System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 225
In the brightly lit room, the bald Letho’s broad, fan-like hand toyed with a needle, stitching up the Witcher’s savage, gaping shoulder wound.
“Playing with two ghouls in terrain that cramped, not bad at all.”
“And what would you have done?” The Witcher leaned back in a wicker chair, one arm bare, baring his teeth now and then as he endured the stabbing pain.
Letho’s carrot-thick fingers carefully pushed the needle through flesh, then drew out a length of blood-stained gut thread. “Your choice wasn’t wrong, but there’s no need to cling to the Silver Sword, the hand crossbow, and Igni. Against a mindless monster like a ghoul, Axii, which muddles the mind, works just as well.”
The Witcher nodded. In that kind of urgency, he had instinctively used the Igni he had mastered, and forgotten the more suitable Axii.
“Combat XP is scarce ... tsk.” A sharper stab of pain shot through the wound, as Letho gently prodded Griffin’s pale, rosy belly, coaxing it to obediently gurgle and spit saliva onto the injury.
“Bear with it. Vodyanoi saliva speeds up healing, gets you back on your feet faster.” After using Griffin, Letho tossed it back into the tub and flicked it a strip of dried fish. “Kept it this long, might as well get some use out of it.”
“Wrap it tight. You’ll be fighting again tomorrow.”
Letho nodded, winding clean white bandages once, twice around the Witcher’s arm. “Right, this morning Adda had someone deliver a batch of gifts.” The bald man sighed. “The princess may be trouble, but she’s generous. Dragon hide, dimeritium plates, moonstone ... nearly every material you’d need for forging. Enough for a full set of Griffin armor, and no need to skimp on a Griffin steel sword either.”
“Then this wound wasn’t for nothing.” Roy’s thoughts stirred. The four members of the Viper School all had weapons that suited them, while Berengar had only the silver sword Tohen, lacking a decent steel blade. When the time came ... yes, best discuss it with the others.
Maybe, just maybe, the man would be so moved he’d stop brooding over that nonsense about heirs.
“Clearing the sewers helps the School too. Count me in tomorrow? Or call Orin and Kael?”
A few ghouls were about the limit Roy and the Knights of the White Rose could handle. In Letho’s view, that was enough training.
If something more dangerous showed up, and the School’s rising star ended up dead...
Roy lowered his head and thought it over seriously for a moment, then flashed a set of white teeth. “Next time. I want to push myself a bit further.”
“Hah...” The Witcher hunched like a hunting cat, gasping like a bellows as he leaned against the cold, moss-slick sewer bricks. Purple-black veins from the potions crawled across his face, sweat oozed from his skin in heavy beads, running down his chin and neck, soaking into the half-split leather armor on his chest.
Veins bulged on both hands. He braced himself on his sword like a crutch, unable to stop the trembling.
His whole body was slick with fluid, not just foul sweat, but blood.
In the brutal fight that had nearly stolen his breath, he felt a flicker of regret, regret that he had not brought Letho along.
After dealing with the ghouls, their luck had run dry. In the sewers, they had run into something far worse.
Three Knights, Yagon, Mars, and Zerlin, lay scattered in the foul water channels not far from him. Their chests rose faintly, broken groans slipping out, weak and uneven.
Yagon’s right arm and left leg were twisted like rope, bent at impossible angles. One of Zerlin’s arms had been wrenched backward, the joint exposing pale bone. And Mars, the young knight with lashes like a maiden’s, had a visible depression caved into his chest. One nostril clogged with blood, foam spilling from his mouth, he was on the verge of death.
Behind the three knights lay a humanoid monster, facing the Witcher. Its mouth was wide and long, packed with uneven teeth. Its face was flat and nauseating. Aside from that gaping maw, it had no visible eyes or nose. Its head resembled an inverted backside.
Its body was hairless, covered in bulging gray-white muscle and warts. Primitive structures protruded from it, webbing, bone spurs, claws, a creature built for slaughter. Its destructive power was obvious.
But now it was a cold corpse, riddled with arrows, slashed and stabbed by blades, scorched by explosive fire.
“Fleder.” A lesser vampire. Wide mouth, flattened ugly face. Above its sharp fangs, a pair of crimson eyes devoid of any warm-blooded reason.
But that had been a juvenile. The Witcher had struck it hard with Dragon’s Dream the moment it appeared, then joined forces with the three Knights of the White Rose to bring it down.
What they had never expected was that it had an elder. Without warning, it had dropped from above. A single lightning-fast ambush had crippled the clustered knights.
Then it had slipped away, ghostlike, into the darkness above.
The Witcher formed Quen, staring up at the ceiling. Pitted, black holes dotted the stone. Now and then a shadow darted past, circling the four of them below, waiting for a chance to dive.
It moved.
A monstrous claw shot down from the ceiling, long as a sloth’s arm, nails smeared with black blood and scraps of flesh. It seized Yagon by the leg and hauled the poor knight upward.
The inverted man screamed in despair.
“Thwip!”
A crossbow bolt burst into a spray of blood. The Witcher lunged forward, blade cutting through the air, but before steel could land, the demon released its grip and withdrew into the ceiling.
It repeated this two or three times. Roy understood. The beast was toying with them, avenging its fallen kin.
A minute later, satisfied, it dropped from above, landing five yards from the Witcher. It waved its claws, hissing in threat.
This one was far stronger than the dead Fleder, its skin a mottled yellow-brown, uglier still.
The Witcher crouched low, Aerondight’s tip aimed at its throat, stance set in practiced Ochs, dark-gold pupils flickering with danger.
Fleder Age: 21
Gender: None
HP: 150
Attributes:
Strength: 16
Agility: 15
Constitution: 15
Perception: 8
Willpower: 6
Charisma: 3
Spirit: 7
Skills:
Blood Hunger??: Higher vampires do not rely on blood for survival, yet they can develop an addiction to it. If they feed during combat, they can rapidly heal moderate injuries.