Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 14
Lannor did not answer the question in his mind.
Not aloud, not even in thought.
The hooves still struck the mud with steady claps, and Auridon drew ever closer.
The silence stretched longer than usual, long enough that Mentos began to think Lannor was truly reconsidering.
“Mentos, what do you think I should order when I get into the village tavern? A mercenary, a witcher, walks into a tavern, there is a proper way to do it, isn’t there? I turned out every last coin on the old man, so I can afford something decent. A Royal Vizima, perhaps? I saw one on the shelf last time. Truth be told, aside from the few magic potions during the witcher trials that used alcohol as a base, I have never properly tasted the drink of this world.”
Lannor asked in earnest.
The biological intelligence core lagged for a moment, almost caught off guard.
“Any amount of alcohol entering your digestive system is undesirable. For a witcher, given your resistance to toxins and the nature of your work, elixirs containing alcohol are necessary, and that is understandable. However, I still advise that you avoid alcohol in daily life. If you must drink, choose something produced under strict methods, which is to say, something expensive ... no, that is not the point.”
Only after giving the advice did Mentos catch itself.
“That was not the topic we were discussing.”
Lannor, on the other hand, sounded unconcerned.
“There is no need to discuss it, Mentos.”
“There is every need.” The voice in his mind sharpened. “Alien Survival Mode requires me to prioritize your safety to the greatest extent. I know why you came here. You believe you bear some responsibility toward the families of those two farmers, so you came to make amends. That is correct. My logic and I fully acknowledge your moral standard. But!”
The voice struck like thunder in Lannor’s ears.
“But, sir! You are already a witcher!”
The causal link between the two statements was not immediately clear, almost disjointed. Even a man with basic schooling would not stumble so in phrasing, much less a biological intelligence core built upon logic.
Yet words drew meaning from their context.
In a world where racial tensions ran so high that massacres were never far from possibility, becoming a witcher was not merely a profession.
It meant Lannor had changed his very kind, become something the dominant intelligent race, humans, did not accept.
For the rest of his life, he would be nothing but a witcher.
That was what Mentos truly meant.
He would have to live in the wild, among monsters and beasts, because towns and villages alike would meet him with rejection and hostility.
It was a dangerous world, and Lannor was now trapped within a profession that magnified that danger.
If he wished to eat, to live, then he would have to fight and earn within that path.
A cage, built from the prejudice of the world.
A witcher who sought another trade? Laughable. Not even worth the thought.
In those days, picking a Jew out of a crowd was harder than picking out a witcher.
Mentos had never held an optimistic estimate of the future.
It had recorded every word of Bordon’s teachings, every shift in tone.
From those records, a proper witcher must possess masterful swordsmanship, deft use of Signs, deep skill in alchemical concoctions, and most crucial of all, superhuman tracking and knowledge of monsters.
The last two mattered above all else. They determined, in truth, how long a witcher could survive on this Continent.
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