The Witcher: Astartes Of The Bear School

Chapter 32: The Ghouls

The next morning, the well-groomed horse, Popeye, was brought out by the villagers. Lan patted the horse's nose, knowing that this fellow had been well-fed the night before. 

Two freshly refurbished swords were strapped to his back. Ivan had worked through the night, and Bernie had kept his promise, providing the best wood and fish skin to create a new sheath for Lan's sword. In Lan's eyes, that sheath alone was worth five Orens. 

Thanks to Elder Allen disclosing the information about Lan's involvement in the investigation during the previous night's chaos, the villagers were somewhat reassured. 

In this era, shedding blood for faith was a natural occurrence. After all, no one could predict what kind of chaos overly excited individuals might unleash in their fervor. 

The sound of hooves echoed, splattering mud and grass as Lan gracefully mounted the horse, minimizing wind resistance. Though Popeye bore a hundred kilograms of weight, he galloped along happily. 

Less than two hours later, Midcopse came into view. Slowing down, Popeye trotted into the village. 

Lan's cat-like eyes scanned the area discreetly. The villagers here, like those in Oreton, were completely consumed with their own thoughts, even neglecting work that was essential for their survival. 

"Ah ha! You finally made it!" It was the same tavern, and the halberd soldier, York, greeted them at the entrance. It seemed the place had been repurposed by a dozen soldiers as a temporary lodging. 

"Sergeant Strenger hasn't sobered up yet, and the others are busy repairing their gear, so I was sent to welcome you, Master." York took the reins of Popeye from Lan and tied them to the tavern's side. 

Lan wrinkled his nose at the overpowering smell of alcohol wafting from inside. 

"Thanks, just call me Lan, York. Let's not waste time; can you take me to see the body first?" 

"Hey, that's why I'm here to greet you. Let's go." York laughed, adjusting his helmet as he picked his halberd and led the way. 

"We found an abandoned house on the outskirts of the village to store the body. The weather has been bad these past few days, so to be honest, I've seen witchers in action before; you and your mentor, that old bastard, are the best swordsmen I've ever encountered. But I don't think you'll find much from a corpse that's almost rotting away." 

Lan remained silent. He couldn't say much; his current [Tracking] proficiency was only 19%. 

While he believed his mutation was perfect and his witcher senses were commendable among his peers, his knowledge of tracking couldn't even match that of an ordinary hunter. Speaking too soon could lead to embarrassment. 

But as York and Lan drew closer to the village outskirts, Lan caught a whiff of something that made him sigh. Reaching behind his shoulder, he touched the silver sword. 

"York." 

"What?" The halberd soldier had been walking confidently ahead. 

"I guess you haven't left enough light near the corpse, nor have you stationed anyone to guard it." 

"Hey, that's amazing! How did you know—" York turned around, only to see Lan had already drawn his silver sword. 

His expression tightened, and he gripped his halberd more firmly. "Is there a monster?" 

Lan raised an eyebrow at York and replied, "A faintly stinking corpse, not buried, not burned, and not guarded; ghouls love this sort of thing." 

Before York could respond, Lan's body was already set in motion, instantly transitioning into a charging stance, his movements as swift and sudden as a ghost. 

"Damn it!" The halberd soldier cursed, rushing to keep up. The case in Duén Hen was of great importance, and with the only clue right under their noses being devoured by ghouls, all of these soldiers would face dire consequences. 

As Lan drew nearer, the scent guided him unerringly. After only two turns between the village's wooden houses, a dilapidated cabin came into view. 

Without hesitation, Lan gave the door a strong kick, shattering it into several large pieces that flew away. Before the monsters inside could emit a sound, Lan, aided by Mentos's sound localization, did not hesitate to strike first even as the door splintered. 

"Swish—urgh!!" The gleaming silver sword left a crescent-shaped arc in the air as it struck, severing a ghoul's leg at the hip joint. Even as a monster, that strike would surely incapacitate it. 

York, rushing in behind him, mirrored Lan's earlier actions, thrusting his halberd into the ghoul's side, slamming it against the wall with force. 

The last remaining monster, panicked by its companions' swift demise, frantically charged toward the exit. Lan did not confront it directly, instead sidestepping and allowing the creature a path to escape. The ghoul picked up speed. 

However, from its ground-level perspective, it couldn't see the threat above. Lan had already raised both hands, gripping the sword overhead. As the ghoul brushed past Lan's swinging cloak, a flash of cold silver descended. 

"Thwack!" The blade drove directly into the ghoul's neck. 

Pausing his strike, Lan's movement indicated a change in direction—a hallmark of Bear School swordsmanship. The spinning motion was part of the buildup for his next powerful strike. 

The faint sound of "squelch" followed as the only thing that escaped from the door was the decapitated ghoul's body, leaving a small cloud of dust behind. 

Lan stepped over to the first ghoul he had wounded, pressing his silver sword through its skull with a decisive thrust. 

"Damn those monsters," York exclaimed, pulling his halberd from the ghoul's body, his expression gloomy. "We're done for; now there's no corpse left." 

Lan's expression mirrored York's displeasure. But upon reflection, perhaps it wasn't entirely his fault if he couldn't find the murderer, right? 

He was still somewhat concerned about how the outcome of the mission would affect his reputation. Isn't it the service industry that seeks a good reputation?! 

"?" Mentos sent a question mark to Lan's mind. 

Lan replied, "What are you questioning? In high-level commissions, a witcher's reputation is tied to their payment; isn't that just the service industry?" 

Mentos fell silent. 

However, while bickering with the AI was one thing, Lan was still very reliable when it came to the mission at hand. 

York had already retreated outside, the ghoul's foul blood filling the cabin with a rancid odor. He appeared disheartened and somewhat fearful. There was no doubt that the clue had been lost. 

This mission was of utmost importance, directly assigned by a lord who dispatched a dozen cavalrymen. But the only lead had been devoured right beneath their noses. He couldn't imagine what kind of punishment awaited them upon returning to Crow's Perch. 

"If we can't catch the murderer, not only will the lord punish us, but even the merciful goddess Melitele might unleash her wrath!" He was, after all, a believer in Melitele. 

At that moment, as Lan stepped outside for some fresh air, he patted the gloomy halberd soldier on the back and headed back into the cabin. 

"Hey, if we want to get paid, we've got to do the job. Let me see if I can find any clues among this pile of 'kitchen waste.'" 

York's mood instantly brightened, his hopeful gaze following Lan's retreating figure. He watched in admiration as Lan entered the cabin, thinking that the witcher was truly impressive. 

A man who had played in cow dung as a child and spent time cleaning latrines in the army wouldn't be fazed by the rotting remains; Lan's sensitive nose was still active as he searched through the gore. 

Regardless of whether he could find any clues, anyone who claimed a witcher didn't contribute would have to deal with him. 

***

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