Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 14: The Lord Of Rotten Timber
Lannor gave no answer to the question inside his head.
Not aloud. Not even in thought.
Hooves still slapped wet earth in steady rhythm while Auridon drew nearer through the rain.
The silence stretched long enough that even Mentos began to suspect he was genuinely reconsidering things.
“Mentos,” Lannor suddenly said, “what do you think I should order once I get into the tavern? Mercenaries, witchers, men like that, they’re supposed to drink when they hit a tavern, aren’t they? I dug all the money off my teacher’s corpse. Maybe a Royal Vizima? I saw bottles on the shelf last time.”
Rain slid down his face while he spoke casually from the saddle.
“To be honest, aside from those mutation potions using alcohol as a base, I haven’t properly tasted this world’s liquor yet.”
He asked the question with complete sincerity.
For a brief moment, even the Biological Intelligence Core failed to react.
“No quantity of alcohol entering the digestive system is beneficial. Given a witcher’s poison resistance and occupational requirements, alcohol-based Elixirs are understandable necessities. However, I still advise you to avoid alcohol in ordinary life whenever possible. If consumption is unavoidable, please choose products produced through rigorous craftsmanship, in other words, expensive ones ... no, wait.”
Only after offering the advice did Mentos finally realize something was wrong.
“That was not the topic we were discussing!”
Lannor, meanwhile, sounded utterly unconcerned.
“There’s no need to discuss it, Mentos.”
“There is every need!” The voice inside his mind sharpened with unusual seriousness.
“Alien Survival Mode requires me to prioritize your life and safety to the greatest extent possible. I know exactly why you’re going there. You believe you bear a degree of responsibility toward the families of those two farmers, so you intend to provide compensation.”
“That moral standard is entirely valid. My operational logic fully recognizes its value. However...”
The synthetic voice struck through Lannor’s thoughts like thunder.
“However, sir.”
“You are already a witcher.”
The logic between those two statements sounded disconnected, almost clumsy. Even an ordinary educated person would not phrase things so poorly.
Far less a Biological Intelligence Core built upon pure logic.
But meaning depended on context.
In a world where racial hatred could erupt into massacres at any moment, becoming a witcher meant far more than acquiring a profession.
It meant Lannor had already ceased to be recognized as fully human by the dominant intelligent race of the Continent.
For the rest of his life, he would only ever be a witcher.
That was what Mentos truly meant.
Forced to live beside monsters and beasts because cities and villages alike would reject him. Forced to fight for survival inside one of the most dangerous occupations imaginable.
If he wanted to eat, if he wanted to live, then he would have to kill within that profession.
A prison built from the contempt of the world.
A witcher wanting another kind of life? Ridiculous. Impossible.
Back in certain periods of history, spotting a Jew in a crowd would have been harder than identifying a witcher in this world.
Mentos had never been optimistic about the future.
It had recorded every lesson Bordon ever taught, every sentence and every shift in tone.
According to those records, a competent witcher required masterful Swordsmanship, skilled use of Signs, expertise in Alchemy, and most importantly, extraordinary tracking ability and monster knowledge.
Those last two mattered most of all. They practically determined how long a witcher survived on the Continent.
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