Chapter 52: Dwarf Sentry

Once they’d checked the place, they went back and said their goodbyes to Casillas, much to the chief’s chagrin. They were almost at their wits’ end, and if the witcher they’d waited so fervently for were to leave, their village would be doomed.

“I thought we had a deal, Letho. I can raise the price if it’s too difficult for you.”

Letho crossed his arms and retorted mercilessly, “Think harder. I said I’d make my decision after the survey. And now I’ve decided to refuse. This isn’t just about the price. There’s no point in making that much money if we’re going to end up dead. Hunting requests are businesses, and they follow the rule of trade. You have the right to make requests, and we have the right to refuse them.”

“Don’t you feel any sympathy? For Tina, for Jim, for that widow, and the victims’ families?” Casillas frowned, and he started to beg. “Can’t you help them catch the murderer?” But he saw no sign of pity on Letho’s face, and he stopped. Instead, his eyes filled with malice, and his attitude took a turn for the worse. “It’s just as they said. Witchers are cold-blooded animals who have lost all humanity. Get out of the village and never come back. This place doesn’t welcome you.”

Letho wasn’t the least bit fazed by the resentment, and it wasn’t the first time Roy had encountered such harsh treatment. After the grave had been killed, Kaer’s villagers had turned their hatred toward the witchers. And then Casillas was the second one. He wanted to chase them out the moment Letho refused to enter a contract. If we were Cat School witchers, we might’ve just flown into a rage and killed everyone here.

He shook his head, the last of his pity disappearing. Roy could understand why most witchers kept a poker face on at all times. They’re numb after seeing all these incidents happen over and over again.

***

They ignored Casillas’ look of rage and went toward the Mahakams. “Letho, would you have turned that down if I were as strong as you?”

“Don’t think too much about it, boy. You’ll have a chance to fight it in the future, but for now, focus on the trial,” Letho answered. “Oh, and you killed its messenger just now, so pray that it doesn’t come for us.”

They weren’t ambushed after leaving Svanthor. Not long after that, they followed the path leading to the depths of the Mahakams. The path was flanked by crags as tall as the eye could see, and its surface formed stairs of stone. Letho and Roy journeyed for around an hour when they arrived at a clearing, and they heard voices.

What greeted them was two rows of barricades made from sharpened wood, blocking them from entering the forest. Behind the barricade stood a dwarf in silver armor and a big, black hammer was on his back. He was talking to his equally heavily armored comrades. A dwarf crossbowman was standing sentry, looking around for any dangers. The crossbow he held was bigger and heavier than Gabriel, the hand crossbow Roy kept in his inventory. It was like comparing a model to the real thing.

Roy was excited to see that. When he was about to say something, the sentry saw them. “This is not a place where outsiders can enter. Leave, travelers.” The dwarf aimed his crossbow at them, and the languid dwarf with the hammer was alerted.

He held the great hammer in his hand, his face contorted. “The m-mahakams d-do not welcome strangers. I-if your destination is Ellander, t-then go through Rivia or Upper Sodden in the south.”

The dwarf who stuttered was holding a hammer bigger than his body, and the hammer’s head was bigger than his own. His short height made him look funny with the weapon, but the hammer wasn’t to be taken lightly. Inertia alone would make it easy for it to crush human bones and mash bodies to a pulp.

“So Seville calls this a small hurdle? They don’t even let anyone through.” Roy was annoyed. If they followed the route the dwarves told them about, their journey time would double. Letho gave him a look and left the talking to him. He seemed to understand that his fierce looks didn’t help in diplomacy.

Roy organized his words and went up as calmly as he could. “Brothers — ”

“W-we ain’t your brothers!” The stammering guard interrupted him. “Get back!” He took another step forward, his beard swinging toward them, and the weird smell of alcohol and sweat drifted to them.

Roy took a step back. “Warrior, we aren’t your enemies. I have Seville’s — ” His eyelid twitched, and alarm bells rang in his head thanks to his sharp perception. However, his body wasn’t quick enough to react. A moment later, an arrow struck the stone beside him and deflected toward the wall. It was a warning shot.

Roy tensed up and took another step back. Letho was faster. He quickly drew an inverted triangle in the air with his right hand, and a yellowish barrier of light covered him. Letho had nothing to fear after casting Quen. He unsheathed his steel sword, holding it at his side with both hands, pointing the tip at the dwarf’s neck, looking like a bull that was going to charge its enemies.

Tension was in the air, and everyone felt suffocated. Stubborn oafs. Roy showed his hands and took a step back. “Don’t rush this, Letho. Let’s take a few steps back.” He’d seen how cruel Letho could be. If he was facing harmless civilians, he’d take their insults, but he showed no mercy to those who tried to fight him. The last group to do so had died. Yeah, their attitude is shit, but you don’t have to kill them. And this is their turf. If you kill them, that’s going to offend everyone. As if we could pass through the mountains then.

Letho thought about it silently and gave all the dwarves a murderous glare, and then he stabbed downward. Before anyone knew it, the sword penetrated the stone ground like it was nothing, shocking the dwarves.

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“R-r-retreat!” the stammering dwarf stuttered meekly as he put his hammer down. He looked at his companions, whose faces were stiff, and when they shared a glance, their gusto from before gone.

Roy took the chance to take out the letter and bellowed, “We’re friends of Seville Hoger. He wrote this letter himself. Please take a look.”

The dwarves heaved a sigh of relief after hearing that. Letho really scared them. “C-come here. Not you, baldy!”

A few moments later, the stammering dwarf took the letter with his pudgy hands, and when he was about to read it, someone smacked his head. He turned around angrily only to get scolded. “You’re illiterate, you dolt! Sorry you had to see that. Dwarves are smart, but sometimes idiots are born.” The crossbowman came down from the watchtower. Ignoring his furious companion, he took the letter and read it. “Hm, this is Mr. Seville’s handwriting and stamp alright.” He nodded and handed the letter back. There was no enmity in his gaze anymore, though he still looked scared while facing Letho.

“That was a misunderstanding. It is our fault. Forgive us for this show of discourtesy.” He tossed his hostility aside and bowed to Letho and Roy. His companions scrambled to do the same.

“It’s nothing. I’ve heard of the straightforward attitude of the dwarves. Your passion for duty really opens my eyes though,” Roy said, complimenting them, and just as the dwarves were feeling nice about themselves, he pulled out something from his shirt and uncorked the bottle.

A moment later, the strong aroma of alcohol appeared before them, and they craned their necks, gulping, looking like cats drawn to fish.

The stammering dwarf’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Y-your s-shirt is s-so s-small, so w-where d-did you g-get that?”

“Irrelevant question. This is a gift from Mr. Seville for us to enjoy on our journey. Fifty-year-old Mahakaman liquor, and it packs a punch not unlike dwarven liquor.” Roy looked at Letho, and Letho was watching quietly with his arms crossed. Roy continued. “But I’m going to share it with all of you as friends. What do you think?”

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Reagan Dalba, the dwarf with the crossbow on his back, declined. “Um… Mr. Seville’s friend is a friend of all Mahakaman dwarves. It’s normal for friends to share some alcohol, but we have a duty to carry out, so we must decline for now.”

Roy swirled the bottle, making the aroma waft through the air quicker, and he sized up the dwarves again. “I heard dwarves are great drinkers. All of you look strong, so I bet you can drink a lot. One bottle of Mahakaman liquor isn’t enough to fill you up, much less affect your job.”

“Of course,” the stammering dwarf said, agreeing, and his companions were obviously tempted by the liquor as well, but Reagan was still hesitating.

Roy pulled his hand back. “I won’t force you if you don’t want to. I shall be keeping this for the journey to enjoy alone.”

“Hold on.” Reagan finally couldn’t hold his urge in, and he grabbed Roy’s hand with his hairy one. “You’re right, Roy. This won’t be enough to affect our job.”

***

Half an hour later, the guards paid the price for underestimating the wine. The bearded dwarves were taken out by the alcohol and slept on the barricade. Then Roy positioned them so they looked like two kissing pairs of dwarves. After that, he fiddled with the beautiful crossbow and ring he took from the crossbowman. The body and string were made of high-quality material. As he held it, the weight gave him a solid feeling.

A row of words were carved neatly onto the body. It read, ‘To my dear brother, Reagan Dalba.’

Roy was overjoyed. He’d been looking for a chance to replace Gabriel, and he found it.

“A perfect weapon needs to be triggered by a ring. This is the price for the liquor, Mr. Reagan. Once I get past the Mahakams and get through the trial, I’ll come back and drink with you when I have the chance. Equivalent exchange, am I right, Letho?” Roy’s frustration from being condemned by Casillas was suddenly gone. It’s a long trip. Gotta find some fun.

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Letho shook his head and went on with the journey.

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