The Hunter's Trick
(Translation — FUCKTОR; author — YummyTigеr; original title — A Huntеr's Cоn)
The sprawling city of Bainok stretched out before John like a cancerous tumor, slowly devouring the countryside. The hunter's disdainful gaze fell upon the crowded road disappearing into the city. He was not one of them. It was an obvious fact to anyone who would have paid him attention now. John stood apart with a bundle of claws hanging from his belt and a dagger comfortably placed on his hip. The forest was his home, and he could do perfectly well without visits to the city. But unfortunately, the city meant trade, and trade meant alchemists and healers,
to whom he could sell his wares. So John sighed and plunged into the sea of human bodies.Fortunately, the destination for his foray was not far. The healer he often dealt with owned a shop about a fifteen-minute walk from the city's main gates. His name was Harold, and John had been selling him herbs for over eighteen years. He knew his herbs could fetch a higher price closer to the center, but Harold had always dealt with him fairly.
John felt relief when he finally stepped off the main road and turned into the alley leading to Harold's shop. He had taken only a few steps when a piercing female scream sounded behind him. John turned towards the source of the sound, seeing a carriage rushing towards him.
"Out of the way, peasant!" shouted the coachman, drowning out the frightened female cry.
Reflexes born of years in the forest saved John from his intended fate, and he managed to jump aside. The landing had nothing to do with grace, and John, losing his balance, landed in a patch of mud by the roadside. First, his face plunged into the mud, and then an unpleasant smell hit his nostrils. The small trenches formed in the mud by passing carts and carriages were often used as pits for draining waste from nearby shops and houses. John angrily spat something out of his mouth, praying to god it was mud, and jumped to his feet. The carriage had already passed, but John managed to catch a glimpse of the noblewoman on the back seat. Strands of long, light hair fell down her back, and a shiny green dress marked her as a wealthy woman.
"Bloody nobles and their bloody carriages!" John cursed at the receding vehicle. They think they own the road and everything on it!
John assessed his damage: besides his pride, nothing serious was hurt. The herbs in his bag were slightly soiled, but they would have to be washed anyway. He stepped back onto the road and hurried to the healer's house. The expression on John's face was such that hardly anyone would dare stand in his way now. The sooner he sold his goods, the sooner he could leave this godforsaken city.
Reaching the shop, he turned around the nearest corner and headed for the back entrance. It was doubtful Harold would appreciate him walking through the front entrance covered in such filth. The wooden door rattled as John angrily pounded on it. It opened a crack, and a moment later, Harold's wrinkled face appeared.
"You want to break my door, lad," said the healer in a reproachful tone. His gaze swept over John's mud-stained clothes. "What happened to you?"
"Bloody nobles."
Harold nodded understandingly: "Well, come in and clean yourself up."
Inside, on one wall of the room, herbs of all sizes and shapes hung from a rope, and on a stove in the far corner stood a pot emitting a smell reminiscent of stewed cabbage. The rest of the wall was occupied by a shelf overflowing with small vials and bottles. These were Harold's potions and his main source of income. A small label was attached to each bottle, and John was familiar with many of the names on them. Potions were an invaluable resource for a hunter.
"Here, take this," said Harold, distracting John's attention from the room's decor. He handed over a brown robe that resembled his own garment. "Not sure it'll fit, but it'll cover you until your clothes dry." Harold then pointed to a basin of water near a rickety table in the center of the room. "You can use it, I just washed my socks in there."
"Thanks," replied John, not particularly hiding his sarcasm, and looked suspiciously at the basin, and then at the yellowish socks laid out on the edge of the table.
Harold willingly took John's bag of herbs and shuffled with it to the nearest counter, while John washed his mud-soaked clothes. The brown robe rubbed against his skin, and John constantly felt like scratching. You'd think the shop owner couldn't offer better clothes... well, at least it's clean. John sat on a chair next to the tub, soaking his jacket in it.
"Wow! You found Trillium!" exclaimed Harold, while John vigorously scrubbed the dirt from his soiled clothes.
Trillium flowers were extremely rare in these parts, and this find in the nearby forest was the main reason for the hunter's visit. The flower was worth a fortune, enough for him to live on for several months.
"I need to deliver it to the castle immediately."
"Uh-huh," replied John, examining his clothes in the wash.
"Lord Brackstone himself needs a potion made from Trillium," said Harold excitedly, starting to gather the things he needed from around the room. John would never have believed the old man could move so fast. "Can you watch the shop?"
"Uh-huh," John replied a second time.
"The shop, lad," said Harold, stopping for a moment and looking at John as if he were a fool: "I need to deliver the Trillium potion. I wonder how one can be so absent-minded?"
John ignored the taunt: "I'll watch the shop. Anyway, I'll have to wait for my clothes to dry."
Harold packed the medicines into a small backpack. "Alright, I'll be back in a couple of hours. If anyone comes in, just tell them to come back tomorrow," he said, heading out the back door.
John shook his head; Harold was certainly a strange old man. Of course, he lived in a city that, in John's opinion, could drive anyone mad. John shrugged and returned to his washing. Damn mud is harder to scrub out than beer.
"Healer, the lady is feeling unwell," said a man entering the room, "We've already visited three nearby shops where we encountered ignorant pigs."
John looked bewilderedly from the man to the woman, then looked at his robe. He was dressed in an apothecary's robe! They thought he was Harold! "Oh, these bloody circumstances are getting more and more interesting," he thought.
"So, what, so to speak, is the problem?" John asked the noblewoman, deciding to play along with them.
Instead of addressing him directly, the woman turned to the driver, "Tell him my stomach hurts!"
"You must be joking," thought John. Damned, arrogant nobles; she thinks too highly of herself to even speak to a commoner.
"The lady has an upset stomach," the driver informed him, as if John hadn't just heard her. What a bloody farce!
"I happen to have the potion you need, it's in the back room."
John had to make this woman pay for her arrogance, and as he headed to the back room, his brain sifted through possible revenge options. He scanned the many potions of Harold's that filled the shelves. There was a lizard tincture that could bloat her stomach and make her pass gas for a week. Or perhaps henbane decoction, which would cover her skin in spots and make it stink of rotten eggs. Oh, Harold even had some year-old manure lying around. Year-old manure literally tasted like shit, and coming out was even worse. So many possibilities raced through John's head that he soon began to smile, moving from vial to vial. This haughty bitch can walk around looking proud as if she's above everyone, but he'll take her down a peg.
John took a vial of year-old manure and henbane decoction from the shelf. He smirked, mixing them in an empty flask; for the next few weeks, she would avoid looking in the mirror. Thoughts of the rich lady's beauty gave birth to a new idea for possible revenge in his brain. It was so brilliant that John's face broke into a wide grin. If it worked, he would have a damn entertaining story to share with the guys back at camp.
"Tell him I can't wait all day," the woman said to her driver in the shop.
"Hurry up, the lady cannot wait," the driver obediently repeated.
"Obviously," the woman replied, rolling her eyes.
John barely held back the caustic remark ready to slip from his lips. Instead, he took a deep breath and embarked on the trick of his life. "Here, drink this, please. It's called mead, and it works wonders for an upset stomach."
The woman waved away the potion, "Ask him how much it costs."
The woman let out a loud ahem, clearing her throat: "I see he lacks proper manners." Then she took the potion from the outstretched hand and drank the contents. A moment later, her face frowned, "Disgusting."
John actually liked the taste of mead. "Sometimes even the highest quality medicines have a strange aftertaste," he explained, looking at her and waiting for what would happen next. It took all his restraint not to smile when she first shuddered.
The woman began to wring her hands and looked John straight in the eye: "I... I don't feel well." Amazing how quickly he suddenly merited her attention.
John put on his most serious look, "What do you mean, not well?"
"I don't know," she whispered, "My skin... it feels like it's being pierced by thousands of needles."
The driver stepped towards John, his face expressing concern, "What the hell did you give her!"
John's words stopped him. "What do you mean, seriously?" asked the driver.
John needed to remove the driver for his trick to succeed. "Ma'am, there's something we need to discuss in private."
The woman's eyes were now wide with fear, but the driver looked suspicious, "Why do you need to discuss something in private?" he asked.
"The thing is, the problem is, um, of a personal nature," he whispered to the woman, emphasizing the word "Personal."
The woman looked completely confused, but John knew her skin was itching like crazy right now. He had been a camp novice once too.
"Stanley, wait in the carriage."
Stanley turned to the woman in surprise: "But, Lady Lyla, I don't think..."
She cut him off mid-sentence: "How dare you contradict me!"
Fear appeared on Stanley's face, and he backed towards the entrance door. "S-sorry, milady," he stammered, exiting the shop. The bell jingled, and John smiled, let the game begin.
Lyla turned to John, the anger directed at the driver still displayed on her face. "So, what is the problem," she asked, putting her hands on her hips.
John had to admit she was one of the most attractive women he had ever seen. The bodice of the green dress tightly hugged full breasts, and he knew exactly in which direction his first move would be made.
"Hmm, this is not good. A disease known as, um, Prickly Fever is spreading throughout the north. It causes a tingling sensation all over the body. Eventually, the skin turns a sickly gray from it," explained John, slightly altering one of the veteran hunters' stories they used on novices. Lyla gasped and covered her mouth with her hand; now he had her full attention. "An early symptom of the disease is stomach pain, followed by tingling sensations."
"My skin... I can't... " Lyla stammered, still holding her hand near her mouth, "W-what can we do?"
John enjoyed watching her squirm. Justice is a cold bitch! "First, I must make sure you have all the symptoms. Please, give me your hand."
Lyla's hand trembled as she anxiously extended it. John took the delicate hand and slowly ran his fingers over the palm. The skin was incredibly soft, having nothing in common with the women the hunter usually associated with.
He tried his best to maintain a serious tone, saying, "Does it tingle here?"
"Y-yes," she replied, eyes wide, "What does that mean?"
John ignored the question and continued the examination. His gaze fell on the tight bodice he had admired earlier.
"Hmm, this is not good. Is there tingling all over the body?"
"Yes, yes, that's right!"
"Even in the breasts?"
The question caused shock on the noblewoman's face, and the woman was momentarily speechless. John doubted noble upbringing allowed her to discuss her breasts with men, let alone her noble lineage. Inside, he smiled; the time had come when she would have to do it.
"Ma'am, this is important. Is there tingling in the breasts?" he asked again.
Her cheeks flushed, making the woman's appearance even more beautiful, and she whispered: "I don't... um, maybe."
"Hmm," John murmured, rubbing his chin, "I need to examine them immediately."
"What!?!" exclaimed Lyla, snatching her hand from his grip. "How dare you... who are you..."
John's heart pounded wildly. "I need to understand how far the disease has spread," John explained.
"I'm not going to... " Lyla began to say, but John interrupted her.
"Ma'am, this is the only way. This disease progresses rapidly, and we are losing precious time."
Lyla stared at him for a moment, as if mentally wrestling with the situation. When the girl's eyes lowered, and her hands rose to the ties holding the dress's bodice, John knew which side had won. Trembling hands struggled with the knots, and Lyla's cheeks flushed even more with embarrassment. John enjoyed every second. When the knots finally loosened, he began to shift from foot to foot in anticipation. Before him stood not a whore or a barmaid, but a noblewoman, and she was about to show him her tits.
The woman never took her eyes off the floor, even when the ties came undone and the bodice loosened. John watched as she freed her arms from the shoulder straps and lowered the top of the dress to her waist. The breasts bounced free, and John froze in place, mesmerized by the light pink nipples staring right at him. She wasn't as busty as some of the girls he had slept with in the past, but this woman's elegant breasts were far more erotic than all of them combined. The skin was untouched, unexplored. John was sure it was as soft and silky as on her palms. He swallowed and took a step forward to begin the examination.
Lyla's head shot up when a hand touched her exposed breast. "What are you doing!"
"Ma'am, I cannot tell if you are ill or not just by looking," John warned, and confidently took hold of her left breast, emphasizing that he would not tolerate further objections.
Judging by her expression, she was torn between the desire to slap him and the desire to run away. However, she did neither, simply standing and blushing while he fondled her breast. The skin there was even softer than he had imagined. With his fingers, John explored the contours of each breast, slowly approaching the boundaries of the areolas and brushing against the already hardened nipples. After a while, the hunter began to lift each breast and frivolously watch them bounce back into place after he released them. He resembled a schoolboy playing with his first set of tits. Lyla shuddered more than once during the examination. John pinched the right nipple quite hard, eliciting a small sque