Chapter 48

Chapter 48: Time for Blood

At the same moment the scream echoed, Old Allen and the villagers of Oreton felt a sudden chill outside the forest. The birds resting among the trees seemed startled by the scream, flapping their wings and flying away in a flurry.

Lan slowly emerged from the shadows of the trees. His tall figure was clad in heavy, sturdy armor, and the first thing visible in the shadows were his glowing cat-like eyes.

If the villagers hadn't already developed a good level of trust in the witcher over the past days, these uneducated farmers might have screamed "demon" and fled in all directions. But they didn't. Although they were breathing heavily and trembling, they still cared about Lan and the missing children.

"Lan, are you okay?" Old Allen was the first to approach the witcher emerging from the forest, asking tentatively.

The young witcher, though covered in gruesome bloodstains, nodded in response.

Seeing this, Old Allen let out a sigh of relief. "Phew—I thought you had gone mad from the terrible screams inside! Well, did you get anything?"

"I've figured it out, more or less." Lan didn't want to talk much, so he kept his words brief. 

The village elder didn't ask for details, knowing that his small fishing village couldn't get involved in what was to come.

"That cannibal... What did you do to him?"

"I cut the tendons in both his hands and then left."

Old Allen's pupils shrank, and he swallowed hard, forcing a dry laugh.

"Ha, ha, he deserved it. A person with all four limbs disabled and bleeding in the forest... It wouldn't be surprising if he turned into a wraith from his suffering!"

"Maybe," Lan said, gently wiping the blood off his face. His eyes were as cold as iron.

"Many wraiths will soon be born on this land, but it doesn't matter. When that time comes, I'll be happy to kill them again."

"Even if it's for free."

Afterward, the villagers returned to their homes, while Old Allen accompanied Lan to the blacksmith's shop. Lan handed his steel sword to Ivan. This was the first time Ivan had handled this sword, having only repaired Lan's silver sword before. 

The blacksmith looked up at the calm-faced Lan and Old Allen, nodded silently, and started working without a word. The atmosphere was heavy, with only the sounds of the grinding wheel and the bellows filling the air.

During this time, Lan placed the now bulkier cloth bag into his leather pouch. This was Ms. Donna's support, the only thing she could give. The distraught woman continued her son's unfinished work. She had filled the small cloth bag with various herbs she could gather and handed it to Lan without a word. The young man had no choice but to accept.

The steel sword didn't need much repair, so Ivan finished quickly and solemnly returned the sword to Lan. The young man didn't linger, turning to leave immediately.

It wasn't until Lan had been gone for a while that Ivan let out a long breath. "Phew—"

Unknowingly, the blacksmith, who had been working by the furnace for over a decade, had sweat dripping from his forehead just from standing there.

"Damn... what just happened?! My heart was racing!" Ivan leaned on the worktable, muttering to himself.

Old Allen, who had been silent all this time, tapped his pipe and said softly. "You were scared, Ivan. Being paralyzed by fear when a griffin dives to attack and then being eaten. Even in the Skellige Isles, that wouldn't be considered a dishonorable death."

Ivan looked up in surprise. "A griffin? There's no—"

Before he could finish his rebuttal, an image of a pair of icy, vertical cat-like eyes flashed in his mind. Comparing those pupils to a griffin, Ivan couldn't decide which he'd rather face.

"Unbelievable, I've never seen Lan with that... expression before." Ivan's face showed fear and astonishment as he described the witcher earlier.

Lan had a good reputation in Oreton. Although he only maintained the basic manners and habits of a university student from his homeland—saying thank you when helped, nodding in acknowledgment, giving way to women and children, and clearing obstacles from the path—these were considered remarkable manners by the villagers of Oreton.

It was no wonder that rumors of "a noble's son turned witcher" spread.

But Old Allen shook his head gently, putting his cleaned pipe back into his pocket.

"You know, Ivan. The angrier a good person gets, the greater their fury. Although Lan initially kept people at a distance and seemed sharp and strong, we soon realized he was like a 'knight' from a storybook, one who would draw his sword to help the weak."

"'Orders from the Grandmaster of the School of the Bear'? What nonsense! Who would really care about a bunch of fishermen like us? Yes, Vserad collects taxes from us, but I bet even he doesn't care. Damn it, how could there be such a person in this day and age?!"

"Yes, he can drink cheap homemade wine in the tavern and play cards and joke with us commoners. Although he's a witcher, look at his manners—would anyone believe he's of common birth? No one would!"

"My wife threw away all the talk about 'witchers being mutants' and 'witchers being filthy and unclean' just five days after he moved into our house! Damn it, I've lived with her for decades, and she wouldn't even give up mushrooms for me! And now this good man is truly angry."

The old man pointed backward, indicating the path Lan had taken when he left. Looking at the village blacksmith, Old Allen spoke seriously, emphasizing each word.

"There's no doubt, there will be blood—lots and lots and lots of blood."

The three "lots" became progressively heavier, causing Ivan to swallow hard with difficulty.

***

Lan arrived at Bernie's side. He was still unconscious, being cared for by his wife. She was a typical middle-aged woman who had taken on many labor tasks. Lan didn't say much, getting straight to the point.

"If he doesn't develop a fever tonight and tomorrow, rest will be enough. But if he starts to fever..."

The young man pursed his lips and drew a bottle of potion from his leather pouch. The orange liquid shimmered under the light. The Swallow potion, significantly accelerating body recovery.

"I'll leave you a small amount. Mix it with strong alcohol and give it to him to drink. Maybe, I say maybe... he might pull through. But even if he does, the toxicity of the witcher's potion will definitely leave some aftereffects... Use it sparingly."

The woman, with tears in her eyes, didn't say much, just carefully storing the potion before sitting back by Bernie's bedside.

Lan tightened the straps of his sword on his back and silently left the house.

***

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