Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 77: Knives In The Dark Hall
The disappointment faded quickly once Lannor stepped out of the smithy.
The vambrace modification had only occurred to him recently, after too many encounters with crossbows and arrows. Even the crude blueprint had been something Mentos threw together in haste. There were certainly flaws in the design. How many flaws depended entirely on the opinion of a true master blacksmith.
And since the master was nowhere near Gors Velen, the whole matter died before it even properly began.
Fortunately, upgrading the vambrace had never been the real reason Lannor rushed out of Aretuza Academy in the first place.
The swollen Alchemy Sack hung across Pope’s hindquarters. Lannor led the horse while Arya handled the reins. Together they arrived once more before the finest inn in Gors Velen.
A silver heron sign of forged iron swayed gently above the entrance.
After stabling the horse, Lannor pushed open the door. Drinking songs, roaring laughter, and the warm smell of food and wine rushed out to meet them. Without hesitation, he flicked two gleaming Orens onto the counter.
Clink. Clink.
The innkeeper’s ears practically twitched at the sound.
“Welcome back, witcher sir. Picked yourself up a squire this time?”
Perhaps because the money arrived first, his tone was respectful from the very beginning.
“You know how it is,” Lannor replied with a helpless shrug. “Sometimes the witcher life attracts romantics.”
“This time we’ll take one room again. The extra Oren is for better food, make it generous. And then...”
The witcher leaned closer over the counter.
“Tell me honestly, friend. Is this famous inn of yours peaceful at night?”
The innkeeper’s gaze slid strangely between the young-looking Arya and the witcher. Something seemed to click in his mind. A faintly mysterious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Instead of answering directly, he changed the subject entirely.
“Things cost more for a reason, witcher sir.”
He swept the coins into his palm.
“A portion of every coin earned by the Silver Heron goes toward paying a rather special wage.”
“The recipients are seven warriors from the Skellige Isles. Every one of them has earned coin aboard pirate ships. Every one of them knows sword and hand axe. Every one of them has taken at least three heads.”
“Now they wear fine armor. Once night falls, three men guard the stairways on each floor while the other four patrol continuously.”
He lowered his voice slightly.
“Once, a drunken hedge sorcerer attempted to force his way into a lady’s room. Caused a fair bit of noise that night. The lady checked out the next morning. One of our guards spent half a month recovering. The Silver Heron continued business as usual.”
The innkeeper’s smile widened a touch.
“As for the sorcerer ... no one ever saw him again.”
Once the coins disappeared into his pouch, his posture returned to perfect neutrality, as though the conversation had never happened.
Lannor merely grunted.
“Good. I only ask that the nights here remain as quiet as my last stay.”
The witcher turned toward the stairs with his unusually young “squire” in tow.
Arya staggered beneath the weight of the bulging Alchemy Sack hanging from her shoulder. Bottles clinked heavily with every step, forcing her to hunch forward as she climbed.
“M-my lord,” she whispered between breaths, “why did you say things like that? I’d wager the innkeeper now thinks you’re some kind of child-loving degenerate.”
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