The Witcher: Astartes Of The Bear School

Chapter 46: Thunderbolt on a Clear Day

Cannibals. Child abduction.

Ms. Donna, White.

In an instant, Lan couldn't tell whether the coldness in his heart stemmed from anger or guilt. An overwhelming chill swept over the witcher's body.

It had been an ordinary hunting day, working methodically with his friends, when an unknown enemy, smiling, began to kill. The enemy was a cannibal, Bernie was shot, and Lan's brain endured a 70% skill infusion, bringing the man back to the village and performing surgery while enduring the excruciating pain.

The young man thought he had saved his friend's life.

He was determined: no matter what, tomorrow he would track down and deal with the bastard who shot the arrow, today he didn't even want to get out of bed. But just as he finished suturing Bernie's abdomen, Old Allen brought this news.

As if a thunderbolt had struck. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head, leaving him momentarily unsure of his feelings.

Guilt? 

Yes, he felt guilty. He had come to Oreton to ensure the widow of someone who had once spoken for him could live well. But now, their only remaining child had been abducted.

Why?

Because that child was gathering alchemical herbs for him. Lan couldn't think of any reason a mature child, due to family misfortune, would leave the village for no reason. White knew how dangerous it was outside the village. And now, in Ms. Donna's arms, the small cloth still emitted a distinct, fresh scent of white verbena.

Anger?

Of course, he was angry. Child abduction was as heinous a crime as cannibalism in Lan's eyes.

But the most prominent feeling now was anxiety.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Why did all the bad things pile up at once?!

Lan remembered the statistics from the forensic experts in his previous life: within the first 48 hours of a disappearance, the recovery rate by police and the survival rate of missing persons were significantly higher than after 48 hours.

That was in a technologically advanced world with surveillance everywhere. Human traffickers causing mass deaths were a thing of centuries past.

But in Velen, where people died like insects every day, leaving home was akin to risking sudden death, let alone being abducted.

Every second was crucial now!

Lan rose abruptly from the dock's wooden plank, his more than 150-kilogram weight causing it to creak.

"Why didn't you say so sooner!" The witcher's face twitched with anger as he re-donned his steel wrist guards and spiked leather gloves, glaring at Old Allen.

The old man's face crumpled.

"You were saving a life," the elder said, pointing to Ms. Donna. "Donna wouldn't have acted like a madwoman and disturbed you, even though she's worried sick."

Lan forced down his misplaced anger at the mention of her name. In his heart, he felt he had no right to be angry with Ms. Donna. The once optimistic and lively middle-aged woman was now slumped on the ground, her optimistic demeanor gone. Even after losing the family's breadwinner and main labor force, she had remained cheerful and brave when Lan first met her. She had mocked her husband and then taken on work her body couldn't handle to support their home.

It seemed "life" couldn't defeat her!

But now, the optimistic and brave smile was gone, replaced by deep despair. That expression tugged at Lan's heart.

"Clues." Moments later, Lan's low, cold voice broke the silence: "Give me the clues."

The witcher crouched in front of Ms. Donna, not daring to look into her eyes, and gently took the small cloth from her hand. The fine stitching resembled the needlework on Lan's cotton armor. This was a small bag a mother had prepared for her child.

Damn it! Damn it!

"Sir, thinking requires calm," Mentos's voice echoed in his mind. In its perception, Lan's emotional fluctuations were about to explode.

"I know," Lan responded coldly, his tone icy as a block of ice. "Of course, I know."

The witcher's extraordinary perception was applied to the utmost on the small cloth bag. The bag had been pulled, indicating White had resisted. They could check the scene for more traces. 

A light sniff revealed the strong scent of flowers. The number of petals in the bag couldn't have been gathered in one morning. White must have started collecting herbs the previous night. The child wanted to make up for the Oren coin Lan had paid.

But amid the strong floral scent, Lan's nose detected an ominous smell. It was the smell that had made him want to vomit during a capture operation a few days ago.

"So much and so varied," the witcher's brow furrowed as he looked at the cloth bag. "The smell of human flesh?!"

Cannibals. Was it the cannibal cult behind the recent child abductions in Velen? No, he couldn't be sure. The attackers who had targeted Lan and Bernie were also from the cannibal cult. Perhaps because Lan had helped capture some of them, they had come to Oreton for revenge.

Thinking of this, Lan's guilt fueled his anger.

"Fortunately," the young witcher rose from the ground and turned to the small boat he had brought back. "There's still a 'lead'."

His gaze, as cold as a blade, fell on Willis, lying on the boat.

***

When Willis regained consciousness, the first thing he felt was intense pain erupting from his lumbar spine. His spine was broken, and he had lost sensation in his lower body. But the breakpoint was agonizing.

"Ugh!!! Woo-" The scream was forcibly suppressed, and with half his face skin gone, Willis's twisted expression was as ugly as a monster. A large hand with spiked leather gloves covered his mouth, the immense force making him feel his jaw was deforming.

It was the witcher. He remembered the sensation vividly—those gloves had taken half his face.

"Don't be afraid, I won't hit your head this time." A pair of cold cat-like eyes appeared in his vision.

"Someone taught me that hitting the head first during torture makes people dizzy and unable to feel the pain. I remember that."

The leather gloves rubbed against the muscle without skin, spreading the pain inch by inch, filling Willis's eyes with tears. But under those cat-like eyes, he didn't dare to cry out loud. But the owner of the cat-like eyes seemed to have misunderstood something.

"Ah, still a tough guy. Good." The witcher nodded expressionlessly, saying so. Willis wanted to clarify, but the large hand over his mouth gave him no chance to speak.

"Making a tough guy who views torture as nothing cry out and reveal all his secrets to me, the credibility of those secrets is much higher than from a soft-mouthed weakling."

"Congratulations, buddy. You've successfully increased your value."

Willis struggled with "woo woo" sounds, unable to say a word.

***

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