The Witcher: Astartes Of The Bear School

Chapter 36: The Execution and Reward

The case of the cannibal came to a conclusion. While Lan sensed the existence of a group of cannibals, they didn't seem to be a pressing issue in the grand scheme of things. What remained was to escort the captured murderer to Crow's Perch and collect the bounty of 230 Orens.

Before departing, Lan made a detour back to Oreton to retrieve his damaged armor. He hoped to see if it could be repaired in Crow's Perch. Ivan hadn't mentioned accompanying him, which reflected Oreton's growing trust in the young witcher.

"So, that beast was caught?" Elder Allen asked at the village entrance, his back to a sea of anxious eyes.

"Yes, we caught him without much trouble," Lan replied, placing the bundle of armor onto Popeye's back while smiling. "He's a cannibal, but he didn't know what Duén Hen was, which is why he committed his crime there. It wasn't a deliberate provocation against the goddess's faith, so you can rest easy."

If it had been a deliberate provocation, then several nearby villages would be preparing to maintain patrols around Duén Hen. After all, one provocation would surely lead to more. But now, there was no need to waste manpower, which relieved everyone.

Lan rejoined Phillip Strenger's team, and together they made their way north to Crow's Perch. The journey on horseback would take about two days. That evening, the murderer began to have a fever, as expected. After all, being stabbed in the foot and brought out of the marsh made infection almost inevitable.

"Damn it, Master, do you have any potions to keep him alive? Just two days would be enough; at least until you collect the bounty, right?" Phillip rubbed his hands together, somewhat embarrassed to approach Lan.

Sitting by the fire, Lan delivered a quick three-part response: "No, no, no."

In truth, his pouch contained plenty of potions, oils, and such. However, their toxicity was far too severe for a normal person; if the cannibal drank them, he'd surely die. Also, those potions were far too expensive. He was reluctant to expend resources meant for his own hunts on a cannibal. Moreover, Lan hadn't yet shifted his focus to alchemy; the supplies were Bordon's leftovers, and every bottle he used was one less for himself.

So, under Phillip's pleading gaze, Lan approached the now semi-conscious cannibal slumped against the side of Popeye. He rolled up the murderer's pant leg to find his ankle already turning black.

Drawing his steel sword from his back, he began forming a sign with his left hand while brushing over the blade.

"Igni." With a sizzling sound akin to water hitting hot oil, the sword's blade instantly turned bright red.

Only then did Phillip realize what the witcher intended to do. "By the plague above! You can't mean—"

"Pffft!"

The red-hot blade arced through the air, cleanly severing both feet of the cannibal still mounted on the horse. There was no blood; the wound was immediately cauterized.

The cannibal, already delirious from fever, suddenly "woke up" with a howl that startled even the horses. Lan didn't bother cleaning the blade, sheathing it once it cooled.

As he passed Phillip, he patted the burly man on the shoulder. "Successful amputation; look at how much energy this guy has left—he's good for at least five days."

The soldiers didn't react much; their focus was on Lan's impressive use of the Igni sign. A sword that glowed with fire. Who could resist such a sight? At least among the dozen cavalrymen, no one was spouting nonsense about curses and filthy mutants anymore. They all thought Lan's display was incredibly cool.

Feeling satisfied, Lan thought he had contributed a bit toward overcoming prejudice.

The two-day journey wasn't long; soon, they arrived at Crow's Perch. The scent of the sea mingled with the approaching storm clouds. Lan had often complained about the weather in Velen; he still hadn't adapted to it.

Sir Vserad hastily approached to take custody of the criminal, pulling Phillip aside for a quick discussion before offering Lan a rather forced smile. Without further delay, he led the cannibal to the prepared pyre.

"It's a shame we can't dissect him," Lan's mind received the neutral voice of his intelligent assistant. "Otherwise, the proficiency in [Surgery] would surely see a boost."

"Don't be greedy, Mentos," Lan shrugged dismissively.

"In this case, money and skill cannot co-exist. A criminal who unites the populace in outrage is a gift from the heavens to the lord. If he can be executed in front of the townsfolk, it carries great significance. If that beast dies, his importance to Vserad will diminish. We don't know how much of the promised reward we'll receive."

"My primary goal in developing the [Surgery] skill is to autonomously transplant the gene seed; the physical data of others hasn't been helpful to the primary targets for now. Losing it isn't a significant loss."

"Understood, sir."

The conversation came to a temporary halt as Phillip approached, blowing on a flask of liquor.

"Phew! This dwarven liquor really packs a punch!" The burly man wiped his mouth, speaking boisterously. "Don't blame the lord for not coming over; he's never seen many witchers in his life and thinks you're just monsters from storybooks."

"I told him about your reward; he fully agrees. But he heard you wanted the money for armor repairs, so he wants to save a bit."

The witcher crossed his arms, leaning against a wooden fence. Opposite him, on the constructed pyre, the lord was already raising a torch, pointing it at the condemned while addressing the gathered townsfolk. Without a doubt, Vserad possessed some skills, and coupled with the gravity of the crime, the crowd was fueled with righteous anger, eager to tear the cannibal apart.

"Sounds interesting. What offer does he have?"

Phillip belched before responding. "You'll be disappointed; Crow's Perch has no master blacksmiths. But the lord agreed to give you a signed note with a seal, recommending you to a blacksmith shop in Gors Velen for free repairs. Don't worry, it's a master blacksmith who's passed the licensing in Novigrad, and his skills are top-notch. However, you can only get twenty Orens from the lord, which combined with my personal offer totals fifty Orens."

Lan considered this a moment, estimating that the ideal price for repairing his armor was around 200 Orens.

While riding from Crow's Perch to Gors Velen would take two and a half days, saving two hundred Orens for the work was something most people wouldn't refuse.

"Cutting corners?" The young man raised an eyebrow at the sergeant.

"Buddy, that's the lord's personal signature and seal. If he offers this condition but can't provide satisfactory results… Foltest might as well give the province to someone else."

"Then it's a deal."

"Ha, it's settled!"

As the two shook hands, a sudden burst of flames erupted from the pyre. The screams of the condemned were drowned out by the cheers of the crowd.

***

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