Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 41: A Crown Paid In Blood
By the time Lannor rode Pope back to Auridon, the villagers were not as anxious as he had imagined, nor did they seem to suspect he had run off halfway through the work.
Trust had already taken root between him and the people here. After resolving the case of the man-eater who had desecrated Melitele’s shrine, his name had gained a small measure of repute in Velen as well. Fergus confessing to him on only their second meeting was one result of that reputation.
Wicked men could live freely enough, but good men earned many friends.
Lannor’s aim in this world was to be a good man.
When he saw the smiles bloom across the villagers’ faces at his return, he felt he was, at least, walking in the right direction.
“Yes, sir. You are walking a proper road. Even so, I still advise that while riding, you refrain from singing...”
Before the neutral voice in his mind could finish, its master pressed it down.
“Ho, old Aaron. I’m back.”
Lannor dismounted from Pope and greeted the village elder waiting by the entrance.
“Hah! The hero who defended the Goddess has returned!”
Old Aaron came over with his pipe clenched between his teeth, stopping in front of Lannor with a grin.
“The hero who defended the Goddess?” Lannor led Pope toward the abandoned shed. “You mean me? A witcher?”
Old Aaron followed beside him and waved the matter off. “Witcher or not, what of it? The Goddess teaches mercy. Before, we listened too much to rumors and prejudice, fine. But now, if we refused to admit you caught that man-eater just because you’re a witcher, we’d have no face calling ourselves followers of the Goddess.”
Old Aaron looked in good spirits. After some questions, Lannor learned the villagers had not sat idle during his absence.
Under Bernie’s guidance, they had already begun cautiously expanding the fishing grounds into the waters Lannor had cleared.
Lannor had not worked here for long, but a pack of drowners claimed no small territory. By the villagers’ reckoning, Auridon’s fishing range had already expanded by nearly a fifth.
Expansion meant more catch. More catch meant more income.
The future Lannor had laid out for them was becoming real, step by step.
Nothing persuaded people better than profit falling into their own pockets.
That made the fishing village’s goodwill toward the young witcher even stronger.
And Lannor, for his part, missed the life in Auridon where food and lodging cost him nothing.
Since arriving in this world, the only day he had truly paid for his own food and board had been the day in Gors Velen.
Before that, Bordon had fed him just enough to keep him half full. After that, he had slipped seamlessly into Auridon’s free food and lodging.
Yet that single day alone had taught the eighteen-year-old witcher the weight of living.
Damn it. Paying for meals felt like eating his own flesh one bite at a time.
Lannor was a young man with one very traditional habit from his homeland, saving money.
The more anxious his people felt, the harder they clung to coin.
Ever since he came to this world, Lannor’s sense of danger had been strained to bursting.
So every Oren that slipped from his purse made his heart bleed.
That night at the Silver Heron, he had slept with his coin pouch clutched against his chest.
When he saw old Aaron again, his eyes nearly grew moist.
The old man’s wife cooked poorly. The bed in the house was miserable.
But the food and bed were free.
“Hey! Lannor, you’re back!”
As they passed the village tavern, Bernie’s voice came from the window.
He sat by a wooden table, the bandage on his hand clearly changed several times already. He waved and lifted his cup without stiffness.
It seemed mostly healed.
Lannor held Pope’s reins in one hand and waved back with the other.
“Bernie, any trouble working tomorrow?”
“Hah! My bones are going rusty. Tomorrow morning, at the dock.”
That settled the next day’s hunt.
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