System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 86
That night Roy and Letho slipped into a tent beside the wagons to rest; the inner, secure spaces of the encircled wagons were reserved for the troupe’s womenfolk.
Aaron’s tent stood apart, pitched away from the carts. According to Aveline, Aaron took one or other of his beloved birds out hunting each night, and kept watch over the surroundings.
After food and drink Roy, on entering the tent, turned his attention to unfinished business from the day: Class — Bound Weapons —
Gabriel
(This had once been a crude, shabby pocket hand-crossbow, but after one enhancement it had found new life; its power increased and it fit its wielder better.) Type: hand crossbow. Materials: mulberry, sinew, hemp. Properties: weight 5 lb, bow length 2 ft, draw weight 20 → 30 lb. Effective range 100 → 150 yards.
Enchantment
Simplified Mechanism: As long as bolts are stored in the Loot Satchel, the weapon automatically draws and nocks a bolt without manual input. Bolt-nocking time is reduced to 0.4 seconds.
...
Gwyhyr
(This ancient black-iron flame blade, forged by Goblin hands, released further powers after enhancement.) Type: steel sword Materials: black iron, lava, meteoric iron, leather, pine, tissues of powerful beasts. Properties: weight 3.06 lb, grip length 9.3 in, blade length 36 in.
Enchantment
Cycle: Each time an enemy is killed, the wielder immediately recovers a small amount of Stamina.
Ignite: Each successful hit has a very small chance to ignite the wound’s blood, causing burn damage.
...
Roy felt a thrill as he flipped between the crossbow and the steel. The hand crossbow’s enhancement exceeded his hopes; not only did power and range increase, it solved the greatest shortcoming — previously, against foes charging from tens of yards, he might get off one bolt but never reload in time for a second before they were on him.
With the Simplified Mechanism enchantment, nocking time fell to a tenth, from four seconds to 0.4. That meant he needed only to aim and pull the trigger.
The saved seconds were enough for three, even four shots; even if three enemies rushed him at once, he believed he could pick them off first.
...
Gwyhyr was already a rare blade; its enhancement was less dramatic than the crossbow’s, but an extra enchantment was welcome. How Ignite would perform in practice remained to be seen.
His fingers itched. Crossbow and steel ghosted before his eyes. He slipped out of the tent to check — the troupe’s night watch paced the perimeter.
New to the troupe, he could not afford to fidget with weapons under others’ noses; it looked suspicious. He stowed the arms and entered Meditation — the more fatigued he was, the easier to push past limits.
As time passed he found his rhythm and touched the thin elements at his edge. They were shy as children at first, curious and innocently benevolent, circling him quietly and with a tacit accord.
A subtle affinity grew slowly with daily Meditation. Though only a few days had passed since he took on one-quarter Elven blood and the change was slight, he was certain that persistence would one day let the elements serve him.
...
The night passed quietly.
The next morning Roy woke to bright daylight and clear weather. Under Aaron’s orders the troupe packed in order; though the troupe had refused to tarry, villagers of Shaerrawedd volunteered to lend hands.
A dozen children clung to the wagons, reluctant to let the performers go; for country children, this might be the only chance in a lifetime to see the troupe close.
Letho lounged on the wagon and watched the busy scene with ease.
Aveline smiled and, rolling up her sleeve to reveal a white wrist, tossed a fat turnip into a cart.
“Aveline,” Roy said; though he’d charmed the troupe the day before, after a deep sleep he felt slightly odd.
“Mm ... did you sleep well last night?”
“Like a stone.”
“Aveline need not worry.” Letho cut in. “Since his foster-mother died the kid’s wandered with me a long while; he’s slept in marshes, bramble, graves—he can sleep in a cesspool.”
“Shut up, Letho!” Roy’s eyes flicked with reproach. The cesspool story wouldn’t die. He glanced at Aveline with a touch of embarrassment, “I’m not like that filthy tramp he is. I care about my cleanliness!”
The Witcher gave him a look that might mean more than the words, “Kid, I’m pretty sure spring’s still some way off...”
Roy paused. He felt odd around Aveline, an unfamiliar urge to be nearer. “Is it the onset of adolescence? No, it must be that one-quarter Elven blood playing tricks.”
Aveline watched the pair’s back-and-forth with something like amusement. “You two are close, aren’t you. ‘Partners’, ‘master and pupil’, ‘uncle’—all tossed off. More like ... hm ... a quarrelsome father and son.”
“No way! I’m an apprentice!”
“Witchers can’t sire children!”
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