System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 59
“Puff, puff.” Heavy boots crushed the snow, leaving deep prints.
The Witcher brushed snow and pine needles from his shoulder and glanced up at the sparrows startled in the trees.
“How far to the place?”
“Less than half an hour.” The white-haired Dwarf panted, cheeks flushed as he caught up. “We found the body beneath the oldest pine up ahead.” He kept glancing about, voice tight. “Master Letho, just the two of us, that will be fine, right? Should we call for more hands?”
“Too many people will make trouble. Tell me what we know about the victim.”
“Give me two minutes to catch my breath,” the Dwarf said, bending at the knees. When the two were alone, Kelvin’s tone lost its edge; he spoke to Letho with something like respect. “The dead man’s name is Adrian. He was eighty, a miner. He left behind a son and a daughter in Mount Carbon.”
Kelvin hesitated, then added, “The other three Dwarves found dead, similar backgrounds. All miners, all had accidents on their way back to Mount Carbon after their shift.”
Letho rubbed the rough bark of a tree. “Good containment. The villagers at Spansol still think only four humans died.”
The Dwarf managed a helpless smile. “We could not do otherwise. If they knew Mahakam guards had been killed, no one would work the mines. The mine would suffer. We must lock the news down, avoid mass panic; but it will leak soon enough.”
“A bunch of bloodsuckers,” Letho muttered, shaking his head.
“Who spread the rumor that the killers were ghosts?” Kelvin asked.
“Not sure,” Letho said; “I would like it to be true. Ghosts are at least straightforward, easier to face when you have tools.”
They turned and crossed a slope; the forest mouth blurred behind them.
“Master Letho, do you feel for those villagers?” Kelvin asked.
The Witcher said nothing.
Kelvin went on, faster now, “From what I’ve seen, Witchers get slurred and spit on by humans. No matter how many monsters you kill, how many lives you save, they still call you a freak.”
“How are you any different from a guard dog they can call up, then dismiss?” Kelvin pressed. He watched Letho’s face, then, disappointed by the lack of change, he said plainly, “Tell me straight, do you ever think of settling somewhere, not wandering from job to job?”
“For example?” Letho asked.
“For example, Mount Carbon.” Kelvin exhaled and let out what had been on his mind, “With your skill and knowledge, Mount Carbon could offer you a place you’d like.”
“Recruit me?” Letho stopped short and turned. His amber eyes fixed on the Dwarf.
“Mahakam and Mount Carbon are too cold, too dull for my taste,” Letho said after a pause, “besides, I have a duty that will not let me tarry here.” He stepped off.
The Dwarf’s face flushed with a flicker of anger, then smoothed into calm.
“Back to the case. Any leads on the killer?” Kelvin asked.
He had barely finished when Letho halted and made a sharp, silent finger to his lips. Like a coiled cat, he bent his frame.
They had just passed a mile into the woods. Pines in winter wore metallic skirts of snow. Then the sound dropped away. No chirps, no rustle, not even the wind. The quiet sat heavy, like still water. It prickled the skin.
Kelvin swung his hammer up. The trunks around him seemed to shift into stony men with frozen faces, staring. His hands trembled slightly, but his eyes burned.
Pop.
Letho bit the cork from an elixir. His throat worked. He drained the bottle. Black-violet veins crawled from his jaw toward his cheeks like mapped roots. Muscle rolled beneath his coat. He became an animal coiled for attack.
“Get behind my back, cover each other,” Letho said in a low voice. They pressed together in an instant.
His right hand sketched a triangle in the air. Pale green light traced the lines and flared. A circle of rune, twenty feet in radius, rose from the snow like a sigil of frost. Yellow light spun next. A Quen shield bloomed, a translucent bubble around the Witcher.
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