Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 6
“Quen!”
Far more refined than anything his apprentice could muster with Signs.
Bordon, limited perhaps by his experience and the breadth of his thinking, could not conceive of the stranger, more unorthodox applications of Signs.
But a solid foundation yielded its own rewards, within the intended function of the craft.
An orange-yellow power shield flared into existence in the blink of an eye.
Denser than Lannor’s, built to withstand far greater physical force.
If the three nekkers from before had leapt onto this Quen barrier, they would likely have ended up as smears on a wall.
But in Bordon’s bloodshot cat eyes, two arrows, one long and one short, arrived in succession.
The longer shaft came from a longbow. It struck the shield with a sharp crack.
The orange-yellow barrier overloaded at once and burst apart.
The power of a longbow far exceeded what plays and tales would have men believe.
Even a battlefield bow built for sustained fire, not extreme draw weight, could punch through modern sheet iron within a dozen paces.
And the human body, or even that of a witcher, was helplessly frail before steel. That was an undeniable fact.
Quen, cast at full force, could block only a single arrow. Yet there was no frustration in Bordon’s gaze.
The result was reasonable, and fortunate.
The archer was skilled. The shot had been aimed straight at Bordon’s throat.
Witcher school armor did not include a gorget.
Had the arrow struck true, his end would have been no different from that of a common peasant.
The sharp head would have punched through skin, sinew, cartilage, vessels, and windpipe, then scraped bone before tearing out the other side.
A witcher’s body was tougher than a man’s, but against the gulf between steel and flesh, that advantage meant nothing.
The longbow arrow had been turned aside by Quen. It bought Bordon a precious instant.
Faced with the second projectile, faster and heavier, yet loosed a heartbeat later, the man forced his arm up.
Clang!
A ringing collision of metal.
The bolt struck Bordon’s metal vambrace and deflected away.
His thick arm shuddered.
A crossbow bolt was a weapon of war, stronger even than a bowshot, capable of punching through plate several millimeters thick.
Even with the bracer absorbing part of the force, the impact would leave a broad bruise across a witcher’s wrist.
Had his armor been any poorer, the bolt would have bitten flesh.
But pain did not hinder a witcher in battle.
The raised arm flowed into motion, reaching back.
A bright steel sword slid free with the rasp of metal.
The enhanced physique and raw strength of the School of the Bear drove the motion from draw to strike in less than half a second.
The air keened as it was split. The blade lashed straight into the brush at his flank.
Even in haste, with a bruised arm, Bordon’s swordsmanship was terrifyingly solid.
His edge alignment held steady, his direction precise, preserving the blade’s killing power to the utmost.
Against any ordinary man, that single stroke would have decided life or death.
Provided that man did not carry a shield.
A shield was the greatest safeguard in close combat.
Thud!
The treated wooden shield answered with a heavy, muffled impact.
The brush had already been pressed aside by the force of Bordon’s swing, yet leaves and branches still lay between blade and shield, chopped apart like greens on a butcher’s block, sap spraying.
The captain of the four-man enforcement squad, a seasoned Temerian sword-and-shield infantryman.
A deep gouge had been carved into the silver lilies emblazoned on his shield.
By a veteran’s habit, his stance should have been immovable.
It was the classic formation stance, weight and center of gravity driven forward into the shield.
Unless the opponent could shove his entire armored mass bodily aside, the posture could not be broken.
Yet in that hurried strike, he had been forced back.
His clouded eyes went wide, shock plain as if he had seen a wraith with his own eyes.
He had traveled far and seen much, but never a witcher, let alone crossed blades with one.
His imagination, bounded by the narrow world of a peasant age, could not accept that a humanoid creature could unleash such force.
Nor could he fathom how this mutant freak had detected him hidden in the brush.
But the fight had begun. Whether he could grasp it or not, he would see it through.
A one-handed sword, meant to pair with the shield, slid out along its rim.
Like a venomous snake.
Its target was Bordon’s blade.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.