Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 27
The difference in form between Drowners and a Swamp Hag was considerable. At a glance, they seemed reproductively incompatible.
However, the Saint Hael Records of Dresden preserve a curious hypothesis, that a Swamp Hag may in fact serve as the mate to multiple Drowners.
It was said a Swamp Hag could disguise itself as an old crone to lure travelers into its lair, but in Lannor’s view, only a drunk too far gone to control his own limbs would fall for such a trick.
Even a blind man could smell the stench that clung to a Swamp Hag.
Lannor’s gaze sharpened.
There was no longer any hope of slipping away quietly with Bernie.
Drowners, having lived in water for so long, had vision degraded to something like a constant haze.
But a Swamp Hag, stronger than any Drowner, carried none of that weakness.
Its senses far surpassed theirs, in both range and acuity.
In the instant he leaned out and took stock, Mentos’ processing power completed its analysis with a single glance.
Lannor bent low again and stepped back to Bernie’s side.
Faced with the old hunter’s searching eyes, he calmly laid out the situation.
“There’s no slipping away. Only seven Drowners here, not many, but there’s a Swamp Hag among them. One wrong move, and if it screams, we’ll have no idea how many Drowners will come at us like mad dogs.”
“We have to fight. This time, I need your help. Only if we work together do we stand a chance of walking out of this forest alive.”
By rights, such words should have crushed hope. Yet under Lannor’s steady tone, Bernie found himself strangely calm.
“Tell me.”
Bernie swallowed, tightened the straps on his long leather gauntlets, and took the bow from his back.
Lannor spoke quickly, yet each word was clear and ordered.
“I’ll handle the charge and close combat. Once you hear the Drowners cry, you can show yourself.”
“When you do, you’ll see an obvious target, humanoid, larger than the Drowners, covered in folds and warts. That’s the Swamp Hag. Shoot at it, but don’t rush the shot. Wait until it bends down to pick something up, then loose and interrupt it.”
“Aim for the body, not the vitals. It reacts fast, and its hide is tough. Your arrows aren’t silver, so forget wounding it. Just keep it occupied for me.”
Rapid speech drove the mind to keep pace, leaving little room for fear.
Clear instruction, in turn, gave confidence and courage. At least Bernie felt his grip on the bow steady.
“Got it.”
Lannor nodded, shifted lightly to the side to put a little distance between them, then swept his left hand through the air.
Golden magic shimmered briefly across his body.
Casting Quen before battle was second nature to the School of the Bear.
He expelled the last stale breath from his chest, then drew in a deep breath.
“In ... now.”
At the instant his lungs filled with fresh air, muscle and bone moved as one, his foot struck the ground.
His center of gravity surged forward under the technique of the School of the Bear’s swordsmanship.
In an instant, a mass of more than a hundred kilograms, body and armor together, reached full speed.
The reactive force was immense, and sudden.
So much so that the buckles securing armor to leather cried out under the strain, a taut whine of metal and hide in Lannor’s ears.
Like a hunting cat, his forward-leaning charge stirred even the branches two paces away.
“Wraa?”
A Drowner turned its head in confusion, but before the motion could finish, a streak of cold silver thrust straight through its throat.
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