Demon Hunters Are Usually Unpopular

As always, it was the cats and the children who noticed him first. A tabby tomcat had been dozing on a sun-warmed woodpile, but as he rode past, it suddenly shivered. It raised its head, let out a harsh hiss at the witcher, and leaped off the pile, vanishing into the nearby thicket in the blink of an eye. A child in a filthy linen shirt was playing in the mud by his doorstep, working hard to make his clothes even worse, completely unaware that his mother had already grabbed a switch, ready to give his backside a taste of discipline.

But a second later, the boy let out a sudden scream. His mother, apron on and switch in hand, scooped up her son, ran inside, and bolted the door tight. All because of the witcher's passing.

Geralt ignored these reactions. A hay cart blocked the road ahead, and he couldn't be bothered to urge his horse to overtake it, simply following along at a leisurely pace. The vegetable seller caught sight of the blood-stained sack on the donkey beside him and peered over curiously, only to see a black claw dangling and swaying with the donkey's gait—gaunt, yet terrifyingly sharp. She covered her mouth and shrieked. Geralt glanced at her and sighed impatiently.

"Excuse me, sir, do you have a moment?" A man's voice suddenly reached his ears. Geralt nearly fell from his horse. His superhuman senses seemed to have vanished, failing to provide any warning that someone was approaching. Thanks to the mutations of the witchers, even as his internal alarm bells rang, he didn't let a flicker of it show on his face. Geralt turned his head slowly to find a handsome man in a black robe embroidered with gold thread standing beside him, watching him.

Geralt couldn't help but want to draw his sword.

Two things fueled this impulse: first, he realized the man was floating, his feet not touching the ground at all. This was an obvious sign of magic, yet the medallion on his own chest didn't vibrate in the slightest. Second, the people around them—including the villagers gathering behind him, eager to see what was in the sack—showed no reaction to this man whatsoever.

It was as if he didn't exist at all.

"..." Geralt remained silent. The midday sun beat down on his face, and a bead of sweat as large as a pea rolled down his weathered brow.

"No need to be nervous, sir. I can see you have matters to attend to. If you have time later, please meet me at the Tuna Tavern over there, would you?" The man noticed his expression, smiled, and spoke with polished courtesy.

He stepped aside to clear the path.

Geralt rode his horse forward, his body stiff. As always, many carriages were parked in front of the home of Kaldimien, the local reeve. Geralt dismounted, adjusted the position of the two swords on his back, and tied the reins to a wooden fence. The crowd behind him formed a semi-circle around the donkey.

Even with Geralt outside, the reeve's shouting was clearly audible—not entirely due to his superhuman senses, but because the reeve was truly bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"I've told you many times! No! No means no! Damn it, can't you understand my words? You scoundrel!"

As soon as Geralt stepped through the door, he heard the short, stout Reeve Kaldimien shout this in a fit of rage. His face was beet-red, and standing before him was a simple-looking man clutching a struggling goose.

"What is it now? Didn't I tell you not to disturb—Gods! Is that you? Geralt? Am I seeing things?" He turned to the farmer and barked, "Take it away! You bumpkin, how many times do I have to tell you not to bring me gifts! Are you deaf!?"

The farmer stood his ground, muttering vaguely, "Uh—Lord Reeve, they say..." He glanced at the goose as he spoke, then looked away as if nothing had happened, "...one must give the master in charge a little something, otherwise—"

"Who said that! For the sake of the gods! Who said that?" Kaldimien roared. "Who? Who thinks I would take a bribe?! I tell you, I don't want it! Get out!"

The man grabbed the goose and ran out the door, overjoyed, vanishing in the blink of an eye without even closing the door behind him, terrified that Kaldimien might change his mind.

"Hello, Geralt."

"Hello, Kaldimien." The reeve shook the witcher's hand and stood on his tiptoes to pat his shoulder.

"It's been about two years, hasn't it, Geralt? If I recall correctly. You can't stay in one place for too long, can you? Where are you coming from this time? Uh, that was a stupid question, it doesn't matter where you're from. It makes no difference anyway. Hey, sit down, Geralt. Please, sit. There's a market tomorrow, so things are a bit chaotic here. How have you been lately? Tell me all about it!"

The witcher said, "We'll talk later. I have something to ask you, Kaldimien. Let's go outside."

When they stepped out, the crowd had completely surrounded the donkey. The reeve shouted for them to disperse, and Geralt stepped forward to untie the bag. The onlookers gasped and scrambled backward; even the worldly-wise Kaldimien drew a sharp breath.

"Gods! Geralt, what is that thing?"

"A Kikimore. Can I collect the bounty?"

Kaldimien shifted his weight to his other foot, staring at the spider-like black carcass, at the vertical pupils in its lifeless eyes, and the needle-sharp fangs in its blood-stained maw.

"This—you—where did you get this?"

"On the riverbank. Less than four miles from town, Kaldimien. Just over by the swamp. People must have gone missing there—children, for instance."

"Oh, yes. You're quite right. They have, but who would have guessed—Hey! You lot! What are you staring at?! Have you nothing better to do? Go home! All of you, go home! This isn't a show! Geralt, cover it up, the flies are already swarming."

Back inside, the reeve didn't say a word, walked to the table, grabbed a flagon, and downed it in one go. He let out a heavy sigh. "No bounty, I'm afraid, Geralt." He sniffled, looking dejected. "No one would have thought something like that was hiding in the swamp. A few locals have gone missing there, but very few people wander near the riverbank. Why were you there? Why didn't you take the main road?"

"If I took the main road, I'd have a hard time making a living. Kaldimien, I trust you haven't forgotten my profession."

"Ah, yes. I forgot." Kaldimien suppressed a belch and let out a slow breath. "This used to be such a peaceful place! Even if these damn fools are all thick as bricks, they were at least honest and hardworking. Even the pookas rarely peed in the milk. But now, a monster right on our doorstep. The war only ended a short while ago, gods help us."

He looked at Geralt, apologetic. "I'm afraid all I can offer you is my thanks, Geralt. No bounty, no reward."

"A pity. I happen to need the coin to get through the winter." The witcher grabbed a flagon from the table, took a sip, wiped the white foam from his lips, and said, "I'm planning to head to Ispaden, but I don't know if I can make it before the snow blocks the passes. Perhaps this damn snow will trap me in some small town along the Lutonski road."

"By the way," Geralt suddenly turned to stare at the reeve, his golden cat-like eyes making Kaldimien jump. "Is there a handsome man in a black robe with gold thread in town? Looks like he's from the East."