The Butcher

On the rutted path through the village, two children, one big and one small, headed toward Fletcher the butcher's house in the north.

As Roy remembered it, Uncle Fletcher the butcher was apparently a distant relative of Susie's, and the two families visited each other from time to time. Maybe Roy really did have a chance.

"Hmph! Rooster Killer, look at those scrawny little arms and legs. You're thin as a stick, and you think you can become my father's apprentice? Stay home and daydream!" Brandon sniffed up the translucent snot that had slid down to his upper lip and said with utter disdain.

Roy followed behind the boy. Brandon was less than four feet tall, while Roy was about five feet four. Looking down at the boy's watermelon-shaped head, Roy couldn't resist reaching out to smooth down the rebellious tuft of hair sticking straight up. Before Brandon could turn around suspiciously, he nonchalantly pulled his hand back.

There, that was better.

He had lived eighteen years in his previous life. There was no point in getting worked up over a little kid. Roy shrugged and said unconcernedly, "I'm already a grown-up of thirteen. What's so hard about killing a chicken? Only a little kid who's never seen the world would make such a fuss. Rooster Killer? That sounds awful. How'd you even come up with it?"

"You're too stupid to even plow a field, but you had the nerve to kill a chicken with your own hands. All the signs point to you being possessed by a devil—I'll have to think about that some more. But you say I've never seen the world?" Brandon wiped the snot from his mouth with his dirty, chubby hand, then expertly rubbed it off on his pristine white shirt.

As the son of a butcher, his family was considerably better off than most of the villagers. They never lacked for meat, and his clothes were much finer. Though he was still young, several children his age fawned on him. He'd grown up with a sense of superiority. How could he tolerate being mocked?

"Peasant! My father once met Queen Mivi of Leria and Livia at the Winter Solstice celebrations. He tells me all about the occasion every night. You country bumpkin who's never even left Kaye Village dare say I've never seen the world?"

"Oh, so every night you listen to Uncle Fletcher brag. Did he ever tell you about magicians?" Roy watched his reaction without changing expression. Sure enough, the moment Brandon heard the word "magician," his eyes lit up, and he started talking excitedly, his words full of envy and longing.

Seeing that, Roy felt more at ease. He suddenly stopped, straightened up, and struck a pose. "If you help convince Uncle Fletcher to take me on as an apprentice, then the great Lord Roy will show Brandon an astonishing magic trick."

"Rooster Killer, save your lies for the little babies at Uncle Don Quixote's house. I'm not going to fall for—" Brandon choked on his words. His eyes widened, and his mouth gaped so wide it could have fit an egg. Snot like a caterpillar slid uncontrollably from his nostril.

"Whoa... how did you do that?" Right before his eyes, in the bright sunlight, the pebble in Roy's right palm vanished without warning, as if it had been transported somewhere he couldn't see.

Roy closed his hand, then opened it again. The pebble had reappeared.

"That's the magic trick I was talking about." Roy was quite pleased with the kid's reaction. In reality, the pebble lay quietly inside the one-cubic-meter space that came with his template. He only had to think about it to put it away or take it out nearby.

"I don't believe you. Show me again!"

"I'll use a different prop this time. Have you got any money on you?"

"Yeah." Brandon would sometimes sneak a little change from his butcher father and take his close friends from the village to the tavern to buy dried fruit and sample the sweet-and-sour fruit wine.

"Give it to me. One Crown will do!"

Whether Brandon was really foolish or simply overcome by curiosity, he actually pulled a gleaming yellow Crown from his pocket and tossed it to Roy. Then he craned his neck to watch as Roy closed his hand around it and flipped it downward. When the fist turned back over and opened, the Crown had vanished without a trace.

"I always stayed home and shut myself away to study magic tricks. Now that I've succeeded, it's time to show you all what I can do."

Brandon searched Roy, but the other boy was completely clean and had nowhere to hide anything. He had nothing to say and agreed to Roy's request.

"You teach me magic tricks, and I'll ask my dad to take you on as an apprentice. It's a fair deal."

"One more thing. I'm warning you, and I mean it!" Since Brandon hadn't brought it up, Roy accepted the Crown with a smile and stressed, "Never call me Rooster Killer again, and don't mention it in front of anyone."

In the butcher's yard, a broad-shouldered, burly middle-aged man ran a hand over a yellow ox whose legs were bound, its body hanging upside down from a wooden frame. Just as he was about to bring down his knife, he caught sight of Roy and Brandon. He ignored Roy and scowled at the chubby boy. "You little brat, where've you been wandering off to this time? Tell me, how many times this month have you skipped going to the village headman's place? You're wasting the money I work so hard to earn! You can barely read a few words, and you still want to be a bard? You'd be better off learning my trade!"

Brandon's round face flushed as his "dream" was exposed in front of everyone, and he lowered his head. The son of a butcher dreamed of becoming a dashing, debonair bard. If anyone else in the village found out, they'd laugh themselves silly.

In all of Kaye Village, fewer than three people—including the village headman—could read and write. Ninety percent of the villagers had to pay someone to write a letter to distant relatives. Though Fletcher the butcher was a big, burly man, he didn't want his son to remain illiterate.

"Brandon, if you earn the village headman's praise, I'll have Uncle Tom drive you to Fangerburg to broaden your horizons. If you study hard enough, then even if it costs me everything I own, I'll send you to Oxenfurt University! Your mother wanted that for you before she died, too. Don't let her down!"

Roy hadn't thought much of Brandon's dream of becoming a bard at first, but hearing his father's plans left him somewhat surprised. Who would have guessed the man was so farsighted?

Butchering could provide a comfortable living, though it didn't offer the status and respect that came with education. And there was no need to attend university—even knowing how to read and write in the Common Script of the Northern Kingdoms could provide a decent living in the countryside. With a little luck, one could become a copyist in a large city and earn even more respect.

As for Oxenfurt University, which the butcher had mentioned, it was considered one of the finest universities in the world, alongside the Nilfgaardian Imperial Academy. Geralt's close friend Dandelion and his paramour Shani had both graduated from Oxenfurt.

Never underestimate country folk. Roy's eyes shifted between the butcher and his son.

Fletcher was intent on scolding his son and still hadn't paid Roy any attention. "You little brat, get back inside!" Brandon shot Roy a pleading look. Roy immediately stepped forward and said, "Uncle Fletcher, I came today to—"

The butcher impatiently waved him off, cutting him short. "Little Roy, you're all healed up? Buy yourself a piece of fresh meat on the way home and build yourself up! Susie's been worn out these last few days. You should spend more time with her when you can!"

Brandon was thinking about the magic tricks and forced himself to speak up. "Fletcher, he wants to become your apprentice."

"Him?" Fletcher gave Roy a sidelong look from head to toe and spoke without the slightest courtesy. "I'm planning to take on an apprentice, but you've never even worked a field. Would Susie agree to you apprenticing with me? Besides, you're too weak. It'd probably take you half a day just to butcher one animal. Don't come here and cause trouble. Go find somewhere else to be!"

Butchering pigs and slaughtering sheep was dirty and tiring, but it was a coveted trade. A skilled hand with a knife could earn plenty of extra meat and Crowns. Fletcher had once wanted to pass the business on to his son and ensure he'd never want for anything. But now the boy had a better path ahead of him—learning the Common Script—and Fletcher wasn't going to force him.

Roy, weak as he was, had already decided to find a steady source of Experience Points. How could he let this small setback scare him off? He counted on his fingers and said earnestly, "Uncle Fletcher, give me a chance. Will you hear me out?"

The butcher nodded.

"Actually, I've already talked it over with Old Mol and Susie. I get to decide." Roy paused. "You're right that being a butcher takes strength. But this trade depends even more on technique and experience, and those can both be built up over time. For instance, I know that with your experience and skill, you could cut up livestock perfectly even with your eyes closed."

"I might be weak now, but I'm young, full of energy, and getting stronger fast. I learn quickly, too. If you're willing to teach me personally, I promise I won't disappoint you!" Roy gritted his teeth and added, "During my apprenticeship, if I can't do the work properly, I won't ask for wages! Just give me a piece of meat now and then."

After hearing him out, the butcher broke into a wide grin. "Little Roy, you're not like you used to be. Before, you could barely squeeze out a word all day. How'd you get so good with your tongue? You make it sound like I'd be committing a crime if I didn't take you on. For Susie's sake, I'll give you a chance. Are you willing to do it?" As he spoke, he stepped aside, revealing the large yellow ox behind him.

"If you've got the guts to send this big fellow off with your own hands, and you can keep from throwing up, then I, Fletcher, will take you on as an apprentice."

He was sure that a half-grown boy who'd never seen blood would never dare do it.

What he didn't know was that the boy before him had been forced to share his body with the soul of an Earth youth from an age of information overload. What bloody scene hadn't he seen on a screen?

Roy accepted the cattle knife from the butcher without changing expression and walked straight to the upside-down ox. He turned around and spoke with quiet sincerity.

"Uncle Fletcher, to be honest, after that horse knocked me down a few days ago, I had a very long dream. When I woke up, I decided to make some changes. I'm just a country boy who doesn't know how to farm, but I still need to learn a trade so I can support myself and help the family... Old Mol and Susie have looked after me for over ten years. It's my turn to repay them."

The entire yard fell so silent that a pin could have dropped. Brandon's face was pale, and he held his breath. Though he was a butcher's son, he'd never done the work himself. Whenever his father slaughtered livestock, he'd run as far away as possible and cover his ears. The frail figure before him, holding a fearsome, gleaming blade, suddenly seemed like a stranger.

Roy seemed no longer to be the gentle, timid Roy of old.

Meanwhile, surprise flashed across Mister Butcher's greasy, fleshy face. Had the boy grown up? He even knew to think of his family. Fletcher couldn't help glancing at the mischievous brat beside him, who was still sniffling.

Could getting knocked by a horse really make someone grow up overnight?

"Roy, there's a spot near the ox's neck where you should be able to see a raised bump. I just found it. Drive your knife into that lump. If you hit it cleanly, the ox won't suffer much."

As soon as he finished speaking, Roy narrowed his eyes.

He found the feeling he'd had when killing the chicken.

His hand swept steadily. One clean, decisive stroke. He thrust his wrist forward, drove in the knife, and pulled it out. The large yellow ox stared at him with enormous black eyes. Two wet streaks ran from its eyes as it let out a couple of weak moos. It barely struggled before falling silent forever.

At the same time, the Experience Points in Roy Template increased to 7. Killing a large yellow ox had given him a full 5 Experience Points.

There was no second drop of blood, and the legendary vomiting and emotional breakdown still hadn't appeared.

But killing a chicken and killing an ox weren't the same. Roy felt little joy at gaining Experience Points. Instead, he felt a faint sadness and a trace of fear.

What was the principle behind gaining Experience Points for taking a life?

How many Experience Points would he get for killing a person?

Was the sole significance of life, as far as the Personal Template was concerned, the Experience Points it yielded?

How did the template determine the Experience Points for each kind of life? Did larger creatures give more? Was it based on vitality or the quality of the soul? Or something else? Roy would have to find out through more kills.

A multitude of questions surfaced in his mind. He stood there dazed, holding the bloodied knife.

Just then, the butcher laughed heartily and slapped him hard on the shoulder. The blow's tremendous force brought Roy back to his senses.

"Good lad, you really dared to do it! Getting knocked by a horse made you braver, did it? You pass this test. If you don't mind the mess and hard work, come here tomorrow morning before sunrise and give it a try. We'll talk about wages later, but there'll be plenty of meat for you."

Fletcher was getting on in years, and his son was set on learning the Common Script instead of taking over the business. He needed an assistant to lend him a hand. Roy was weak, but Fletcher had watched him grow up. He was simple and honest, and he knew how to repay the people who had raised him. He was also distantly related to Fletcher through Susie. Perhaps he would make a good apprentice with time.

"Uncle Fletcher, I'll be here on time!" Roy quickly emerged from his melancholy, his gaze turning resolute. I can't even get enough to eat, and there are unknown threats out there. Why pretend to pity a beef cow? Roy put away the crocodile tears and tightened his grip on the knife.