The Witcher: Grinding Experience Starting as a Wolf School Witcher

Chapter 97 Golem

The Witcher lowered his fist, the silver chains binding his hands fell to the ground, and his gray hair swayed gently in the cold wind.

He was over two meters tall, and beneath his leather armor studded with silver nails were towering, rock-like muscles.

The silver wolf head badge reflected an arc of light.

Strangely, his chest did not rise or fall, and he looked like a dead corpse.

Beneath the leather armor ripped by the greatsword, skin with a steely sheen was revealed; even a Witcher wouldn't have such a complexion.

That can only mean that his entire body has been magically modified.

The purple-robed wizard slowly emerged from behind the gray-haired witcher.

His gaze first fell on the latter, his eyes filled with admiration, then he turned to look at Arwen, his tone full of sarcasm.

"Does he look familiar? The Witcher? This one is also from your Wolf School; I turned him into a golem."

"What was his name again? Byrne... never mind, no need to remember."

"In short, the greatsword in your hand was once in his hands."

"However, under pressure from that foolish King Io, I had no choice but to return it to you."

"Fortunately, it's time to return it to its rightful owner."

"And you..."

Before Atamon could finish speaking, Arwen had already rushed out.

The giant sword swept across.

Bernjof's golem punched out, pulling the silver chains straight.

"when!"

Sparks flew everywhere.

Atamon narrowed his eyes and said coldly, "I hate it when people interrupt me. You impolite fellow."

He stepped back a few paces and straightened his disheveled clothes.

"Take him down, I'm going to make him my next collectible."

Bernyov let out an inhuman growl.

A series of powerful punches followed.

Arwin leaned forward with his right foot and slashed Bernjov's right arm diagonally to the left.

A massive left fist came hurtling towards him.

Holt's swordsmanship came to mind.

He followed with his left foot, made a small turn, and dodged the terrifying force of the punch.

He bent down, twisted his wrist, and the greatsword flashed with a cold light, heading straight for Bernjov's neck.

"Crack!"

A yellow shield suddenly appeared, negating most of the power of the sword strike.

Kunen Dharma Seal.

Even with the shield protecting him, the sword still pierced half of his neck, and murky blood splattered out.

Precise.

But Bernyov acted as if nothing had happened, hanging his head, seizing the opportunity, quickly turning to the side, raising his hands high, the silver chains jingling.

The bulging muscles resembled mountains, exuding a majestic aura.

The amber cat-like eyes looked down at Alwin, its gaze as cold as if it were looking at a corpse.

Even without falling, the momentum it had built up was already so overwhelming that it was hard to breathe, like a mountain collapsing.

Absolute control over one's strength and personal aura is also a form of elegance.

Arwen's eyes blazed with fighting spirit, and the [Giant Bloodline] within him began to boil.

We are both seekers of power, so why should we avoid his sharp edge?

With his legs slightly bent, he exhaled a breath of stale air, and then, with power rising from the ground, he swept the giant sword horizontally.

With the amplification of [Whirling Blade], this sword strike was like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami crashing, shattering the air itself.

"boom!"

In the clash of extreme forces, a thunderclap erupted from the ground, a violent storm exploded, scorching the grass and causing the ground to crack.

A dark, crescent-shaped sword flashed past.

"roar!"

Bernyov roared, his massive body collapsing to his knees, his entire head falling to the ground.

His hands were mangled and bloody, revealing silvery bones covered in cracks.

Alwin's hands trembled slightly, and blood had begun to flow from the base of his thumbs.

Bernjof was already one of the few strength-type witchers in the Wolf School, and with the addition of Atamon's golem modification, his strength rivaled that of a dragon.

However, Arwen's body had also been modified by the system's mutants, and tempered with the ointment made by the Royal Pterodactyl, making his physical strength reach an extremely terrifying level.

"Clap clap clap!"

Atamon clapped his hands.

"Brilliant, truly brilliant, unbelievable! You, a witcher, actually managed to defeat the golem I painstakingly crafted."

"I'm now filled with curiosity about you, Witcher. What's your name?"

Arwin stepped forward with his sword drawn, but Atamon remained unfazed.

"Young man, don't be impulsive. You don't think I only have this one golem, do you?"

Alwin frowned and stopped in his tracks.

The names of eight witchers are engraved on the walls of Kael'thas.

Their bodies were never found.

Now that Bernjof has fallen into Atamon's hands, the other seven will likely be turned into golems as well.

If that were to happen, his situation would be extremely dangerous.

Arwen held the greatsword upright, his tone calm, "You can try."

Atamon scoffed, "I admire your courage, but please stop spouting such grandiose words."

"Your abilities have been recognized by me. We don't need to continue this conflict; we can cooperate. Do you understand the word 'cooperation'?"

At this point, his eyes suddenly sharpened.

"If my perception is correct, your mental strength is extraordinary. The fact that you were able to block the mental imprint I left in the magic crystal is enough to prove that you are a wizard."

"You're so young, you have a bright future ahead of you. Why bother being a witcher?"

"Come on, put down your sword, let's talk this over. If you agree to my conditions, I can definitely recommend you to the Ban Ade Magic Academy and make you a wizard."

"With my abilities, I can also reverse your mutated body, restore your skin to normal, and allow you to return to a normal life."

"In the future, you will frequent royal courts and aristocratic banquets, and no one will dare to call you a freak anymore. Isn't that wonderful?"

Atamon opened his arms, his voice high-pitched and seductive.

Admittedly, what the other party said was indeed very appealing.

Why be a witcher wallowing in the mud when you can be a high-ranking wizard?

Arwen plunged his greatsword into the ground. "Your Excellency, instead of using the golem, you're starting to negotiate?"

Atamon narrowed his eyes when he saw that Arwen seemed to be wavering.

"No, I'll emphasize again, it's cooperation, it's partnership."

"Once you hand over the stone ring, it will be the key to unlocking the legacy of Arzur. As a Witcher, you must know the exact location of Mograg, right?"

"We will share Alzu's knowledge."

"Think carefully, what will we get after we obtain it?"

"Wealth? Fame? Those are all within easy reach!"

"Even if you still want to be a witcher, aren't you curious about the legendary experiences of your ancestor?"

Alwin paused, a look of hesitation in his eyes.

After hesitating for a moment, he reached his left hand into the inner lining of the leather armor.

A greedy smile spread across Atamon's face.

"Yes, that's it, young wizard. Everything I just said will be granted to you."

Suddenly, his face froze.

The reason was simple: what Arwen took out was not a stone ring, but a silver dagger.

And those yellow cat eyes were looking at him mockingly.

"I admit, everything you've said is very tempting. Having said all that, how about I ask you a question as well?"

"If you answer my question, I will tell you the locations of the Stone Ring and Moglag."

"This silver sword is stained with the blood of Count Grafiakan, but why is it marked with the symbol of a footless bird?"

Atamon's face was terrifyingly grim, and he growled in a low voice.

"Where did you get this dagger?"

Arwin sheathed his dagger and retorted, "Do you think I'd tell you?"

Atamon took a breath, his expression returning to its initial coldness.

"You're such an inhuman bunch, completely unyielding. I don't know how you found this dagger, and I don't care anymore. It's just another matter of destroying it."

The gemstone ring on his right index finger gleamed.

Seven bodies suddenly appeared, each wearing a wolf head badge on its chest.

Atamon's eyes were sharp as knives.

"Witcher, prepare to go to hell."

Alwin gripped the hilt of his sword, a cold wind ruffling his black hair. He held the sword horizontally to his chest and said in a deep voice, "I told you, I have plenty of ways."

At the same time, in the nearby woods, seven pairs of cat eyes of different colors suddenly opened, like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, staring intently at the high-ranking purple-robed wizard.