The Divine Hunter Chapter 3

Reaper Scans

Chapter 3: Butcher

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

The village pathways were uneven and rough, littered with puddles that shimmered under the sunlit sky. A young man and a child made their way toward the residence of Fletcher, the butcher, situated on the northern edge of the settlement.

Roy recalled that Fletcher was a distant relative of Susie, and their families exchanged visits from time to time. Perhaps this connection could prove useful.

“Hah! Look at you, Rooster Slayer. You’re nothing but skin and bones. Even a bat is bigger than you. You wish to become my father’s apprentice? Go back home and bake in the sun like you always do,” taunted Brandon, sniffling a droplet of snot that ran down to his lip.

Roy followed behind Brandon. The boy stood barely four feet tall, while Roy measured around five feet, four inches. Gazing down at Brandon’s choppy haircut, Roy reached out and pressed down on a few stray strands of hair that stuck up, attempting to flatten them. Before Brandon could turn around, Roy swiftly withdrew his hand.

PR/N: Four feet is around 1.22 meters. Five feet, four inches is around 1.63 meters.

That was the precise moment.

Having been an eighteen-year-old man in his previous existence, Roy saw no point in arguing with a mere brat. He simply shrugged, affecting an air of indifference. “I’m already thirteen. So what if I managed to kill a chicken? Only ignorant village brats like you would get frightened. Rooster Slayer? That’s a foolish moniker. Where did you even concoct such an idea? From Idiotville?”

“You’re a useless fool who can’t even work the fields, yet you claim to have killed a chicken? Clearly, you’re possessed by a wicked spirit, and I must keep a close watch on you. Wait, did you just insult me by calling me a bumpkin?” Brandon roughly wiped his snotty lip with his grubby, fat hands, then proceeded to smudge the remnants onto his clean shirt.

Brandon’s family was comparatively well-off within the village, a privilege stemming from his father’s profession as the butcher. He never suffered from hunger, and his attire was consistently neat. Despite his young age, his peers were merely fawning followers. This upbringing had instilled in him a pronounced superiority complex from a tender age, and he was intolerant of any slight against his person.

“Listen here, you bumpkin! My father once laid eyes on Queen Meve of Lyria and Rivia during the winter solstice festival. He regales me with tales of that magnificent occasion nightly! You’ve never even ventured beyond the boundaries of this village, and you dare label me a bumpkin?”

“Oh, so you’re telling me Uncle Fletcher bombards you with stories every night, is that it? Has he ever enlightened you with tales of magic tricks as well?” Roy observed Brandon’s changing expression with a calm demeanor. Upon hearing the mention of magic tricks, Brandon’s eyes lit up, gleaming with longing and admiration as he began to chatter incessantly.

Roy felt a sense of relief, noting Brandon’s evident fascination with tricks. He halted his steps, puffing out his chest slightly. “If you can persuade Uncle Fletcher to accept me as his apprentice, then I, the magnificent Roy, shall demonstrate a magical trick for you.”

“Yeah, right, tell that to Don Quixote’s kid, maybe that plan will actually work. I won’t be… tricked?” Brandon’s sentence faltered, his jaw slackening to an extent that an egg could almost fit within his open mouth. His eyes widened considerably, and snot began to dribble uncontrollably down his chin.

“H-How did you accomplish that?” Right before his astonished gaze, under the bright midday sun, the small pebble held in Roy’s right hand had vanished completely, as if it had dematerialized before anyone could even register its movement.

As Roy clenched his fist and then opened it once more, the pebble reappeared as if conjured from thin air. “See that? That’s precisely the trick I spoke of.” Roy was quite pleased with the astonished reaction Brandon exhibited. The secret behind this marvelous trick was none other than Roy’s inventory space. The pebble was temporarily stored within it, and all Roy needed to do was focus his thoughts to make it materialize again.

“I refuse to believe it! Do it once more!”

“Let’s try it with a different object this time. Do you happen to have any coin on you?” Roy inquired.

“Of course, I do.” On occasion, Brandon would pilfer money from his father to treat his companions to some dried fruit and fruit wine at the local inn.

“I will require one crown for this demonstration. If you would be so kind as to provide it.”

His curiosity thoroughly piqued, Brandon fell right into Roy’s trap. He produced a gold-colored coin—a crown—and handed it over to Roy. He then craned his neck, eager to witness the trick unfold. Roy closed his palm, tilting his hand downwards, and when he revealed it again, the crown had vanished into thin air.

“I spent all my time at home diligently practicing this trick. Now that I’ve finally mastered it, I figured it was time to share it with you all.”

Brandon, still harboring doubts, searched Roy’s person thoroughly, but he found no conceivable place where the crown could have been concealed. With no further excuses to offer, he reluctantly agreed to Roy’s proposition.

“Agreed. You teach me this trick, and I’ll get my dad to take you on as his apprentice. This sounds like a fair exchange.”

“Ah, and there’s one more crucial detail you must understand.” Since Brandon made no move to reclaim his coin, Roy decided to keep it. “You are never to address me as Rooster Slayer again, and furthermore, you must not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

***

Inside the butcher's shop, a stout, middle-aged man was tenderly stroking a cow suspended upside down from a meat rack. Just as he was about to begin the slaughter, the butcher's gaze fell upon Roy and Brandon entering. He disregarded Roy and bellowed at his corpulent son, "Where have you vanished to this time, you scamp? You've skipped the chief's lessons for a fortnight! Do you presume wealth rains from the sky? If you remain unlettered, forget any notion of becoming a bard! You'll end up a butcher, just like me!"

Brandon averted his eyes, his cheeks flushing as his father divulged his secret ambition. Despite being born into a lineage of butchers, his heart yearned to become a bard, traversing the world and weaving tales for all he encountered. Should this aspiration become public knowledge, he was certain it would incite widespread ridicule.

In Kaer, a mere trifecta of villagers, including the chief, possessed the ability to read and write. The majority of the townsfolk were compelled to expend coin simply to dispatch correspondence to their kin. Though Fletcher was a simple, unrefined man, he harbored no desire for his son to languish in illiteracy.

"Should you earn the chief's commendation, I shall arrange for Tom to escort you to Vengerberg, Brandon! If you manage to absorb all his teachings, I will see you admitted to Oxenfurt University, even if it means draining my coffers! Your mother harbored this wish before her passing. Do not betray her memory!"

Roy had given little thought to Brandon's aspirations of becoming a bard until he overheard Fletcher's impassioned declaration. The butcher harbored a grand ambition for his son.

While the butcher's trade proved lucrative, those possessing scholarly knowledge enjoyed a considerably elevated standing within society. An individual proficient in reading and writing the common tongue of the northern realms could secure a comfortable existence in any village. Attaining a position as a scribe in a city could bestow great honor. And gaining entry into a university? That would practically elevate one to sainthood.

The university Fletcher spoke of, Oxenfurt, stood as one of the world's most esteemed institutions, rivaled only by the Nilfgaardian Imperial Academy. Indeed, Geralt's closest confidantes, Jaskier and Shani, were both alumni of Oxenfurt.

One should never underestimate the aspirations of common villagers, it seemed.

Roy's gaze shifted from Fletcher to Brandon.

Fletcher continued his tirade, directing it at his son while pointedly ignoring Roy. "Inside with you, you lazy whelp!"

Brandon cast a beseeching glance towards Roy, who then approached Fletcher. "Uncle Fletcher, I—"

The butcher waved him off dismissively, cutting him short. "You've made a full recovery, haven't you, Roy? Take some choice cuts of meat with you when you depart. Susie's been beside herself with worry, so spend some time with her."

Brandon, still harboring hopes of learning the arcane skill, croaked out, despite his evident fear, "Fletcher, he wishes to become your apprentice."

"Him?" Fletcher cast a skeptical eye at Roy. "I am indeed seeking an apprentice, but you've never even toiled in the fields. Susie would never permit it. Furthermore, you are alarmingly frail. How long would it take you to process a single animal? Half a day? No, you are unsuitable to be my apprentice. Begone," Fletcher stated with blunt honesty.

Though the butcher's profession demanded strenuous effort and was undeniably messy, it held a certain allure for many. With the requisite skills, substantial wealth and a life of comfort were within reach. Fletcher had intended for Brandon to inherit the business, believing it would secure his future prosperity. However, given Brandon's aptitude for learning the common tongue, Fletcher had refrained from forcing the trade upon him, recognizing a potentially brighter path for his son.

Given Roy's delicate constitution, many avenues for acquiring EXP presented significant peril. He required a safe and reliable method for EXP accumulation, and this minor obstacle would not deter him. Cracking his knuckles, he adopted a serious mien. "Allow me the opportunity to explain, Uncle Fletcher."

Roy nodded.

"I have discussed this with my parents, and the decision rests with me." Roy paused, then continued, "You rightly pointed out that a robust physique is paramount for a butcher, but an even greater asset is skill and extensive experience. I believe these qualities can be cultivated through diligent effort. I recognize your unparalleled ability to butcher any livestock flawlessly, even with closed eyes, a testament to your vast experience.

"Though I am currently weak, I possess youth, vigor, and am still developing. Moreover, I am a quick learner. Should you consent to instruct me, I vow not to disappoint you." Roy clenched his jaw and presented a further proposition. "If my performance during the apprenticeship proves unsatisfactory, I shall work without remuneration. My sole requirement will be occasional meat provisions."

Upon hearing this offer, the butcher's lips curved into a grin. "You've certainly changed, Roy. You were once a man of few words, but now you possess a silver tongue. It appears I must take you on, then. Very well, I shall grant you this chance, for Susie's sake. Can you handle the killing?" he inquired, stepping aside to reveal the cow behind him.

"If you can dispatch this aged bovine here and manage to keep your stomach settled, I shall accept you as my apprentice."

Fletcher had presumed Roy, a young man of his apparent disposition, would falter at the sight of blood. However, the consciousness now inhabiting this body hailed from an era of readily accessible information and widespread depiction of gore. Roy, or more accurately, Luo Yi, had borne witness to far more gruesome scenes than the butchering of a cow.

Roy calmly accepted the butcher’s knife from Fletcher and approached the hanging cow. He then turned, addressing Fletcher with sincerity, “Uncle Fletcher, to be entirely truthful, I experienced a profound dream after the horse incident. Upon awakening, I resolved to change myself. I am merely a villager, unsuited for field labor, but I must learn a trade to sustain myself and my family. Moore and Susie have cared for me for so long; it is time I contributed in return.”

A heavy silence descended upon the butcher’s shop. Brandon’s face turned ashen, and he visibly held his breath. Despite being the butcher’s son, he had never taken a life. Whenever Fletcher worked, Brandon would retreat, covering his ears. The sight of the frail Roy, now wielding the gleaming butcher’s knife, felt both oddly familiar and strikingly strange to him.

Roy is no longer the timid boy he once was, Brandon mused internally.

Surprise registered on Fletcher’s flushed face. Had Roy finally matured? He was already stepping up for his family. Fletcher then cast a glance at his own spoiled son.

Perhaps I should have a horse run him over. That seems to be the catalyst for personal growth.

“Roy, there’s a specific spot on the cow’s neck, a sort of bulge. I noticed it earlier. Aim the knife there. If you strike true, the cow will pass peacefully.”

As Fletcher spoke, Roy narrowed his eyes. He recalled the sensation of killing the chicken and focused on that feeling as he prepared to slit the cow’s throat.

Roy executed a swift, steady swing, and the knife plunged cleanly and powerfully. He pierced the cow’s neck and withdrew the blade in an instant. The animal’s eyes widened for a final, fleeting moment before tears welled and it let out a weak moo. It then breathed its last, succumbing without a fight.

Concurrently, Roy’s character sheet updated, displaying seven EXP. The cow’s demise had awarded him five EXP.

This marked his second kill, yet he felt no revulsion, nor a surge of exhilaration.

Dispatching a cow was a different matter than killing a chicken. Instead of rejoicing in the earned experience points, Roy was overcome with sadness and a chilling fear.

Why do I gain EXP from killing? How does this system even function? How much EXP would I gain from taking a human life? Are living beings merely sources of EXP for my character sheet? And what determines the amount of EXP I receive? Is it the creature's size? Its life force? Its very soul? Or… something else entirely? A torrent of questions flooded his mind, and he realized he must kill to uncover these truths. He stood frozen before the deceased bovine, blood dripping from the knife in his stunned silence.

At that moment, Fletcher erupted in hearty laughter and clapped Roy firmly on the shoulder. The jolt brought Roy back from his reverie. “A fine kill! I never imagined you had such courage. Tell me, did that close call with the horse toughen you up? Regardless, you’ve proven yourself. If you’re willing to get your hands dirty and work hard, be here before dawn tomorrow. Endure the work, and you’ll earn some of the meat. Exceptional effort might even net you some crowns.”

Fletcher was growing old, and his son seemed uninterested in the family trade, preferring to master common speech instead. The butcher desperately required assistance. Though Roy was physically frail, Fletcher had observed him for years and knew him to be an honest, appreciative young man. And, considering his connection through Susie, Fletcher felt a paternal inclination to teach him the craft.

Shaking off his melancholy, a steely resolve hardened within Roy. “I will be here, Uncle Fletcher.” I can barely sustain myself, and an unknown danger looms. I cannot afford to mourn a cow when greater challenges, and more necessary kills, lie ahead, he chastised himself inwardly. His sorrow dissipated, and he gripped the knife with renewed determination.

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