Chapter 4: The Way of Roar
"Teacher, I want to practice sword fighting."
Arthur stood up, his tone so firm that Kolgrim could hardly believe his ears.
This child had been preoccupied since waking up this morning, so why did he suddenly want to practice sword fighting?
Could it be that, after seeing ordinary people struggle for survival, he decided to become a Witcher?
Kolgrim couldn't help but worry. What he had said earlier, that Arthur's age was too great for the Witcher trials, was not a lie.
To become a Witcher, one must undergo several dangerous trials. First is the Trial of the Choices, designed to enhance strength and speed.
This trial requires dieting alongside high-intensity training; even a slight mistake can cause irreparable damage.
As for the subsequent Trial of the Grasses, Kolgrim dared not hold any illusions if the former could be overcome with will and potions, the latter was entirely a gamble with one's life.
In the Trial of the Grasses, the apprentice's body undergoes massive and thorough changes under the influence of mutagens. Even among the most pliable children, only three or four out of ten survive.
As for Arthur, his bones had already closed, and his body's malleability was infinitely close to that of an adult, making it almost impossible for him to survive the Trial of the Grasses.
And without the reaction speed, enhanced senses, and various resistances brought by the Trial of the Grasses, his risk of hunting monsters would be dozens of times greater than that of an ordinary Witcher…
After hesitating for a long time, Kolgrim still voiced his concerns, hoping the other party would reconsider.
Unexpectedly, Arthur smiled freely: "Teacher, I didn't say I wanted to be a Witcher. I just suddenly feel this is a dangerous world, and I want to have more self-preservation skills."
"Is that so?"
Kolgrim felt that Arthur was holding something back, but he had fulfilled his duty of persuasion, and the rest was up to the other party's choice.
He instructed Arthur on a few basic sword movements, and seeing him practice diligently, he lay down to rest.
"Hoo, ha!"
Early the next morning, Kolgrim opened his eyes, and Arthur was still practicing sword fighting outside the window. Just by looking at him, he already resembled a qualified swordsman.
He was somewhat incredulous: "You practiced all night?"
Arthur wiped the sweat from his forehead, carefully sheathing his steel sword, and replied: "No, I rested in between. Later, when the rooster crowed, I thought I'd practice a bit more before you woke up."
Kolgrim didn't believe it.
Last night, this kid couldn't even properly hold a sword, yet now his basic movements of chopping, slashing, parrying, and thrusting were already quite decent.
Don't underestimate these basic movements; even a fraction of a second faster can be the difference between life and death when facing an enemy.
According to Kolgrim's estimation, while Arthur hadn't reached the level of a professional soldier, he could already handle a bandit or a bully without much trouble.
Hmm, how long did it take him to reach this level? It seemed like two weeks…
This kid must have practiced all night to reach this level!
Uh, even so, he's still a one-in-a-hundred sword fighting genius! Damn it!
Kolgrim's guess wasn't far off in terms of talent.
Perhaps because Nordics are naturally skilled with two-handed weapons, after only an hour of practice, familiar handwriting appeared on the haystack:
[Two-Handed Weapon Proficiency has increased. Current level: Apprentice]
[God gave you two hands, and you used them both to hold weapons. You've got guts.]
[Compatibility increased to 30/100]
[Gained Talent: Battle Cry - Your roar contains terrifying fury; enemies who dare not face this rage will fall into fear.]
Unlike the previous increase in Eloquence proficiency, the increase in Two-Handed Weapon proficiency was very noticeable. It felt not like he was holding the sword, but as if the sword had become an extension of his arm.
It's just that he didn't know how to use this Battle Cry. There's no Z key in this other world…
Although he still had some doubts, Arthur felt a deep joy.
When Walker told the story of Huo Fo Village, what welled up in his heart was not only anger at the lord's tyrannical actions, but also a suffocating worry:
He had thought that with his golden finger, he could easily achieve legendary status. Now it seemed more likely that he would be casually eliminated by some minor noble for a trivial reason before he even made a name for himself.
He must quickly improve his strength!
He thus endured his physical fatigue, practicing until his muscles cramped and he couldn't hold his sword, only then reluctantly sleeping for a while.
The next day, before the rooster had finished its first crow, Arthur opened his eyes.
On the low-hanging thatched roof, familiar handwriting slowly appeared:
[You feel rested. Skill proficiency gain speed has slightly increased.]
Arthur was filled with regret.
I was so foolish, truly.
I only knew that practicing sword fighting could increase proficiency, but I didn't realize that sleeping could also provide buffs.
Walker was still asleep when they left, but his wife, Claire, had already cooked a large pot of hot porridge early, so they left a few more copper shields as lodging fees.
Since they couldn't buy enough supplies in either White Orchard or Hofver, they turned towards Vizima, hoping to rest well there.
Unfortunately, before the two had even left the territory of White Orchard, they were blocked by a group of farmers.
These villagers comically wore wooden buckets and washbasins as helmets, but looking at the hoes and pitchforks in their hands, Arthur couldn't laugh anymore.
"It's them! The outsiders who came to the village yesterday! Don't let them escape!"
"It's a Witcher! I heard Witchers love to abduct children. Polke must have been taken by them!"
The two loudly argued that they hadn't spent the night in the village at all, but the villagers wouldn't listen and swung their hoes to attack.
Kolgrim dodged sideways, his fingers outlining a magical sign, trying to calm the man down, but this only enraged the remaining villagers.
"Oh, you dare to use the devil's tricks on us! Everyone, let's go, kill these two freaks!"
A melee erupted without warning.
Kolgrim, being tall and carrying two long swords, attracted the most aggression, and for a time could only rely on his agile movements to dodge through the crowd.
Arthur's side was equally not easy. Although he only had one opponent, he had no weapon and could only dodge while running towards the distant patrolling guards.
While fleeing, Arthur tried to use Battle Cry.
From 'Ah' to 'Chah', he even tried 'waaagh', but it was all useless.
"You freak, why won't you just obediently die!"
The 'villager's' pitchforks came faster and faster, as if he wanted to stab through Arthur's incessantly screaming heart on the spot.
During the chase, Arthur jumped onto an embankment, but the 'villager' didn't watch his step, tripped, and dropped the wooden bucket serving as his helmet.
A familiar face was revealed Corey.
"It's you!"
A chill ran down Arthur's spine, and he instantly understood everything. No wonder the two guards seemed blind; they were in on it!
Resentment and fury, like a long-suppressed volcano, burst through his chest in an instant.
A roar, grander than any human voice, erupted from his throat, shaking even the surrounding air.
Corey, who had just chased after him with his pitchfork, ran head-on into this substantial roar.
He froze for less than a second, threw down his pitchfork, and turned to run, leaving two wet footprints on the ground.
This fellow was terrible at fighting but incredibly fast at running. Arthur had just picked up the pitchfork from the ground when Corey had already fled behind the guards.
Meanwhile, the villagers seemed to have smelled an epic, Invincible, supreme fart and scattered in a rush, leaving only Kolgrim standing dazed in place.
He bent at the waist, looking at Arthur, his teeth grinding, and his heavy breathing almost stirring up dust.