Chapter 235: Give me more stats!
The rest of their journey unfolded without a hitch.
They encountered no further dangers until they reached a coastal town called Blaviken in the Duchy of the Arcane Coast.
Even the sea remained unusually calm, devoid of even a ripple or gust of wind.
It was on the very day they arrived in Blaviken that Lynn finally saw "Cat School Swordsmanship (Beginner)" appear on his attribute panel.
As always, he gazed at "Cat School Swordsmanship (Beginner)", imagining a finger.
And with a decisive tap.
"Cat School Swordsmanship (Beginner) → (Mastered)"
He tapped again.
"Cat School Swordsmanship (Mastered) → (Proficient)"
Lynn glanced at his remaining attribute points.
The previous battle at sea had earned him just enough points for one more level-up.
Without hesitation, he tapped once more, decisively.
"Cat School Swordsmanship (Proficient) → (Grandmaster/Limit)"
"New Specialty: Gale Lightning (Speed increased by 50%)"
Just as before, a deluge of swordsmanship experience flooded his mind, like rivers rushing into the sea.
However, unlike the standard Witcher combat style of the Wolf School, Cat School Swordsmanship clearly leaned towards a more dance-like approach, emphasizing speed above all else.
Moreover, Grandmaster-level Cat School Swordsmanship didn't just alter his mind; his body also felt as though it had undergone countless trials and refinements.
His hands felt as if they had swung a longsword day after day through countless seasons, and his legs seemed to have tirelessly practiced footwork night after night.
Originally, this body had only deeply ingrained Grandmaster-level Wolf School Swordsmanship.
Now, it had to add Grandmaster-level Cat School Swordsmanship to its repertoire.
Lynn grinned, leaping down from his hammock. His body seemed to teleport, crossing several meters to the cabin door in the blink of an eye.
He kicked off the cabin door, performing a nimble backflip as the Gwyhyr on his back was drawn with a speed invisible to the ordinary eye.
Flashes of cold light gleamed.
By the time the Witcher landed, the steel sword was already neatly back in its scabbard.
As if it had never been drawn.
"It's done."
Even Lynn couldn't suppress the joy in his heart, a rare expression visible on his face.
The "Comprehensive Enhancement" gained from Grandmaster-level Wolf School Swordsmanship, combined with the "Gale Lightning" from Grandmaster-level Cat School Swordsmanship, had elevated his strike speed to an unbelievable degree.
Though he hadn't actually sparred with anyone yet, he estimated that an ordinary person's sword draws would look like they were moving in 0.5x slow motion to him.
Of course, this was his base strength, without any elixirs.
If he factored in potions, his power would ascend another level.
Lynn estimated that with his current swordsmanship, even Bonhart, the "Witcher Killer" from the original novels, would likely no longer be a match for him.
Inside a Blaviken tavern.
The clinking of glasses and sounds of revelry were ceaseless.
"Cheers!"
"Lord Lynn, I'll toast you again!"
The Witcher was surrounded by sailors eagerly vying to show their respect and gratitude.
On the other side, the captain clinked his mug against Borch's.
"Come, come, Lord Borch, let's have some more!"
"Oh, and Lord Borch, I need to return this to you now, otherwise I might forget by morning."
The captain returned the ship fare Borch had paid when boarding, precisely as it was.
"Don't be embarrassed, Lord Borch. Thanks to you and Lord Lynn, and of course, the two beautiful ladies… I earned much more on this trip than the fare you paid."
"After all, that was a warship! I used to only dream of such a treasure."
"And, if it weren't for the four of you fighting, my crew and I might already be at the bottom of the sea. Even for that, I shouldn't be charging you."
Borch didn't stand on ceremony, accepting the money.
At the same time, he drained the contents of his mug.
"Captain, I'll cherish the days we conquered the sea together."
The captain said gratefully, "Thank you, I'll remember you too, Lord Borch."
The revelry continued until late into the night before finally subsiding.
The next day, while others were still sound asleep, Lynn and Borch, unaffected by the alcohol, along with Thea and Vea, who had slipped away from the celebration feast and thus avoided getting drunk, left the tavern.
They resumed their journey, departing from Blaviken and heading north to the Braa River.
The Braa River originated from the Dragon Mountains.
By following the Braa River upstream, they could reach Holopole.
But after a few days of travel, when they arrived near Holopole.
They discovered that the only bridge for miles around was blocked.
A long, sturdy beam, fixed on supports, obstructed the bridge.
Halberdiers in buttoned leather jerkins and chainmail stood guard on either side.
Triangular flags, silver griffins on a red field, fluttered in the wind.
Lynn recognized them.
They were the banners of the Kingdom of Kaedwen.
"What's going on?" Borch called out as they rode closer to the barrier. "Can't we pass here?"
"Do you have a pass?"
The nearest halberdier, chewing on a piece of straw out of boredom, replied.
"What pass? What happened? Sickness? Or war? On whose orders have you blocked this bridge?"
"By order of King Niedamir—the ruler of Kaedwen."
The halberdier pointed to the triangular flag waving by the bridge. "If you don't have a pass, you cannot cross."
Lynn asked from horseback, "Since when did Holopole surrender to Kaedwen?"
"I don't understand politics, nor am I interested. My only job is to check passes. If you have a problem, you can speak to our captain."
Following the halberdier's directions, Lynn's group found the captain by a toll booth outside the bridge.
He was sitting on a large pile of hay, using the tip of his halberd to draw in the sand.
He was drawing a woman, and surprisingly, he was quite good at it.
Beside him sat a gaunt young man.
The youth wore a peculiar crimson hat and an equally elaborate garment of the same color, embroidered with intricate patterns.
In his hands, he was delicately strumming the strings of a lute.
Undoubtedly, this young man was also a bard.
However, unlike the image of bards as always cheerful and carefree, this particular youth appeared profoundly melancholic.
Noticing someone approaching on horseback.
The bard looked up.
His eyes met Lynn's.
....
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