Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 23
The cleansing of the surrounding waters went on like this for an entire day.
It kept pace with the villagers of Auridon, matching their hours of fishing and hunting.
Together, Lannor and Bernie pushed the safe bounds of the village fishing grounds roughly five kilometers eastward.
In that time, nearly twenty Drowners fell to the silver sword.
Each hunt unfolded much the same as the first. Once ashore, Bernie took the lead in tracking signs, while Lannor followed behind, observing and learning the craft.
When a Drowner was found, the witcher handled the combat. And at the end, as before, Lannor reduced the corpse to scattered pieces.
Twenty Drowners gathered together would have been enough to slaughter a village in Velen.
Fortunately, these ones were spread thin. The first group of five had been the largest cluster. Otherwise, even the young witcher would have found it troublesome.
As the sun sank toward the surface of Lake Feck, the two men returned to the village together.
When Bernie’s small boat neared the harbor, the fisherman and hunter lifted a brow.
“Hey.” He called softly, motioning for the witcher at the bow to turn around.
In the dimming light, the harbor was crowded with people.
At this hour, they should have been home, or gathered in the tavern. Instead, they filled the docks.
Some absentmindedly mended fishing nets, others sat on barrels swinging their legs. Old Aaron stood at the front, puffing on his pipeweed.
When they saw the boat approach, they burst into cheers. One by one, they dropped their idle tasks.
Then they surged forward, craning their necks to peer into the boat.
Old Aaron stood at the very front.
“Drowner ears! So many Drowner ears!”
The stench and gore did nothing to deter him. His shout stirred another wave of cheers.
It was the first time since arriving in this world that Lannor was welcomed ashore like a hero.
Old Aaron’s palm slapped hard against the leather plate on the young man’s shoulder.
“I never thought...” He stumbled over his words. “I truly never thought you were telling the truth!”
Even though Lannor had done his best to approach them in ways they understood, even after all the preparation, the villagers’ distrust of witchers had lingered.
It was the weight of years, of habit and fear.
But now, what did it matter?
The young man laughed and returned the gesture, his gloved hand thumping the old man’s back hard enough to make him cough.
Even so, the old man and the villagers around them laughed all the louder.
Trust had been forged.
A longing for a better tomorrow could wash away baseless hatred and prejudice.
“Sorry, truly sorry, Lannor.” Old Aaron had to lean close and shout into his ear to be heard over the noise. “For me, for all of Auridon, for doubting you. Come on, friend, I owe you a proper drink!”
“Royal Vizima?”
“Royal Vizima!”
And so the men and women of the village laughed and poured together into the small tavern.
The tavern was small. In the dim night, a few candles were enough to light it.
On most days, it survived on a handful of fishermen. Today, it was packed and lively.
A few women even brought instruments from home. To Lannor’s ear, they sounded something like flutes.
The tune was light and lilting, pleasant even in repetition.
At the table, the young man took a deep pull from his mug of golden Royal Vizima beer.
This brew was overseen by master brewers in Vizima, the capital of Temeria.
Hops added at the right moment lent a clean bitterness to the perfectly fermented alcohol.
With a sharp knock, he set the half-full wooden mug down and licked the foam from his lip, still wanting more.
A voice sounded in his mind.
“Sir, forgive me for speaking plainly. I cannot fathom why anyone would consider adding honey to beer...”
“Mentos, be quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Intelligence Core complied at once.
How many times must it be said, a reflex response did not count as peculiar taste.
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