The roars of the monster and the screams of the survivors all ceased.
This forest that has existed since ancient times showed no ripples.
Death, hunting, counter-kill, wailing... similar performances have been staged in this forest countless times, every day, every year, every moment.
Lann flicked off the bits of flesh and blood on Aron Dite. The technique of using the Air Blade just now caused the monster to bleed profusely, but it also kept Lann from getting too dirty.
You could say it suited him perfectly.
On the ground, Yogon's body gradually curled up in neuromuscular spasms, then stiffened. Its venomous fangs opened and closed, but the speed became increasingly sluggish.
The vitality of the arthropod made it want to move its body, at least take a bite before dying. But right now, it could only move the third of its body closest to its head.
Earlier, Lann's upward vertical slash wasn't a perfect vertical cut due to Yogon's own twisting.
Judging by the break in the giant centipede's body, it was actually a straight diagonal blade.
The diagonal break spanned several segments of its body, ultimately slicing off a few appendages, cutting them out from its body.
The unexpected cut left Lann feeling a bit uneasy.
So he wasn't even in a hurry to strip materials or loot from Yogon's body but turned to face the small figure who was shocked stiff.
He half-squatted so that they could meet eye-to-eye despite the massive height difference.
"Wow, not a Little Earth Spirit, nor a pixie, Half-Elf, but... a human child?"
Lann scrutinized the little girl who absolutely shouldn't have appeared here.
Beautiful, shiny mouse-gray hair, a pair of lovely green eyes, looking about eight or nine years old.
He could smell it—the scent on this girl was like warm feathers, a scent as comforting as a clean pillow.
"This is quite unusual, little one. At your age, how could you have ventured so deep into Brokilon?"
"Hey! Snap out of it!"
This little girl was undoubtedly pretty scared.
Lann glanced over at the high embankment where two Demon Hunters and a dryad had found another way down and were slowly descending.
"I wasn't scared, nor do I need to snap out of it."
Lann turned back just in time to hear the girl retort in a voice as low as it could possibly be.
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One could tell without looking that she was a brave and stubborn child.
In his mind, Mentos scanned the girl using Lann's vision and reported to the main body.
"Sir, although her hair is messy with crushed leaves and pine needles, it's clean and smooth. Her hands look dirty but are free from scars and work marks. The boots on her feet are made of calf leather, and the thick cloak she's wearing is velvet. This is no ordinary farmer's daughter."
Lann suddenly thought of those Videns soldiers who died on the road entering Brokilon Forest.
They weren't ordinary soldiers or armed servants, and if Videns were advancing into Brokilon, they wouldn't have sent just a few people.
And if they were here to explore the forest, King Aivelle, no matter how foolish, wouldn't believe a few soldiers could scout anything from a dryad's territory, right?
—They came for this child.
Most likely, that's what it was.
Lann felt he might have saved someone quite significant.
"What's your name, little girl?"
The girl lowered her head and sniffled without replying. She occasionally glanced up at Lann, then quickly looked down again.
The young Demon Hunter opened his mouth feeling a little numb.
It's not like he's never lived with a little girl before; back when he was wandering with Alia, it felt pretty good.
But now he realized, not every little girl could be as straightforward and bold as 'Blood of the Running Wolf.'
This girl, who was still stubborn after being scared, left Lann feeling helpless.
Luckily, at this moment, the other three finally came down from the high embankment and walked over.
Geralt, for some reason, was walking fast and hurriedly.
"Lann, are you okay? And you, little girl?"
Without approaching, he fired off his questions quickly.
Lann stood from his crouch, lifting the girl by the back of her neck like a kitten to show them.
"We're fine, both of us are perfectly okay."
Geralt and Vesemir visibly relaxed.
Except for the little girl in Lann's hand, it seemed she just realized she was being lifted.
Dangling in Lann's hand, she stared blankly for a moment before letting out a clear, frantic scream.
"How dare you treat me !!!"
She wanted to raise her head proudly, but limited by the grip on her neck, she couldn't manage it no matter how hard she tried. So her tiny arms and legs could only flail like swimming in mid-air.
Once confirming both were safe, the inexplicable anxiety in Geralt's heart vanished.
He ignored the cat-like frantic little girl.
Because the girl was dangled by Lann, he didn't need to crouch to look her in the eye.
That was good news, since the ten-meter steep slope climb had left his knees feeling a bit tired.
"What's your name, kid? I'm asking you."
Geralt noticed that when the girl saw Bryan behind him, she showed a trace of fear and curiosity.
Simply put—she chickened out.
So in this round of questioning, the girl weakly replied, "Ciri."
"Ha." Lann chuckled softly, "This kid seems to have a connection with you, Geralt. No matter how I asked her just now, she wouldn't respond."
"Yes, noble and stubborn. We should've guessed, she's an esteemed princess."
Vesemir spoke with the tone of an elderly man addressing a mischievous child.
"You mentioned some unusual Videns soldiers appearing behind me when I entered the forest; they must have come looking for her. Is she a Videns princess?"
Vesemir, with his seasoned experience, pieced together the intelligence and arrived at a similar conclusion as Lann after analysis and observation.
"I am not a Videns princess! You insolent fellow, put me down! You yourself said I'm a princess! You should respect me!"
The little girl was still flailing in mid-air, like an anxious kitten trying to bite.
The first half of her sentence was aimed at Vesemir, the latter half at Lann.
The young man didn't care about princesses or princes or any such titles.
"Hey, this is Brokilon. Here, there are no princesses; all runaway children are called 'little rascals.'
Facing the 'kitten's' vehement opposition, Geralt unemotionally retorted.
"A princess wouldn't be running around in the forest alone, nor sniffling non-stop... by the way, do you have a runny nose?"