Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 30: A Kingdom Already Dying
People tended to react the same way the first time they saw a witcher’s cat eyes.
A sharp cry first, then the body leaning back on instinct, guard rising. Only after that could normal conversation begin.
The men around them were professional soldiers. Their courage naturally stood above that of common farmers. So after a brief stir of noise, calm returned.
“A witcher?” Phillip grunted twice and spat to the side. “Times are getting worse. All sorts of filth crawling out these days.”
Lannor gave no reaction to the muttering.
“Such is the world, sir. Let us discuss our suspicion instead.”
“Mm-hm?”
Phillip motioned for him to continue.
“I am an outlander, Sergeant. I do not know exactly where Dunham lies, but Crow’s Perch, where Lord Vserad resides, is roughly three days from here. From what you said, Dunham is at least two and a half days from Crow’s Perch.”
The young man counted on his fingers for the surrounding soldiers to see.
“Word of the murder had to reach him first, then you had to be dispatched. That means at least five days must have passed since the crime itself, yes? And the two of us...”
Lannor moved his fingers between himself and Bernie.
The meaning was clear enough.
The timing did not fit.
It was an obvious flaw. What interested Lannor, however, was that he sensed no embarrassment from Phillip after the mistake was pointed out.
The man frowned in thought for a moment, then suddenly looked at Lannor.
“A few days ago, one of your kind was hunted down and killed in Velen.”
“I helped in that fight.”
Lannor saw no point in hiding it.
Phillip nodded.
“Good. York’s in the village too. Let him identify you. Move.”
He gave the two men no further chance to speak. The eleven riders surrounded them and escorted them toward the village a hundred meters away.
Halfway there, Bernie still seemed shaken by what he had heard.
Walking beside him, Lannor asked without bothering to lower his voice, “What is Dunham?”
Lannor had a clear enough understanding of Velen. He knew one or two dead bodies here usually meant little. Which meant Dunham itself mattered.
Eleven riders, and from the sound of it more men waiting inside the village. Compared with this, the hunt for Bordon had been almost casual.
That alone showed the place’s importance.
“It’s not some important town. Just a crossroads. But it’s where all the villages around here go to worship Goddess Melitele together.” Bernie’s voice dropped into a furious mutter, as though even the pain in his hand had briefly vanished. “What soulless bastard would commit evil in a holy place like that?”
At once, Lannor understood that the matter truly was serious.
How should one describe the faith of Melitele?
Put it this way. Even a king’s personal guard, if he dared lay a finger on a priestess inside any Temple of Melitele, would not live to see nightfall. By dusk, his corpse would be hanging from the locust tree at a crossroads.
And not from some planned revenge, either. Simple public fury would do it. Even the king himself would have to lower his head and accept the result.
Melitele was the faith of every woman in the Northern Kingdoms. Her worship never involved itself in politics, power, or struggles of interest.
It spread only mercy, peace, and quiet doctrine.
Yet precisely because it did not compete, Melitele’s faith possessed unmatched influence.
Because every woman who believed in her had many other identities.
Daughter. Mother. Wife.
Even a king had a mother. Even a bandit wanted a wife.
You wished to harm the faith of Melitele?
Then you had best have already decided how you wanted to die.
This was not like Vserad tightening local security during Auridon’s carriage races to earn favor with a royal cousin.
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