System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 126
“Haha...” Francis let out two exaggerated laughs, deep smile lines creasing beside the bridge of his nose, lines far older than his youthful appearance would suggest.
The two fangs vanished once more.
There was not the slightest hint of embarrassment or anger at having his secret exposed. He looked relaxed, at ease, as though he had just finished watching a comedy.
“You are utterly wasted as a Witcher. With an imagination as fertile as yours, you could easily become a writer and pen a cross-species romance novel. Hm ... I have even thought of the title for you, The Devoted Vampire and the Promiscuous Noble Lady. I happen to know a few publishers. Though they stubbornly refuse to publish my peerless poetry, their professional competence is passable. I could introduce you.”
Mockery glinted in his pitch-black pupils.
“You know, the tastes of the upper nobility are far heavier than those mud-legged peasants. I have a feeling this sort of love story would be wildly popular, selling out everywhere, enough to make you filthy rich. Once you have the reputation of a bestselling author, why would you still crawl around as some destitute Witcher?”
Roy’s gaze swept over the coroner’s face. The man was utterly relaxed. Either his acting was impeccable, or else...
“Not admitting it? That is fine. I expected as much. No Vampire would reveal their identity to a strange Witcher. Even those of the conciliatory faction, right? Speaking of which, I actually know quite a few Higher Vampires of that faction. One of them is called Regis.”
Roy lied without so much as blinking. “Can you believe it? A Higher Vampire over four hundred years old, hiding his name out in the countryside near Sodden, working as a village doctor, and even taking on barbering on the side. Tsk tsk. What a warm, hospitable fellow, sharp-witted and endlessly charming.”
Roy caught the flicker of expression that crossed Francis’s face, a trace of remembrance and nostalgia. It vanished in an instant, but it was a very good sign.
Roy pressed on, emptying his memory and raising the stakes. “There are only a little over two thousand of your kind left on the Continent. You have lived for more than three hundred years. You might even know Regis personally. Oh, and in the trade district of Vizima, the capital of Temeria, there lives a stunning member of your kind who runs a brothel. She is usually called the Queen of the Night...”
At last, Francis wiped away all traces of frivolity. He folded his arms and stared at Roy with solemn seriousness.
“I misjudged you. Young Witcher, you know quite a lot. Come with me. The Peacock Flower is not a place for conversations this serious.”
With that, he turned and left the tavern. Roy swallowed hard and followed, every step cautious.
Once outside, clear moonlight spilled over them. Walking behind him, Roy, through Perception, saw the bat-shaped phantom that was Francis’s true form begin to slowly fan its grotesque, bone-spiked wings, like a black hole emitting unknown radiation, swallowing every trace of moonlight.
“Higher Vampires truly are a favored race,” Roy thought with quiet envy. They need no cultivation. Their power grows naturally with age, and their ceiling is terrifyingly high. If one lives long enough, they could become an existence like the Unseen Elder.
They did not walk long. When the noise of the bustling streets faded completely, Francis stopped in a pitch-black alley. He leaned against the wall, unhurried, using his left hand to wipe the palm of his right, as though polishing an unparalleled weapon.
“Witcher, are you not afraid I will kill you, following me like this?”
As he spoke, the massive bat phantom suddenly opened its eyes, a savage gleam flashing within.
“Killing you would solve everything. My identity would never be exposed.”
Roy shook his head as if unconcerned, even as the palpable killing intent made his skin prickle with gooseflesh.
“According to my investigation, during the blessing rituals of the Cult of the Great Sun, the officiant does not stain his hands with the blood of anyone except sinners, in order to preserve the ritual’s purity.”
“That is also why you showed restraint toward those order members who kept hounding you, right? Six sinners have already been killed. Only the last one remains. I do not think you would break the rules at the final step and ruin everything.”
“Huh?” Francis looked as if he had just heard the greatest joke in the world. “You think I am the killer? And that I am fooling around with that absurd Cult of the Great Sun ritual?”
“Sorry...” A trace of pity surfaced in the Vampire’s eyes, like someone watching a lost soul walk toward a dead end. “You seem to have gotten it wrong from the very beginning. I am not the serial killer you speak of, nor would I care about any so-called purity and show restraint.”
“And the ones doing the hounding are not the order. It is you. You Witchers. If you anger me...”
“Impossible!”
Roy’s face darkened. He clenched his sweat-slicked fist, focusing his awareness on the bombs in his storage space, ready at a moment’s notice. “You do not have to admit it now. I can forget everything. I swear on the honor of a Witcher of the Viper School, as long as you tell me where Letho is and hand him over to me, I will no longer interfere in this series of murders.”
“Naive,” Francis spread his hands. “And what does it matter to me where a Witcher is now, or whether he is alive or dead?”
Roy’s voice sank lower. “You ... if you are not the killer, then why did Letho set an ambush specifically for you in the first place?”
A bad feeling crept over him.
Francis lifted his head, gazing at the bright moon.
“I will not hide it from you. Your teacher discovered my true identity during his investigation as well. I must admit, though, his mind was not as sharp as yours. It took him a full month to catch my trail. He chose a method of contact very different from yours, far more savage and direct.”
“That bald Witcher seems to prefer conversation through combat. That night, the night he threatened to expose me, I saw hatred and fury in his eyes. Hatred without reason. I could not understand why a Master Witcher would stubbornly believe that a law-abiding Higher Vampire posed a greater threat than a serial killer who severely disrupted public order.”
“Still, his strength was worthy of my full effort. Thinking back, it had been a long time since I moved my body so freely. After that night’s fierce battle, I did not even bother to tend my wounds. Endless inspiration drowned me.”
Francis licked his lips, his long fingers cracking as he clenched them.
Confusion spread through Roy’s thoughts. A Higher Vampire had little reason to lie to a novice Witcher like him.
But if he truly was not the killer, then why had Letho targeted him from the start? In Francis’s account, Letho’s hatred for Vampires had been intense, visceral.
Witchers were not usually so impulsive. In the months Roy had traveled with him, he had scarcely ever seen Letho let his emotions slip. Then Roy remembered something, and understanding dawned.
“Letho once told me that a friend of his was brutally killed by a Winged Brain Eater. And Winged Brain Eaters are an extremely dangerous type of lesser Vampire. He has been harboring that grudge ever since.”
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