The "clip-clop" sound of horse hooves echoed from the winding, rugged road.
This place is neither too close nor too far from the village, primarily used for farmers' fields.
By the ridge, dogs began barking warily, while cats seemed to sense something, their fur standing on end before they darted away.
These creatures have always been sensitive to magic power and magic.
Towards the direction of the hoofbeats, there was an old horse of little value, carrying a young man on its back.
Lann held the reins tightly, diligently guiding his steed.
Velen, belonging to the northern kingdom Temeria, is the poorest province.
At first glance, the vegetation appears lush and colorful, but any respectable person who stays here for two hours would know it's a place as foul as dog feces.
Beneath the dense foliage are swamps and miasma, where abundant water plants nurture many creatures but fail to offer convenience to humans.
Or rather, these overgrown and proliferating "creatures" are far more dangerous to ordinary people than the swamp.
Remote swamps, impoverished villages, rude country folk, and monsters that appear out of nowhere are probably the only impressions people have of this place.
Weary farmers by the ridge looked up; the passing strangers are among the few topics they have in their meager lives.
So the farmer carefully sized up the traveler.
A face pale from exhaustion, yet seemingly spirited.
Distinct facial features from humans on the continent, with shallow eye sockets and a not-so-prominent nose, but the appearance is delicate, and the skin is quite good.
However, compared to those non-human races like elves, dwarves, and gnomes that are ostracized and discriminated against, he clearly belongs to "humans."
Perhaps from a place so remote that even the King's urine can't reach? Someone from there?
... That's still better than those damn non-human races.
The farmer leaned on his hoe and snorted twice, tilted his head, and spat a thick phlegm onto the ground.
His cheap blue cotton armor appeared black and shiny, with even the cotton at the waist popping out somewhat. The leather boots, without thick soles, were also cheap; although uncomfortable underfoot, they at least allowed for easy movement on the ground.
He had a sword, which is quite normal in Velen.
But a sword carried on the back?
Even the farmer knows... No one carries a sword like they would a bow.
How could he draw it when chopping someone?
Just as the farmer was about to sneer, although he didn't have a pair of shoes himself, such "mockery" doesn't follow many rules to begin with.
But in the next moment, he saw the approaching young man's pupils.
"Cat, cat eyes! A mutant freak!!"
His mockery turned to panic. The farmer shouted, as if he had seen some terrible plague victim or some horrific filth, repeatedly retreating.
Even during the backward step he fell sprawling, his hands and feet still retreating nonstop.
The demon hunter's signature trait — a pair of cat eyes.
Mutant warriors created by ancient human warlocks to clear monsters, their originally noble aspirations and profession now appear to modern people as a plague-like group.
Lann subtly sighed, consoling himself in his heart: Oh well, magical Middle Ages are still the Middle Ages.
Ignorance always accompanies malice.
Those amber cat eyes glanced sideways at the farmer on the ground.
Then, Lann began to tighten the reins, controlling the horse.
The old horse was docile and not strong. But he was also hungry, having only learned to ride for a week.
Even if being directly thrown onto the horse, falling during the ride and whipping was considered "learning" as well.
"Neigh~"
The farmer's dog was black and white, loyal and devoted.
Even though the old horse's hoof could almost crush it to death in one stomp, it still dashed towards its owner through the gap between hooves.
Lann exerted a great effort to ensure the loyal dog wasn't injured.
In his hungry state, he was even somewhat out of breath.
However, seeing the puppy cheerfully dash towards its owner caused him to subtly breathe a sigh of relief.
Yet, just as the dog was about to leap onto its owner, a slender black shadow brushed past Lann's leg.
"Whoosh!"
"Whimper!"
The piercing sound scared him; the lively and loyal dog burst into a spray of blood and screams in midair.
A crossbow arrow pierced through its lower back, exiting obliquely from its forechest.
Instead of reaching its owner, the dog's nervously twitching body crashed to the farmer's feet.
The farmer was already frightened silly.
Lann's slightly relaxed expression abruptly tensed, turning back into cold ice, his body stiffening along with the old horse.
A tall, stalwart figure rode slowly past Lann on a similarly robust horse.
The man's hair and beard were thick, resembling a humanoid brown bear.
But his face displayed no emotional ripples, like a piece of emotionless ice.
He carried two swords on his back.
He wore a solid and intricate composite armor.
Chain mail, leather armor, iron armor, and cotton armor alternated to form a robe extending to the calves.
A pendant of a roaring bear's head swung at his neck with the horse's gait.
His eyes were identical to Lann's — amber cat eyes.
The man bent over on horseback, and while passing the farmer, he grabbed the tail of the crossbow arrow and pulled the dog's body up from the field.
It's unimaginable how someone carrying at least thirty kilograms of armor could move so fluidly and swiftly.
The dog's body was still twitching nervously, its mouth uttering dying whimpers, desolate and miserable.
But he didn't even take a glance.
Pulled his crossbow arrow out of the flesh with a "squelch," cleaned it on the twitching dog's skin, and returned it to his pocket.
And as for the dog's body, he tossed it directly to Lann.
The tattered cotton armor was even dirtier.
The young man could feel the life slipping from his hands.
He still couldn't get used to this feeling... no, it was more like, to hold on to the echoes of his past life, he refused to dull his sensitivity to this sensation.
But on Lann's face, it was just the tiniest twitch in the masseter muscle, so small it was almost an illusion.
Immediately, the expression on his fair face became void like that of a man's.
"Bordeaux, what are you going to do with it?"
"That's our lunch."
Bordeaux's voice, like his face, was without fluctuation.
"Dogs, easy to catch."
Dogs are a species that genetically compromised with humans, even if people don't like dogs, they might find them cute or agile.
At the very least—they would be treated with special emotions.
Yet in Bordeaux's words, it was merely a chunk of meat.
Lann's icy face showed no sign of change as he urged his horse to catch up, "We shouldn't attract more attention, Bordeaux. You know what the situation is right now."
Lann's hand trembled slightly, but it didn't hinder him from hooking the dog's body onto the saddle hooks.
Those hooks were commonly seen in butcher shops, used for hanging or transporting chunks of meat.
But for demon hunters, such tools were more frequently used for hanging trophies.
Bordeaux seemed to be reminded by Lann's words, his catlike eyes that lacked any emotion turned to the farmer slumped in the field.
The farmer's pants instantly turned damp over a large area.
"You're right, I'm wanted, so..."
Amidst the rustling sound of composite armor, Bordeaux dismounted, not drawing the sword from his back but pulling out the dagger hanging at his chest.
He wanted to kill.
Lann immediately recognized this.
And he was all too clear about it; for a demon hunter devoid of emotions, whose life was only about money and physiological needs.
Killing a living human to cover one's tracks was not something to hesitate over.
The young man remained expressionless at this time.
Clumsily, he dismounted the old horse and quickly approached Bordeaux.
The farmer, seemingly still having some courage, now gripping the hoe with a near-collapse expression.
Though too scared to stand, at least there was some deterrent power.
"Wait, Bordeaux!"
When Bordeaux was within two meters of the farmer, Lann stopped him.
The young man was careful not to touch his armor, remembering the last time he did, Bordeaux had snapped three branches over his body.
If it happened again, he explicitly said he'd chop off one of his hands.
In his eyes, that Bear School Armor was far more valuable than himself.
"Let's pause, you can't just kill him now. Killing itself leaves traces, doesn't it?"
But even so, Lann still stood in front of Bordeaux.
His expression remained indifferent, as if completely disregarding the life of a farmer, merely contemplating the journey for the two of them.
Bordeaux's face was wooden, and after a brief thought, he retracted his dagger.
The mutations demon hunters underwent robbed them of emotion, but not their mind.
Lann turned his head slightly, unobtrusively letting out a sigh of relief.
After a brief consideration, Bordeaux shifted his gaze from the farmer to Lann, suddenly speaking.
"How's your practice with the Yakxi Rune going?"
It was one of the five magical tricks of the demon hunters, used to disrupt the mind of creatures.
Turning his head, Lann's feline eyes first contracted abruptly, then returned to normal.
By the time he locked eyes with Bordeaux, there was no trace left.
"No, not proficient, I hardly have time to practice. It's your responsibility to arrange training, you know that."
Lann's tone was natural and calm.
"Hmm." Bordeaux scratched his thick beard, nodding, "Just focus on getting familiar with the Quen Rune for now."
The Quen Rune, its function is to protect against physical harm.
The man walked straight past Lann, this time the young man no longer blocked his way.
From behind the man, a magical glow flickered, and then the farmer's tense expression became dazed.
"You didn't see anyone just now, your dog ran off into the forest on its own and you didn't dare to go after it."
Words as if set in stone came from Bordeaux's unchanging mouth.
Until the farmer nodded in a daze, he walked past Lann without a second glance and turned to leave.
Lann followed behind, his clumsy mounting delayed him for a few seconds.
Bordeaux knew just how bad the boy's riding skills were, so he didn't look back.
But, in that short span of seconds.
The young man's feline eyes glanced at the dazed farmer, and his left hand discreetly made a gesture.
Before his gesture, the magical glow condensed into an inverted triangle.
It was a mature and complete... Yakexi Rune!
The farmer's cloudy and bewildered eyes suddenly showed some difference.
"Good luck, poor soul."
"Heh, not exactly..."
Retracting his gaze, Lann's mounting was light and soundless, possibly rivaling the world's best riders in horse control.
The amber feline eyes squinted slightly in the shadow against the light, that kind of plain determination... just like a predator tiger!
"Let's wish us both good luck."