System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 18
Night. Wind screamed across the open waste.
They sat by the warm fire, licking the steam off roasted rabbit. Letho took a sip of Est Est, then spoke up, “You said yesterday you wanted to learn crossbow work. We have time now; I’ll teach you.”
Roy, a self-taught wildshot until now, had long wanted proper instruction. Since joining the Witcher, Gabriel’s tiny crossbow had begun to feel limiting; it was fine for ordinary game, but against true Monsters it left him wanting. Any improvement in marksmanship would help.
Letho had him fetch Gabriel and began to teach with the weapon in hand. “I won’t bother with Viper School techniques tonight,” he said, “I’ll tell you what a cat-school friend once taught me.”
“You know a Cat Witcher?” Roy asked. In his mind the Cat School, warped by their mutagens and obsession with certain potions, often leaned extreme; they were the school that sometimes took human-killing contracts. They had a reputation, and a complicated history with the other schools.
“People call all cats mad,” Letho said, rubbing an old scar on his forearm; something like memory passed across his amber eyes, then he shut it away. “Nonsense. Plenty of Cat Witchers can be reasonable. Enough. Back to you.”
“Start with what you think is key using Gabriel,” he said. “When you hold it, what matters most?”
Roy lifted the crossbow on instinct, set his stance. “Aiming, then firing. The trigger squeeze. That moment decides the hit.”
“Not bad,” Letho replied, circling the fire. “Everything else exists to make that trigger squeeze repeatable and true. There’s more to it though. Crossbowcraft has five parts: the hold, the stance, cocking and loading, aiming, and the trigger press.”
Roy kept his face blank; he’d expected complexity. Anything that looks simple in theory can be maddening in practice.
“We’ll take our time,” Letho said. “First, the hold. Show me how you normally carry it.”
Roy, used to one-handed shots, steadied the Gabriel with both hands as instructed: left hand under the belly of the stock, right on the grip. Letho’s broad palm pressed and adjusted him, talking through the corrections.
“You’re a backyard shooter, every move rough,” Letho said, blunt and patient. “Stay centered and relaxed. Shoulders level. Nobody else in your body supports the crossbow except these two hands. If you’re right-handed, your left elbow should drop inwards; keep it under the stock. Why correct it? After ten thousand shots you’ll see. People who teach the art did it a million times.”
Simple rules, but habit and repetition make them hard. Roy told himself to endure; this was a small step toward real strength, and if he couldn’t tolerate tedious training now, he had no business with the Trials.
An hour later, sweating, his stance beginning to look right, Roy learned cocking and loading. According to Letho, you must master preparation first. After three hours the moon hung high; the method Letho taught even used a foot brace to cock the string. It was safer and more efficient than brute force, though far more tiring.
Roy never complained. Even soaked through with sweat, he stayed focused. Letho grew quietly pleased; perhaps the boy would last.
Training stopped for the night. As Roy rinsed and dried by the fire, Letho offered a choice. “You asked me to teach you. Now a choice: I can use Axii to push you into deep sleep. You’ll recover faster, your muscles heal, and there may be other benefits. Or you can sleep normally.”
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