Massacre of the Military Camp

There were 150 soldiers stationed outside Vizima. From a distance, Wayne could see over twenty tents clustered around a simple wooden barracks. There were watchtowers and training grounds, but no defensive walls.

It was dinnertime. Wayne's keen eyesight discerned the smoke rising from the heart of the camp as the soldiers prepared their meal, refueling for the night's operation.

Unbeknownst to them, a far more dangerous threat loomed, ready to strike before they could raise their blades against innocent civilians.

After parting ways with Francesca, Wayne silently approached the barracks alone. They had agreed that the sorceress would handle the evacuation of the refugees, while he focused on eliminating the military threat.

Finding a suitable vantage point, Wayne paused, he retrieved five potions from his spatial bracelet: Swallow, Tawny Owl, Cat, Thunderbolt, and Maribor Forest. All were potent concoctions designed to enhance combat effectiveness.

In the previous skirmish against the mob, the urgency and the relative weakness of his foes had caused him to forget about using potions, hindering his efficiency. This time, facing a military encampment, he needed to be in peak condition to ensure victory.

After consuming the five potions, Wayne realized that his mutation level had reached the cusp of Level 9 mastery. He was on the verge of breaking through to Level 10, unlocking new skills and abilities.

However, with his current poison resistance, consuming five potions in a row was already pushing his limits. Another dose wouldn't enhance his combat effectiveness but might actually hinder him.

Yet, the allure of an imminent breakthrough was too tempting to resist.

Gritting his teeth, Wayne chose the least toxic of his witcher potions—Swallow. This concoction gradually increased magic regeneration and also stimulated his mutated organs, enhancing his chaos magic. While its effect was weaker than Tawny Owl, it was also significantly less poisonous.

He downed the Swallow potion in one gulp. His mutated organs protested, causing his body to ache as if jolted by electricity. Fortunately, the potion's toxicity was minimal, and the discomfort was fleeting.

His gamble paid off. After consuming the potion, his mutation level finally broke through to Level 10.

Mutation LV10: Magic recovery speed +100%, poison resistance +10.

Mutation Strengthening: Under the influence of chaos magic and potions, your body has adapted to the laws of mutation and can better enhance itself during the mutation process. You have found a shortcut to evolution.

Effect: Each level-up grants two additional random attribute points and increases physical recovery speed by +200%.

Distortion Strengthening: Under the influence of chaos magic and potions, your body has adapted to the laws of mutation, discovering a special path that grants unparalleled short-term enhancement at the cost of temporary damage.

Effect: Upon entering the Distorted state, all attributes are enhanced by 300%, and physical recovery speed is increased by 3000%. After use, a period of weakness follows, lasting half a month. For every ten minutes in the Distorted state, the weakness duration increases by one day. During weakness, attributes are reduced.

The Level 10 mutation abilities did not disappoint Wayne. Both "Mutation Strengthening" and "Distortion Strengthening" were incredibly potent.

The former increased his attribute points by two with each level-up, essentially boosting his growth rate by half, while also significantly increasing his physical recovery speed.

The latter was even more impressive, bordering on absurd. When activated, "Distortion Strengthening" tripled all attributes and multiplied his physical recovery speed by thirty. Considering his current attributes were already five to six times greater than an ordinary human's, this transformation would make him nearly invincible. He might even be able to regenerate severed limbs or recover from a pierced heart, essentially becoming a monstrous force.

The only downside was the steep cost. The half-month period of weakness afterward was substantial, and each ten minutes spent in the Distorted state added another day to the recovery time. It was clearly not meant for regular use, but rather as a last resort.

Faced with the choice, Wayne opted for "Distortion Strengthening" without hesitation. While "Mutation Strengthening" offered long-term potential, "Distortion Strengthening" provided a life-saving trump card, a chance to turn the tide in dire situations.

After selecting his ability, Wayne smacked his lips thoughtfully. The 150 soldiers in the distance suddenly seemed less interesting. He glanced at his attribute points:

Strength 42

Agility 36

Constitution 34

Spirit 36.

Totaling 148 points. Not a small amount, but not an overwhelming number either.

Although tempted to test his new ability, Wayne decided it was too wasteful to unleash it on mere soldiers. With a sigh of regret, he stood up, his body fully metabolizing the potion. He channeled his magic power and activated the sixth-level spell stored within his spatial bracelet: Thunder Cloud Storm.

Hundreds of meters away, a storm cloud materialized above the unsuspecting military camp, where the soldiers were enjoying their evening meal.

The camp's commander, a nobleman named Witte, sat by the fire, warming himself with wine and savoring the barbecue prepared by his attendants. He was contemplating how to best torment the prisoners during the upcoming slaughter.

He envisioned violating wives in front of their husbands, abusing daughters before their fathers, and executing loved ones in front of grieving children. As he relished these sadistic fantasies and took another sip of wine, a servant grilling meat suddenly pointed to the sky in terror.

"Sir, Lord Witte, look above us! What is that?"

Witte, annoyed at the interruption, kicked the servant and slowly opened his eyes.

In the twilight sky, dark clouds had gathered, crackling with brilliant lightning. As Witte's eyes widened in confusion, countless bolts of lightning thicker than a man's arm struck down from the storm.

These lightning bolts carried immense power. They shredded soldiers and armor, ignited tents as if doused in oil, and splintered thick wooden walls.

To make matters worse, a light rain had fallen on Vizima that morning, leaving the ground saturated and dotted with puddles, even within the camp.

When the lightning bolts that missed soldiers and tents struck the wet ground, they surged outward like ripples on water. The blinding arcs of electricity danced along the damp earth, reaching out to nearby soldiers. They became living lightning rods, their bodies attracting the stray discharges.

Screams of agony, the roar of flames, and the cracking of collapsing structures filled the camp.

The sixth-level spell, Thunder Cloud Storm, had taken only two minutes to unleash its fury. When Witte finally regained his senses and staggered to his feet, he found his world turned upside down. His ears rang with the cries of terror and pain, and his eyes beheld only flames and charred corpses.

Nearly a third of his men had perished in the storm. The very armor meant to protect them had become a deadly conductor of lightning.

As Witte rallied the remaining soldiers, urging them to flee the camp, he spotted a figure on the hillside a hundred meters away. A silver-haired giant, over two meters tall and built like a bear, clad in heavy black armor and wielding a massive red two-handed sword, charged towards them with unstoppable momentum.

Despite the man's cumbersome-looking armor, he covered the distance in under ten seconds. Witte barely had time to shout "enemy attack" before the silver-haired warrior crashed into their ranks.

Like a runaway train colliding with a human wall, the three soldiers at the front were flung backwards by the sheer force of the impact. The swords pierced their chests with sickening cracks, their cries of pain lost in the chaos as their bodies slammed into the ranks behind them, toppling more soldiers like dominoes.

Unfazed by the impact, which had slightly jarred his shoulders, Wayne seized the momentum and swung the Sword downward. The keen blade cleaved through the knight Witte and his armor, splitting them in two.

For a moment, the battlefield seemed to freeze.

The arc of the sword, laden with blood and viscera, sprayed towards the soldiers behind the corpse, painting their faces, bodies, and comrades crimson.

This gruesome sight terrified those nearby. They scrambled away from the body, frantically wiping the gore from their faces.

Wayne pressed his advantage. He knew that maintaining momentum was crucial in battle; any hesitation could lead to a stalemate.

His eyes cold and merciless, he surveyed the soldiers still reeling from the storm. He adjusted his grip on the Sword, channeling chaos magic into the blade. The blood-red sword responded, glowing with an intense magical light.

At the edge of the barracks, some soldiers cowered in fear, while others, spurred by a desperate courage, attempted to rally their comrades for a counterattack.

But Wayne was too swift. Within five seconds of slaying Witte, he had already withdrawn his sword and activated the hidden power of the Sword.

"To hell with you, scum!" he roared.

With Wayne's earth-shattering roar, the 1.3-meter long Sword transformed into a colossal lightsaber, ten meters in length, bathed in radiant magic light.

A blinding flash, seemingly cleaving the night itself, erupted as Wayne swung the enormous blade. Anything in its path, be it the wooden barracks gate, stone pillars, or soldiers in iron armor, was cleaved in two, severed at the waist.

In an instant, a semicircle of death, over ten meters wide, surrounded Wayne. At least twenty or thirty soldiers perished under this devastating sword light.

As the glow of the Sword subsided, Wayne, having just slaughtered dozens in the blink of an eye, showed no remorse. With a flick of his wrist, he activated the Mirror Image spell, multiplying himself into seven identical figures, each wielding a giant sword.

Wayne's gaze remained cold as he surveyed the scene of carnage and the demoralized soldiers. He addressed his clones, "I'll guard the gate. You go in and fight. Leave one or two alive, kill the rest."

With that, he swung his crimson blade, instantly beheading a soldier attempting to flee.

The mirror images, devoid of mercy, obeyed his command, transforming into ruthless killing machines.

Blood, flames, severed limbs, and charred corpses littered the ground, accompanied by the desperate pleas for mercy and howls of pain. In less than ten minutes, only two survivors remained in the once bustling camp.

They were dragged before Wayne by the clones and thrown into the mire of blood and bodies.

Looking at the two young soldiers, whose eyes were wide with fear and on the verge of fainting, Wayne's expression remained indifferent. His voice, cold as ice, sent shivers down their spines.

"I'm leaving you alive for one reason—to deliver a message."

"Tell your commanders it was I, Dante, who slew these soldiers!"

"A mercenary who specializes in killing scums and deals with injustice."

"I will often be in these lands, whether among Kaedwen nobility, their soldiers, or common folk, even your King Henselt."

"Any scum who commits evil and harms innocent people will be met with my sword and magic. I will turn them into cold corpses."