Bear School Astartes

Just as the little girl let out a piercing and terrified scream, the car owner himself was pinned to the ground, watching helplessly as his daughter was held down by a group of bandit deserters on the road.

”Are you going to act?”

A calm and slightly hoarse voice emerged from not far away.

Two demon hunters arrived there.

Geralt asked Lann beside him.

The demon hunters had clearly reached the scene, yet their casual tone was as if they were detached from the situation, leaving many present dumbfounded.

But Lann did not respond to Geralt’s words.

His cloak traced a wave-like arc in the air as he dismounted from the Qilin.

In silence, he walked towards the chaos on the road.

The large cloak hung down to his calves, enveloping him completely, showing no trace of emotional fluctuation.

He said nothing, but his hostility was unmistakable.

However, the bandit deserters opposite him, even when confronted with a man approaching them with hostility, showed no intention of turning and fleeing.

Because they were high on drug powder.

Lann only needed one glance to know.

Pupils unnaturally dilated, excited, mucus membranes stimulated into uncontrollable sniffing and drooling... it was far too obvious.

You can’t expect those who are high to maintain even the most basic rationality, right?

The foul-toothed leader pinning the little girl pulled out a hatchet from his belt, grinning as he charged at Lann.

Judging by the looks of it, he’s an experienced killer.

But the closer he got to Lann, the smaller and weaker he seemed.

Those eyes, excited beyond focus due to the drugs, abruptly froze as a fleeting shadow passed.

A large hand emerged from the cloak, gripping the foul-tooth leader’s skull.

As Lann firmly held the man’s head with one hand, his cloak’s hem, lifted by the movement, remained suspended in the air.

Not until the overwhelming force made contact with the fragile flesh did the drug-controlled head seem to regain some small semblance of sanity.

He attempted to swing his hatchet to injure the arm, but before he could act it out, the searing pain from above made him drop the hatchet, instead clawing at the hand on his head.

But Lann’s strength was on a different level compared to ordinary people.

When Primaris Space Marines say they can ’crush a human skull with their palm,’ they truly mean using just the area beyond the palm, which isn’t suited for compressing or exercising force, to crush a human skull.

And when they choose to apply pressure using their fingers, which are truly meant to grip tightly, what effect might it have on a human skull?

— Like a cracker.

”Aahhhh!”

The anguished scream was just as tragic as the donkey cart worker he had murdered earlier, if not more so.

Lann’s fingers tightened, and the foul-tooth leader could distinctly sense his skull’s structure nearing its limit.

Ultimately, the body of the person struggling frantically on Lann’s arm fell limp with a dull ’crack,’ leaving only occasional spasms.

Lann hadn’t crushed his head entirely; it seemed the old injuries on it caused uneven pressure.

Lann’s thumb and forefinger pressed into his skull first, leaving two finger indentations on the skull.

But those two indentations alone were enough to kill a person.

The corpse dropped from Lann’s hand with a ”plop,” into the mud.

Among the bandit deserters, there were five in total; it seemed they hadn’t consumed as much drug as the foul-tooth leader since the leader would keep the largest portion for himself.

Upon realizing the disparity, witnessing the death, they finally began to scatter and flee.

But the result was the same.

Lann moved his left hand five times, and five Alder’s Rune bullets penetrated their bodies from several tens of meters away.

Predictably, they were just a group of ordinary bandits, without extraordinary strength or strange magic.

Geralt calmly watched as Lann effortlessly dispatched the bandits, but only when Lann approached the girl who had been pinned did he let out a soft sigh.

Killing is easy for people like them.

Geralt was never worried about what happened earlier.

His prior confirmation with Lann was just to advise him on one matter.

For ordinary civilians who haven’t killed anyone, the demon hunters who saved them might also... be frightening in their eyes.

Civilians freshly startled, confronted with those inhuman cat eyes and the bloody killer.

Most would not react with gratitude but with hysterical screams and fleeing in the residual terror.

Watching Lann approach the little girl, Geralt waited for that scene to unfold.

Waiting for the father and daughter to panic as if seeing a monster upon encountering Lann, while calling out to flee.

Then he would spur forward and comfort the strong, yet ultimately young demon hunter.

Geralt shook his head, as if speaking from experience... right?!

Suddenly, Geralt, who had been silent behind him, widened his eyes, as if he had encountered a Demon Spirit in the night.

He stared blankly at the muddy mess in the distance.

Lann bent down and pulled the girl up from the ground. She indeed looked scared, but in front of the bowing Lann,

In front of the ’giant’ whose stature could create a sense of oppression, she did not completely lose her mind.

Though trembling and sobbing without speaking, she certainly did not scream as if trying to escape the Demon Hunter like some monster.

The car owner who was just pressed to the ground was the same.

Geralt gawked dumbly as Lann helped the surviving father and daughter gather up their belongings, including the donkey, the corpse of the donkey-cart business partner, and some merchandise that could be sold.

Finally, the car owner held Lann’s hand, with tears streaming down his face, bowing repeatedly, and led the donkey down the road.

Until Lann returned to the Qilin as if he had done something small, and resumed walking forward, Geralt awoke from his daze.

”Your expression is as if you saw a daytime Demon Spirit at night, Geralt. What happened?”

Lann calmly asked him.

Geralt pursed his lips, taking quite a while before responding.

”Earlier... or the first time I went out to earn money after becoming a Demon Hunter, I encountered a similar situation.”

”And then? Did you showcase your skills?”

It was evident that Lann was quite interested in Geralt’s past experiences.

”No.” Instead, Geralt himself spoke in a muffled voice.

”At first, it was similar. Deserters robbing the road, wanting money, food, and preferably women, regardless of age. Or not even women, just needing a hole for relaxation.”

”People like that are never lacking, in any time or place. And of course, there are victims, the waylaid farmer and his daughter.”

”Trouble happened after I killed their leader.”

”The girl’s father fled with the attackers, the girl covered in the leader’s blood. She vomited and became hysterical. When I approached, she fainted from fear.”

Geralt turned, looking at Lann, who seemed genuinely interested but unperturbed by the tale.

”Since then, I’ve forced myself to listen more to the voice of reason within, seldom involving myself in such matters.”

”Oh?” Lann understood Geralt’s implication but didn’t mind, instead smilingly asked. ”Is it wisdom passed down from Ker Morhan?”

”Yes.” Geralt replied frankly.

”Vesemir at Ker Morhan repeatedly cautioned me not to meddle in such matters, not to pretend to be a Wandering Knight or uphold the law. Not to show off skills, but only work for money.”

”Yet less than fifty miles out, like a fool, I got embroiled in a scuffle. Do you know why? I wanted the girl to cry tears of joy, kiss the hands of her savior, and her father to gratefully kneel.”

Lann didn’t react, merely speaking plainly.

”And then you were disappointed, the rejection of Demon Hunters and the terror of escaping death overwhelmed gratitude, it isn’t written like that in tales and songs, right? But it’s more than that...”

”You felt disgusted by your ’attempt to earn gratitude and honor through rescue’ behavior. After the rescued ones screamed and fled, this feeling intensified.”

Geralt nodded but then Lann shifted the conversation.

”Yet I don’t find it disgusting. Perhaps it’s because our views differ, Geralt? I never fret over these things. In my eyes, doing good is doing good. It’s entirely reasonable to receive gratitude and rewards for it.”

”I simply aim to stop things I dislike from happening, once done, whether that pair is grateful or fleeing, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Geralt looked at the young man beside him, finally smiling and shaking his head.

”Yeah, you’re that kind of person. No one but ’fools’ would recklessly plunge into war.”

”Come on, speak bluntly. Was it because the girl saw your face under the hood and didn’t scream and flee?”

”That’s part of it.” Lann said smilingly, ”If you were as charming in your youth as now, maybe that girl wouldn’t have fled from you either?”

Geralt shook his head helplessly.

He knew that among Demon Hunters, he was considered quite attractive, steady, handsome, strong, exuding a seasoned and reliable aura.

Many women seeking excitement, even Female Warlocks, were interested in him.

But his allure was different from Lann’s beauty.

It was a face that mesmerized just by looking.

”Another reason?” Geralt didn’t want to discuss this topic further, decisively shifting. ”Couldn’t be for that with the man, right?”

And at this point, Lann’s originally slightly smiling voice became somewhat subtle.

”Yeah... it wasn’t for this.”

”Why?” Geralt also sensed something amiss.

”That father got up from the ground and immediately recognized my identity, even said... ’the hero has come to save us’.”

”Tsk-tsk-tsk.”

A tongue-clicking sound of interest emanated from beneath Lann’s hood.

And Geralt raised an eyebrow, realizing something was wrong.