Bear School Astartes-Chapter 95. Waiting for a rabbit by a tree stump

Belengar hated the Demon Hunters.

Because he was fed up with the discrimination and suffering his identity brought.

Fed up with having to face off against and fight monsters in the wild just to earn a meal.

Not everyone excels at combat, and not everyone finds joy in clashing steel. Some people just aren’t cut out for this line of work.

So he did everything to hide his identity, even if it meant doing hard labor in Vizima to maintain an ordinary life.

His hatred for the Demon Hunters largely stemmed from being handed over to them like a slave by his parents.

From then on, he could no longer control his own fate.

And today, he learned he had once worked for a group of slavers.

He clearly sensed something was off with that batch of goods, but because he didn’t want trouble, he still went ahead.

The betrayal from his sense of morality nearly made him want to vomit.

He had seen what slaves were like, and because of this, he could vividly imagine what those children would become.

Humiliation, taming, loss of dignity, even losing the recognition of being human.

Like a dog, like he was... during his mutation!

Belengar staggered forward, shoving past Lann, and lunged at a section of tiling.

He hammered down with his bare fists, blood splattering, then abruptly drew a gleaming steel sword!

"You’re investigating this, right!"

The Old Demon Hunter bit his words through gritted teeth, turning to ask the observing Lann.

Their cat-like eyes met, one pair cold and determined, the other furious and bloodthirsty.

"Count me in."

Lann thought Belengar’s face was a bit long when they first met; now, in his fury, his clenched jaw muscles bulged on either side of his jawbone.

A bit like a raging baboon.

But even the strongest baboon couldn’t kill a warrior armed with a sword, and Belengar... he had probably killed enough people to form a large village.

"If you head out wielding a sword like this, within an hour you’ll either be beaten and jailed by security forces or killed on the spot... You’re letting your anger blind you, old friend."

A conversation between a Demon Hunter of over a hundred years and one in their teens, yet the younger seemed the more skilled veteran.

Lann stood with arms crossed, leaning against Belengar’s doorway.

The other’s hand held the sword hilt tightly despite bleeding, seemingly unaware of the pain and holding it with a creak. freewёbnoνel-com

"Now is the scouting phase before hunting monsters, you’re familiar with that phase, right? A longsword is useless at this stage."

"Also, you’re someone who fled from your own profession. I’m not saying there’s something wrong with your morals, because I don’t think refusing to be a Demon Hunter is unforgivable. But to be frank, I can’t trust your courage on the battlefield."

"You ran from the claws of monsters and abandoned the Demon Hunter’s path, but do you dare face openly brandished blades, arrows, war hammers? The enemy’s forces are vast, and if you falter or flee again during the mission, it could cause us serious harm."

"So..."

Lann straightened from the doorframe, shaking his head at Belengar, who was gasping for breath.

"Forget about this, old friend. You’ve provided information, you didn’t know when you worked for them... that’s enough. Continue living as an ordinary man."

With that, Lann opened the door behind him and left.

This is an era of backwardness, where humanity’s brutal environment bred brutal survival methods. Yet, the ancient times also held a simple morality incomprehensible to modern people.

Belengar’s fury and regret over the slave trade were not at odds with his not particularly high moral standards.

"Pity, if not for being a ’deserter’, we’d have another ally."

Donning his hood, Lann shook his head and walked toward the depths of the Temple District.

It was best to wait until nightfall when the big warehouse would be less crowded.

Meanwhile, back in his house, Belengar’s furious and regretful expression didn’t ease a bit.

He pulled a sword scabbard from beneath the broken tile, sheathing the longsword but not putting it back.

Instead, he hurriedly pulled out a full set of light leather armor, a belt with a set of potions...

Realizing belatedly that he had worked for slavers, the thought of the small children buried helplessly among the timber he’d once transported filled him with dread.

His hands trembled!

His moral conscience stabbed at his heart.

"Those from the Wolf School are always burdened with such things! Vesemir, look what you’ve taught!"

Belengar cursed his own morality while preparing to head to the warehouse under cover of night.

He shared Lann’s thoughts.

Lann had already said it, the enemy’s forces were vast, so stealthy investigation was key.

Within Belengar’s cat-like eyes, a blaze seemed to burn.

He took out a whetstone and slowly began sharpening the long-unused blade.

Then he checked one potion after another on his leather bandolier to see if they were still usable.

Once all preparations were complete, he donned his combat leather armor, knelt on the floor, and entered a meditative state.

In a meditative state, time swiftly slipped away.

Belengar timely opened his eyes at nightfall, his pupils reflecting a faint glow in the darkness.

He was the most diligent laborer in Vizima, more aware than anyone of the customs of the warehousing market.

The Bear School cub might wait until the dead of night, but he would not.

He knew that after nine o’clock, unless there was a special rush job, the warehouse would be deserted.

"Let’s go."

After a final look at the small house earned by his commoner identity, Belengar stepped out with gritted teeth.

If this matter wasn’t resolved, then every day in this little house would torment him for the rest of his life.

The stench-filled night of the Temple District was still nothing new, and in the gossip of the trading district, ladies mockingly referred to it as the "odor of poverty."

But someone who had truly ventured into the Temple District at night would know that the foul smell was far from the most unbearable thing.

Thieves with daggers climbed over walls, not minding giving a little show to passing witnesses.

Gang members swaggered, bellowing loudly, sparing only their underlings to work and earn money the next day, otherwise kicking stray dogs as they passed by.

Belengar weaved through the darkness, displaying more professionalism than Lann when infiltrating a camp in Velen.

A hundred-year-old Demon Hunter’s experience alone was a treasure trove.

He may be unable to beat Lann in a straightforward fight due to his rustiness and lack of talent, but in terms of these countless skills and knowledges...

He surpassed a young Demon Hunter by far.

He traversed low buildings, vaulted over high walls... silently arriving at the great warehouse in the Temple District.

His memory served him well, guiding him to where the goods had been unloaded five days earlier.

If he didn’t have this memory, he couldn’t have memorized hundreds of volumes of monster knowledge at Ker Morhan Fortress.

Winding through rows of warehouse sheds, then stopping.

The Wolf Demon Hunter first looked around, finding no one, then crouched down to search intently.

The mountains of wood were long gone, not even a speck of sawdust remained.

Belengar wasn’t surprised; he was prepared for this after learning of the enemy’s extensive power.

His nostrils flared, striving to recover the lingering scent of human presence on the plot.

But then, a sharp "snap" sound!

A golden magic shield shattered around him, alongside fragments of magic power, two crossbow arrows clattered to the ground!

Belengar had been out of action too long, his reflexes severely dulled.

Not until the crossbow arrows hit the ground did he jerkily draw a sword from his back.

But it was pointless now.

The two arrows merely scratched his Quen Rune to fall, but there were still eight whistling through the air towards him!