When Ari climbed out of the barn onto the street, the sun seemed to try to roast her like a partridge, even though it was well past noon. Birds chirped and pigs grunted behind the fence, roaming the village unsupervised.
The witcher critically examined her clothes — her expensive red shirt with lacing was covered in dirt, and her pants were completely smeared with mud on the back. Finding the mistress of the house, who was bustling about in the kitchen, she dumped all the laundry on her and trudged to the river in her undergarments.
The pesky kids followed her all the way, howling and hooting, but the girl didn't care at all. She knew that her parents told their children scary stories about witchers at night, calling them names they would be afraid to say to their faces. People have always feared and hated those they did not understand, and, of course, children were no different from adults in this respect. However, it was easier to deal with them. When Ari needed privacy, she simply grabbed a couple of acorns and threw them accurately at the foreheads of the most insolent rascals. The whole crowd ran away in fear, as if blown away, and then the girl threw both her swords to the ground.
The first thing she did was check her attributes.
[Profile]
[Ari — Witcher of the Cat School]
[Strength: 100 (-10)]
[Agility: 250]
[Stamina: 245 (-5)]...
System notifications had been visible to her alone for quite some time. This mystical ability appeared after an incident related, as the girl later discovered, to a certain goddess of luck worshipped by travelers and, at the same time, by all sorts of charlatans and fortune tellers.
Without finishing reading the profile, Ari took off her clothes and dove headfirst into the reeds. Her body cut through the water with a loud sound, but with almost no splashing. The girl immediately surfaced among the lilies and began to scoop water with her hands, working her shoulders, which were as broad as those of any fencer. The width and strength of her muscles, tightly corseted around her ribs on both sides, were striking at first glance. The next glance (yes, in that order) fell on her strong thighs. The witcher's buttocks seemed so full that one could even accuse her of a lazy lifestyle, if not for the girl's overall slimness and flexibility. In fact, her "buns" were tense with muscle, stretching her smooth skin taut, and in time with them, Ari's feet with their distinct beautiful arch lifted fountains of water droplets sparkling in the sun.
She swam across the river like a champion in a royal competition, then returned to the reeds a little further downstream. Without losing a drop of strength in her movements, she swam another lap.
[Passive Skill: Stamina Training]
[Level 3: Tirelessness (in battle and in bed).]
Only when she saw this text in the corner of her eye did she allow herself to get out of the water and sit down to dry off in the bushes that clung to her wet body. The notifications didn't really tell her anything that the witcher herself didn't already know. But this way, she could instantly assess her training progress and continue to stubbornly build up her overall strength. They replaced a strict coach.
[Stamina will be increased.]
[Debuff: Slight fatigue]
[Time left: 30 minutes]
Even at that moment, her eyes scanned the area, squinting — completely automatically, unconsciously, as naturally as it would be for any person to breathe in and out. They instantly noticed a silhouette not far away in the shade of the birch trees. In three leaps, the witcher caught up with the peeping Tom and grabbed him by the ear, turning him away from the spectacle he was about to admire without permission.
"You little shit," Ari hissed.
"Hey, lady, don't!"
"I will, I so will!" the girl snapped.
"Ouch... You'll tear my ear off!"
"Will tear it off all right! Wouldn't that just suit you for peeping?"
"Don't!"
She dragged the boy by his ear to the tree where she had put her things and, with one hand, managed to throw a shirt over her body, right over the head. At the same time, the foolish boy was forced to turn away so that his ears would be as safe as possible. The witcher threw the boy to the ground, casually slipping her arm into the other sleeve. He crawled back on all fours through the weeds, but she immediately pinned him to the grass with her wet foot, like an upside-down turtle.
She looked down at him. A smile played on the girl's lips. But such a sharp, snake-like smirk made the boy turn even paler and pray for rescue to all the gods he knew.
"Do you know," Ari began insinuatingly, "that human ears are stronger than they appear?" Scholars know that your ear and your nose, which you stuck in the wrong place, are made of dense, durable cartilage. But you know, I've had to tear off noses and ears a couple of times. They're very similar in all kinds of animals and monsters. You just have to grab them tight and pull really hard."
The boy's eyes bulged at such prospects, and he even forgot to beg for mercy. He just shook his head back and forth.
"Do you know what happens to boys who spy on grown women, huh?"
"They... get whips?" the boy replied, almost hopefully.
Ari bared her teeth like a poisonous viper. Her hand moved to where the crotch should have been on the shirt, and wet marks on the fabric left a rather unexpected, elongated stain in that spot.
"They get screwed."
When she let go of the boy, he could probably have broken some record at the royal competitions, too. His heels flashed across the grass faster than of hare's running away from a wolf. The girl watched the boy with her eyes, then stretched up to the very branches of the tree, arching her back and stretching her muscles, which had stiffened after training. The bulge on her shirt was now quite obvious.
"Bastard," Ari said to herself and slipped her hand under her shirt. "Because of him, I'm on edge again... Mmh."
Quickly, impatiently, the witcher lay down on the ground under the canopy of trees, casting shadows of leaves rustling in the wind on the still wet skin of her spread legs. As soon as she lifted her shirt, it appeared: a half-erect penis that no longer fit in her palm. It looked alien on the girl's body. Especially when she rolled her shirt up even higher, exposing her two mounds of tits to the pleasant breeze, as if they were full of her lustful thoughts. Nevertheless, Ari ignored the lips of her vulva under her pair of testicles and instead squeezed the "witcher's sword" in her hands, which was eager to pierce someone through.
However, there was no such opportunity in sight. The girl had to content herself with her own slightly rough palm. She began to move her fist up and down in short strokes, imagining some girl sitting on top of her. So that instead of self-pleasure, Ari could grab her hair and make her jump on her knees.
"Hngh!" the girl moaned at such thoughts, tensing her toes and drawing circles on the ground with her feet, ignoring the weeds trampled by her legs. "How long has it been since I've had this... Ah!"
Witchers, hunters of monsters, used mysterious rituals to induce mutations in themselves to sharpen their senses and become stronger and faster than ordinary people. A side effect was infertility and, paradoxically, an enormous libido. Though Ari chased away the last of the observers, if anyone happened to glance at that pretty face, intently watching the "shaft" that her hand was polishing, — sometimes squeezing the head for a few seconds to prolong the pleasure — there would be no doubt that she was very, very turned on.
"Ahh! Yes!" the girl cried softly, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes, and hot drops splashed onto her stomach and chest as her hand moved on its own to extract everything without leaving a drop left.
She closed her eyes, breathing heavily. Her chest rose and fell, and the cool breeze and sunshine became twice — no, three times more pleasant for a few seconds. Ari ran two fingers over her skin and licked the now-cooled salty, thick white splashes off them.
***
When the witcher crossed the threshold of the tavern, it was quite crowded. Her clothes had dried in the sun in no time, so she was dressed as a dandy again, and her leather pants flattered her figure from behind. Unsurprisingly, as soon as the girl entered, all eyes were on her. The men's leering glances were the kind that would earn them a slap in the face from their wives (if anyone had invited them to sit next to them while drinking). However, the sword at her waist and the second scabbard on her back quickly cooled the ardor of the curious. People returned to their food, drinks, and conversations.
Ari ordered herself a mug of beer. At the same time, a notification from the system flashed in her eye.
[Passive Skill: Healthy Metabolism]
[A healthy lifestyle allows you to recover more quickly from the effects of toxins.]
What a bore. It seemed like a subtle reminder not to drink too much after yesterday's elixirs, lest she turn into an alcoholic. But the girl needed to cheer herself up a little, having been left empty-handed in the werewolf's business. After a beer on an even emptier stomach, the world finally took on new colors. Then the food went down well. The witcher soon noticed someone gesturing to her from another table and willingly sat down with the fellow travelers, whom she already knew.
The coachman who had asked her name earlier was calling the girl to join them.
"Mazel Ari has graced us with her presence. Just in time. Please, please," the little man moved over and allowed her to plonk her mug on the table among the rubbish and bones.
"Just in time, huh?" she glanced sharply at the guys who were eating their dinner. "Let me guess. You want the witcher to share her wisdom and experience? To give you a tip, so to speak: where to best ensnare a nymph, how not to die from exertion under a succubus, and where to tickle a goblin girl so she doesn't bite you accidentally?"
"No thanks," grinned the tallest of the merchant team, a bearded, strong, good-natured fellow with his mouth smeared with chicken. "We're not really interested in those things. We just had a disagreement, and here you are, just in time to settle it."
Ari just smiled slyly. She knew that after a few mugs of good ale, tongues would loosen and the men would all start talking about the same thing. She stole a glance at the neckline of the shirt of the waitress who was placing a new jug on their table. She just smiled warmly, not yet suspecting anything was off. She simply adjusted her skirt and hurried off to fetch another portion of ham for the stocky dwarves, who were roaring with laughter throughout the tavern, causing the whitewash to fall from the walls.
"Come on, tell us your story again," said the coachman to the third man at the table, who sat frowning and had preferred to remain silent until now.
"I'll tell it, all right," he grumbled discontentedly; but who would like sudden checks on the truthfulness of a story during a feast? "Well, it all happened in the mountains. We had been walking since morning and decided to take a nap for an hour. But I felt the urge to relieve myself. So I went, admiring the sky and the birds. And then I saw a gate. A wide one. I thought: where did it come from?"
"No f..g where, of course," the coachman chuckled.
"Don't interrupt me, you hear!" The gloomy man angrily slammed his fist on the table, scattering crumbs on the floor. "So I look up... And there's a giant! Not your gates, but a colossal creature! A real giant! So I dropped my bag there and ran, oh how I ran. I only looked back once and remembered his face for the rest of my life, it was so... fanged. Like a boar's fangs. We immediately left and went on our way. That's about it."
"His face," the witcher raised an eyebrow. "Did you get a good look at it? In detail?"
"Well... I did," the man hesitated and, for some reason, grabbed his mug, then let go just as quickly and looked down.
"And what do you remember?"
"Huge fangs, I tell you!"
"Hmm... Bullshit," Ari snapped and took a bite of her gray bread.
"Bullshit?" The bearded man looked at her triumphantly.
"There's this gloss... classification in science," the witcher corrected herself, beginning to explain. "Who's related to whom, basically. So, giants are very distant relatives of ogres. Ogres, as any proper witcher will tell you, have tusks sticking out of their mouths. Well, what do giants have to do with it? They're more like mountain trolls. You lied to your fellow travelers. About the fangs, about his endowment, and about the backpack, which you've probably dropped into some abyss while he was peeing."
"Ha-ha, you bigdi...!" the coachman laughed loudly and threw an onion peel at the storyteller, while the gloomy man became even darker than the rainclouds and rose from the table.
"I'm not in the mood to talk to people such as you."
"Bullshitter!" bellowed the burly man with his mouth full. "Get lost."
The three of them remained seated, but the others who had entered the tavern were also listening intently to the merry company now.
"You exposed him cleverly, Mazel Ari," the coachman flattered. And immediately blurted out: "But I just don't get it how they took the girl into the witchers. It's not an easy job, a dangerous one. There are monsters worse than werewolves."
The witcher snorted and snatched the uneaten piece from the sullen man who had already left their table.
"Witchers aren't very picky. They recruit unsupervised children, whoever they can find, and torment them with their trials. Most don't survive, so they need a lot of kids. How can they be picky? And I'm not exactly a girl... But it's a valid point, in general. I only know of one school that teaches girls, elves, half-elves—anyone, really. I was lucky to become a witcher at the Cat School."
She took a medallion from under her shirt. A wild cat made of metal, baring its teeth, stared at the men. The guys exchanged glances. The bearded man was particularly interested in the medallion. He seemed to be thinking, and then he muttered:
"Wait a minute, I've heard that name somewhere. Ari. Ari the Cat. Kitty..."
The witcher blushed noticeably — she knew what the big guy might be remembering. Her eyes immediately flashed like coals, so hot that the man, who was ready to blurt out something unnecessary, suddenly lowered his head and remained silent.
Unfortunately, the skinny guy at the next table, who was listening attentively to the conversation, did not. He leaned back in his chair and shouted loudly so that even those at a distance could hear him:
"Which one is it? Ari the Zoophile, is it?"
At this, Ari turned scarlet.
"I didn't f...ck vampires!" she shouted to the whole tavern.
Someone choked. Someone coughed. The owner of the establishment peered inside with a heavy stick, wondering if the patrons had gone to rape someone. In any case, all eyes were on Ari. She seemed to shrink on the spot and hid her face in her hands, just so no one would remember her.
The thin man whistled.
"Well, well. The heroine of the bards' songs has graced us with her presence."
"I don't need your songs," the witcher snapped again and, as she often did, grabbed her sword in a fit of emotion.
"Now, now," the coachman patted her on the shoulder, but immediately pulled his hand away, apparently remembering that he was dealing with a woman who fell a werewolf.
"There's no smoke without fire," dwarves from the other table shouted.
"Great," Ari leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs in her beautiful boots. "It's always like that. I've strangled so many ghouls, but no one calls me a ghoul killer. I've cut down so many kikimora, but no one says, 'Ari, the kikimoras' nemesis'. But it only took one time with a dragon..."
This time, everyone laughed, not just the dwarves. Someone had already begun reciting those very pamphlets about the zoophile witcher who, instead of payment in hard cash, takes... well, takes it in all positions. The ballad's author's imagination ran wild: soon the thin man was reciting from memory an episode about an orgy in a tavern. Someone whistled at the details, and the girl herself fidgeted in her seat. Even though all this obscenity about her was untrue from beginning to end, the verses about plump calves and juicy udders, disheveled hair and crumpled shirts suddenly made her leather pants feel one size too small for her.
To save the situation, she stood up from her seat and shouted:
"Quiet!"
People looked at her in confusion. Why was this girl ruining what they had all come here for today — drunken revelry and an evening of dirty stories?
Ari cleared her throat.
"Let me admit that there is some truth, so to speak, in all the nasty rumors circulating about my witcher career. I think it's worth clearing my name off lies though, at least in your eyes. Want a story? You'll get a nice tale. Yes, yes. About that very thing you love. But it won't be about your sick fantasies... but about secret cravings. I'll tell you about what many people think about but are afraid to say, lest their wives hit them with a rolling pin. I'll tell you how I met a siren and almost ended up living out the rest of my life with her people of the sea."