The Witcher: Astartes Of The bear School

Chapter 10: Anger 

"For your profit? That's an interesting term." 

Bordon did not regard him as a living person; rather, that term reduced him to an object, akin to a sword, a pair of gloves, or a pitchfork. Personality, dignity—everything that had once been commonplace was crushed into insignificant fragments by that word. 

Lan even let out a soft laugh at this. Yet, the coldness in his amber cat eyes was as hard as ice. Bordon recognized this clearly, but he didn't care at all. He was dying; what could he do now? 

He saw his apprentice, who was about to kill him, burning with rage because of his words, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. 

In the final moments of his life, experiencing emotions anew as a witcher sparked a lively conversation. Every time he opened his mouth, blood mixed with fragments of his insides spilled out, creating a gruesome mess in his beard. 

But he showed no signs of stopping. 

"So what about you, Lan? Why do you want to kill me here?" Bordon's mouth bled as he laughed, revealing bloody teeth. 

"Please, don't say something like 'to free myself from your oppression and exploitation.' Just look at your skills in battle earlier, Lan. Precise, swift, stable. In the castle of the bear school, in Haern Caduch, there are hardly any novice witchers who have completed their training that can match your level. Honestly, your rate of progress has shocked me." 

"My exploitation and manipulation might make you uncomfortable, but death? That's far from it for you! Compared to the guidance and protection I've given you, the negative impact I have on you isn't worth the risk of being killed by me, to share life and death." 

Bordon shook his head with amusement. "I'm dying, but at least you should be kind enough to tell me why I'm going to be killed." 

Lan tilted his head and smiled, looking at his teacher, this once-mighty man who was now stuttering even as he spoke. 

"Do you remember why you are being hunted, Bordon?" 

Two lives. Bordon recalled easily, as it hadn't been long ago—just before Lan completed his mutation. 

In a small tavern in a village, two drunken farmers had confronted a lowly witcher, only to have their heads swiftly severed. The dim-witted farmers couldn't comprehend that the witchers tolerated their scorn and disdain because they sought to earn a stable income, not because they were powerless to resist. 

Bordon was nearing his limit; the blood loss had caused his mind to wander. The only thing sustaining him now was his thirst for Lan's answer. 

"Is it really just because of those two farmers?" His body felt cold, yet Bordon could only laugh. 

Two farmers. 

He had once accepted commissions from nobles in grand palaces. He had taken on tasks from powerful mages in tall towers. He had killed countless people and monsters in his lifetime, traversing paths and witnessing more than a farmer's family could in five generations. 

And now, the man who was to kill him told him—he had lost his life because of two farmers. 

"Bullshit!" It made no sense. No matter how he thought about it, it was unreasonable! 

But Lan stood before him, half-smiling, and clearly articulated—this was precisely what had happened. 

"You can't wrap your head around it, can you? Just two farmers, trudging through the dirt, stepping in cow dung, reeking of their cheap homemade liquor, and their tongues all tied up. Why should I face life and death for them?" 

Lan leaned closer to Bordon, still smiling. 

"My teacher, before I completed the mutation to become the witcher that people shun, we had already appeared together in the forests of Velen, hadn't we?" 

"We met the esteemed village elders." He raised one finger. 

"We saved a merchant from a runaway cart on the road." Two fingers went up. 

"And we inquired about hunting monster commissions in many villages." Three fingers. 

"But was there ever a moment, even once, when people asked, 'Witcher, who is this young man beside you?'" Lan retracted all his fingers and clenched them into a fist. 

"Not a single one, teacher." 

"Even though people will go to great lengths to slander witchers and mutants, I can distinguish that most of it stems from ignorance and fear. But when they truly saw a young man accompanied by a witcher, no one wanted to say a word. Not even to report it to the local lord? Not even that." 

"I understand, of course; no one wants to complicate matters. Life is indeed hard and dangerous in this world. But… At the moment I was about to accept reality, two farmers, they asked that question." 

Lan spread his hands, his expression one of helplessness. But Bordon, whose eyelids were drooping, found renewed strength in Lan's words, meeting his gaze. Lan's smile gradually faded, his relaxed demeanor transforming into one of solemnity and seriousness. That expression was no longer about two farmers; it was as if he were reciting a ballad about emperors in a grand court. Bordon's eyes widened in astonishment at this emotional shift. 

"Two farmers, with cow dung and dirt on their feet, exuding the stench of their homemade liquor, their tongues all tied. But it was they, only they, who pinned your shoulder down in that tavern in Oreton, then pointed at me, saying, 'Cat eyes, who's child did you steal? You'd better let him go, or we'll go find the elder.'" 

As their cat-like eyes locked, Bordon had never felt such a clear emotion—anger. 

A profound rage! 

That young apprentice pronounced his death sentence to his teacher, word by word. 

"Then you killed them, and I decided to kill you. I had no acquaintance with them, not even a single word exchanged. But they spoke up for me, and paid the ultimate price. Therefore, I must collect that debt on their behalf; in our realm, this is a self-evident truth." 

Bordon was stunned. It was as if he had encountered a deity from scripture or some extinct monster; he was amazed by something he had never witnessed and had never believed in. 

"Even if you might die by my hand?" 

Lan nodded calmly in response. "Before I got through the mutation, I would have hesitated. But after enduring that hellish experience—yes, I would." 

Bordon lowered his head slowly, as if he hardly understood. The motion was so stiff that Lan even thought he had died from blood loss. 

But then he suddenly raised his head, fixing his gaze on Lan's face. 

"You're not from this world, are you, Lan? You weren't sent here by a teleportation accident, but by the Conjunction of Spheres." 

The young man was momentarily taken aback by the statement, but then he regained his relaxed demeanor. 

"Why do you say that?" With no one else around, Lan had nothing to hide. 

Bordon's eyes were filled with intense emotion, and Lan couldn't decipher what mixed feelings lay within. Hatred? Longing? Jealousy? Admiration? It was all there, yet it felt like nothing was present at the same time. 

"Your world must be as beautiful as paradise. So much so that you believe this knightly spirit you uphold is an unquestionable principle. Treasure life, value emotions; have you never seen your kind slaughtering one another?" Bordon's voice was soft and drifting, as if he were seeking something unknown in the distance. 

Lan responded calmly. "We've only been at peace for less than a century, four generations' time." 

"Ha, I'm already one hundred thirty years old. Less than a century is enough to drive the bloody reason from your minds. What a beautiful, fucked-up world." 

Bordon chuckled weakly, lowering his head once more. This time, Lan could tell that his blood was truly running dry. 

That last inquiry was the last ounce of strength in the witcher's life. 

"The potion pouch has compartments. There are my things, some money. Use them, repair this armor, and take it." The cat-like eyes began to dull, and Bordon's voice grew faint. 

Lan nodded to indicate he had heard. "Why help me?" 

"Help you? No, that's not helping you, Lan, it's not. For enemies, our world has always cursed them to hell. But for you, you've descended from a paradise. Now, you're already in hell." 

"Lan, I curse you. I curse my enemy to live long and safely in this world. I curse my enemy to uphold his morals and will." 

In the end, the robust man's voice fell to a whisper that was nearly inaudible. 

"Because merely living here, you will be constantly subjected to pain. Isn't it interesting, heh, heh." 

Lan remained calm as he looked at his teacher. In this chaotic world, where magical energies intertwined, the casting of magic was often irrational. In places where magic was chaotic, a declaration of love or a furious shout could easily become a curse, manifesting effects akin to those found in fairy tales. 

Was Bordon's curse successful? After all, not far away was a mist filled with unknown magical origins. 

Lan had not yet learned about such things; he didn't understand. But fortunately, he didn't care. 

Lowering his head, he noticed that the pool of blood at his feet had deepened, forming a large puddle that even reflected his shadow and the light around him. The young man gazed at his own crimson reflection and let out a soft, indifferent laugh. 

"Yes, teacher. I'm already in hell." 

Lan stretched lazily, then reached to take the roaring bear necklace from his teacher's neck and hung it around his own. 

At that moment, a light chime resonated in Lan's mind. It was a neutral-toned intelligent voice. 

It said, "Sir, analysis completed."