System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 70
December 5, 1260.
Mount Carbon woke to a rare, merciful day. Sun broke the ice and swept the gray from the town, and honest, ruddy-faced Dwarves smiled on the streets.
In the square a cluster of townsfolk stood around a high wooden gallows, the heads of Scoia’tael and Leshen displayed for all to see. They jabbered and chewed the story with relish.
“The night I was on watch, I saw the Witcher and his companions drag that little foul thing into the valley. The way it died ... scorched and spiked like a porcupine.” “By Mahakam, I’ve never seen anything so ugly and fearsome. If it had been alive, I would have run at the first glimpse.” “How can you even compare yourself to Master Letho? The man’s masterful; in less than a week he handled the monster that’d been plaguing Mount Carbon for months. The four shadowed devils were no escape. I’ll raise my cup to him tonight.” “Don’t forget the Witcher’s human aide, barely a teen, but he took part in the Leshen hunt. For all he’s thirteen he’s a little man now; he deserves a cup too.” “And our champion, Regan Dalberg, and his daft brothers helped out. Tonight they’ll stand with the High Elder and receive honor. Those four bachelors will be prime picks for the girls from now on.”
They either forgot about Kelvin, or simply had no notion to mention him.
Inside the Witcher’s room, Regan sat wound and bandaged, talking to the boy while glancing at the other bed where Letho sat in meditation.
“They’ve only got mild concussions. No lasting damage. They’ll sleep it off in the infirmary and be lively enough to go to the feast tonight.”
“That’s a relief,” Roy let out a breath, the weight lifting from his face. “If anything had gone wrong—”
“Not your fault.” Regan shrugged, blunt and easy. He sounded almost proud. “If those idiots had died it would have been the will of Saint Mahakam. Dying in a fight with Scoia’tael and monsters, buried in the Mahakam ranges, that’s an honour. Think of it. Those scum have harmed our kin. If we had failed and their sabotage continued, more Mount Carbon families would be torn apart. Killing them is service to the whole people and to Mahakam. Their souls will find the mountain.”
Roy’s view of Dwarves shifted. Under the beer and the bluster they held a hard, stubborn faith. They were brave and loyal.
“Did you notice on the way they carted the Leshen and the Scoia’tael back? Ha!” Regan grinned, slapped his thigh and winced when his hand hit the sore spot, but the pain did nothing to spoil his pleasure. “The guards and the gate crossbowmen, they usually look down on us, talk like we’re nothing, especially Bernie. They mocked him every day.”
“And now they’re gobsmacked, like fools who can’t shut their mouths.” Regan laughed, eyes bright. “Now everyone knows the four of us helped the Witcher root out the Scoia’tael and the Leshen. We’re heroes of Mount Carbon. The only ones who could stand straight in front of everyone were Master Letho and me. I can already picture the girls’ eyes shining.”
“You and Master Letho don’t fit their tastes. They’re surely looking at me.” Regan preened.
“Don’t be modest, Roy, my spring has come! If I were not bound to go join Paulie, I’d have a wife by now.”
Dwarves are eternal optimists.
Roy felt the heaviness of the last days peeling away. The hatred in the Scoia’tael’s eyes at death kept returning to him, and the false, lovely life the Leshen had shown him kept surfacing in his mind. He found himself distracted by those images.
“Congratulations in advance, then. May you win your bride.” He smiled and then asked, curious, “You really intend to leave Mount Carbon? Why not pick a girl and raise ten kids here?”
“Wait a year. I’ll be sixty then; I’ll head to Kaedwen and join my big brother.” Regan’s face went steady and determined. The fight with the Leshen had fired his hunger to see the wider world. Staying in Mount Carbon was small.
“What about the other three?” Roy asked.
“Bernie will come. Dool and Deef, maybe not.” Regan’s hand eased from his chin with a slight sigh. “Not every Dwarf’s got grand plans. Most prefer a safe life.”
“Maybe I’ll meet you in Kaedwen someday.” Roy said it and the thought felt like a small promise.
“Ha! You’re welcome anytime!” Regan thumped his hairy hand into Roy’s and bumped shoulders.
“When do we go see them in the infirmary?” Regan asked.
“Later. You get ready for the feast. The High Elder will honor you all before all of Mount Carbon. Don’t miss it.” Regan dug a small, gray notebook from his vest. The leather was rubbed and worn. “Regan Dalberg, to Roy.”
“You mentioned you wanted me to teach you crossbow work. This is my decades of notes, take it.”
Roy accepted it with both hands. His chest warmed. He slid the little book into his storage space, then let his attention drift to the changes that had rearranged his life.
A small window of data, bright and clinical, unrolled in his mind like a ledger:
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