Guilliman had no intention of letting these bandits go, even without the dwarf Zoltan's urging.
After a clean, decisive slash, he didn't conventionally retract his longsword. Instead, he unexpectedly gripped the hilt, turned, and threw it with force.
The sharp Temeria steel sword cut a straight line through the air, whistling as it instantly pierced another bandit's chest, pinning him to a pillar.
At this moment, the bandit set ablaze by Igni was still alive, struggling and screaming on the ground.
Whether it was him, or the bandit disemboweled and holding his own intestines with a look of disbelief, or the one pinned to the pillar trying to pull himself free—the screams of the three bandits finally jolted the others back to their senses.
The bandits knew that if they didn't fight for their lives, they would all be killed.
One of the bandits seized the moment Guilliman was unarmed, letting out a roar, whether from fear or rage, and swung his axe with all his might, aiming to kill this terrifying enemy.
However, his speed was nothing compared to a witcher's.
Guilliman merely stepped back half a pace to perfectly dodge the attack, then punched him hard in the abdomen with his left hand, and drew the Fangs dagger, left behind by Kaelgrim, from his belt with his right.
With a squelch.
It plunged into the bandit's temple with almost no hesitation, bringing out a considerable amount of yellowish-white brain matter.
He kicked away the completely dead bandit from the Fangs dagger, disgustedly flicked the brain matter off the blade, and then twirled the dagger in a graceful flourish.
In Kaelgrim's memories, Viper School witchers, besides using longswords, seemed to be more adept with short weapons like daggers.
Now, this unique Viper dagger in his hand would also become a sharp weapon in close-quarters combat, very handy for assassinations.
Guilliman thought these things, his face expressionless, but his cold gaze, like a sharp blade, fixed on the two remaining bandits, devoid of mercy.
Perhaps intimidated by his ruthless killing methods, panic quickly spread. The two bandits finally couldn't hold on. One of them saw Guilliman's distinctive beast-like vertical pupils and immediately recognized his identity.
He screamed "Monster!" "Mutant!" and similar words, attempting to flee through the inn's back door.
However, Zoltan the dwarf, who was confronting him, was no pushover either.
Seeing the enemy in disarray, he seized the opportunity to chop an axe into one bandit's knee, felling him to the ground. Then, without a word, he raised his axe high and mercilessly brought it down on the bandit's crown.
The immense force split the bandit's head like a watermelon, splattering blood and brains everywhere, making the dwarf laugh triumphantly, as if experiencing the pleasure of revenge.
However, the dwarf's legs were too short, and even with all his might, he could only take down one bandit.
The remaining bandit had already frantically dropped his weapon and run to the inn's back door, ready to escape.
Unfortunately, if he had encountered Geralt, he might have been soft-hearted enough to let him go, but Sir Guilliman was not a man of mercy.
Seeing the bandit reach the door, a cocked crossbow suddenly appeared in his hand. With a *thwip*, the bolt fired, then accurately pierced the back of the last bandit's head, ending the massacre-like battle... A dozen minutes later, the bandits' corpses were stripped and discarded not far outside the inn, awaiting nature's reclamation.
Guilliman had no qualms. He first searched the bodies in front of the dwarf, taking all valuables, then used the Axii Sign to absorb the souls of the six bandits.
These were his rightful spoils of war; no one could deprive him of his rights.
The six bandit souls would take two days to wear down before he could absorb them. With his current soul space capacity, he could hold a maximum of ten human souls simultaneously, so killing too many sentient beings was also a waste for him.
Zoltan didn't say much. Perhaps the dwarf didn't even understand what the witcher was doing. He scratched his head, then excitedly returned to the inn, busy at the stove, cooking what was said to be a unique dwarf dish.
As thanks, Guilliman didn't have to worry about dinner tonight, and the dwarf had also done the previous manual labor. He leaned back in a worn wooden chair, eyes half-closed, simply waiting.
It was late now, and although the inn was full of the smell of blood, making do for a night was better than sleeping outdoors.
A few tens of minutes later, Zoltan enthusiastically approached Guilliman, carrying a bottle of secret dwarf strong liquor, stewed ribs, and wild vegetable soup, and sat opposite him.
He first expressed his gratitude, then poured Guilliman a drink, asking with some curiosity:
"Hey, friend, are you a witcher too?"
"Do you know Geralt? Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. He's my friend, and a witcher too."
As an immune witcher, Guilliman wasn't at all worried that the dwarf would poison the food. He took a sip from his glass, then smiled and nodded, saying:
"The famous White Wolf, Geralt? Of course, I know him."
"However, although I am also a witcher, I am not from the same school as him, and we've never met."
"If there's an opportunity, you could introduce us. I'm quite interested in him."
Zoltan was a warm, hospitable, and straightforward dwarf. Hearing Guilliman say this, he immediately thumped his chest in assurance.
"You just helped me. If it weren't for you, even if I could have killed these damn bandits, I would definitely have been injured myself."
"From now on, you're my friend, Zoltan's friend. Whenever you need help, just tell me."
However, his expression quickly turned a little sad as he said:
"Unfortunately, it's already too late. Geralt died last year, right after the Battle of Brenna ended, in a conflict between humans and non-humans."
"The Rivanian Massacre, have you heard of it?"
On this topic, the two chatted for a long time.
From the conversation, Guilliman learned that Zoltan had also participated in the brutal battle of the Rivanian Massacre last year, suffering serious injuries and recuperating in the Carbon Mountains.
It wasn't until a month or two ago that his injuries healed, and he received a letter from another dwarf friend, preparing to descend the mountain to earn money.
As a result, he had just arrived here and encountered this shady inn, running into these human bandits.
If he hadn't met Guilliman, he probably would have been injured again and needed another period of recovery.
As they chatted, the strong liquor in the bottle was finished, but Zoltan was still not ready for bed, wanting more.
He suddenly pulled out a stack of very exquisite-looking playing cards from his pocket, waved them at Guilliman, and said:
"Hey! Guilliman, my friend."
"Want to play a round of Gwent?"
"I learned this from the dwarves in the Carbon Mountains. It's a really fun game, and I hear it's very popular in many places now."
"I happened to bring two decks, and I can give you one as a gift."
"Want to play? I can teach you!"