the Nilfgaardian army, these soldiers could demonstrate "efficiency," let alone these bandits.

When the massacre ended, the heads of the twenty-three bandits, plus the three sentries who had been killed earlier, a total of twenty-eight heads, were thrown together and piled up into a small mountain.

Derakarov and the others from Cordwin began cleaning up the battlefield, searching for valuables and stuffing them into their pockets, just like before.

All the children who had been locked up like livestock were released. Brondan used Ciri's portrait to compare them one by one, and washed their hair with clean water to see if there were any children with gray hair.

Gitov even pinched his nose as he rummaged through the scattered corpses and bones.

Affinso assisted throughout the process to ensure that no clue was overlooked.

However, they still hadn't found anything by noon.

Brendan was slightly disappointed, but mostly relieved.

If even a single gray hair were found among those corpses, his mind would probably break down...

After everyone had gathered everything in the camp together, including the disgusting jerky and rotting corpses, Effensor set it ablaze with the Igni sign.

The fire raged fiercely, releasing a pungent, tarry smell.

This smell is absolutely... disgusting.

They then released all the children and continued on to the next location.

Whether these children will survive depends on their own luck...

After traveling for about a day through the mountains of Streep, they successfully arrived at a refugee camp marked on the spy's map, only to find it deserted.

The campfire had been extinguished for a long time, and the embers had been scattered by the wind, indicating that the people here had been gone for quite some time.

The messy campsite was littered with supplies that hadn't been taken with them. All sorts of storage containers were open, their contents scattered all over the ground.

There were large amounts of dark purple bloodstains on the ground, as well as several rotting and foul-smelling remains.

Effensor crouched down and searched the ground carefully, finding a large number of horse hoof prints, disordered but numerous, indicating that they had entered the camp from the east and left from the southeast.

When he unearthed a fragment of a headdress unique to the Uxika cavalry—a horn resembling a spearhead—the identity of the intruder became clear.

"Damn Nilfgaardians," Gitov cursed.

Brondan simply shook his head and ordered a search of the ruins.

But he seemed to have some concerns and specifically called Drakalov to discuss it.

Before they went far away, Effensor only heard a few scattered words.

"...Are they also looking for the princess?"

"The emperor may have issued orders to many people at the same time..."

Effensor recalled that many days ago, when Brondaen spoke of Ciri's sightings, he mentioned that the group of refugees Ciri was with had been slaughtered by Nausicaä's cavalry.

The situation back then was probably the same as it is now.

However, when he interrogated the group of spies, Brondan used all his methods, and the guy even revealed things like having an illegitimate child, but he didn't mention the massacre of refugees by the Usika Division cavalry.

Did he genuinely not know? Or was he actually a tough guy who would rather die than reveal this information?

Effensor didn't think that guy was the latter.

It seems that Emperor Emhyr considers this an important task. Sending only one force is not enough to reassure him, and the two known forces may not even be the entire force; he may have sent many people in succession.

These people did not know each other, whether for reasons of secrecy or other reasons.

As night fell, although there was still no trace of Ciri, there was a considerable amount of food left behind. Although most of it had rotted in the hot summer, some of the less perishable dried bread, dried fruit, dried fish, and other items kept Effensor and the others' saddlebags from drying out.

Because no one was familiar with the terrain of the Streep Mountains, even though they were in a great hurry, Brondan did not dare to order them to travel at night, but instead chose to set up camp and rest for the night.

This continued for some time afterward.

The chaotic state of the Streep Mountains severely hampered their progress.

Refugees kill each other for a bite to eat. Bandits also roam the area; these people were once just local thugs, but after the collapse of order, they went into the mountains, took up knives, and transformed into ruthless killers in the blink of an eye.

They were even attacked by a troop of Nausicaä cavalry while negotiating with a refugee group.

This startled not only those present but also alerted the ambush troops in the woods.

While Brondaen was asking the refugees about Ciri, the refugees' leader—a former baron of Sintra—had already laid an ambush, ready to attack them as Brondaen left.

Effensor witnessed all of this, and not only him, but Delacroix also sensed something was amiss. After all, it was hard not to be suspicious when a large group of people suddenly left in droves carrying weapons and then didn't return for a long time.

The other party's intentions were too obvious, and they even seemed to be treating Brundane and his group like fools.

The sudden appearance of the Ushika cavalry then ignited the situation, turning it into a three-way melee.

The refugee group, Brondan's party, and Nausicaä's cavalry clashed, leaving the grasslands awash in blood.

In the end, Brøndane led his men to wipe out most of the Nilfgaardians, captured the refugee leader—the baron—and then swiftly beheaded him.

Unfortunately, they lost two men in the melee, and there was no trace of Ciri.

By the end of the 13-day period, they had searched seven of the twelve locations but had not found any trace of them.

Luck did not smile upon them, or perhaps the spy had deceived them; Streep was not Ciri's hiding place at all.

Or perhaps something even worse...

Brondan didn't even want to think about it. Finding the princess had become his obsession and long-cherished wish. As for the original restoration of his kingdom? He was almost ready to give up on it. It was simply... an unattainable dream.

But if he couldn't find the princess, he couldn't think of any meaning in his life.

On the morning of the final day, Bronn stood atop a peak in the Stryp Mountains, watching the sunrise on the horizon, and felt a chilling despair.

In the distance, the Nilfgaardian army stretched out like a dark, ant-like mass.

They swept in slowly like a black tide. Although they were not fast, in Brundane's eyes, this black tide was like a world-destroying storm, swallowing up everything in its path.

The entire Sintra has been destroyed, and even the entire north has not been spared.

They couldn't stop them...

Compared to Brondann's utter despair, the two people standing beside him displayed completely different attitudes.

De Lakarov was indifferent and had absolutely no reaction.

Instead, Gitov's fighting spirit was ignited, his eyes filled with hatred and rage. In his eyes, these people were enemies who had invaded and destroyed his homeland, enemies he would spend his whole life defeating.

……

As for Morian and his group following behind them, they were already exhausted.

Their horses were inferior to those of Effensor and his men, and they were unfamiliar with the terrain. When they reached a five-way intersection, the large number of refugees gathered there saw Morian and his men rushing towards them and immediately scattered and fled.

Now, footprints were everywhere on all four roads, and most of the traces left by Effensor and the others were cleared away in the chaos. Coincidentally, a light rain started at that moment, washing away all traces completely.

Although Morian charged through the refugee crowd several times in a fit of rage, it was all in vain.

If they hadn't gotten information from a few escaped Nausicaä cavalrymen that allowed them to re-locate Effensor and his men, they would have truly lost track of them.

Morian had already given up hope. When he discovered that only two of the twenty-odd Nausicaä cavalrymen had returned alive, he realized his mistake—these fierce men were beyond their capabilities.

However, despite his explanations, his nephew refused to accept them and insisted on doing his part for the empire by wiping out the northern spies who were hostile to the empire.

This gave Morian a real headache.

In terms of position, he was higher than his nephew. But in terms of status, as someone from a collateral branch, he was far inferior to the only son of the main family and the heir to the family fortune.

Morian was able to teach his nephew like a teacher because of his seniority and extensive experience.

But if he really offends this nephew who is wholeheartedly loyal to the empire, and his cousin passes away while his nephew ascends to the throne, he will inevitably make things difficult for him. He might even use himself as a tool to establish his authority after taking power.

Faced with immediate dangers and a bleak future, Morian finally made his decision after much deliberation.

Keep following.

During the two days he hesitated and delayed, Morian noticed that his nephew's gaze towards him had changed.

It was the look of scrutinizing a "traitor".

Morian didn't know if it was just his imagination, but he could sense that his nephew's attitude towards him was indeed deteriorating rapidly, and it looked like it was about to turn into hostility.

He was genuinely afraid that his nephew might suddenly turn on him... so Morian decided to continue pursuing the matter and buy some time.

……

Brøndane had to make a decision.

Leaving the Streep Mountains to avoid the Nilfgaardians' raids, they crossed the Amer Mountains, then the Amash Mountains, and finally stopped temporarily in the Soden region to make further plans.

but……

Effensor knew that this already meant failure.

They gained nothing.

If Ciri were still in Streep, she would either have been captured or died in the chaos during the subsequent sweep by the Nilfgaardian army.

If Ciri isn't in Streep, it means they've lost all clues, and continuing the search is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Effensor knew Ciri wouldn't die; he was just curious how Ciri later ended up training in Kaer Morhen.

Is his memory faulty?

Or has his appearance already disrupted the development of the world line?

……

On the road leading to the Amer Mountains.

Twenty-two days have passed, and it is now mid-August. Compared to when they arrived, excluding Effensor, the entire team now consists of only 20 people. Only five Sintra warriors remain, and the Cordwinians have suffered even greater losses, losing a total of seven men.

Everything seemed to have returned to the beginning; everyone's expressions were the same as when they first arrived in Sintra and entered that forest full of corpses—they were expressionless.

For the Sintra people in the group, not finding the princess meant no hope of restoring their kingdom. With the Sintra royal bloodline extinguished and no one on the continent left with a legitimate claim to the Kingdom of Sintra, its annexation by Nilfgaard was inevitable.

For the people of Cordwin, failing to complete the mission of "finding the princess" as mercenaries meant receiving far less pay than expected, and also a blow to their reputation in the trade.

In the silence, Gitov's voice suddenly rang out.

"footprint?"

He suddenly reined in his horse and looked down at his feet in confusion.

Hearing the sound, everyone looked over and, sure enough, there were a lot of messy footprints at the front of the group.

These footprints came from the woods on the left side of the road, suggesting that many people had emerged from the woods and come to this mountain path.

There were a lot of people, a huge number, probably several hundred.

Effensor dismounted and walked closer to examine the horse closely.

Among these footprints were some small ones, seemingly belonging to children. Most people were barefoot, while a few wore shoes.

"refugee?"

He muttered to himself, while Brondan, seemingly regained his hope, lay sprawled on the ground, staring intently at the footprints.

Although he knew nothing about tracking, doing so was completely pointless.

But he did it anyway...

The next moment, a color that was distinctly different from the surrounding environment suddenly flashed in Effensor's peripheral vision.

He immediately turned his head to look, and there was a strand of hair that had fallen to the ground. It was grayish-white, thin and long, and was hanging on a leaf, quietly looking up at the sky.

Effensor looked incredulous as he gently picked it up; he had never imagined such a situation, such a possibility.

He lifted his hair, and in the sunlight, everyone could see that grayish-white sliver.

"……destiny?"

He murmured, "Affinso doesn't know why all this is happening. It's like a dramatic story where fate brings them hope just when they're at their lowest point."

Was it the hand of fate at work?

Come again?

He couldn't help but think.

Although it is not entirely certain, and although it is likely a fallacy.

But to Brundane, that strand of hair was like a straw, and he was a desperate drowning man.

That was gray, the color of hope.

When he saw gray, he thought of the princess, and of everything in the future, as if Sintra could be rebuilt tomorrow.

So... he had no choice but to pour all his hopes into it.

"Chase after them!"

Brondaen roared with all his might, his voice filled with ecstasy, excitement, and a sense of relief at surviving a catastrophe.

The others were the same; they were all excited, as if the princess were right in front of them and the mission was about to succeed.

Amid the joyous atmosphere, only Affinso remained calm.

He put the hair in his pocket, but felt no joy.

Effensor, on the contrary, felt a sense of urgency, as if dark clouds were looming over the city, as if it were the eve of a storm.

Is this really just luck?

But all of this feels so unreal...

Effensor had a feeling that something bad was about to happen.

A storm is brewing; the wind blows first.