Chapter 23: The Fork Trick
The cleaning of the surrounding waters continued throughout the day, synchronized with the villagers' fishing and hunting schedules in Oreton.
With the combined efforts of Lan and Bernie, they had managed to extend the safe fishing grounds of the village about five kilometers to the east.
During this time, nearly twenty drowners had been slain by Lan's silver sword. Each kill followed the same pattern as the first: Bernie would lead the way to track their traces, while Lan observed and learned. Upon encountering the drowners, it was the witcher's job to handle the combat, and afterward, Lan would meticulously dismantle the bodies.
Even a group of twenty drowners could pose a significant threat to a village if they banded together to attack.
Fortunately, the drowners were widely dispersed, with the five encountered during their first meeting being the largest group; otherwise, the young witcher might have faced a more challenging situation.
As the sun began to sink below the surface of the lake, the two men returned to the village. When Bernie's small boat neared the village dock, he raised an eyebrow.
"Hey." He called softly, gesturing for the witcher, who was seated at the bow, to turn around. Under the dimming light, the village dock was bustling with activity.
On a typical day, people would be returning home or gathering at the tavern, but now they were all congregated at the dock. Some were absentmindedly mending fishing nets, while others sat on barrels, swinging their legs. Elder Allen stood at the front, puffing on his tobacco.
As soon as the small boat approached, a loud cheer erupted from the crowd, and people dropped their tasks to rush toward the boat. Elder Allen took the lead.
"Drowner ears! So many drowner ears!"
The stench and filthy blood of the drowners were far from a concern for him, and his excited shout drew a wave of cheers from the crowd. This was the first time Lan had experienced being greeted like a hero upon returning to the village.
Elder Allen clapped Lan on the shoulder with a firm hand. "I never imagined…" He seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
"I truly didn't think you'd actually come through!"
Even though Lan had made great efforts to engage with the villagers in a way that resonated with their thinking, and he had prepared thoroughly for this moment, their distrust of witchers still lingered. Such prejudice was deeply ingrained over the years.
But at this moment, it hardly mattered.
Lan responded cheerfully, giving a light slap on Elder Allen's back, causing the elder to cough slightly. Yet despite this, the elder and the surrounding villagers continued to laugh heartily.
Trust had been established. People's aspirations for a better tomorrow could overshadow any unwarranted hatred or discrimination.
"Sorry, I'm truly sorry, Lan." Elder Allen had to lean in close to shout over the din to ensure the young witcher heard him.
"To make up for my and the villagers' doubts about you, come on, my friend, I must buy you a big drink!"
"Viziman Champion?"
"Viziman Champion!"
With that, the men and women of the village laughed together, pouring into the small tavern.
*****
The tavern was small, and in the dim light of evening, a few candles were all that was needed for illumination. On ordinary days, the place would only host a handful of fishermen, but today it was bustling and lively.
Some women had even brought instruments from their homes; to Lan, the sound of these instruments was reminiscent of flutes. The cheerful tunes were lively and harmonious, and even the repetition didn't become tiresome.
Lan took a hearty gulp of the golden Viziman Champion. This beer was brewed under the supervision of master brewers from Vizima, the capital of Temeria. The timely addition of hops added a refreshing bitterness to the perfectly fermented alcohol.
With a "thud," he slammed the half-empty wooden mug down on the table, licking the froth off his lips.
The voice of Mentos chimed in his mind.
"Sir, I must say, I never expected someone would think to add honey to their beer."
"Mentos, shut up!"
"Understood, sir." The AI complied without question.
How many times had he said it? Was it so strange to have a sweet tooth as a response to stress?!
The interaction with the AI ended quickly, and across the table, Elder Allen was pointing at the barkeep.
"Bill is currently brushing the drowner ears you brought back."
Lan followed the elder's finger to see the bartender not only brushing the ears but also enthusiastically pinning the cleaned ears onto the wooden wall behind him.
"When he first saw it, Bill told me that this tavern would be named 'The Drowner's Right Ear' from now on."
Lan raised an eyebrow. "What a shame; I can't collect royalties from that name."
Elder Allen let out a hearty laugh, finishing off the drink in his cup and letting out a satisfied breath. "Phew—I need to head back. This feast can't last much longer; Bill's barrel is almost empty. You should be able to catch a meal before you leave."
Lan nodded nonchalantly, signaling for the elder to make himself comfortable.
However, just as the elder was about to rise, he seemed to remember something and sat back down, leaning closer to the young witcher with a conflicted expression.
"Um, Lan… could you not perform your fork trick in front of my wife anymore?"
"Fork trick? Oh, you mean when I threw the fork at the rat?"
Bernie, sitting nearby, caught the word "trick" and leaned in, eager to hear the story.
"Trick? What are you talking about?"
Now that Bernie had removed his long gloves, he was all ears. Lan chuckled softly as Elder Allen's face twisted in discomfort.
"During dinner last night, he threw a fork and hit a rat."
"Is that all?" Bernie scoffed, suddenly losing interest. "I could do that too; even though rats are slippery and small, I could hit them if I got close enough."
Elder Allen ignored Bernie, his gaze fixed on Lan. "Yes, you could do that. But that wouldn't be during dinner, and that rat wouldn't be four or five meters away from your only candle."
Bernie's mouth fell open, and his head slowly turned to Lan, his hand holding the mug pausing in mid-air.
The young witcher merely shrugged. "I thought it would be entertaining."
"I find it amusing, that's true," Elder Allen replied, still looking troubled.
"If you have nothing better to do, I could watch you throw forks all day, but just don't do it in front of Hipona. She hasn't dared to come to this gathering; she even hung a rabbit's foot over our bed."
"Hey, rabbit's feet are useless against magic or curses; they won't do anything against monsters either." Lan offered a friendly reminder.
Elder Allen was already tearing at his hair in frustration. "I know, but it makes her feel better! Besides…"
"You're a good man, Lan. We have no reason to be on guard against you." The village elder continued to scratch his head while Lan took a moment to sip his drink.
Beside him, Bernie hadn't noticed anything amiss and chimed in, "Indeed, Lan, you're a decent fellow."
At that moment, the bitter beer suddenly felt remarkably sweet in Lan's mouth. The young man couldn't help but smile slightly. "What more can I say? That rat in your home was just unlucky."
"Haha! Now we're all good. When you go back, there'll be eighteen drowner ears, eighteen Orens, and we'll settle it all in cash."
Lan raised his mug in a toast to Elder Allen. The elder got up from the bench and made his way out of the tavern.
In the corner of the tavern, a small voice cut through the noise, reaching the keen ears of the witcher.
"Isn't it natural for monsters to kill each other? Relying on swords to make money, how is that any different from a murderer or a robber?!" The voice was filled with resentment.
In the witcher's ears, the corner of the tavern fell silent for a moment due to that statement. But soon after, as if trying to conceal that small voice, the other conversations in the corner grew louder, filled with laughter and singing.
Except for this corner and the witcher, no one knew that such words had been spoken.
Lan's lips tightened slightly; no one here could fathom that a witcher's hearing could be so sharp. He could easily stand up now and expose the source of that small voice. The villagers who viewed him as a hero would surely stand by him.
But he sighed and chose not to do so.
****
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