Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 37
Though the caution regarding a “man-eater group” still lay buried deep in Lannor’s mind, he had already shared his suspicions with those responsible for maintaining order in Velen. What more could he do?
Charge in alone, strike straight at the heart?
Don’t be absurd. A group capable of developing the kind of ritual implied by that hand pendant had to number in the dozens at least.
A Witcher was not a god. No one foolish enough believed a single sword could stand against dozens.
Dozens of blades, even a sorcerer would be cut down in the end.
And as for Phillip’s decision, Lannor had nothing to say against it.
Child abduction was no less vile than cannibalism, nor any less far-reaching in its effects.
And the scale of missing children was clearly greater. Prioritizing that case was only reasonable.
Lannor could only hope that before Velen’s already strained forces found time to deal with them, those man-eater groups would not stir up anything too catastrophic.
He did not linger in Crow’s Perch. With his damaged armor in hand, he mounted up and rode out alone.
Before leaving, he had Phillip pass a message back to Auridon, that he needed to make a trip to Gors Velen and had no intention of breaking his contract.
The blacksmith Ivan came to Crow’s Perch regularly to purchase materials. Passing along a message was no trouble, and Phillip readily agreed.
There was little to say about a solitary journey. Fortunately, Mentos proved capable enough as a conversational companion.
And when there was nothing else, Lannor could always hum a tune or two to himself.
Though whenever he did, Mentos had a habit of suddenly falling silent.
Still, it kept Lannor from talking to Pope about his feelings.
Being so lonely that one spoke to a horse, that was a touch too pitiful.
The road took him past marshland and scattered villages. Now and then he saw abandoned houses and fallow fields. Velen’s landscape carried a kind of somber beauty, yet its colors were strangely vivid.
Flowers of every hue, clear skies and white clouds, trees and pools of water.
Lannor felt that even with a camera from his own world, no amount of editing could reproduce such contrast.
The journey passed quickly, and following his map he arrived at a coastal city he had never seen before.
High walls encircled it, sharp towers rising into the sky, their peaks glinting in the light. Beyond the far side lay the sea, a grey-green expanse reflecting the morning sun, dotted with white sails.
This was the first settlement he had seen in this world that truly deserved to be called a city.
Even if, by Mentos’s estimate, there were no more than five thousand inhabitants within its walls, that was already considerable here.
In Velen, a land of poverty and danger, it stood like a jewel.
Lannor pulled his hood low, hiding his cat eyes in shadow.
The guards at the gate were men who had seen enough of the world. Such mysterious attire meant little to them.
The entry tax, a handful of silver coins, however, was unavoidable.
Lannor carefully counted out the required coins from his purse and handed them over.
A tall man with two swords on his back, cloaked and mounted, painstakingly counting coins, the sight carried a certain dissonance.
After he passed through, the guards chatted among themselves.
“That one just now, all cloaked up, I thought he’d be some big figure. Turns out he counts money like any ordinary merchant.”
“With two swords on his back, I thought he’d be some famous mercenary. You ever seen a famous mercenary count out entry fees coin by coin? If he’s counting like that, he can’t be anyone important.”
Laughter followed him from the gate.
Lannor’s mouth twitched.
“No sense for thrift or coin. No wonder they’ll spend their lives guarding a gate. Damn fools.”
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