System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 7
In the dead of night Roy slept soundly in his warm bed, dreaming he had just bested a griffin, a higher vampire and a shadow elder, when the dream blurred and a hawk-nosed, pockmarked mirror merchant stepped into the scene.
A thunder of knocking ripped him awake.
“Susan! Old Mole! Hurry, open the door!” Roy scrambled up, sweat chilling his skin, and saw his parents at the doorway holding candles. Outside, the broad-shouldered butcher stood trembling, his voice thick with panic as he tried to explain.
A rush of night air flooded the room and Roy cleared from fuzziness to full alert.
What could have shaken a cursing, hard-faced man like Grok so badly? One answer slid into Roy’s head.
“Uncle Grok, did something happen to Balen?” He shrugged into his thin linen shirt and moved to stand with his parents.
By candlelight Grok’s eyes were bloodshot and his lips cracked, the restlessness of a man on a hot pan showing in every twitch.
“That little brat...” Grok dropped his head, torch hand and beard shaking a little, “he’s gone, he didn’t come home tonight.”
“Have you checked Mindy’s house? Maybe he’s crashed at one of the other boys’ places?” Roy drew a breath and kept his tone steady. “Or The Old Captain Inn, he sometimes hangs there.”
“Everyone!” Grok shook his head. “I’ve searched. I asked every household. Since noon nobody’s seen him. He’s mischievous, but he’s never stayed out this late.”
“Don’t panic, Uncle Grok, think—where might he go? We’ll help you look.” Roy tried to sound reassuring.
“Stay here and rest,” Old Mole put a firm hand on Roy’s shoulder, “Susan and I will go help!”
“Father, don’t forget what I’ve been doing this past month,” Roy said, squeezing their hands. “I’ve seen more blood than most men see in a lifetime. Nighttime doesn’t scare me. Trust me, I can look after myself.”
Old Mole and Susan exchanged a glance and sighed, then nodded.
They had seen how Roy had changed in the last month—no longer meek, no longer always shrinking into himself. Once he made up his mind, good luck changing it.
They surged out of the yard together.
Grok gripped Roy’s hand. “Thank you, lad.”
Roy felt the squeeze and nodded. He had noticed how much Grok had looked after him that month; he could not stand idle now.
If that snot-nosed boy were to be lost, Grok would be broken. Roy had learned the grief of losing parents himself; he could not allow another family to suffer.
...
Torches lit the village streets. Not far behind Grok stood One-Eyed Jack, the blacksmith Pussig, the night watchman Thompson, and three steady, plain villagers, each carrying a torch; some wore swords at their hips, others held hoes or pitchforks. They were ready.
“Only this many?” Roy felt a flicker of disappointment. “No posse from the village head?”
One-Eyed Jack tugged at his beard and sighed, “People get older and more afraid. They say the wild is dangerous at night, and they agreed only to send searchers in the morning. Hard enough to get this lot together. We’d better move quick, or Skellige’s salted fish will spoil by dawn.”
“Boss, don’t be a downer.” Pussig glanced over Grok and tried to steady the mood. “Little Balen probably wandered off outside the fields, he’s a clever kid. Melitele will keep him safe.”
Everyone knew what “missing” could mean in a tiny village hemmed in by wilderness, but nobody wanted to say it aloud.
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