Bear School Astartes

Velen is filled with swamps, puddles, and lake islands.

Thus, when the strong winds before the heavy rain start to blow, they stir up these accumulated waters, and the earthy smell and stench of silt waft into the air.

As a result, even the rain in Velen seems stickier and more annoying than in other places.

Lann and Belengar set off in the morning and only made a brief stop to grab a bite to eat.

The endurance of the Demon Hunters’ bodies spared them from the worries of chafing thighs like ordinary people after long hours of riding.

Moreover, they were lucky enough to encounter an internal riverboat midway.

Belengar, now indifferent to his wealth of a few coins, directly paid double the fare to stop the boat and hitched a ride for a stretch.

Lann, on the other hand, rode his unicorn, following at a distance as if walking on flat ground.

With such efficiency in travel, they took only a single day to journey from Gos Velen in the far west of Velen to regions nearer its center.

”I remember there’s an inn built at the crossroads here.”

Belengar pointed at the fork ahead as he spoke.

”Ahead of the crossroads is a village called Mobridge, and in front of the village, there’s a Tree of the Hanged.”

”Tree of the Hanged?” Lann asked curiously, ”Is it a tree cursed or turned into a monster by Magic Power?”

”No,” Belengar shrugged blandly.

”It’s just a big tree, tall and strong, with lush branches, often used by the lord as a gallows with its branches.”

”Sometimes the bodies of criminals would hang there for days as a warning against breaking the law.”

”I’ll tell you, that tree grew really well. There must be more than twenty sturdy branches capable of hanging people.”

The Old Demon Hunter said carelessly, while the young Demon Hunter listened with a frown.

This was still the dark and savage Magical Middle Ages.

During his travels across worlds, Lann wouldn’t intervene in everything without reason or regard for the environment.

For example, in the Ancient Greece world, at the budding stage of civilization, Lann refrained from intruding on the power struggles between the two Aegean Sea hegemonies.

More journeys brought more knowledge and contemplation.

Although Lann still felt uncomfortable hearing about ’executions’ and ’hanging bodies to deter crime’, he was very aware: one shouldn’t view the present darkness with methods divorced from the era and productivity.

It was a reflection of the dialectical world view of a humanities student.

Lann looked down at the velvet ball sitting in his lap, only to find the Three-Floral Kitten also appeared rather calm under Belengar’s description, only swallowing slightly nervously.

Though it once introduced itself as having participated in territorial disputes among different Detel factions. Such endurance shown in harsh environments was understandable.

When they arrived at the inn on the crossroads, the heavy clouds above had already begun to drizzle raindrops sporadically.

Lann dismounted, patting the side of his unicorn to signal it to wander off by itself.

After all, this guy definitely wouldn’t stay put in the inn’s stable anyway, it might as well roam freely. He could call it back with the Magic Ring later.

The unicorn joyfully ran off, even capable of diving into the sea to eat kelp; this rain was as if nonexistent to it.

Lann had already donned his hooded cloak, and the velvet ball followed the unicorn to play.

A small armored cat was still too conspicuous.

Belengar tied Bopai in the inn’s stable and then walked inside with Lann.

The door, pieced together with planks, opened with a creak, bearing visible gaps due to shoddy craftsmanship.

Lann bent over and ducked in.

That tall figure caused people inside the inn who saw him to startle in their seats.

They thought a giant troll had entered.

However, the neatly kept cloak on Lann signified he was a traveler, a human.

The crossroads inn was no different from those in other places, only appearing more lively than usual village taverns due to the regular hustle and bustle.

The walls, stacked with raw wood, were decorated with wreaths of Mariteli flowers, their vibrant colors appearing warm under the orange flames.

Garlands of garlic and onions used for seasoning hung next to the oven behind the innkeeper.

Wooden floors, wooden tables and chairs, wooden counters... Wood was the cheapest and most convenient building material in Velen.

The innkeeper just finished clearing a wooden plate that had been completely emptied, tossing the leftover scraps out the window without looking back.

Happy yelps of dogs came from outside.

Then, he wiped the broth off the wooden plate with a rag and put it under the counter, complete with a cleaning gesture.

The innkeeper glanced at Belengar and Lann, then lowered his head and busied his hands again.

Though both Demon Hunters were wearing hooded cloaks at the moment, the sharp-eyed innkeeper quickly noticed the clasp at the neck of the cloaks.

Pure silver clasps!

Quietly, the innkeeper raised the prices of his merchandise in his mind.

”Fancy a round?”

Belengar walked to the counter and turned to ask Lann. The young Demon Hunter nodded.

Belengar then said to the innkeeper, ”Two shots of the strong stuff, first.”

Small wooden cups large enough to grip with the palm of a hand were placed out, filled with rye vodka, and the two Demon Hunters carelessly downed them at once.

For the Demon Hunters, this regular strong liquor was just a taste. To truly get drunk, either a large volume was required, or some ’substance’ needed to be added to the drink.

After a round of drinks, Belengar began ordering by looking at the ingredients hung behind the innkeeper.

In such village taverns, one shouldn’t expect a formal menu; it was customary to prepare meals based on whatever ingredients were available.

”Roast us a chicken and a rabbit with onions and carrots, and...”

The innkeeper wiped his hands on the apron in front of him, and following Belengar’s requests, took down the hanging ingredients from the wall.

Lann, too formidable in stature, didn’t intend to interject at the counter.

He found an empty table, joined two stools together, and took a seat.

Nearby, a table of people were playing Gwent cards, and at another table, folks were holding their drinks and chatting idly.

Under the increasingly loud rainfall outside, the dry, bright tavern, while not clean, was a decent place to rest.

Belengar continued chatting away with the innkeeper, the Old Demon Hunter’s tone carrying a natural ease and leisure refined by time.

It made the listener feel relaxed too.

However...

The sound of ”swish swoosh” came from the necks of both Demon Hunters.

Belengar, who was speaking, suddenly fell silent, and Lann, seated at the table, slowly turned his head.

The tavern’s wooden door again opened with a creak.