Just as the screams erupted, Old Allen and the villagers of Auridon shivered violently outside the forest.
The birds nesting between the trees seemed frightened by the screams, and flew away flapping their wings.
Lann slowly emerged from the shade of the trees.
A towering figure clad in thick, solid armor, the first thing to appear in the shadows were those glowing cat eyes.
If the villagers hadn’t already established a decent level of trust with the Demon Hunter in previous days, these ignorant farmers would have probably shouted "demon" and scattered in all directions.
But ultimately, they didn’t. Although their breaths were rapid and they trembled with fear, they still cared about Lann and the missing children.
Old Allen stepped forward first, approaching the Demon Hunter who had walked out of the forest, tentatively inquiring.
Although the young Demon Hunter was covered in grim bloodstains, he nodded in response.
Seeing this, Old Allen breathed a sigh of relief.
"Whew — with those screams inside, I thought you’d gone mad! How did things turn out?"
"About cleared it up."
Lann, not wanting to speak much now, kept his words concise and straightforward.
The village elder didn’t ask for details, knowing that his small fishing village lacked the capacity to get involved in what was to come.
"What did you do about the cannibal?"
"I severed the tendons of his arms, then left."
Old Allen’s pupils contracted slightly; he swallowed hard, laughing dryly.
"Ha, ha, he got what he deserved! A man bleeding with all four limbs useless in the forest... Ugh! Painful death might just turn him into a Demon Spirit!"
"Maybe, Old Allen." Lann gently wiped the blood off his face with his fingers.
His eyes were as cold as iron!
"Soon, many Demon Spirits will be born on this land, but that’s alright..."
"At that time, I’ll be delighted to kill them again."
"I don’t mind doing it for free."
Following that, the villagers returned to their homes, while Old Allen and Lann went to the blacksmith’s shop together.
Lann handed the Bear School Steel Sword behind him to Ivan.
This was the first time Ivan handled this sword; lately, he had only been repairing Lann’s silver sword.
The blacksmith glanced at Lann’s calm face and Old Allen, pursed his lips, nodded without saying a word, and started working.
The atmosphere was very heavy, with only the sound of the sharpening wheel and the forge’s bellows echoing around.
During this time, Lann put the bulging little cloth bag into his Alchemy Pouch.
It was Madam Donald’s support, the only thing she could offer.
This woeful woman continued her son’s unfinished work.
She filled the small cloth bag with all sorts of alchemy herbs she could gather and handed it to Lann silently.
The young man couldn’t refuse.
So, he could only stuff it into his pouch with more and more force!
The steel sword had little wear and tear, and Ivan soon wrapped up, solemnly returning the sword to Lann.
The young man didn’t linger; he turned and left.
It wasn’t until Lann had left for a while that Ivan in the blacksmith shop let out a long sigh.
Unknowingly, this blacksmith, who had worked beside the forge for dozens of years, seemed to sweat merely from standing.
"Damn it... What’s going on?! My heart was racing just now!"
Ivan supported himself on the workbench, muttering to himself.
Meanwhile, Old Allen, who had been silent on the side, knocked on his pipe, saying quietly.
"You were scared stiff, Ivan."
"Scared stiff by a swooping Griffin monster, unable to move, then eaten. Even on the Skellige Islands, teeming with warriors, it wouldn’t be considered an inglorious death."
Ivan looked up in surprise.
"Griffin monster? There isn’t any here..."
Midway through his rebuttal, the icy cat eyes flashed through his mind.
Comparing those vertical pupils to the Griffin monster, Ivan couldn’t easily decide which he’d rather face.
"Incredible, I’ve never seen Lann wear such a... expression."
While describing the Demon Hunter earlier, Ivan showed an expression of fear and astonishment, struggling to speak.
Lann was well-regarded in Auridon.
Although he maintained the basic courtesy and habits of a university student from his homeland world, saying thank you when helped or nodding in acknowledgment.
He made way for women and children, casually clearing obstacles on the road.
But in the eyes of Auridon’s villagers, this was considered remarkable upbringing.
Or else rumors of a "fallen noble’s son turned Demon Hunter" wouldn’t spread crazily.
Yet Old Allen, while putting his emptied pipe into his pocket, gently shook his head.
"You know, Ivan, the better someone is, the more intense their fury when truly angered will be."
"Lann, though at first he seemed cold and reserved, looking smart and strong when he arrived, we learned within days that he’s the kind of ’Knight’ who draws his sword to help the weak, like those found in storybooks!"
"’Supreme Grandmaster of the Bear School’s orders’? What nonsense! Who’d really care about how a bunch of fishermen are faring? Sure, Viserad takes our tax, but I bet even he doesn’t care! ... Damn it, how could there be such people these days?!"
"Indeed, he can drink inferior homemade wine in the tavern, play cards and jokes with us muddy peasants. Though he’s a Demon Hunter, look at his manners; does anyone believe he’s of civilian origin? No one does! I don’t even believe it!"
"My wife, after he stayed in our home for five days, unabashedly set aside words like ’Demon Hunters are mutants,’ ’Demon Hunters are vile and filthy!’... Hell, she’s lived with me for decades, yet never willing to give up eating mushrooms for my sake!"
"Yet, Ivan, this good person is truly angry now."
The old man pointed his finger back at the road where Lann had left.
Old Allen looked at the blacksmith in his village, speaking sternly and solemnly.
"Undoubtedly, there will be bloodshed... a lot, a lot, a lot of blood."
Three ’lots,’ each heavier than the last, and Ivan consequently struggled, swallowing hard.
Lann came to Bernie’s side; this man, who joked he was a jinx, was still unconscious with his wife caring for him.
She was also a typical-looking middle-aged woman shouldering many laborious tasks.
Lann didn’t say much, going straight to the point.
"If he doesn’t get a fever tonight and tomorrow, just rest will suffice. But if he starts fevering..."
The young man pursed his lips and took out a Potion from his Alchemy Pouch beside him.
An orange-red liquid emitting a hazy glow under the light.
Magic Potion [Swallow], remarkably accelerates physical recovery.
"I’ll leave a mouthful for you. At that time, dilute it with strong alcohol for him to drink. Perhaps, I mean maybe... he can pull through. But even if he pulls through, the toxicity of the Demon Hunter Potion will certainly leave some aftereffects... Please use discretion."
The woman shed tears, but said nothing more, merely storing the Potion before sitting by Bernie’s bed once again.
Lann tightened the sword sheath behind him, left the room without a word.