System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 160
In the morning, on the northern outskirts of Cintra, two figures, one tall and one short, walked along a narrow path leading toward the hills and forest.
One wore black leather armor, twin swords on his back, tall and lean. The other had a long horse-like face, a scrawny build, and a mouth that never stopped moving.
“Two months ago, my brother Hadavar and I were gathering herbs in a cave when we stumbled upon that little griffin. It had only just been born, its feathers still wet, its claws and beak soft and pliant, its body smaller than a fist, screeching at us nonstop.”
“At the time, we didn’t recognize what it was. We thought it was some kind of vulture or eagle chick. We planned to take it home, raise it, and once it grew a bit, put on performances at the market to earn some coin.”
Galar let out a sigh, fear surfacing on his face.
“But the moment we picked up the little griffin, something attacked us. That monster looked like a hunched, misshapen man. Its skin was corpse-gray, its whole body reeking of rot. It ran on all fours like a beast. Each claw had four fingers, the nails curved into black hooks.”
“I didn’t even have time to react. It crawled out of the shadows and pounced straight onto Hadavar. One bite tore off half his face. It pinned him down, dragging, ripping, chewing.”
“I was terrified. My mind went blank. I held onto the little thing and...” the long-faced man stammered, shame creeping across his face.
“You ran?” Roy asked.
“I left my screaming brother Hadavar behind and ran.” Galar lowered his head, his face ashen. “I’m a coward. A disgraceful deserter.”
Roy sighed and did not reproach him.
“Running is a normal reaction.”
The Witcher knew all too well how horrifying a ghoul looked, enough to silence crying children and scare the timid unconscious.
“When ordinary people face that thing, their first reaction is either to freeze or to bolt. Fewer than one in ten would dare rush in and fight it. In front of a ghoul, forget brothers. Even parents, wives, children, most people can’t think of them. It’s survival instinct.”
“No. I was wrong.” Galar was still wracked with guilt. “If I hadn’t run, if I’d struck that beast, maybe I could have saved Hadavar.”
“In speed and strength, a ghoul far surpasses ordinary humans. With its fangs and claws, it can tear human skin and crush bone with ease. If you hadn’t run, you’d have ended up the same.”
“Though dying that way would at least have been honorable.”
As he spoke, Roy glanced ahead. They were walking up a small green hill thick with clover patches.
“Regret is pointless now. Tell me about your contract. You want to kill that ghoul for revenge?”
“Yes. I want that beast dead.” Galar ground his teeth, hatred laced with remorse. “And then ... collect Hadavar’s remains. He was a warrior, a mercenary who’d seen countless battles. Later, an arrow shattered his knee, left him lame, and he had to retire early. He drifted from Novigrad to Cintra and partnered with me in a small business.”
“I never thought he’d be ambushed by that bastard and die such a horrible death.”
A retired mercenary, dead in the wilds, torn apart by a monster.
Roy felt a quiet weight settle in his chest. This was likely the fate of most Witchers as well.
“As a disgraceful deserter, I failed him. The only thing I can do is give him a proper burial. A Cintran sea burial.” Galar met the Witcher’s eyes, sincere. “If you can help me fulfill this wish, that little griffin is yours as payment. If that’s not enough, I can add more.”
“The payment is sufficient. No need to add coin.” Roy did not want to gouge him. A juvenile griffin was priceless to him. “But you need to prepare yourself. If it lacked food, the ghoul wouldn’t have wasted Hadavar’s bones.”
“Your brother may already have been cracked open and sucked dry, nothing left.”
Galar stopped short, his face cycling between pale and flushed. After a long moment, he drew a deep breath. “Even if there’s only a single bone left ... I want to bury him and beg his forgiveness.”
“Understood.” Out of caution, the Witcher’s expression turned serious. “One last question. Are you certain there was only one ghoul in the cave? And that the little griffin’s parents were not inside? I can handle a lone ghoul, but if there’s anything else, we’re both finished.”
“I’ll never forget that scene.” Galar’s expression was complicated, relief mixed with regret. “I’m certain there was only one ghoul. It slipped silently out of the cave shadows and lunged at my unlucky brother. If there’d been a second ghoul, or an adult griffin, I wouldn’t have escaped, let alone carried the little one away.”
Roy nodded. Griffins had extremely strong parental instincts. They would never leave their offspring alone. Something must have happened to them.
“One ghoul. A fairly standard challenge.”
The Witcher glanced at the sky and felt more at ease.
At dusk or night, ghouls grew stronger. Now, under a cloudless morning sky, a ghoul would be weakened. And he still had one full recovery in reserve.
It was a fight he could take.
Half an hour later, the two arrived near a forest clearing. About a hundred feet away loomed a dark, yawning cave mouth.
...
From a distance, the Witcher and Galar watched the cave entrance for a moment. Memories surfaced, fear flickering in Galar’s eyes. He shook his head as if to steel himself. “Master, what now? What should I do?”
“Your only task is to stay outside and hide. Best to climb that poplar. Can you climb?”
After his experience with Old Hark, Roy was determined never again to let amateurs interfere.
Galar flushed and mumbled as if he wanted to say something more, but the Witcher waved him silent.
“Be patient. I’ll give you a chance to vent your anger on the corpse.”
Roy bent low, rising onto the balls of his feet, and crept toward the cave. Witcher Senses activated. In his vision bloomed bands of color like ribbons. Most came from familiar wild animals, but a few were unfamiliar, their colors, scents, and traits eerily consistent.
He exhaled. Now he was certain. Only one opponent, and it had returned from a hunt not long ago.
He checked the alchemical supplies in his storage space, took out Necrophage Oil, and evenly coated the dark red blade of Aerondight, as well as the heads of ten specially prepared bolts.
“Pop. Gurgle, gurgle.”
He drank the Swallow and Thunderbolt he had brewed himself. Black veins rose across the youth’s face.
His five fingers traced a sign over his chest. A pale yellow glow flowed through his body.
Keeping close to the cave wall, he slipped inside like a specter.
In the dim cave, a pair of dark-gold pupils swept the surroundings.
Beneath gray stalactites hanging like stone fangs, piles of rocks lay scattered alongside cobwebs, moss, and cave mushrooms. The space was fairly wide, but fighting a ghoul here would leave very little room to maneuver. He would have to use every advantage the terrain offered.
As he advanced, the Witcher memorized the cave’s layout, rehearsing the fight in his mind.
Two minutes later, after rounding a bend, he stopped abruptly and hid behind a bulging rock against the wall. In the clearing ahead, dim light revealed a humanoid monster moving on all fours, pacing restlessly.
Its skin was corpse-gray, its body exuding the stench of rotting flesh. Thick muscles bulged along its limbs and back. Its legs bent backward at the joints like a hound’s.
It had a thick, black maw split all the way to the ears, packed with yellowed, rotten teeth as chaotic as maggots writhing in dung. Its pupils were pure black, devoid of any trace of light, as if possessed by a demon, chilling to the bone.
Ghoul Age: 1 Vitality: 130
Attributes: Strength: 12 Agility: 10 Constitution: 13 Perception: 6 Willpower: 5 Charisma: 2 Spirit: 5
Skills: