Bear School Astartes-Chapter 579 - 581. Hunting Target

The scene fell silent for a moment.

What did the Niflgaard people form this army for? What was it meant to deal with?

Forming an army isn’t something that can be done with a clap of the hands.

Even for the emperor of Niflgaard, creating a new division within his army isn’t merely a matter of opening one’s mouth.

An army needs a hypothetical enemy, a target.

Their training courses, equipment style, supply level... all these can only be determined with specificity after having a target.

And within this complex but unavoidable workflow lies countless spoils waiting for various forces to divide.

The hardest part of forming a new army is not the training that follows but the entanglement of interests beforehand.

"The world has changed." An old soldier with a few strands of white, messy hair exposed under his iron helmet grumbled after clearing his throat and spitting.

"In the past, what weird things were there on the battlefield? We’d go to battle, and then the men would draw swords and hack at each other! Nobles and ministers would piss their pants in the back!"

Stuart did not look at the old soldier.

It’s just that they are really short on people now; otherwise, he definitely wouldn’t have let an old soldier with combat experience but no tactical thinking sit at the meeting table.

This old guy probably still thinks warlocks and magic are just fireworks for excitement on the battlefield.

But there was a point in what he said.

"Sintra has been entangled with the Niflgaard people for a long time now."

Stuart said calmly.

"But it is indeed the first time we’ve discovered that the Niflgaard people have formed such an army. This time, they might have considered Sintra as the testing ground for their new force."

"For hunting some... special targets."

Such as Demon Hunters.

Before Count Steza was forcibly smothered to death in his own home, no one thought it necessary to specifically deploy a force against a particular group in a grand war.

But now, the impact of a noble’s death has begun to manifest.

"In short. Boom," Hacksaw pointed to the ground with the steel scepter in his hand, summarizing. "Either we quickly shake them off, or we find a way to deal with them... with them around, no number of scouts will ever be enough."

After speaking, Hacksaw’s gaze fell on the Demon Hunters.

"You three masters are among the few who have confronted them and survived. I wish to ask you to eliminate this threat."

Lann had confidence in his skills and power but was not blindly confident.

After all, he hadn’t seen those people.

So, he turned his head and looked down at Geralt to seek the opinion of this old-school Demon Hunter.

The White Wolf pressed his lips together, and only then did Lann notice there seemed to be a new scar on the corner of his mouth.

A scar left by a blade.

Geralt instinctively licked the scar with his tongue and then nodded.

"Their threat to us is imminent; even for survival, they must be dealt with first... with you, we should be able to manage."

"Alright, it’s settled then." Lann nodded indifferently, then looked across at Hacksaw.

"But you don’t seem to care too much whether we agree or not."

"Because even if you are unwilling, I will organize ordinary soldiers to exterminate them."

The smiling Royal Steward spoke chilling words with a friendly demeanor.

"It’s just a matter of how many people die. But if they are not dealt with, then we all will die, so thinking that way, as long as no one is completely wiped out, it’s worth it."

-----------------

"It seems that war truly turns people into beasts or monsters."

Lann spoke with some lamentation.

The three Demon Hunters walked out of Hacksaw’s tent, then gathered Dandelion and Ciri, who were resting against a tree root outside, and headed back to their tent.

A Palace Steward who was originally unremarkable and just a bit absent-minded, after less than a year, had turned into someone who viewed his own and everyone else’s life as mere digits, using them without hesitation to achieve his goals.

To even say something exaggerated... this guy has started to look like a bit of a hero now!

Lann felt very complicated inside.

On one hand, he thought it was a good thing for the current Hacksaw to lead this refugee camp, as his capabilities and will were commendable, able to keep more people alive on this cruel battlefield.

But on the other hand, he wondered if he should mourn the departure of the old acquaintance ’Hacksaw’.

His character bent by pressure, his will reshaped by calamity... the original ’Hacksaw’ could be considered dead, right?

At least during this process, the suffering he endured was probably like dying once.

Geralt exhaled a puff of white smoke, which rose in the woods.

"That’s also why I dare not trust him. Who knows what kind of stakes someone like him will throw on the table to achieve his goals?"

"In my opinion, your distrust of politicians is also one major reason for your adherence to neutrality."

Wrapped in the blanket Lann gave him, Dandelion took a sniff and spoke.

"But you should face reality a bit more. The golden age where one could cling to ’neutrality’ without getting hurt is long gone, old wood! Now, anyone ’neutral’ gets hit first! Hit from both sides!"

"You’re a Northern person; you have an inherent stance that lets you easily draw conclusions."

"And you’re not a Northern person?"

"Look, when I was working in the North, how many people on the street thought of me as one of them?"

"That’s pretty shitty, I admit. So you hold a grudge against the North and want to stay neutral, even if it means being unliked by either side? Isn’t that just acting on impulse? Reality, Geralt! The reality is you have to pick a side eventually! Or are you thinking of siding with Niflgaard?"

Amidst the mutual banter between the poet and the White Wolf, Ged led Lann to the Demon Hunter tent.

In the refugee camp, groups stuck to their own circles.

Like Hilton’s convoy, it was surrounded by convoy guards and people from his trading group.

Mercenaries scattered and crushed by the war gathered into their own cliques, and so on.

These people are said to form a refugee camp together, but it’s more about having a large number of ordinary folks as a shield for them.

And the ordinary people have nothing to say, as without these groups joining them, they would have ended up as corpse litter on the desolate wilderness. The cohesion provided by these groups gave them a temporary chance to survive.

Amid these circles, surprisingly, the Demon Hunters were the most amicable towards ordinary people.

Thus, around the Demon Hunter’s tent, quite a few civilians chose to rest here.

Lann teased Ged and Geralt.

Demon Hunters always put on a deadpan face to deal with ordinary people, claiming to be cold-blooded and emotionless, ideally without being greedy for rewards.

But now, with the current circumstances...

"Laugh if you want, you bastard."

Ged’s big beard visibly twitched, and then he and Geralt turned their heads in opposite directions.

"Call us foolish or hypocritical... anyway, that’s how it is, we can’t just stand by and watch."

"I thought I hadn’t said anything yet."

Lann stood over them with his arms crossed.

"That’s even better, that face of yours said it all."