Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 70
“Are you afraid?”
Lannor’s evasiveness only seemed to amuse her more.
The sorceress doubled over laughing, and for a moment all Lannor could see was an overwhelming expanse of white.
Boing. Boing.
“Mentos, this is not the time for sound effects.”
“Sir, that sound originated from your subconscious. I merely played it back.”
“Then stop.”
“Understood, sir.”
The beautiful sorceress laughed for a while longer before raising an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually as young as you look, little witcher? I was under the impression your kind lived quite a long time.”
Lannor pressed a hand against the Roaring Bear Head Necklace rattling noisily against his chest and remained silent.
“ ... You’re really only in your teens?!”
Now it was Margarita’s turn to stare.
East Asian features already tended to look youthful. Lannor had not yet accumulated the scars most witchers wore on their faces. In her eyes, he looked sixteen at most.
Yet after her surprise faded, the smile on her face became even more dangerous.
A witcher barely out of childhood, perhaps not even fully trained judging by the breadth of his knowledge, yet capable of smashing through a camp of fifty men head-on.
None of those brigands had worn armor, true.
Even so, who could question that kind of combat ability?
Potential, strength, temperament, age. Every answer only deepened Margarita’s interest.
“Lady, it seems your injuries have already...”
“Call me Rita.”
The sorceress cut him off before he could finish.
Leaning against one armrest of her wheelchair, chin resting on her hand, she smiled up at him.
“You saved me. That makes us friends, Lannor. Close friends call me Rita.”
“Then ... Rita.”
Lannor was not accustomed to such openly predatory attention.
Still, there probably wasn’t a man alive who would object to becoming closer to a breathtaking beauty, the sort who in his previous life would have required thousands spent on editing software just to imitate.
So he finally voiced the question that had been bothering him for days.
“How exactly did those people capture you?”
He genuinely could not understand.
He had expected some terrifying arch-sorcerer to be waiting inside the camp.
Driven by the determination to drag her out even if it killed him, he had slaughtered his way through the entire encampment.
Not a single fireball.
Not a single mage.
Nothing.
He simply could not imagine how Margarita had ended up in such a state.
For her part, the sorceress seemed entirely unconcerned by the memory.
“I told you already, Lannor. You lack common sense when it comes to dealing with sorcerers.”
Faced with the young man’s eager curiosity, she looked almost like a teacher instructing a student.
“Casting magic requires concentration. Not ordinary concentration, either. Extremely strict concentration.”
She raised a finger.
“For example, twisting your ankle or even hiccupping during a spell can cause it to fail, or produce unpredictable side effects.”
“And before a spell is cast, a sorcerer suffering from something as mundane as diarrhea is already significantly less dangerous. If they’re dealing with acute intestinal cramps, they may not be able to cast at all.”
She spread her hands.
The already generous neckline of her dress shifted lower, revealing even more pale skin. Lannor found himself nodding before he realized it.
“So, Lannor. Imagine a powerful sorceress walking down a road. A few thugs, acting entirely on impulse, knock her unconscious with slings before she notices anything suspicious. She wakes up later to discover several kilograms of flesh have been carved off her body.”
The sorceress tilted her head.
“Do you think she’d still be casting spells?”
“I get it.”
Lannor nodded.
Seen from that angle, sorcerers were surprisingly fragile.
Their resistance to poison and physical hardship was little different from that of ordinary people.
Feed them a laxative and they’d spend the day suffering.
Compared to witchers, who swallowed poison for buffs, it was hardly the same league.
For the first time in a long while, the young man felt a small measure of comfort regarding the strengths of his own profession.
“What are your plans now, Lannor?”
Margarita asked.
“You seemed very eager to purge the toxins and recover your strength. Do you have unfinished business?”
The easygoing atmosphere vanished from Lannor instantly.
His cat eyes cooled.
The hand resting upon the velvet blanket slowly clenched into a fist.
“Heh...”
“The account with those traffickers hasn’t been settled yet.”
The words were calm.
Too calm.
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