Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 173: A Sword Through Silence
“You two, bandage him first.”
Lannor sheathed Arondight and gave the order to the two uninjured cavalrymen.
Cold reality on the battlefield forged loyalty faster than speeches ever could. The two warriors had already gotten along well with Lannor before tonight. After what they had just witnessed, they obeyed him without hesitation. Perhaps that counted as charisma in its own way.
“I’ve got your dagger back. The archer’s throat was sliced open by the blade. Choked to death on his own blood.” Lannor stepped out from the woods with the ornate Dragon Bone Dagger in hand and passed it back to Eddard. “How bad is your wound?”
The Lord of Winterfell sat there breathing hard, sweat and blood streaking his face. He waved a hand dismissively.
“Keep the dagger. Without you, every one of us would’ve lost our heads tonight. My arm’s fine, the cut missed the bone. Wrap it and it’ll hold.”
Lannor nodded lightly and slid the Dragon Bone Dagger into the same scabbard that held his hunting knife.
“You look relieved,” the witcher said, glancing at Eddard. “Seems the Mountain dying here eased your mind quite a bit.”
Eddard sat down on a corpse, pulling bandages tight around his arm while cold sweat rolled down his temples. Even so, a faint smile tugged at his mouth.
“The Mountain’s reputation reaches every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Now that even he died here, Tywin’s unlikely to send a stronger interception force after us. Even if he wanted to, someone still has to be willing to take the job. Who’d dare claim they’re deadlier than Gregor Clegane in small-unit combat?”
“As for constant harassment?” Eddard snorted tiredly. “If Tywin Lannister can freely march troops through the Riverlands and Crownlands one after another, then there’s no point fighting him at all. We may as well surrender now.”
He looked at Lannor seriously.
“You saved us tonight. After this, the road back to the North should be much smoother. I owe you proper payment, Lannor. Name your price. House Stark rewards its friends.”
Lannor smiled faintly and tapped the hilt of the Dragon Bone Knife at his waist.
“You already paid me, Eddard.”
“That’s not enough.” The Lord of Winterfell’s voice turned stubborn. “Not nearly enough to repay what you’ve done, in King’s Landing or here. You deserve more than this.”
Lannor clicked his tongue helplessly.
As far as gold went, he was already close to carrying more than he wanted. The ten thousand Golden Dragons from the tournament alone weighed enough, and now he also had to transport dragon bone. Any more coin and he might start wondering whether he could even make it home.
Besides, a wandering witcher had little use for mountains of gold.
Still, looking at Eddard’s expression, the man clearly intended to repay the debt no matter what.
Rigid knights were difficult people to argue with.
“Fine. If you insist...”
Lannor spoke casually, almost jokingly.
“Then after we return, give me the first thing you see that already belongs to you, though you do not yet know it.”
In Lannor’s estimation, that would probably end up being a roast rabbit hanging over a fire. Maybe venison.
But the instant the words left his mouth, a strange breeze swept through the woods, rustling leaves overhead with a dry whisper.
Eddard blinked, visibly caught off guard.
“That’s ... some custom from your homeland? It’s a damned strange one.”
Without a proper education, he doubted he would even have understood the grammar of the sentence.
Lannor nodded naturally.
That exact phrase had once reduced him to something very close to a slave. Yet before Bordon died, Lannor had personally told him, “We’re square.”
So now, hearing the words again stirred no bitterness in him.
“Yes. A custom. When we aren’t overly concerned with payment, we prefer letting the gods decide what should be given.”
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