Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 10
“Earn? That is an interesting choice of words.”
He does not treat him as a living man. Quite the opposite. The word reduces him to a tool, no different from a sword, a pair of gloves, a pitchfork.
Personhood, dignity, all the things once taken for granted are ground to dust within that single word.
Lannor even lets out a soft laugh.
But in his amber cat eyes, the cold is hard as ice.
Bordon sees it clearly, and does not care in the least.
He is dying. What more is there to lose?
Seeing the apprentice who killed him burn with anger at his words even pleases him a little.
At the end of his life, a witcher tasting emotion again finds himself eager to talk.
Each time he opens his mouth, fresh blood spills out, thick with fragments of organs, tangling his beard into a foul, clotted mess.
Still, he shows no sign of stopping.
“And you, Lannor? Why are you killing me here?”
Blood runs from Bordon’s mouth as he bares a wide, crimson grin.
“Do not tell me it is to escape my exploitation. Look at your work in that fight, Lannor. Precise, swift, steady. In the stronghold of the School of the Bear, Haern Caduch, there are barely any freshly trained witchers who could match that level.”
“Truth be told, your rate of growth unsettled me.”
“My exploitation may have made you suffer, but death? That is far worse. Compared to the training and protection I gave you, the harm I caused is not worth staking your life against mine.”
Bordon shakes his head, amused.
“I am about to die, but at least grant me this. Tell me why I am being killed.”
Lannor tilts his head, smiling at his mentor. The massive man can barely get the words out now.
“Do you remember why you were wanted, Bordon?”
Two lives.
Bordon recalls it easily enough. It was not long ago.
Just before Lannor completed his mutation.
In a village tavern, two drunken farmers provoked a lowly witcher, and lost their heads for it.
Peasants with dung for brains could never grasp that a witcher endures scorn and contempt to earn coin, not because he cannot fight back.
Bordon is nearing his limit. Blood loss loosens his thoughts, letting them wander.
What holds him together now is the need to hear Lannor’s answer.
“Because ... those two farmers?”
His body grows cold, yet he wants to laugh.
Two farmers.
He has taken contracts in palaces, from nobility. He has climbed sorcerers’ towers, taken their work.
He has killed countless men, countless monsters. He has seen more of the world than five generations of peasants ever would.
And now, the man who kills him says, you lost your life because of two farmers.
“Shit.”
It makes no sense.
No sense at all.
Yet Lannor stands before him, meeting his gaze with a faint, knowing smile, speaking clearly.
That is exactly how it is.
“You cannot accept it, can you? Two dirt-scraping farmers, boots caked in dung, filthy, crude, low. Why would I stake my life against yours for them?”
Lannor leans closer, still smiling.
“Master, before I completed my mutation and became a witcher people shrink from, we traveled together through the woods of Velen, did we not?”
“We met village elders held in esteem.”
One finger rises.
“We helped merchants on the road, freed their wagons.”
Two fingers.
“We asked in village after village for contracts to hunt monsters.”
Three fingers.
“But tell me, was there ever a time, even once, that anyone asked, ‘Witcher, what is that young man to you?’”
Lannor draws his fingers back in, curling them into a fist before Bordon’s eyes.
“Not once, master.”
“They curse witchers and nonhumans with every foul word they know. I understand most of it comes from ignorance and fear. But when they saw a young man kept at a witcher’s side, none of them chose to say a word.”
“Not even to inform their local lord. Not even that.”
“I understand it. No one wants trouble. Life is hard, and dangerous enough. But...”
“Just as I was about to accept it, two farmers asked that question.”
Lannor spreads his hands, a trace of helplessness in his expression.
Bordon, whose eyelids had begun to droop, forces himself to look up again, locking eyes with him.
The smile fades from Lannor’s face. The ease burns away like a drop of water on hot iron.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.