Chapter 218

Deep night.

In the wasteland beyond Vizima, an abandoned field.

A patch of clover suddenly stirred. Amid a soft rustling, a pair of long pointed ears emerged.

Then an adult gray rabbit hopped out. Its black bead-like eyes swept the surroundings. After confirming there was no threat nearby, it lowered its head into the clover patch and began crunching away at the pale green leaves.

Five yards off, upon a great banyan tree, an eagle-headed, lion-bodied Monster lay in silent wait. Hidden in the shadow away from the moonlight, its body blended with the trunk itself. A pair of deep, dark eyes fixed on the feeding prey.

But it did not rush to attack. It remained utterly still, waiting for its moment.

One second, two, three...

Then, at a certain instant, hooked claws tore into the bark, and the Monster suddenly beat its wings, launching from the banyan and diving down from five yards up.

Whoosh, whoosh.

A terrible shadow swept through the black night sky.

In an instant, the huge body struck the ground. The fierce rush of air flattened the clover patch, and the three hooked talons at the end of its right wing closed like an iron cage, pinning the tiny prey beneath them.

“Well done, Griffin!”

From the farther shrubs, a slender figure came running out. He gave a bright, ringing whistle, and the creature obediently lifted its claw.

Beneath it, the wretched rabbit had been frightened to the utmost. Its body was curled tight against the grass, as if it had fainted. Griffin licked all over it with a crimson tongue, yet even after regaining its freedom, it did not dare run. Fear of a top predator had been carved deep into its blood and bone. It could not resist.

“Guh ... guh...”

Griffin turned its glossy black eyes toward the Witcher, full of hunger for flesh and blood. Not long before, it had eaten two field mice clean, yet its belly was nowhere near full.

“Not even half a year old and already a glutton.” Roy gave a little nod.

In the next instant, a string of wet ripping sounds burst through the night. Griffin’s scythe-like claws and sharp beak tore the prey apart with effortless ease. In less than a minute, the lively rabbit had been hacked into pieces and reduced to a heap of bones with scraps of meat still clinging to them.

Griffin stretched its neck and let out a series of satisfied coos, then sprawled in the grass and lazily licked the blood from its claws and feathers.

...

This was already the fourth day of field training, and Griffin had made clear progress in every respect. Its gliding distance in the air had grown from two yards to five. It was still far from sustained flight, but at least it no longer toppled the instant it left the ground.

Its performance as a hunter was even more striking.

Its half-year of caged life had not dulled its wildness in the least. It had perfectly inherited its parents’ predatory instinct. It needed no instruction at all, and was rapidly advancing toward the level of a first-rate hunter.

Roy had watched the whole process from the side. Griffin’s hunting methods were utterly unlike those of ordinary felines. Its body was too conspicuous, its movements too broad, to crouch in grass or brush and spring from hiding. It was closer to an eagle or a vulture, descending from the air and using the massive inertia of its body to punch through prey with tooth and claw.