"According to the original plan," the witch began, her tone calm but heavy with fatigue, "our people were supposed to lie in ambush near the harbor. Once the Black Ship docked to resupply, they would coordinate with our insider aboard the ship to strike from within and without, seize the three targets, and then hand them over to you. You would escort the three to your territory, hide them, and protect them until the Holy Knight Expeditionary Force arrives to take them away."
Aldric listened carefully, his sharp mind already catching a crucial flaw. "Why me?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Why do you need me to take them away and protect them? Why not simply do it yourselves? Why involve an outsider like me at all?"
Beside him, the female warrior Vittoria nodded solemnly, her expression feigning confusion while she secretly sent a short message to Aldric through her comms: "Comrade, you've hit the key point! I think we're about to make a fortune again!"
Aldric shot her a look but kept his composure. His expression turned serious—so serious it could rival the face of a diplomatic spokesman solemnly assuring allied nations of Cathay's "fair and impartial commitment to mutual interests."
"The reason is simple," the witch replied coolly. "Our people must hold off the nuns to buy you time for a safe retreat." Her eyes flickered slightly. "However, with the current change in plans, you'll have to take on more responsibility than before."
"I don't believe that's the whole truth," the witcher said flatly. His tone was calm, but his gaze was sharp and penetrating. You're hiding something, his eyes seemed to say. And I know it.
The witch hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. You'll find out sooner or later anyway—because of your blood."
"My blood?" Aldric's brow furrowed. He knew his blood was unusual, but he'd always assumed the witches sought him out for his identity as a Witcher or perhaps because of his mentor, Sir Gonz, who had some prior connection with the Witch Coven. Never did he expect that his blood itself was the real reason.
"Yes. Your blood," the witch confirmed, locking eyes with him. "During the battle when you exterminated those Nurgle cultists, we obtained a sample of it."
She paused before adding, "In fact, it was your mentor who handed it to me. He wanted to know whether the extraordinary power flowing within you was a blessing of Chaos—or a natural, anti-Chaos constitution."
"Fortunately," she said softly, "it's the latter."
Though Aldric had long grown used to strange revelations, hearing that his teacher had secretly tested his blood left him with an unpleasant chill. He could understand Gonz's caution—after all, it was a witcher's duty to suspect corruption—but that didn't make the discovery sting any less.
"So what?" Aldric asked coldly. "What does my blood have to do with the mission?" He wasn't sure if this was another one of the witch's manipulations—perhaps a petty attempt to sow discord between him and his mentor—or if she was actually telling the truth.
"That's exactly the point, young witcher," the witch said, her tone growing animated. "Your blood possesses extraordinary power! It not only suppresses chaos energy and burns the corrupted—it can even purify." She leaned forward, eyes shining. "If a witch drinks your fresh blood, she can temporarily return to being human!"
Her words made Knight Bart, standing quietly in the corner, suddenly raise his head. His eyes glimmered with hope. No matter what, he wished for his daughter Carla to live an ordinary, peaceful life—a far cry from the perilous existence of a witch walking the edge of death and damnation.
But the witch's next words shattered that fragile hope.
"Of course, it's not permanent," she clarified. "Just one ounce of your fresh blood can turn a newly awakened witch into an unremarkable peasant girl for about an hour."
She paused, her gaze turning analytical. "But the blood loses its power if it's separated from your body for more than three breaths. The Witch Coven hasn't yet found a way to replicate this effect or to store your blood properly. No matter what method we use, its potency fades within moments."
Aldric exhaled slowly. "So, what you're saying is…" He raised an eyebrow. "While escaping, I'll need to feed them my blood every hour to keep their witch powers suppressed—so they won't lose control and alert the nuns chasing us."
He gave a faint, humorless smile. "And then what? I can't protect them forever."
"It will only be for about a month," the witch replied. "By then, even if they can't control their powers, the arrival of the Holy Knigts will force the nuns to withdraw."
Aldric silently began calculating. A month. That meant it would all come down to blood volume.
The average adult's blood makes up about eight percent of their body weight. In the real world, Aldric stood 180 centimeters tall and weighed around 100 kilograms. Thanks to his gene modifications, his muscle and bone density were far beyond normal human levels, giving him that solid weight.
That meant he carried roughly 8,000 milliliters of blood—about 282 ounces. But only twenty percent of that was "reserve blood," not actively circulating.
In a normal person, losing more than 1,500 milliliters of blood would cause blurred vision, dizziness, confusion, and possibly unconsciousness.
Aldric, however, wasn't a normal person. As a witcher, he frequently injured himself deliberately to gain tactical advantages in battle. Based on his estimation, supporting four witches—three captives plus the newly awakened Carla—would push him right to the limits of his regenerative ability. Any serious injury on top of that could easily become fatal.
"Unfortunately," the witch continued, "that plan is no longer possible. Because the Black Ship arrived early, we don't have enough manpower. The three high-level transcendents we hired won't be able to reach us in time."
She gave a weary sigh, then forced a wry smile. "The good news is, if our new plan succeeds, we won't need to hide from the nuns at all. The bad news…" She hesitated. "The bad news is, we'll have to rely entirely on your team to break through the Black Ship's defenses. Once you're onboard, our magic will be suppressed. You'll be on your own."
Everyone's eyes turned toward the witcher.
The assassin lying on the floor looked like he'd rather crawl home immediately. The newly recruited Liam waited nervously for his superior's orders. Vittoria, ever pragmatic, believed Aldric was the best person to negotiate. Even Knight Bart held his breath—his daughter's fate hung on Aldric's decision.
Aldric looked at his quest interface, then glanced at Liam's anxious face. After a moment of silence, he exhaled and said, "Witcher Aldric and his warband are at your service, madam."
The room collectively exhaled. Some were relieved, some satisfied with the deal struck, and others like the assassin felt as if their hearts had just been stomped on.
Without another word, Aldric swept the witch's trinkets off the table and pulled a folded map from his spatial pouch. It was a detailed layout of Port Anthony. He spread it flat across the table, his tone calm but authoritative.
"Step aside, madam," he said, his expression sharp and confident. "Now—let the professionals handle this."
(End of Chapter)