Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 49: Moonlight Across The Battlefield
Hooves striking earth never made a pleasant sound.
Especially not when the horse was a strong war mare carrying a witcher whose total weight, man and steel together, exceeded a hundred and fifty kilograms, and whose killing intent rode before him like a drawn blade.
There was nothing of the bright, cheerful knightly procession sung by bards in the sight of Lannor in armor. He was tall, broad, and armed for murder, mounted on a black warhorse that stood a full sixteen hands at the shoulder. When such a pair thundered down a country road in Velen, it would remind people less of chivalry and more of the things whispered in village horror tales, war fiends, wraith-knights, the Wild Hunt.
“Sir, I must remind you again, please remain calm.”
Mentos had stopped with the jokes.
Truth be told, it would have preferred Lannor humming again, or holding a jar of honey like a bear and shoveling it into his mouth. Burning with rage, carrying all his gear, riding out to cross blades with dozens of murderous cannibals at minimum, it was madness.
The madness was not in whether he could win. Mentos had a measure of confidence in Lannor, and in itself.
They were criminals, after all.
They had neither the discipline and vigilance of a professional army, nor a professional army’s skill in killing and reconnaissance. There were many of them, but their loose organization was a weakness in itself. With proper planning and reconnaissance, even inefficient assassination would do. Kill a dozen men, and the whole structure would start to crack.
Once the organization cracked, it would no longer be “dozens of swords against one sword” for Lannor.
It would become dozens of separate fights, one sword against one sword.
And unless the other side had some famed knight or veteran champion hidden away, a witcher was not likely to lose to ordinary men.
What truly worried Mentos was Lannor’s state of mind.
A precise plan needed a calm hand to carry it out.
On the mental curve Mentos had plotted, Lannor’s emotions were stable.
Stable at the very top of the chart.
“I am calm, Mentos.”
Lannor’s level voice cut through the intelligence in his skull. He repeated it.
“I am very calm.”
Mentos said no more.
A Biological Intelligence Core had the authority to guide and warn, not to decide. As Lannor’s educational authorization advanced in the future, bringing him closer to a fully educated adult member of the Commonwealth of Man, even that auxiliary authority would gradually be ceded back to the host.
It had done what a Biological Intelligence Core ought to do.
The rest was obedience.
Sea wind drove dark clouds across the sky. The air began to smell of wet soil.
Velen was going to rain again.
Relying on the endurance of a witcher’s body, Lannor’s continuous riding time was limited only by Pope’s recovery.
Under normal circumstances, riding from Auridon to the Condal area Villis had mentioned would take two or three days.
Lannor and the nearly breathless Pope took less than one full day to draw near the target.
The golden forty-eight hours for rescuing a missing child hung in Lannor’s chest like a noose before execution.
And with every passing minute, that noose tightened.
He was anxious.
He was also crushing that anxiety down with everything he had.
If anxiety helped, the world would have far fewer damned tragedies.
“Stop, Pope.”
“Huff, huff...”
Lannor tugged the reins from the saddle, slowing the warhorse that had nearly run itself dry. He patted Pope’s cheek and fed her a carrot, while his cat eyes swept sharply over the surroundings.
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