System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 302: Bloodied Courtyard
The storm that had fallen for a day and a night finally ceased.
The sky was washed clean and blue. Warm morning light poured down, and a cool breeze stroked Novigrad.
Willie Estate.
In the middle of the spacious courtyard, beneath the dense flowerbeds, bodies covered in white cloth lay everywhere.
Novigrad’s security chief, Chappelle, was leading a group of subordinates through the corpses one by one.
“Have all the bodies been found?”
“They are all here. Fifty-six dead in total.” A young guard in full chainmail, a longsword at his waist, lowered his head and said, “The core members of the Willie Gang, including Hawthorn the First and his son, are all dead.”
“The only survivor in the whole manor is the fat woman who worked in the kitchen.”
Chappelle covered the corpse that had been split in two at the waist, then followed the guard to another body.
The pale face was hideous and twisted, eyes wide as bronze bells, as though he had seen something unspeakably terrifying before death and been frightened beyond measure.
“Son of a bitch, Old Willie. Didn’t think you’d have this day.” A trace of pleasure flashed across Chappelle’s face.
After years of dealing with him, he had long since investigated the Willie Gang boss from head to toe.
Alphonse Willie himself, along with the casinos, brothels, and fighting clubs under his rule, had committed crimes beyond counting over the past decade or more. In the shadows, they had caused the deaths of at least several hundred innocent citizens.
Yet he had countless ties of profit with many great figures in Novigrad, commanded a powerful following, and could be called the first among the four great gangs. He had even begun to pose a faint threat to the Church’s rule.
He was a black stain beneath the radiance of the Eternal Fire, one that could not be wiped away.
With him removed, the city’s increasingly chaotic situation would return to a delicate balance.
“Which ‘nameless hero’ rid the people of this scourge?”
The security chief’s right hand, clad in a brown leather glove, passed over the dried fan-shaped bloodstain by the corpse’s mouth. He turned the body over, and his pupils contracted. At the back of the neck was a long, thin wound.
Chappelle instantly reconstructed the scene. The killer had attacked from behind, one sword piercing Old Willie’s cervical spine, the tip emerging from his mouth and even holding him suspended in midair for several seconds.
The wound was neat and smooth.
The strike had been fast and precise.
The weapon used was no ordinary iron.
Then he thought of the dozens of corpses he had already examined, each dead in different ways.
Some had been violently split in two, some stabbed in vital points by sharp blades, some had lost hands or feet and bled to death.
The killers’ combat styles were mainly a handful of types.
“There was more than one killer...” The security chief removed his glove and rubbed his chin. “But no more than six. Pursuit, guards posted at the manor gate ... using the storm for cover.”
The young guard beside him changed expression and said in disbelief, “You mean five or six people killed everyone in the entire manor?”
One against ten. Those capable of such a thing were...
“Gifted mercenaries, assassins, or ... not necessarily human.” Chappelle’s mind suddenly flashed to the “bodyguards” of the great poet Dandelion, whom he had encountered by chance not long ago.
Lean and capable presence, beast-like vertical pupils, far beyond human speed, strength, reflexes, and magic-like abilities. They undoubtedly had the ability to commit the crime.
“Could it have been them?”
“Who do you mean?”
Chappelle lowered his eyes and answered with a question instead. “How does the surviving woman seem?”
“No injuries anywhere on her body. Aside from being too fat and a little short of breath. No telling what kind of luck she stumbled into, escaping this disaster.” The guard hammered his forehead in frustration. “Unfortunately, she remembers nothing. Only that someone knocked her out from behind.”
“Was she part of the Willie Gang?”
“No...”
“They killed every core member of the Willie Gang, yet spared an old woman ... Strange principles.”
But principles meant negotiation was possible. Better than a madman without reason.
With that thought, Chappelle paced around the courtyard full of corpses, his expression shifting between dark and light. His brows tightened, then eased. After a long while, he exhaled deeply, as though making some decision.
“You know who the killers are? Give the order. Arrest them at once.”
“If you want to arrest them, no problem. But you go first, at the front, and die first.”
“Er...” The guard lowered his head in shame.
Among the more than fifty dead in the manor, the vast majority were strong fighters with thick calluses on their palms. There was even a sorcerer, yet he had died silently before he could cast a spell.
The killers’ combat strength could be imagined.
Did the Eternal Fire need to take the lead and rush up to die?
Chappelle did not want his subordinates making pointless sacrifices.
“Calm down, rookie. The Eternal Fire shines upon all and drives away darkness,” he said in a low voice. “But gangsters are not within its protection.”
“You mean?” The guard seemed to understand.
“Since the killers did not harm innocents, this incident will be defined as a vicious internal gang fight. Let the three great gangs settle it themselves. Understood?”
Alphonse Willie was dead. The criminal power he left behind was a piece of fat meat placed before the three giants, and it would soon be swallowed clean.
Once they took the inheritance, naturally they would have to shoulder the responsibility and deal with this burning hot potato.
And they could not tolerate a force that broke the rules and slaughtered gangs at will sleeping beside them.
“Butcher Clive, Beggar King Beryn, Collector Olof. They will certainly negotiate with the killers before we do ... We need not hurry.”
When the time came, the Church might even gain something from it.
“Wise as ever, sir.”
“Why are you still standing there? Has the villa been searched?”
“Yes.”
Chappelle’s heart stirred. “Aside from the dead, did you find anything good?”
By rights, the manor should have contained a portion of Alphonse’s wealth. If it could be donated to the Eternal Fire, more cultists would bathe in grace.
“Er, sir, the brothers did find a secret room, but inside...” The guard’s face turned bitter. “There was only a chest of sickly, self-pitying, dog-shit poetry collections.”
“...”
...
The Spear Cave.
The most famous leisure establishment in Novigrad, beloved by the common folk, and one of the Willie Gang’s inheritances.
In the past, the brothel opened all night, and customers came in endless streams to squander their strength. Today, however, the brothel had unexpectedly shut its doors.
A dense crowd of more than a hundred gang members blocked the tightly closed ivory-carved gate, driving away eager customers and curious passersby.
The gang members were divided into three distinct groups: ragged, sallow-faced beggars who were the largest in number; human brutes with tattoos on their arms, carrying swords, clubs, and staves; dwarves with two-handed warhammers and battle axes on their backs, beard-braids hanging to their chests, unruly and arrogant, with a few half-elves and dwarves scattered among them.
The three gangs looked at one another with mutual distaste and barely maintained their calm.
Inside the doors, in the brothel hall, crystal magic lamps poured down bright radiance.
Three gang leaders, each dressed in a completely different style, sat around the central round table in a triangle.
“I received reliable news. Three days ago, five Witchers entered the common district through Novigrad’s northern gate and clashed with Willie Gang members at the market, dragging them into an alley.”
A bald man in a plain gray uniform and a thick hooded cloak, with kind brows and a kindly face like some good old fellow, slowly rubbed the golden signet ring on his finger. “Afterward, the Witchers took one hand from each of them and drove them back to the Willie Gang.”
“On the second day, Alphonse Willie’s steward, Bogart, met the Witchers at the Vanilla Inn...”
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