Chapter 22: Nightfall Over Crow Hollow

Drowners were the monsters Lannor had seen most often since coming to this world.

Mostly because they were everywhere.

They carried a frog-like slickness about them, bodies coated in slime. Blue or black scales covered their skin, webbing stretched between fingers and toes, and fins grew from their backs and elbows.

The first time Lannor saw them while traveling with Bordon, he could not help thinking of a legendary food from his old world.

Fermented shark.

Supposedly it stank of ammonia.

Five Drowners charged through the muck toward him, dead fish eyes swollen with greed for fresh meat. The one in front had strong muscles moving beneath the blue scales of its hind legs.

It used that strength to launch itself while still two meters away. Both claws tore forward at once.

A Drowner’s claws were not its strongest weapon, but with the momentum of a leap behind them, they could still rip a man’s neck open without much trouble.

Facing that attack, the young witcher merely pressed his lips into a faint smile.

It had been a while since he had seen something so ... honest.

Breaking from the group. Charging straight ahead. Leaping. Clawing.

Did Drowners around here live such comfortable lives?

Like partners who had practiced together for years, Lannor jumped backward almost the instant the lead Drowner left the ground.

To Bernie watching from behind, the two seemed to move with something close to mutual understanding.

A backward leap could not outpace a pounce, of course, but it gave Lannor just enough space to keep his face and throat outside the reach of those claws.

Then the silver sword hanging naturally in his hand lifted its point.

Right into the Drowner’s throat.

There came a wet sound, like a water skin being punctured. The bright sword tip punched through the monster’s neck and emerged behind it, carrying black blood and scraps of flesh.