System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 139
Morning light filtered through the window and drew the witcher out of meditation. Roy took a deep breath and opened his dark-gold pupils. The fatigue built up through hard training was swept away, leaving him sharp and refreshed.
Another brand-new day.
He called for Letho. The two packed their gear and followed the guards sent by the Prefect, crossing the Trade Quarter and entering the Temple Quarter.
Vizima’s Temple Quarter was run-down, its streets worn and its buildings low. Judging by facilities and surroundings alone, it lagged far behind the Trade Quarter. Only a sparse city patrol ventured here, keeping to areas away from the dark alleys. Order was poor, filth bred easily, and brutal violence occurred every day.
The group hurried to St. Lebioda’s Hospital at the center of the Temple Quarter. A crowd of Knights of the Order of the White Rose had sealed off the alley beside the hospital so tightly that not a drop of water could pass through.
Clearly, some sort of public security incident was unfolding.
With the guards’ introduction, the two witchers squeezed past the knights and saw the scene at the center.
A slender woman with white hair cascading over her shoulders was crouched with her back to the crowd, examining another figure lying silently on the ground, unmistakably dead.
Roy watched her back, his gaze deepening.
Adda the White Age: 19 Gender: Female Identity: Princess
Adda the White is the daughter of King Foltest of Temeria and his sister, Princess Adda of Temeria, also known as Adda the Black. Publicly, she is known as the king’s only legitimate child.
Striga Five years ago, she was still a blood-drinking monster, hunting the inhabitants of Vizima every week. After Geralt of Rivia lifted the curse, she was restored to human form. However, she retains certain habits and inherited traits from her former existence. The curse has not been entirely eradicated and may yet resurface.
Vitality: 80
Attributes: Strength: 8 Agility: 9 Constitution: 8 Perception: 7 Willpower: 5 Charisma: 7 Spirit: 5
Skill: One-Handed Sword Mastery LV3 ... Dagger Mastery LV2 ... Bow Mastery LV2...
...
At this moment, the Princess who had appeared in countless tales was half-crouched with her back to the witchers. The posture was anything but elegant, more like a low-status vagrant mercenary or laborer.
No noblewoman would ever behave so unbecomingly in front of others.
Yet she did it naturally, casually. None of the knights present dared show even a hint of disrespect or mockery. They stood solemn and silent.
“This Princess Adda is certainly no fragile, dainty woman. But for a princess of a kingdom to meddle in the security of the slums, is that really appropriate?”
The witcher turned to study the surrounding knights and spotted a familiar face, Cleveland.
The Grand Master of the Order of the White Rose of Ellander had been driven back to Vizima, only to become an attendant to a royal noblewoman. The fall in status had left him looking haggard.
Suddenly, Princess Adda seemed to sense the gaze on her. She rose and turned around.
“Stunning.”
The word flashed through the witcher’s mind as his pupils tightened.
It was impossible to imagine that the woman before him had been a hideous, man-eating monster only a few years ago.
Now, grown to full adulthood, Adda was unquestionably beautiful.
Her lips were sharply defined and painted a blood-red crimson. Her nose was high and straight, her brows and eyes slightly elongated, carrying a strange, alluring pull.
Snow-white hair draped over her shoulders, yes, that unmistakable style favored by sorceresses, druid devotees, and prostitutes alike.
Beneath that hair, her skin was dazzlingly pale, smooth as silk without a single flaw.
Her attire, however, clashed completely with her appearance. From her long neck down, she was encased in close-fitting brown leather armor, black leather gloves on her hands, low-heeled leather boots on her feet. A finely made dagger hung at her left hip, a barbed leather whip at her right.
Taken as a whole, her dress bore no resemblance to a princess. She looked more like a Scoia’tael assassin wandering the wilds.
The witcher steadied the faintly trembling medallion of the School of the Viper at his chest. He also noticed that although Adda was slender, she was tall, half a head taller than him. A silver chain with a sapphire pendant hung at her neck, emitting a faint magical pulse.
A talisman King Foltest had been made to give her at the White Wolf’s insistence, to prevent the Ekhidna curse from resurfacing.
...
On the other side, Adda was also studying the two unfamiliar witchers.
Her gaze held none of the modest restraint common to most women. It was bold, willful, and unrestrained. Light blazed in her narrow pupils, aggressively invasive, as if she meant to strip those before her down to bone and marrow.
Even so, the witchers remained calm and detached under her scrutiny.
They had waded through seas of corpses and blood. The gazes of countless monsters that wanted to tear them apart had never shaken them. One woman was hardly enough.
“So you two are the new bodyguards Velerad found for me?”
Adda folded her arms. As her red lips parted, a hoarse voice emerged, tinged with a hazy sensuality.
The witchers nodded. Before they could speak further, the woman strode toward them.
Carrying a waft of mandrake scent, she leaned close, sniffed lightly, then frowned as if unsettled.
“A rich smell. Human, elf, and some other non-human things...”
As she spoke, she ran her pink tongue over her lips.
“Your scent isn’t disgusting. I’ll allow you to stay near me. But if you want to serve under me, this isn’t enough.”
She suddenly turned and pointed her leather-gloved finger at the fresh corpse on the ground. “I hear witchers are experts in hunting and tracking. We happen to need skilled hunters for our campaign against the cunning vodyanoi. Catch the murderer who killed this priestess and prove yourselves, then you’re welcome. Otherwise, crawl back to Velerad.”
A smile played at Adda’s lips. “You have one day.”
“We don’t need a day.”
The bald witcher spoke calmly and walked with Roy to the corpse, crouching to examine it. Another knight stepped forward to explain.
“The deceased is Harriet, sixteen years old, a medical assistant at St. Lebioda’s Hospital. Although violent bloodshed is common in the Temple Quarter, the residents here share one understanding. Anyone with even a shred of conscience does not lay hands on the priestesses of the Temple of the Prophet Lebioda.”
“Most locals have received care from the priestesses at one time or another. So I believe the killer is very likely an outsider, or someone who has only recently moved into the Temple Quarter.”
The priestess’s pale face was drained of all color, her terror frozen in death. Her tongue protruded strangely past her lips, her body twisted stiffly.
“Her body was found this morning in the alley beside the temple. She was likely attacked late last night while taking out the trash.”
The priestess’s slight body was dressed in the white robes of the Temple of the Prophet Lebioda. Now the hem was torn in two, spattered with scattered bloodstains.
“She was strangled to death.”
The knight pointed to her neck, where a large, dark red imprint of a hand and fingers was visible. Within the deep red marks ran a thin, shallow cut.
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