Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 16: A Pact Beneath Candlelight
By the time the elder of Auridon led Lannor out of the tavern, the rain had stopped. The clouds still hung low and heavy above the marshland, pressing against the world like damp wool.
Old Aaron walked ahead with the expression of a man who had just gambled away his wife at the card table. Yet every time he turned back toward Lannor, his face instantly twisted into eager politeness.
A contradictory sight.
Like a man clutching a treasure too hot to hold, impossible to cash in, yet even more impossible to abandon.
The village was small. They arrived within moments.
The house before them stood slightly above the village average. The wooden piles supporting the foundation had been driven deeper and higher into the mud, keeping the floor farther from the damp swamp water. The timber walls also looked sturdier than the neighboring huts.
The elder’s house.
Truthfully, though, Lannor had not expected much.
“This is my home. We can add another bed inside. You’ll be staying here from now on.”
Old Aaron pushed open the door while speaking and ushered Lannor inside.
The interior matched the young witcher’s expectations almost perfectly.
Two connected rooms. One served as both sitting room and bedroom, the other as kitchen and storage.
The so-called beds were little more than heaps of straw stuffed with torn cloth and clumps of cotton, covered by relatively intact rags pretending to be sheets. Those were already the elder and his wife’s bedding. The extra bed prepared for Lannor could hardly be any better.
Had this been the Lannor who first arrived in Velen, he might not even have imagined himself sleeping on something like this.
But now, after a brief sweep of the room with his cat eyes, he merely nodded and accepted it naturally.
The place was crude, but clean.
Freshly woven flower garlands hung from the wooden walls, bright and colorful against the dim interior. Symbols of devotion to Goddess Melitele. Which also meant the mistress of the house was diligent and careful.
In Velen, what more could one ask for?
Back in the tavern, Lannor and old Aaron, acting on behalf of the village, had already struck an agreement.
In the name of the so-called “Sacred Tradition of Witchers,” the School of the Bear would offer compensation.
But after patting the cotton armor on his body, worn so thin stuffing leaked from the seams, Lannor made it clear that direct payment was impossible. Times were hard for everyone.
That said, a witcher could always trade labor.
Auridon was a fishing village. The lake beside it fed the entire settlement.
The nobles held their Two-Wheeled Carriage Race nearby, but merely used the location. The villagers had no chance of selling goods to the nobility or receiving financial favor from them.
To survive, they still had to work themselves half to death.
And Velen’s brutal environment meant the lake held more than fish worth selling. Drowners and Swamp Hags prowled the waters too.
Those monsters sharply limited where and when fishermen could work. Night fishing, for example, was little different from throwing oneself directly into a monster’s mouth. Naturally, the village’s income suffered.
Ordinarily, deaths were infrequent enough that the villagers could barely scrape by with their current fishing grounds. Hiring a witcher to clear monsters simply was not worth the coin.
But Lannor’s arrival changed matters.
Not long ago, inside the tavern, those faintly glowing cat eyes had stared calmly into old Aaron’s.
“You’re one of the few people in this village with any sense,” Lannor had said first, offering flattery before business.
“By market rates, a Drowner right ear sells for three Orens. A Swamp Hag head for five. Agreed?”
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