Game in Marvel-Chapter 98

"There's no need for violence. We can talk this out—" Steve came forward to calm the situation.

Before he could finish, the bearded man swung his club at Steve, aiming for his head. Steve reacted instinctively, raising his shield in a swift motion to block the blow. The impact rang through the air, and the club bounced off with a loud clang.

Steve pushed forward with his shield, forcing the man to stumble back.

"You don't want to do this."

The other men shifted uneasily but didn't back down. Another stepped forward, drawing a rusty dagger from his belt.

"Talk, is it? Nay, we'll see how ye talk when yer guts spill like hogs at the slaughter."

"I was hoping for a quiet departure. But I suppose even simpletons need to learn the hard way." Tony sighed. The witchers had already brought out their swords as they realized the situation wouldn't end well.

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"For all the big talks of calling them freaks and us friends of freaks... You surely are dumb. You know well that these two are known to hunt monsters. Monsters that could give one nightmares, but you insist and dream that you can kill us. And that too, together. I don't understand where you all get the guts from." Liam said.

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but the leader spat on the ground and barked,

"They're naught but braggarts! Take 'em, lads!"

"Natasha... Finish them." Liam said. What followed next were five suppressed shots that the witchers heard. The loud thud of bodies hitting the dirt was all that followed Natasha's swift response. The five men, who had been readying themselves for an attack, crumpled to the ground one by one, blood pooling beneath their heads.

"They wanted to see guts spill, didn't they?" Natasha shrugged.

Geralt and Vesemir stood frozen. Both witchers stared at the fallen men, their eyes darting from the modified pistol in Natasha's hand to the lifeless bodies on the ground. There were no signs of an obvious attack—no visible cuts or slashes—just lethal precision. The blood oozing from the heads of the men was the only evidence.

"What... What in the name of Melitele was that?" Vesemir finally managed.

"Some kind of magic," Geralt muttered. "But no signs of a spell being cast. No gestures, no incantations..."

"It's not magic," Natasha replied. "Just technology. A gun."

"A gun?" Geralt repeated. "It moves faster than the eye can see. No sword, no bow, no crossbow... How did you kill them so quickly?"

"It's a projectile weapon," Liam explained. "It fires small pieces of metal—bullets—at high speeds, propelled by an explosive force. It's fast, accurate, and deadly."

Geralt sheathed his sword. He and Vesemir now had a slight unease. If they didn't take the group very seriously before, they definitely were now.

"I told you. We are better than anyone when it comes to assassinations." Liam said.

"Efficient, yes. But it's... unnatural. No effort. Just death."

"Unnatural or not, it's effective. But the way it works... It's almost too efficient. Almost... monstrous." Vesemir said.

"Funny," Natasha replied. "That's the first time I've been called a monster by a witcher."

"We should move. The longer we linger here, the more attention this will attract." Steve said as he saw that the innkeeper had hidden herself. She was now afraid of them. He felt conflicted a bit, as they had to take the lives of these men. These men were stressed from the war, drunk after a day long, and thus they projected their fear onto them.

He had been in war before and thus had a general idea of what war does to people around. And this place was more dangerous than he had seen during World War 2.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves echoed in the distance, growing louder as a group of riders approached. Soon, men in black armor led by a woman wearing a fine black dress appeared and stopped near them.

It was a familiar figure: Yennefer of Vengerberg. Her black-and-white attire was spotless, and Liam's heart started racing a bit faster. Those who have played The Witcher know how beautiful she was, along with Triss, and seeing her in reality made Liam almost forget about breathing. Just like Geralt, he was a great fan of her. Though she was quite the feisty one, unlike Triss, she was one of a kind.

"Well, this is quite the spectacle," she said dryly. She looked at the dead bodies on the ground. She gave a deep look and realized that they were not killed by swords but rather some kind of attack on their heads, which didn't look like magic either. She also noticed the group that seemed to be with Geralt. "Leave it to you, Geralt, to find trouble even in the most mundane of places."

"Yen? What are you doing here? And why the Nilfgaardian escort? I thought you were in Vizima," Geralt asked as he was a bit surprised by seeing the escort and also a bit annoyed. He knew who the King was, and he wasn't a big fan of his.

"It was a day's ride away from here, so when I got the news that you were here, I brought news. His Imperial Majesty, Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of His Enemies, has requested an audience with you."

"What does Emhyr want with me?" Geralt's expression hardened.

"You know very well why he wants to meet you. And honestly speaking, I am tired of running around alone. He has promised us resources but on the condition that you meet him," Yennefer said, and one could easily see her tired expression. She looked a bit exhausted too from the journey she undertook today.

"And what if we decline this 'request'?" Geralt said. He didn't want to exclude his new friends either.

"Then I imagine things will get very unpleasant very quickly. Nilfgaard doesn't take kindly to refusals, and neither does Emhyr. You'd do well not to test his patience," Yennefer said.

"You have one hell of a lover," Barton whispered to him.

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