Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 48: The Butcher Of Hollowmere
At the exact moment the screaming began, old Aaron and the villagers of Auridon all shuddered outside the forest.
The birds nesting among the trees exploded upward in panic, wings thrashing as they fled deeper into the sky.
Then Lannor stepped out from beneath the shade.
His tall figure was wrapped in thick, heavy armor. Before anything else emerged from the darkness, the villagers saw the glow of those cat eyes.
If the people of Auridon had not already spent days learning to trust this witcher, then these poor fishermen and farmers might have scattered screaming “devil” at the sight of him.
But none of them ran.
Though several breathed hard enough to shake, though knees trembled beneath patched trousers and skirts, they still looked toward Lannor with concern.
Concern for him.
Concern for the missing child.
“L-Lannor?”
Old Aaron was the first to approach, edging carefully toward the witcher who had emerged from the woods.
The young witcher’s armor was smeared with ugly blood, but he still gave a small nod in answer.
Old Aaron exhaled sharply in relief.
“Gods above ... hearing that screaming in there, I thought you’d gone mad! Well? Did you learn anything?”
“Enough.”
Lannor did not feel much like talking. The word came out flat and clipped.
The village elder did not press further. He knew perfectly well that a tiny fishing village like theirs had no power to involve itself in whatever came next.
“That cannibal...” old Aaron asked carefully. “What did you do with him?”
“I cut the tendons in both his hands,” Lannor replied. “Then I left.”
Old Aaron’s pupils tightened. He swallowed and forced out a brittle laugh.
“H-ha ... well. Deserved, I suppose. A cripple bleeding out alone in the forest...” His voice faltered. “Wouldn’t surprise me if a death like that birthed a spirit.”
“Maybe,” Lannor said quietly, wiping blood from his cheek with two fingers.
Those eyes were cold as forged iron.
“A lot of spirits are going to be born on this land soon.”
He looked toward the dark trees behind him.
“But that’s fine.”
“When the time comes, I’ll be glad to kill them again.”
“For free.”
Afterward, the villagers drifted silently back toward their homes. Old Aaron accompanied Lannor to the smithy instead.
There, Lannor handed Ivan the steel sword of the School of the Bear from across his back.
It was the first time Ivan had handled that blade. Until now, he had only repaired Lannor’s silver sword.
The blacksmith looked up once at Lannor’s expressionless face, then at old Aaron beside him. His lips pressed thin. Without a word, he turned and stoked the forge.
The atmosphere in the workshop hung heavy and stale. Only the hiss of the whetstone and the breathing of the bellows filled the silence.
While Ivan worked, Lannor opened the small cloth pouch and tucked it carefully into his alchemy satchel.
The pouch had grown fuller.
Mrs. Donna had packed it herself.
It was the only support she still had strength left to give.
That hollow-eyed woman had quietly continued the work her son failed to finish. She filled the little bag with every alchemical ingredient she could gather herself, then handed it to Lannor without speaking.
The young witcher could not refuse it.
So he shoved it deeper into the satchel instead, harder than necessary.
The steel sword had suffered little wear. Ivan finished quickly and returned it with solemn hands.
Lannor accepted the weapon and left immediately.
Only after the witcher disappeared down the road did Ivan finally release a long breath.
“Fuck...”
Without realizing it, the blacksmith who had stood beside furnaces for decades had sweat running from his brow just from standing there.
“What in the hell was that?” Ivan muttered, bracing both hands against the workbench. “My heart was pounding the whole time...”
Old Aaron, who had remained silent until now, tapped the ash from his pipe and spoke softly.
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