Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 100: Blood Covered The Chapel
The fighting lasted less than two and a half minutes.
Lannor’s steel sword came down in a slanting cut, its bright arc bending in the air like the lash of a whip. When the blade met the first man’s armor, sparks spat from the steel. A heartbeat later, the pauldron split open with a shriek of tearing metal, and the cut ran from the hollow of the shoulder to the opposite armpit.
Steel that had once been hard to trouble no longer seemed especially stubborn before Lannor.
Collarbone, spine, shoulder blade, every bone in the sword’s path parted. The steel sword carried on, taking the arm off the man beside him before the arc finally spent itself.
Blood spread across the floor. Too much of it. Every step made a wet, sticky slap.
There had not only been men inside Lannor’s room. Others had been posted outside as lookouts. In all, Lannor cut down twenty-seven men, from the second floor where he had lodged all the way down to the dining room below.
Ubank had been right about one thing. No matter how loud the noise, no one dared come out to look.
No one here wailed or begged over wounds. Most of them had only enough life left to make thick, bubbling sounds as blood poured from their mouths.
Lannor calmly tore a strip of cloth free, wiped the blood from his steel sword, and slid it back into the scabbard on his back. Then, as if nothing had changed, he went back upstairs to his room.
The two sleek, oil-coated hounds had become four pieces. They slid down the stairs with the wash of blood.
His hooded cloak had been torn away at the start. Now Lannor showed his face and eyes without concern. Blood had sprayed across the ceiling and walls, and some of it clung to his bright silver hair.
It did not spoil his face.
It only gave him a cruel sort of beauty, like a fine hunting knife after the work was done.
Back in the room, Arya stood in the middle of the blood pool, forcing herself to stay steady. The last time she had seen slaughter on this scale had been when Lannor rescued her, but then she had been far from the fighting. This time, she was close enough to smell the iron.
She had not broken. Not yet. If anything, she was learning to fit the sight into herself.
As Lannor passed her, he patted her shoulder once. Encouragement, nothing more.
Then he walked toward the large table he had first overturned and kicked away.
Including Ubank, seven men had been caught under that table when it smashed into them and took the breath from their chests. Five had already had their throats pierced by weapons Lannor had thrown in passing.
Thud. Crack.
A boot plated with external steel came down on one man’s neck, bending it into a wrong, ugly angle. Eyes that had still held terror a moment ago went dull.
One left.
Beside the corpse, Ubank had drawn his head into his shoulders. Only after Lannor lifted his foot did the Skelliger turn his face, sweat shining across it, and give a flattering little smile.
The sweat was not only fear. Most of it was pain.
When the table had fallen, it had crushed his leg. The half of his calf sticking out from under it had likely been bent upward.
“Lannor! Brother! I knew you’d leave me alive. Wise decision. I swear it!”
In Lannor’s head, even Mentos gave a disgusted little click of the tongue.
If yielding to the times made a man wise, this one was wise enough to shame kings.
But who could know the fear inside Ubank now?
Yes, he was a Skelliger. A born raider. He had killed without blinking and butchered men as easily as eating supper.
But even the finest warrior he had ever seen, even the most famed knight, could not have stood in a tight room and killed ten crossbowmen and twenty-seven armed fighters at knife range.
The company that had been laughing behind him not long ago, the same company that had taken a witcher alive with ease, had been slaughtered in two and a half minutes.
It took him longer than that to shit.
Twenty-seven strong men, armed with military weapons and trained well enough to use them. All dead. In less than two and a half minutes.
Chickens were not killed that fast.
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