System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 221
The next morning.
Sparrows chattered in the branches, and lazy sunlight spilled through the window, revealing three men sprawled about the room like corpses. Letho hung upside down from the hammock, the bald head suspended in midair. Kael lay on the carpet flat on his back, limbs spread wide in the shape of a cross. Orin had his backside stuck up in the air, his chin propped against the edge of the bathtub.
The snores of the three burly men rose and fell through the room, with the sour breath of wine escaping their mouths every so often.
Boom!
A sudden crash like an explosion shook the room. The three drunkards jolted, and instinctively tensed all over, snatching up the swords beside them in alarm.
The next moment, a Portal blossomed open before their eyes, shimmering with flowing light and making a hollow, gusting sound like the eye of a storm. Then someone stepped out of it on tiptoe.
“Kid, you disappoint me.” The cold voice made the intruder go stiff. “So your important private business was whoring about with a Sorceress. Hah.”
Orin watched the spectacle with open delight, his face full of malicious pleasure.
“Gentlemen, it’s not what you think.” The Witcher kept his face calm as he explained. “Coral and I were only discussing official business.”
A woman’s displeased little snort came from the narrowing crack of the door, and the Portal vanished at once.
“Lytta Neyd, that old hag.” Veins stood out on Letho’s face. “We never should have asked her to preside over the Trial of the Grasses in the first place.”
“Kid, can’t you understand I mean well? Do you really think Sorceresses are someone you can afford to provoke?”
Roy shook his head and sighed. Why would no one believe him. He and Coral had merely ridden Griffin together, talked through the night about plans for the future, and danced a little.
“Why go after my little brother?” On the other side, Orin muttered to himself in dejected indignation. “Why not choose me? Whatever scheme she has, she can bring it to me.”
“That’s enough, all of you...” Kael cleared his throat, breaking the awkward air. “What is this, some public trial? And what right do you have to scold Roy? Don’t forget how wildly you lot behaved last night at the Night Queen’s...” He gave Orin’s neck a meaningful glance. Two lip prints stood out there plainly.
The denunciation came to a halt for the time being.
Just then, Griffin, in black-cat form, suddenly poked its head out of Roy’s hood. Its glossy eyes flicked around once, then it climbed onto Roy’s head and began meowing without pause.
From a distance, it made the Witcher look as though he had a large frog perched on his skull. Roy said hesitantly, “Griffin didn’t eat last night. I need to get him some breakfast.”
“That’s the end of it. Forget Sorceresses and serving girls.” Letho’s face was still ugly, but he stopped dwelling on the matter. “Now that everyone’s awake, let’s get back to the real business.”
Roy let out a quiet breath of relief.
The Witchers, thanks to their strong constitutions, shook off the last of their drunken haze quickly and began discussing the forging of the Griffin gear. Before long, they had their arrangement.
Berengar and Letho would handle the forge rental and study the diagrams. The Kael brothers, after receiving the last three hundred Crowns from the “keeper of the purse,” would take on the task of gathering materials.
The four Hakland-style pieces required even higher and harsher standards of material than the earlier Viper School twin swords. The cheaper items were things like plain steel plates and iron ingots. Then came the costly pieces, Dragon Hide, Dimeritium Plates, Moonstones, and the like.
This Dragon Hide did not mean true dragon skin, but leather stripped from Wyverns, Forktails, Basilisks, and other draconid breeds.
Even so, it was extremely rare and expensive, forever out of stock with most leather merchants. The Kael brothers would have to try their luck at markets and auctions. Failing that, they might have no choice but to go out and hunt one themselves.
Most of the materials could be bought, though at no small expense.
Roy did not involve himself in the forging task for the moment. After scrubbing away the marks left on his body, he went to the Temple Quarter square to seek help from Princess Adda.
It was the hour of the Church of Virtue’s morning mass. But the vast square no longer looked as it once had. The sea of people praying in devotion was gone. Scattered citizens wandered there in confusion, as though they had lost the thing that anchored them. Only a dozen or so Cultists lingered near the middle of the square, where the statue of the Lady of the Lake had once stood.
The statue had been removed at some point.
A group of unfamiliar Knights of the White Rose had gathered nearby. Instead of distributing porridge and food as before, they were driving away the Cultists who refused to leave. Some wailed and threw tantrums, only to be seized by the cold-faced Knights and hauled off.
More people chose to give up and leave, or turned instead toward Prophet Lebioda. After all, after only two or three months of prayer, their faith in the Lake Lady was far from unshakable.
There was no sign at all of Adda, High Priest of the Church. Instead, among the Knights moved three Sorcerers, two women and one man.
“Feket?” This male Sorcerer from Cidaris was elegantly dressed and thin of build, with a neat pair of moustaches on his upper lip. His manner was proud, and among the Knights he carried himself like an officer on inspection.
The Witcher slipped into the shadows of an alley and watched in secret.
As for the two Sorceresses, their low-cut floral gowns showed off their fine figures and a dangerous amount of breast, along with their respective amulets. One wore a silver ankh set with moonstone at her chest. She was slight, with pale golden hair falling loose over her shoulders. When she walked, the split hem of her dress flashed a wide stretch of skin.