System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 201
“Vizima, the Trade Quarter, the house of the Night Queen.
The magic lamp on the ceiling cast a hazy yellow light. A slow lute drifted through the room like a lover murmuring softly at one’s ear.
Roy sat before the liquor cabinet in a daze. One after another, girls with lush figures and daring clothes flitted through his field of vision like butterflies. Some chatted smilingly with groups of customers. Others stood alone in corners, swaying their waists to draw every eye.
Without exception, they were all lovely of face and shapely of body. Every movement, every gesture carried deliberate seduction. Their eyes were deep as whirlpools, as though they meant to suck dry the strength and soul of every man who crossed the threshold.
Roy steadied his faintly trembling hand, lifted a Bloody Mary red as fresh blood, and drained it in one hard swallow. The burning liquor seared down his throat, jolting his mind sharp for an instant.
Rumor had it that the Higher Vampire known as the Night Queen had opened a tavern in Vizima.
Rumor had also said the serving girls there were all Higher Vampires and Bruxae.
He had believed it. Thinking of Letho’s plague-like hatred of Vampires, he had not even dared bring him along while making inquiries.
Only after arriving in person had he learned it was all empty boasting. The serving girls at the Night Queen were beautiful enough, but they were ordinary women.
...
Then a sudden waft of jasmine drifted down from the staircase in the corner. The Witcher turned his head and saw a mature beauty descending slowly.
She had a cascade of reddish-brown hair. The lines of her face were a touch harder than most women’s, and the straight nose bridge and tightly set red lips spoke of a stubborn streak. Her sleeveless dark red leather dress was slit all the way from the chest to the waist, showing off a dazzling stretch of white skin.
The short skirt ended just above the knee. Below that, a pair of earth-yellow leather boots wrapped around long, shapely legs, giving her an overall air that was brisk and capable, yet still full of allure.
“You’re awfully young to be looking for pleasure, little brother.” Sensing the strange gaze upon her, the woman turned and smiled brightly at the Witcher by the bar. “Need me to recommend an experienced one? Skilled hands, guaranteed satisfaction.”
“Beautiful lady, are you the Night Queen?”
“My name is Shani ... and you’re unlucky. The mistress has gone off to visit an old friend. She’ll be gone at least half a month. Do you need something from her?”
“I heard the Night Queen tavern is well informed...” Roy tapped a finger against the bar top. “So I came to buy a piece of information.”
Carrying a breath of perfume with her, the woman sat down at his side and fixed him with her lovely eyes. “No need for the mistress. Go on.”
“I’m looking in Vizima for a master smith ... someone capable of forging master-grade weapons and armor.” Roy weighed his words. “He has beastlike pupils, and he used to be a mercenary.”
“One flat price.” The woman raised five slender fingers.
“I heard it was thirty crowns.” Roy arched a brow. “You’re not trying to fleece me because I’m young, are you?”
“If you want someone to blame, blame the Church of Virtue that sprang up all of a sudden in the Temple Quarter. That group has lured away the rich from the Trade Quarter, and business in the tavern has dropped badly. We need a way to balance the losses.”
As she spoke, Shani’s gaze cooled. There was even a hint of gritted teeth in her tone.
“The Church of Virtue?” Roy paused. “Forty crowns?”
“Little brother, this isn’t the market. No haggling.”
Roy bared his teeth, putting on a look of hesitation and pain, as though it truly hurt his purse. Only when she was nearly losing patience did he sigh. “Fine. Fifty crowns it is.”
“Gathering information will take a few hours. While you wait...” Shani pressed her red lips together and smiled charmingly. “Shall I arrange a pretty girl to keep you entertained?”
“No need. Just bring me a cup of cider.”
Roy looked toward the Gwent table not far off, smiling faintly, and cracked his knuckles. “Good timing. It’s been a while since I had a proper game.”
...
Two hours later, Shani swayed over and sat beside Roy again, surprise flickering in her eyes. A little while ago there had clearly been several tables of patrons playing Gwent in the tavern. Why had every last one of them vanished?
“You’re in luck. A friend of mine sent word. There’s a master smith in Vizima who matches your description...”
The woman paused mid-sentence, her bright eyes fixed on him without blinking.
The Witcher cheerfully slid over fifty crowns, all freshly won from the Gwent table.
“Where is he, and who is he?”
“His name is Berengar. He lives in seclusion in the Temple Quarter ... and he is...” Shani hesitated. “Formerly a Witcher of the School of the Wolf. He forged a sword called Tohen, and word of it has circulated before in Vizima’s markets.”
“A Witcher of the Wolf School? Berengar...” Roy’s lips curved slightly.
“But be careful.” Shani stressed the warning. “Berengar is deeply resentful of his former identity. I doubt he feels kindly toward his own kind.”
...
Stepping through the fading gold of sunset, Roy and Letho entered the Temple Quarter.
In the central square of the Temple Quarter stood a great statue of the Lady of the Lake. Beneath it, the Order of the White Rose of Ellander was still handing out food to the long lines of poor folk. Compared with that, St. Lebioda’s Hospital, which was likewise in the Temple Quarter, had grown much quieter. Its influence no longer matched what it once had.
Lebioda’s holy name was known all across the North, but he was not a true deity. Aside from tricks and falsehoods, he could not grant divine power to his priests to hold their followers. By contrast, Viviane, the Lady of the Lake worshipped by the Church of Virtue, was a living being. She could use her own magic to display miracles from time to time, and that made the poor masses believe more readily.
On top of that, under the sweeping reforms of the Church of Virtue’s High Priest, Vizima’s eldest princess Adda, the gangs in the Temple Quarter had quieted down for the time being. Public order had improved markedly, and the residents had gained real benefits from it. A small portion of Lebioda’s faithful had turned instead to the Lady of the Lake.
...
The two men passed through the central district, turned through several dim alleys, and entered an area of low, shabby buildings.
“Temple Quarter, Flax Lane, number 250 ... these house numbers are idiotic.” The Witcher stopped in front of a weathered black door. Bang, bang, bang. “Anyone in there?” He waited a while. No reply.
Letho pressed his ear to the wooden door, and his face tightened. He had heard a furtive rustling inside, one that quickly faded away.
“Round the back, kid. The bastard’s making a run for it.”
The two men sprinted to the side of the house and looked up just in time to see a figure hanging outside a third-story window. With a twist of the waist and a savage swing, the man launched himself cleanly onto the roof opposite, one hand braced on the tiles, one knee bent, amber pupils flashing toward them.
“Don’t run, Berengar. Listen to me...”
Roy shouted after him, but the man was like a startled bird and gave them no chance at all to explain. He wheeled and bolted across the rooftops.
The two Witchers exchanged a glance and split up, running for opposite sides of the houses.
After a short run-up, Roy sprang lightly onto the wall, then climbed like a lizard with hands and feet together, scrambling up to the third-story roof in only a few seconds.
By then, the fleeing figure had already opened up a considerable lead. His movements were inhumanly agile. Even on the slanting roof tiles, he kept perfect balance as though running on level earth.
“A customer comes to your door and you run? Doesn’t earning a little coin suit you?” Roy chased after him. His Agility was twice that of an ordinary man, and his balance was superb. He too ran across the rooftops as though on flat ground.
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