Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 35: Hunger Behind Locked Doors
The road proved exactly as Lannor had expected. Several simple traps had been set along the way.
They were not complicated, no more than the sort hunters used to catch beasts.
Lannor’s sharp eye picked them apart one by one.
The Pendant of the Roaring Bear hung steady at his neck, which set him more at ease.
It meant there were no traces of magic involved in this area.
They tracked the trail all the way to the mouth of a cave.
At the entrance, Lannor gestured to Phillip behind him. This was the murderer’s hiding place.
The witcher felt the wind at the cave mouth and confirmed there was only one exit.
The soldiers made ready in a relaxed mood, hanging iron lanterns from their chests.
Each lantern was a sealed iron box with a candle set in the middle and a small shuttered window on the outer face. The structure gathered the light and cast it forward, while a layer of armor between the lantern and the chest kept it from burning the wearer.
A small bit of medieval battlefield cleverness.
The soldiers filed inside. Iron armor knocked and scraped against iron armor, the echoes in the cave turning every sound sharp and crowded.
Yes, at this point neither Lannor nor the soldiers cared about stealth.
In the dim firelight, they could faintly see a strange figure deep in the cave, panicked and scrambling.
“Run, bastard! Run faster, see where it gets you!” one of the lead soldiers shouted, voice thick with open malice and anger. “You dared eat a man at Dunham. Forget the gallows. We’ll bind you to a pyre and burn you alive, let you make your penance screaming!”
Even while shouting, he never lowered the shield from in front of his face.
That saved him.
A stone flew out from the depths of the cave and struck the shield with a heavy bang.
The shield tilted slightly, then snapped back into position at once.
A criminal who ate people was, without question, among the most dangerous kinds of men. No one should expect such a creature to surrender meekly.
Had that thrown stone not hit the shield, it would likely have struck the soldier’s helmet.
A steel helm protected the head well enough, but its structure meant even two hard slaps from an enemy’s broad palm could leave the wearer dizzy and reeling.
Let alone a heavy stone.
In history, the hand-to-hand technique of the Janissaries had been famous for the so-called Janissary Great Palm.
“Fighting back, are you? Good! Keep fighting!”
The soldiers quickened their steps. Fury over desecrated faith burst together with the resentment of trudging through a swamp in armor.
Lannor heard York shouting too.
“Filthy dog. We’ll have you begging for the pyre before we’re done!”
At last, the man could no longer endure the threats closing in from outside. He hurled more than a dozen stones in a frenzy, then charged.
Every stone struck the shields at the front of the formation.
And the man seemed to know exactly what punishment awaited him. In Lannor’s eyes, his charge carried more desire to die than hope to live.
He held a dagger the length of a forearm and made no attempt to guard his torso. He simply flailed it wildly and threw himself toward the soldiers’ blades.
“He doesn’t want to live. Don’t kill him here.”
Witchers had low-light vision. The killer’s little intention lay bare before Lannor, so he gave the warning directly.
For what this man had done, he deserved every torment this world could devise.
The veterans cooperated well. While the killer tangled with one soldier, three sword-and-shield infantry stepped in and surrounded him with raised shields.
Three shields pressed inward. The killer’s dagger arm was trapped in a gap.
Crack.
The arm snapped.
After his useless scream, several one-handed swords thrust through the spaces between shields.
All the points angled downward, most driving into his thighs.
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