The Witcher - As Uchiha Madara! - Chapter 168 - Stay at Kaer Morhen 01.

[Chapter Size: 2100 Words.]
Third Person POV

Northern kingdoms.

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"Then... is it true that you're someone dangerous and the girl is a princess from a kingdom?" Lambert began, breaking the afternoon silence while the four adult witchers were eating at one end of the table. Madara and Ciri sat at the other.

They had turned the deer into a stew after roasting it, and Vesemir eventually invited the two to eat after answering some of the witchers' questions about them.

Madara glanced at him, and Ciri also looked up at the witchers. "We're not a danger to you, and if we ever are, we'll leave immediately," Madara said calmly.

"Is he always this arrogant?" Lambert commented, looking at his companions.

"Leave the kids alone, Lambert..." Eskel said.

"How can I leave it alone after hearing from Vesemir that he wondered if the kid was some kind of vampire..." Lambert said, while Vesemir merely glanced at him and returned to eating without saying a word.

"Hey, kid, why did Vesemir think you were a vampire? The old man said he doesn’t know much about you," he asked.

"What a persistent guy..." Ciri muttered beside Madara.

Madara looked once more at Lambert while all the witchers also turned their attention to see what he would answer.

"Because I'm stronger and faster than any of you, and my eyes can turn red. But I'm still human," Madara replied.

"Stronger and faster than us? He’s got to be joking, right?" Lambert said in disbelief, while the other witchers had varied expressions upon hearing that.

"What do you mean your eyes can change color? I've never heard of that..." Coën asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Madara then closed his eyes for a moment and reopened them. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed with a sinister crimson glow. The four witchers, who had never seen a Sharingan, couldn't help but feel startled as they observed those eyes.

"What kind of eye is that?" Vesemir broke the silence, staring at the red eyes with their three-tomoe pattern.

"It's an eye from my lineage," Madara said plainly. After all, he needed to explain if he wanted to stay here with Ciri. "Just as kings carry their names and bloodlines, I carry what my ancient clan possesses as special. It's something passed down from father to son in every generation," he explained.

"..." None of the witchers could utter a word for the next few seconds, looking at Madara with a certain wariness, wondering if what he was saying was truly real.

"Clan... like an organization or something? A big family?" Vesemir asked curiously, while the other three witchers continued to scrutinize Madara's eyes.

"You could consider it that, but I’m probably the only one who survived..." he said, as he wasn’t sure if there were any other living members of his clan.

"That’s certainly strange and intriguing..." Lambert said with a tone of doubt. As Madara closed his eyes again, they returned to their normal black color.

"But you said you're faster and stronger than us. Is that also because of your lineage? Because I want to see it..." Lambert spoke directly to Madara.

"Lambert, you're not going to fight a child, are you?" Coën disapproved.

"Come on, he’s the one saying these things. I want to see if he’s serious. If not, I’m going to knock that superiority complex out of him," Lambert responded, eager to teach the boy a lesson, eye tricks or not. After all, he was still a witcher.

"Fine. I accept your challenge, with swords... but will it just be you?" Madara declared, his tone genuinely arrogant.

"This brat..." Lambert growled at Madara, while the others weren’t quite sure how to react to someone like him.

"Are we really going to stay with these people?" Ciri murmured beside him.

"It’s fine," Madara shrugged, already knowing these people weren’t bad.

In the end, they continued eating without saying much more, though it was clear Lambert had more on his mind. His gaze kept falling on Madara throughout the meal, but he remained silent, simply waiting for the fight to see if the boy would maintain his arrogance after losing.

At the end, everyone finished eating while Lambert quickly got up. “Come outside, kid. I hope you brought a weapon because it’ll be disappointing if someone who talks so much doesn’t even have one. But I can lend you one if you want,” he mocked.

“It’s fine; after all, I have my own sword,” Madara said with a shrug, watching as Lambert started to leave.

“I’ll be waiting outside then. Don’t run away and embarrass yourself in front of your princess there,” Lambert said, leaving the hall.

“Sorry about him... He’s a bit difficult to deal with, kids...” Coën murmured.

“Vesemir, are you going to let him act like that?” Eskel asked, seeing their master standing still.

“The boy challenged him himself... Geralt told me he was strong, and according to the boy, he’s stronger than all of us. Let’s see if his words are true. If they are, Lambert will be the one needing help,” Vesemir said with a shrug, watching Madara rise as well, heading for the courtyard.

“I’m coming too!” Ciri quickly joined him, not wanting to stay behind.

“Well, let’s go then. I want to see this,” Eskel said, standing up, followed by Vesemir and Coën, who followed them closely.

Madara walked back into the castle’s training area, where the larger space with a training dummy was being used by Eskel, who was warming up with a sword.

“You finally came. I thought you’d backed out...” Lambert said, looking at Madara.

“You’re going to lose to Madara, so stop talking already!” Ciri exclaimed, clearly annoyed by Lambert’s chatter.

“I’d like to see that...” he simply mocked.

“Whoever loses does the dishes and cleans the table we used,” Vesemir called out loudly, approaching with the other witchers.

“So, I guess you need a sword after all,” Lambert mocked again, looking at Madara, who was without a weapon.

Ciri stayed at a distance, watching them while Madara approached Lambert, raising his wrist and touching his hand. A puff of smoke erupted.

“This is my weapon,” Madara said simply, gripping a common steel sword, causing Lambert to raise an eyebrow.

“Looks like you’ve got a neat trick there...” Lambert murmured, watching as Madara readied himself for the fight.

“Where did he pull that sword from?” Coën asked with interest.

“I don’t know... Geralt said he was different, but I didn’t know he was this different. You should’ve seen how he furnished his and the girl’s room, pulling things out of nowhere—very similar to what mages can do, but different,” Vesemir commented.

“Let’s see what he’s really capable of...” Eskel seemed more intrigued as the two raised their swords, though he was a bit worried about them using live steel for sparring.

“Go, Madara! Beat him!” Ciri exclaimed, while Madara stared calmly at Lambert, unnerving him with the boy’s composed gaze. His instincts were already warning him of danger.

“Aren’t you going to use your special eye?” Lambert asked, trying to steady himself.

“I don’t need it,” Madara replied simply.

“Tsk. Vesemir, you give the signal to start,” Lambert said, as Vesemir raised his hand from a distance.

“Begin!” Vesemir exclaimed, and Lambert charged at Madara to test him. Madara raised his sword, and the sound of metal clashing echoed in the courtyard.

Seeing this, Lambert quickly tried to press against Madara, but the boy didn’t budge. Lambert even grimaced at the effort.

“You’re strong, stronger than I thought,” Lambert murmured, a bit startled, before stepping back and removing their blade contact. He prepared to attack faster, realizing the boy wasn’t as simple as he seemed and deciding to take this more seriously.

Lambert quickly launched a lateral strike, but Madara defended again with ease, deflecting the blade. Lambert stepped back once more but immediately advanced with more ferocity, swinging his sword with greater force.

The confrontation continued as Madara parried Lambert's strikes with remarkable speed. The other witchers were astonished to see the boy fighting on equal footing with an experienced witcher. Ciri watched from a distance, her face beaming with pride for her friend.

"Incredible... The boy can really hold his own," Eskel murmured, stunned.

As Lambert tried to land a series of consecutive strikes, Madara deflected them all effortlessly, showing no signs of strain. Frustrated, Lambert couldn't help but ask:

"Tell me, kid, have you ever fought a witcher before?" His voice came amidst the clash of blades, a symphony echoing in the castle courtyard.

"I have. I’ve defeated over 15 of you. One from the Viper School and about 14 or 15 from the Cat School," Madara replied in a controlled tone, maintaining his composure as he continued parrying Lambert's attacks.

Lambert couldn’t hide his surprise. The longer the fight went on, the more he realized that Madara wasn’t even letting his attacks get close. He stepped back briefly, staring at the boy, while his companions watched in silence.

"Incredible... This boy isn’t even struggling," Coën murmured. He glanced at Vesemir, searching for answers, but the elder witcher’s expression was serious and equally astonished. It was clear that Madara’s words weren’t mere arrogance. He truly had the ability to fight a witcher with ease, and what they were witnessing was proof of it.

Madara’s stance, his fighting style—everything about him—was something Vesemir had never seen before. "He moves so fast, and he isn’t even taking the fight seriously. He’s just playing," the old witcher admitted, more to himself than to the others. For the first time, he began to believe that the boy had been truthful when he said he could defeat all of them.

The fight continued with Lambert advancing once more, refusing to use signs and sticking to his sword. The other three witchers remained silent, observing, while Ciri smiled in admiration, watching Madara fight.

Then, after only six minutes of combat, Lambert found himself disarmed. Madara executed a flawless move, striking Lambert’s hand with precision. The witcher’s sword flew from his grip, landing several meters away.

Lambert stared at it, stunned, while Madara pointed his blade directly at him.

"Well, it seems I’ve won. You’ll have to clean the dishes and the table this time. Want to take care of dinner cleanup too?" Madara suggested, his tone unmistakably arrogant.

Lambert stood there, speechless. He had lost to a child—something he had never imagined could actually happen.