Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 87: Ravens Above Dead Fields
The witcher’s argument with his own mind did nothing to slow the barge.
As the surrounding water grew filthier and the smell heavier, most of the passengers began climbing to their feet from the cluttered, crowded deck and gathering their belongings.
Dirty water meant a large settlement was near.
Vizima had arrived.
The barge drifted slowly against the dock. This was the Temple District of Vizima, though calling it a slum would not have been wrong either.
Passengers surged toward the pier in a tangled mass, dragging cargo, beasts of burden, relatives, friends, anything they possessed.
As though if they stepped too slowly, the boat might carry them away again for free.
Lannor had never quite understood that sort of thinking. So he remained leaning against the prow rail, waiting for the crowd to thin before moving.
Under the hood, the cat eyes shifted.
The witcher suddenly slapped a hand backward, and a large black horse head was shoved aside.
“Whinny!”
Pope sprayed misty spit into the air.
“Haha, my lord, aren’t we getting off?”
Arya sat atop Pope’s saddle, eyes bright with excitement.
It was the first time she had ever guided a warhorse on her own, even if only from the middle of the ship to the bow.
For that matter, it was also her first time on a boat.
“You ought to be grateful Pope’s good-tempered. If she decided to buck her hips, you’d end up in the water.”
Arya tilted her head to look over the side.
Within the city’s waters, the surface carried a greasy rainbow sheen. Filth, recognizable and otherwise, slapped wetly against the hull with the tide.
The little girl made a disgusted sound and obediently tightened her grip on the saddle.
There were too many people to mount up properly, so Lannor simply led Pope down the gangplank with Arya still riding her.
Back at Aretuza, Margarita had briefed him on Vizima once she learned he had never been there before.
So Lannor already knew exactly where he was standing now.
The Temple District.
And within only a few steps of leaving the dock, the witcher had already swept the entire harbor with the corner of his eye.
Observing the battlefield environment was a skill every warrior needed.
And after the recent floods of memory, every owner of those memories had been among the finest combatants imaginable.
Those memories had dragged Lannor’s battlefield awareness from ignorance straight into mastery.
By his current standards of observation and analysis, even if he had stood in Bordon’s place back then, though he still would not have matched a century-old witcher master in raw strength, he could nonetheless have annihilated the Enforcement Squad through insight and tactical judgment alone.
“Six small gangs. Five thugs in each. Snake tattoos on all of them ... same organization. Structured too. Long-standing.”
Amid sweating dockworkers hauling cargo and clerks busy with ledgers, several men with ugly expressions prowled the area, scanning the crowds.
Some wore swords at their waists. Others carried studded clubs.
Dock gangs.
“Crude melee weapons only. Looks like the city’s unwritten rules keep gang fights below the threshold of military arms.”
Bows, crossbows, armor, all counted as military equipment.
In an unfamiliar city, more information was always better.
Lannor tugged his hood lower, hiding both silver hair and cat eyes, and headed for the harbor gate.
Several guards stood watch there as well.
Naturally, the harbor did not neglect to collect entry tax.
Lannor looked suspicious enough, but this was Vizima, capital of Temeria.
Every day brought a sea of arrivals.
Expecting every city guard to possess flawless discipline was unrealistic.
So Lannor merely flicked over a silver coin and walked through the gate leading Pope behind him under the guards’ thoroughly indifferent stares.
Beyond the gate lay the true Temple District.
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