Chapter 28

The information caught by the corner of his eye came back.

It was not merely seven Drowners and one Swamp Hag here. In truth, Lannor had known his earlier scouting was flawed, limited as it was by his line of sight.

What he had not expected was another Drowner lurking not far off.

Lannor’s brow tightened slightly.

“He showed himself too early.”

That was it. Bernie had shown himself too early. Before Lannor had drawn every threat’s attention fully onto himself, Bernie had already risen from the brush.

Perhaps he was too nervous. Perhaps he feared Lannor would not hold. The reason did not matter.

What mattered was the result. One Drowner had gotten onto Bernie.

Across Lannor’s previous hunts, beneath the violence of his swordsmanship, these none-too-powerful monsters had often ended up as scattered limbs on the ground.

And among common folk, everyone agreed on one thing: a Drowner was the sort of monster a farmer could kill one-on-one with a manure fork.

As though such a creature had no threat in it at all.

But there was a logic behind that.

First, a farmer with a manure fork had far greater reach than a Drowner’s claws.

Second, a Drowner’s claws could not snap the wooden shaft in a single blow, much less ruin the metal prongs.

Third, even without silver’s bane against evil, a manure fork’s thrust could still deal a fatal wound to a Drowner’s organs.

Clear logic. Plain enough.

That was why a Drowner could not beat a farmer with a dung fork in a straight fight.

But Bernie was a seasoned old hunter, his fighting experience far beyond that of an ordinary farmer.

And yet, aside from his bow, all he had in hand was a hunting knife.

A monster a dung-fork farmer might defeat, for the old hunter in this moment, was another matter entirely.

The real world had no levels. Under the right conditions, a Drowner could kill an old hunter just as well.

“End it fast.”

Watching the Swamp Hag pace with its claws tucked before its chest, cackling, Lannor narrowed his eyes.