Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 80: The Devil at Sea Gate
A strange vertigo gripped Lannor’s mind.
In that haze between clarity and intoxication, he first saw a bizarre vision. A dimly lit castle chamber, the flickering candlelight trembling across the left side of a man. Robed, bearded—a Sorcerer. Lannor’s view was fixed atop a surgical table-like apparatus, gazing up at him. The weak light caught the needle in the Sorcerer’s hand, connected to a large vial of potion—Mother’s Tears. Part of the Trial of the Grasses set, it would violently distort human physiology, laying the groundwork for the witcher transformation. Lannor remembered the agony well.
In the memory, the Sorcerer’s eyes glimmered with excitement and obsession, yet beneath it, a trace of hidden compassion lingered. “What is it you desire? What will your will compel you to achieve?” the man asked, as if interrogating Lannor himself.
Lannor did not respond. At this moment, he was merely an observer; emotion had dulled to nothing. Yet the true owner of that perspective spoke: “I do not crave wealth, prestige, or power. I want a steed as black as night, swift as the wind; a sword as bright as moonlight. I will ride through the dark on my black horse and cut down evil with this blade—that is my desire!”
The voice was youthful, but the resolve and passion it carried were undeniable.
“There will be a steed for you, darker than night, swifter than wind. A sword forged for you, sharper than light, brighter than moon. Yet such trivial wishes demand a high price.”
“I have nothing!” the young voice declared without hesitation. “Therefore, I fear nothing!”
After a long pause, the Sorcerer sighed. “Your blood, child. That alone is sufficient.”
The first memory flickered briefly, barely a flashback by cinematic standards. Then a surge of raw power sprouted from Lannor. His vision expanded, sharpened, and refined. The sudden, overwhelming clarity made him feel as if he had been blind all his life. Even after surviving a near-death mutation as a witcher, nothing had produced this level of physiological awakening. Walking alone, Lannor could feel the immense force coiled within this body.
Even Bordon, the strongest warrior Lannor had yet seen, would have been little more than prey in the presence of such power.
Then, realization struck. This was not a change in his body—it was a shift in perspective. He was inhabiting another, far stronger organism than any so-called witcher ... perhaps the very thing a Gene Seed could create.
With that recognition came full awareness of his surroundings.
“He” moved through an immense structure of unfamiliar metal, vast beyond comprehension. The scale was so immense that even at Lannor’s sharpened vision, the architecture’s purpose could not be discerned; only the sheer size and sprawling mechanical apparatus spoke to an advanced civilization. Humans in uniform hurried along corridors, barely reaching his chest in height—either diminutive or he towering.
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