6—Balstick

'There's definitely a nest up here somewhere.'

Merel smiled after remembering that most monsters don't keep any treasure in their lairs. Harpies, though – they were kleptomaniacs and hoarded shiny trinkets and valuables.

Deciding that he would return when he had the strength to destroy the harpies along with the nest but not before looting it.

Merel wasn't a fool just because they were small fry in the game doesn't mean he can try anything even close to the game in his current situation, he is much too weak.

Thinking back to when he fought against harpies in the game he remembers how they mercilessly attacked one after another while staying in the sky leaving little option to strike back in turn. He would only survive by spamming fast attacks and excessive casting of igni.

Certainly he would have been mauled to death by the sickly monsters leaving his bones to decorate their nest.

Pulling his face back from the crevice in the door, affirming his choice to come back here in the future, Merel makes his way down the long winding stairs.

Passing the room he had first arrived in this world he reaches the end of the hallway.

Descending the steps silently in thanks to his runes he arrives at the ground floor a wide space at the bottom of the tower.

Around him was random debris the only thing of note was some wooden scaffold with the skeletal remains of a man still hanging from its noose.

There were three gates but one was closed and blocked with debris. The other facing the half sunken ruined bridge was also closed leaving only one gate open.

Before leaving Merel headed toward the scaffolding with a ladder leading up to it, ignoring the hanged man gently swaying in the wind passing through the portcullis.

Climbing the ladder wary of faulty footholds Merel reaches the top only to see another skeleton, only this one was sat down, slumped against the wall, with what looked like empty potion bottles lying around him one still in his bony grasp.

Deciding to search the body for any useful items he ignored his past life's common sense of respect for the dead.

'Not like he's gonna need his stuff anytime soon...'

Justifying his actions Merel finishes pillaging the dead body.

A rolled up scroll tied up with some thin twine and a folded piece of paper slightly yellow with age.

Opening the scroll first, he slid off the string, he noticed the foreign writing was changing into plain English as he looked at it. Every word he keeps his eye on shifting into readable text.

'Whoever sent me here... IF anyone even sent me here, then they left me a translation function.'

Thinking this, Merel was grateful for the major convenience.

He begins to read the text.

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May the gods smile on you and me sis. Now I'm asking you to read this careful, for what I got to say's important.

Soon as you set hands on this writing, gallop off to that fence Kramer what's based in Maribor. Tell him we've got some first-class gear and witcher sword diagrams to sell. Aye, I can see you now, scratching your head, or more likely your arse, and asking, "Did I hear that right?" You sure did - 'twas my luck to come to care for a witcher what got one foot in the grave and t'other hovering right above.

I was sat there looking at the poor man suffer in agony, and thought to meself, "He don't need this kit and these papers where he's going, while for us, that's the fixings we need to get us started in the world of business, if we sell them for the right price, that is." Aye, I hear you fretting, so stop. I didn't take everything, in fact, nobody'll even realize ought of his shite's missing.

Sad, though, ain't it - this witcher's a good man. First he helped the baronet solve the riddle of that lighthouse what was sending ships into the rocks, then he killed that dragon that ate all the peasants. Problem is, a dragon's no easy pickings, and our valiant hero got quite the licking taking it out.

He's done for, that's certain, so soon as they bury him in the tomb on Crookback Hills, I'll head straight to your place. Come to think of it, I'm curious how they'll put him in that crypt at all, for word is a vampeer's made it his lair.

P.S. I also lifted a few flasks off the witcher, but since they're like not to survive the journey, reckon I'll sample them myself, see how witcher hooch goes down - maybe we'll make a business out of that, too!

Your brother-in-law, A. Balstick

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A/N: Leave a comment and feedback if you enjoyed the chapter. 805 words without Author's note.