Bear School Astartes

Chapter 1014 - 996: Nightmare

Sketch tilted his head, looking at the tall figure emerging from the shadows with confusion.

"That’s enough, Mr. Marsh."

Lann spoke softly from under his hood.

"He seems to have no more intel, but earlier, he already revealed enough information."

Lann continued to walk forward, and for some reason, the person blocking his path instinctively stepped aside as he approached.

"Now you can leave, Mr. Marsh."

"Eh... eh! Okay, I’ll just..."

"No, who calls the shots here, aren’t you aware, Marsh?"

Lann, Marsh, and Sketch each followed with their own lines.

The gang leader, originally unable to contain his joy upon hearing Lann’s words, exposed a mouthful of rotten teeth through his grinning mouth.

But as he turned to leave, two gang members behind him unsheathed two daggers from their belts at Sketch’s signal.

The blades gleamed brightly under the dim candlelight.

Marsh’s face went rigid.

Being next to Lann, the pressure from Lann was so immense that he forgot all other pressures.

Despite being a gang member, he forgot the pressure from his own boss.

Sketch watched the two henchmen draw their blades to block Marsh, then turned to look at the tall figure in the center of the room.

Francis’ eyes darted around, acutely aware that something was amiss, so as the pressure from Sketch shifted, he and his crew slowly edged towards the side.

But no matter how slow, it was too late...

"You son of a bitch, Marsh, bringing outsiders home today. And a dumbass who can’t even tell who the boss is..."

Sketch cursed as he tried to stand up from the chair.

The thugs next to Lann also drew weapons from their waists, crowding towards him.

Among them, Old Monk, who betrayed Francis, was the most zealous, his expression fierce and teeth-gritting.

But before Sketch could finish speaking.

"Bang!!!"

The sound, like a heavy cannon blast, suddenly exploded in the crowded room.

All noise and chatter fell silent under the impact of the explosion.

Sketch’s remaining harsh words were stuck in his throat, and the gang members’ fierce expressions seemed frozen.

In the following moment, there was a ’pitter-patter’ of thick liquid hitting the ground and the ’thud’ of a limp body collapsing onto the floor.

Even Francis Bealan, quietly retreating with his men, shuddered like a startled quail.

A corpse lay beside Lann.

In place of where the head once was, there was only a clenched fist.

That fist, as it struck... no! As it blasted forward, resembled a heavy cannon!

The muscles tensed, and the Valerian steel wire on the tendons tightened like springs and then released!

After the punch landed, only the jaw remained on that gang member’s head.

A limp tongue hung over the lower gums, blood shooting from neck arteries, soaring over two meters high, then fell like raindrops.

Until the body, devoid of the upper jaw, collapsed onto the wooden floor, thick blood spreading like oil, no one could react.

Of course, people died in Novigrad every day, for various reasons, in different places, but...

But not like this!

In their gang’s territory, under so many eyes, what was thought to be a threat or a negotiation...

Before that perception crystallized for even half a second... a direct murder?!

And with this method?!

What kind of situation is this?!

Sketch felt his mind scatter like it was hit with a narcotic powder.

Conversely, Francis Bealan, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, looking at the utterly unnatural corpse at Lann’s feet.

His eyes shifted between the gruesome and supernatural wound on the body and Lann himself.

Finally, a glint of realization and shock flickered in his eyes.

Then he spread his arms wide like a protective hen, blocking his men and urging them to hurry back.

No time to conceal intentions... if this was a second too late...

Francis recognized it!

He knew who bore this trait, who held this power!

Despite Sketch cursing loudly after snapping out of it, he held his men tightly, retreating further.

"Fuck you! Kill him! Francis, you better watch out! You run now, once I take down this bastard, you’re next! Let’s see where you can run!"

Francis kept his men pressed against the wall, a cold sweat on his bald head, not daring to reply.

Run?

If it’s really who I think it is... then there’s no running at all!

"Triss, just protect yourself."

Beneath the hood, Lann spoke calmly.

"No problem, darling."

Triss, by the door, responded lightly.

Orange and red magic power gleamed in her hands, surrounding her with levitated tables and a magic shield inside.

Soon after, the ’thunk thunk thunk’ sound was heard.

Crossbow arrows fired in the dim environment, piercing the tabletops!

Such poorly lit and densely populated environments weren’t suitable for the Warlock to enter.

If the entire house could be blown up from outside it would be fine, but inside, a single crossbow arrow or a dagger from a blind spot could kill a noble Warlock.

But for Lann, whose battle style differed from the Warlock...

Under the hood, cat-like eyes scanned quickly, using a bio-processor to take in the scene and its dynamics.

Dealing with these scum... he couldn’t even be bothered to draw his sword.

"Boom!!!"

The fist clenched and then slammed out again!

The human body blocking in front of the fist was as fragile as a layer of sugar shell.

The fist of a Primaris Space Marine, when faced with mortals, was like a hammer against tofu.

The towering figure abruptly twisted in the flickering candlelight like a mass of weightless Demon Spirit!

It was just that the Demon Spirit carried a ghastly green lantern, wielding a rusty iron sword. Dying at their hands wasn’t too disgraceful.

But whenever this black shadow erupted with a collision boom in the crowd,

blood, crushed slurry of flesh, shapeless broken bones... these things mixed together under the fist’s impact, like waves whipped up on the surface of water.

As if it was a blood-red shockwave driven by the fist.

However, the composition of this shockwave was not "air," but human flesh and blood.

Anyone hit directly by Lann’s fist would suddenly find a massive gap in their body.

Flesh and crushed bones infused with tremendous impact would be ejected from their bodies.

The force reflected back to the fist would be effortlessly absorbed by the reinforced bones and muscles, with no effect.

The scene was so terrifying that Lann knew exactly how to terrify a group of mortals.

In "Deep Memory," sometimes Interstellar Warriors would intentionally use less efficient but more visually impactful methods to fight and kill.

Their fists were a perfect tool for this.

"Ah!!!"

The number of people who lost their ability to speak and were left only with hysterical screams was beyond count.

But Lann felt no pity for them; these gangs were trash inferior even to the Niflgaard Army.

The Demon Hunter, with one hand against four people, stacked them up and pushed them to the wall.

Desperate resistance, frantic attempts to escape... their struggles were insignificant against the power gap.

They couldn’t even make Lann pause for a moment.

All four of them pushed frantically against the wall behind them, trying to find a point of leverage for an escape.

Excitement and terror caused them to sweat and drool profusely in a short time.

Yet, the cat eyes under the hood remained calm and indifferent.

"Boom!!!"

The massive fist struck the chest of the person at the front.

The sound of fist and flesh colliding was the first noise.

Immediately, violent and massive power passed through, and after flowing through the bodies of four people, a ’boom’ occurred. The wall behind them suddenly had crack lines spreading out like a spider web.

The wall dust in the cracks shook out, forming a cloud of smoke.

When Lann pulled out his fist, it still had strands of blood and meat slurry attached.

This violently unreasonable method of killing undoubtedly collapsed the psychological endurance of everyone in the Mud Gang in an instant.

No one wanted to die like this, and no one thought they’d encounter such an enemy, not even those mixed in the Novigrad underworld.

It was only natural that their organization crumbled.

The room once full of imposing, ruthless gangsters was now filled with cries, snot, and tears, all just to find a way to live and escape outside.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

"He’s a devil!"

"Fuck! Fuck!"

The chaos inside the house alarmed those in the courtyard outside.

Sketch’s skills were not bad; when Lann smashed the second person with his fist, he had already escaped outside through the window.

By the time Lann had thrown five or six punches inside the room, the sound of crossbows being cocked rang out amidst the chaotic and panicked noises outside.

"Shoot inside! Quickly shoot!"

Sketch’s voice had no trace of calmness; even for a seasoned assassin, the effects of Lann’s fists were terrifying to witness.

The Mud Gang leader still had mud from jumping out of the window and rolling on the ground clinging to him, with hair mixed with sweat and mud plastered on his forehead and side of his face, even his mouth.

But he didn’t care about anything anymore.

How could such a person exist?

Why did this person come for him?

Even though his brain couldn’t process much more, these absurd questions kept surfacing.

There were over thirty people in the courtyard, all considered the Mud Gang’s ’professional fighters,’ only brought in for fights.

Their crossbow arrows whizzed through the windows, shooting into the room.

This brought about a cacophony of screams, which then fell silent.

"What happened, boss?"

After a round of shooting, a man wearing a sealskin soft hat cautiously observed the room as he approached Sketch and asked.

Perhaps there was internal strife? Caught red-handed, leading to violent conflict?

Perhaps a few assassins got in?

Whatever the case, with over thirty crossbows aimed at the room, it should be under control.

Unexpectedly, Sketch, still staring at the silent room, began retreating.

He shouted at the man with the sealskin soft hat, "Don’t stop! What are you doing standing there! Keep shooting!"

Shooting? Shoot what? The people inside should be half-dead, severely reduced in number. Why not send people in to finish it off?

The man in the sealskin hat thought, but in the next moment.

"Whoosh! Thud!"

An arrow that had been shot inside sprung out from the dark window with a faint sound of slicing through the air, piercing through his neck.

The arrowhead popped out the other side, while the fletching remained on this side.

Blood foam bubbled from his mouth as a massive black shadow leaped out of the window.

Like a gigantic, black nightmare.