Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 24
Early the next morning.
Amid the ringing of hammer on iron, Lannor set his School of the Bear silver sword against the wall inside the village smithy.
“My thanks, Ivan.” He raised his head and greeted the blacksmith.
“Leave it to me. Come back in an hour. The elder’s already said it, any silver I use on your blade goes on the village’s account. And the quality of this batch of ingots, you won’t find better.” Ivan’s arms glistened with sweat by the forge as he slapped his storage chest with pride.
By his account, the stock came either from Vizima or from Gors Velen.
His craftsmanship might not be much, but for restoring the silver coating on a blade, it was enough.
Bordon’s silver sword had not seen proper care since he was wanted. After cutting down eighteen Drowners in a row yesterday, a good portion of its silver plating had worn away.
At least two orens’ worth.
Lannor flicked a hand in his studded leather glove and stepped out of the smithy.
He found himself appreciating his own decision once again.
Had he gone to live in a large city, setting aside the rent, the prejudice, and the knives that came with it, he would never have seen such attentive service, nor such generosity.
“Mm...”
Walking along the wooden planks of the village, Lannor pressed a hand now and then to his temple.
“Went a bit too far yesterday, Mentos.”
The young man muttered the complaint.
“Your feedback has been fully recorded. However, please—”
“Spare me. Don’t start reciting your protocols.”
“ ... Understood, sir.”
He knew he would get the same answer every time, yet whenever his mind felt like an overfilled bottle after knowledge had been poured into it, he could not help but complain.
Still, Mentos’ capabilities were beyond dispute.
Last night, in the skill analysis section, the Trace Detection derived from Bernie, a hunter of many years, had reached thirteen percent.
That meant thirteen percent of Bernie’s proficiency and accumulated knowledge in that skill.
After a night of infusion, the effect was immediate. As Lannor walked the planks now, his foot brushed a scuffed mark.
In the blink of an eye, he identified it as a trace from a week to a month ago, caused by a barrel tipping and striking the wood.
Combined with a witcher’s sense of smell, he knew that only fish barrels and ale casks passed along this path.
“If I chose not to fight, I could make a fine investigator.”
The thought came to him suddenly.
Then he gave a self-mocking smile. Few would ever hire a man with cat eyes to uncover their secrets.
A witcher might have the skill for such work, yet still starve for lack of coin.
“Sir, I do not advise indulging such reflections at present. According to the plan, you must take your padded coat for repair immediately and prepare for the afternoon’s hunt. Your surgical skill requires extensive practice materials. The biological structure project still contains large gaps awaiting completion. Trace Detection also requires continued tracking analysis of target individuals.”
“Aren’t I on my way already? It’s just a few small tears. Won’t take long.”
He lowered his hand from his temple and muttered to himself.
Surgery was a practical discipline. It differed from Trace Detection, which was built on knowledge and accumulated experience.
Simple knowledge infusion yielded little. It required Lannor to work with his hands, with Mentos correcting him in real time, before his mastery could improve.
School of the Bear swordsmanship and riding fell into the same category.
He walked along the planks over the water, winding his way through the scattered wooden huts.
“This should be the way, right? The elder said, ‘the woman with the best mending hands.’”
The huts were laid out in disorder. It was a village of barely a hundred souls, yet it had more than thirty dwellings.
Even the village elder could only point vaguely when describing the tailor’s location.
A fishing village never smelled pleasant, and one as crude as this was worse.
Fish blood seeped into the cracks of the planks, baked by wind and sun, giving off a stench fouler than rotting meat in summer.
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