Chapter 22

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

They were spread everywhere, to a degree that bordered on absurd.

Their bodies were slick with a frog-like slime, their skin plated in blue or black scales. Webbing stretched between their fingers and toes, and fins jutted from their backs and elbows.

The first time Lannor saw them, following Bordon, he had been reminded of a certain food from the legends of his old world, fermented shark meat.

They said it reeked of ammonia.

Five Drowners came charging at him through the muck, their fishlike eyes brimming with hunger for fresh flesh.

The one in front had powerful sinew beneath the blue scales of its hind legs.

Relying on that strength, it lunged while still two paces away, both claws raking forward at once.

Claws were not a Drowner’s greatest weapon, but with the momentum of a leap behind them, tearing a man’s throat open was hardly difficult.

Faced with that attack, the young man merely pressed his lips into a faint smile.

It had been a long time since he had seen something so ... straightforward.

Breaking from the pack, charging headlong, leaping, clawing ... did the Drowners here live such easy lives?

Like a dancer long accustomed to his partner, Lannor moved almost in perfect sync with the leading Drowner, springing backward the instant it leapt.

From where he stood behind, Bernie could not help but feel as if the two shared some uncanny understanding.

A backward step could not match the reach of a leap, but it was enough. Lannor’s face and throat slipped just beyond the creature’s claws.

Then the silver sword, which had been hanging loosely at his side, tilted upward.

The tip met the Drowner’s throat precisely as it came hurtling in.

There was a wet sound, like a punctured wineskin spilling its contents, and the gleaming point burst from the back of the Drowner’s neck, trailing foul blood and shredded flesh.