System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 117
“Roy, remember your promise, and never let killing take you lightly. Every life you add to your tally is another family torn to pieces.”
The boy sighed resignedly and waved at the stern, plump woman. “Mother Nenneke, I promise! I swear I will never slaughter the innocent, so don’t preach at me!”
“Will you come back to see us?” Yar, thin as a reed, asked with reluctant eyes. “On the day you marry Iola the Second I’ll bring a present! And look after those two little ones for me, don’t let anyone bully them!”
He exhaled. In the morning light Roy watched the Temple of Melitele recede into the mountains and breathed a long, easy sigh.
This place had been where he lived the longest since his rebirth, quiet and peaceful, perfect for laying low and healing. But his ambition was to make a mark in this world.
...
The sky had turned leaden, clouds hanging low. In Ellander the city wore a gray cloak. Roy, hooded and wrapped in a gray cloak, slipped to the west of the center and stood before the Prince’s Palace, a high wall capped with rounded arches.
Beyond the bustle of the market, squads of Knights of the White Rose in polished plate, long swords at their hips, patrolled around the great building. They scanned the streets with wary eyes and soon fixed on Roy, a suspicious figure cutting straight into their sight.
“Covering yourself with a cloak, that’s you — stop and lift your head!” barked a guard with his hand on his sword. Roy looked up, revealing his pale, cropped hair and thin brows, an odd face.
The leading knight, however, caught sight of those uncanny dark-gold eyes and eased his tone. “You are a Witcher, are you not?”
“Viper School Witcher, Roy,” he answered.
“Another Viper.” The tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed knight muttered under his breath, but it did not escape the other’s ear.
“I am Sir Cleveland of the Order of the White Rose of Ellander. You’ve come to the princely palace no doubt because of a contract on the notice board. Come with me, the Captain of the Guard has been waiting.”
“A contract?” Roy frowned; some faint sense told him Gwyhyr lay quietly in the princely palace, which meant his teacher should be inside. “And a contract even Letho couldn’t handle?”
With that thought he followed the knight through the long colonnade into an outbuilding off the palace garden. There he found a familiar face, Dwarf Cranmer, seated and looking wretched.
Not seen for over a month, the Dwarf who had once been as stocky as a bear had thinned considerably; he seemed worse off than the boy who had endured the Trial of the Grasses.
A chill ran through Roy.
“Roy ... you came.” The Dwarf forced a smile, his geniality gone, a trace of shame about him.
“Cranmer, why are you here alone? Where’s that Letho fellow?”
The Dwarf sighed and motioned for him to sit. “It’s all my fault ... Roy.” He sighed, then his bloodshot eyes fixed on the youth with puzzlement. “Wait, you look different. Have you grown taller? Your eyebrows, your hair — where’s it gone? And your eyes were normal before, why are they dark-gold now?”
“I went through the Trial of the Grasses and became a full Witcher. My appearance changed a bit during mutation; that’s hardly odd. Now about Letho.”
The Dwarf pressed his big, hairy hands to his face and lowered his head, his voice thick. “Sorry, I don’t know how to say this. Master ... Master Letho has gone missing.”
“Missing?” Roy glanced aside in alarm; he could sense Gwyhyr nearby. “What happened?”
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