The Divine Hunter

Chapter 465 – Origin

Chapter 465: Origin

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

Flames crackled, dark smoke billowing in the air. Cries of the dying citizens and the remaining clashes of metal echoed through the broken streets of Cintra. What was once a great city was reduced to rubble. And before the drawbridge of the castle, the body of a burly, bearded man lay.

Crach, Mousesack, Calanthe, and Roy remained in silence.

“My condolences, Aunt Calanthe. Eist once told me tha’ the worth of a Skellige’s child is not weighed by what they did in life, but by how they died.” Crach looked at the griffin that was flying away. “Eist died in a war for his home. His soul will find eternal freedom on the seas. Tha’ griffin must’ve been Freya’s emissary. If the gods themselves’re tellin’ ya not to die, then ya should listen ter them.”

Calanthe shook her head, her eyes set on the witcher and the mage he was holding in his arms. She felt conflicted about the whole matter, but there was also gratitude in her eyes. He’s the master of that griffin. She held her husband’s body in her arms, her fingers brushing across his face, eventually touching the bolt that took his life. Tears welled within her eyes, and memories of their relationship flooded her mind. But that was what they were now. Memories. And she sighed, hiding the pain deep in her heart.

“You’re right.” Once again, the Lioness of Cintra picked herself back up, becoming the strong and powerful queen everyone knew. “I mustn’t die here. Now, to Skellige, everyone. We shall give Eist a proper burial in his homeland. And once we are done, Nilfgaard will have hell to pay.”

“A wise decision.” Mousesack looked at Eist’s lifeless corpse and heaved a sigh. Silently, he kicked the body of Eist’s killer into the moat, wiping the blood and brain matter off his staff. “Is Ciri coming?”

“I wonder if Ciri has gone to Novigrad like Geralt said they would.” Concern welled in Calanthe’s eyes. Now the only person she worried about was her granddaughter. “I need to seek her out.”

Roy’s heart skipped a beat. Oh no. You’re not risking my Unexpected Child, Calanthe. “Your Highness, you should depart for Skellige now. I’ll deal with Ciri. And take care of yourself. Remember to care for the baby. I’ll be seeing her eventually.”

Crach froze for a moment, and then his eyes shone with curiosity. Calanthe was about to say something, but Roy cast a Sign and knocked her out. Slowly, she fell back into Crach’s arms and started snoring.

Roy nodded at the Skellige men and Mousesack. He wanted to put Triss down so she could go with them, but for some reason, the sorceress was still holding onto him tightly like an octopus. Left with no choice, Roy took her into the castle as well.

***

Flickering candlelight shone upon the corridors of the castle, sounds of footsteps echoing in the air. A petite, cloaked figure was trotting across the corridors. Ciri knew a secret passage hidden in the walls of this castle. She used to sneak out into the city through the very same passage. Of course, Calanthe caught her and gave the girl a good spanking. But now’s not the time to play. Grandpa needs me. If we’re leaving, we’re leaving together. I’m not leaving anyone behind.

But when Ciri came to the end of the passage and opened that door, she froze. Her eyes were filled with fear, for beyond that door stood a tall, burly man. He stood up straight and took off his wet cloak. His hand was holding the hilt of his blade, and his winged helm hung from his waist. The man flung his black hair back, revealing a pair of blue eyes embedded on a handsome face.

The man tried to get a hold of Ciri. A scream escaped the girl’s lips as she tried to escape the man, her hood swaying behind her. The girl was making her way to Calanthe. Roy and Geralt must be there. They’ll protect me.

But she did not make it far. Sounds of metal footsteps clanged behind her, and the man held her up in the air.

“Let me go, you meanie!” The girl bit and kicked the armored man, but all she managed was hurting herself. And thus, the man abducted Ciri, the girl powerless to stop him.

That Nilfgaardian knight placed Ciri on the back of his horse, forcing the girl to pull on the reins. She felt the horse racing past the burning city of Cintra, and the shouts of battle assailed her incessantly. Yet the horse did not stop. Her home, the castle she knew, everything was quickly leaving her.

Every bump, every pull, and every jump of the horse would send a surge of pain up her hands, yet she was forced to hold the reins. She could feel the skin on her inner thighs scraping away, but her legs couldn’t reach the stirrups. The smoke and flames irritated her eyes, making her tear up, and the armored arms that were holding her almost suffocated the princess.

“Where is he taking me?” the girl cried. “I’m sorry, Geralt. I should’ve listened to you.” A tear fell down Ciri’s cheek, and the horse galloped even faster. “But I’ll run away. I swear I’ll find you. Geralt, Grandma, Grandpa, Roy, I swear.”

***

Roy pushed the castle’s doors open. The witcher passed the deserted halls and corridors, listening for any sound that might stir the air. When the witcher made his way to the second floor, he felt a sense of unease looming over him. The same feeling he felt back on the battlefield. Like someone’s staring at me. With malice.

But Roy pretended to be oblivious to it. Every time he turned the corner, the young witcher would look through the corner of his eye, but there was no one to be found anywhere. Eventually, he finished scouring the second floor, and he moved on to the next.

Roy’s shadow darted through the walls as he searched for Ciri. “Ciri!” he shouted. With every floor he ascended, the sense of foreboding intensified. Just when he came to the top floor and heard the sound of battle, that sense of foreboding and dread finally manifested itself in the form of some people.

A flash of light appeared, and two mysterious figures stood before Roy, stopping him in his path. Our witcher turned around only to find two more silhouettes standing behind him. They were all in purple cloaks. Some were gaunt, some were burly, but all were powerful.

Their countenance was hidden beneath their cloaks, but their wild eyes flickered dangerously, setting their sights on Roy.

Roy felt his body becoming ten times heavier, and the air itself seemed to freeze. He tensed up and backed Triss up to the wall. Our witcher scanned the gaunt figure. The figure with a long face. And he gasped. “Impossible.”

‘Ivar Evil-Eye

Age: Three hundred and forty-two years old

Status: Viper, ?

HP: ?

Mana: 120

Strength: ?

Dexterity: ?

Constitution: ?

Perception: ?

Will: 12

Charisma: 6

Spirit: 12

Skills:

Alchemy Level 10, Witcher Senses Level 10, Meditation Level 9, Viper School—Dual Wielding Level 10, Witcher Signs Level 10, Griffin Arts Level 5, Blacksmithing Level 10.

Evil Eye (Passive): After surviving the first experiment, Ivar’s mutation granted him superhuman dynamic visual acuity. His eyes can capture infinite worlds, predict enemy movements, and see moments into the future.’

Ivar Evil-Eye. Grandmaster of the Viper School and Letho’s mentor. He’s still alive.

The founder of the Viper School was crossing his arms. His fiery eyes burning with white-hot flames were fixated on Roy.

Waves of shock overwhelmed Roy’s heart, but he forced himself to be calm. Then he turned his sights to the burly man beside Ivar, whose shoulders were the length of nine palms.

‘Arnaghad

Age: Three hundred and fifteen years old

Status: Bear, ?

HP: ?

Strength: ?

Dexterity: ?

Constitution: ?

Perception: 16

Will: 20

Charisma: 5

Spirit: 15

Skills:

Alchemy Level 10, Witcher Senses Level 10, Meditation Level 8, Ursine Swordplay Level 10, Witcher Signs Level 10, Griffin Arts Level 6…

Solid Ice (Passive): After surviving the first experiment, Arnaghad lost almost all human emotions. What little emotion he has left is suppressed greatly. What he paid in his humanity, he earned in great stamina and recovery. Greater than most witchers. He also fears no pain or stimulation. Immune to all skills or spells that affect the mind.’

***

An ice-cold void was the only thing in Arnaghad’s eyes, and he kept his silence. So we have a Bear and a Viper grandmaster here, which means…

Roy took a glance and gulped. One of the remaining two was Erland. The man with an eagle tattoo on his cheek. The last one was a regular-looking guy with black hair and brown eyes. He was the one who left those blueprints in Kaer Morhen—Elgar, grandmaster of the Wolf School.

They’re also the first batch of witchers. One’s a Source, and the other’s a master blacksmith. Aand… yeah, they also have their own special abilities.

‘Mana Sense (Passive): Erland’s mutation granted him a special skill. He can sense the chaos energy lingering in the air and bring it under control, helping him create and improve spells.’

‘The Path of Balance (Passive): After surviving the experiment, Elgar’s overall stats received a substantial increase. +10 to Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Perception, and Spirit.’

***

A heavy silence hung in the air, the grandmasters setting their sights on Roy. Our witcher bowed a little, sweat drenching his forehead. He felt like a panther forced into a corner by four starving lions. The legendary grandmasters. They’re still alive, but why are they seeking me out? What are they trying to do?

Roy could escape right away. Gryphon was on the top of this tower. All he had to do was teleport, but he had a lot of questions he wanted answered. Especially about the disappearances of these grandmasters. And he couldn’t just leave Triss behind.

He could feel her shiver. The hot breath of hers blowing on his back. Her breathing got heavier. She’s awake. Roy could imagine how shocked she must be. Must have frozen her in place. He pursed his lips. They’re not attacking me. Probably not Nilfgaard’s allies. I can try talking to them.

And then, a whisper akin to a breeze said, “Calm down, kid. We just wanna talk. Need to confirm something.”

“Who are you people?” Roy slowly looked at all of them. “I don’t think I’ve ever crossed you. We’re all witchers here. So can I leave after I answer your question?”

“Depends on you. If you’ll work with us, then yes. You can run, but you can’t run forever. So, answer me, which school are you from?” Ivar looked at Roy with approval in his eyes. “I saw you fight during the battle. There are hints of Viper, Wolf, and Cat swordplay in your style. A bit of everything, but it’s rare in this era.”

“I’m a Viper.” Roy heaved a sigh. As long as we can negotiate. He showed his medallion to the grandmasters with one hand and patted Triss’ cheek with the other. “Letho of Gulet inducted me.”

“That baldy, huh?” Ivar stared outside the window, spacing out. The light of reminiscence filled his eyes. “He found a good one for the school. Young, but powerful.”

“You know Letho?”

“Used to teach him for a few years.” A momentary pause swooped down. “That short-range teleportation of yours… Is that a result of your mutation?”

Roy’s heart sank. They’ve been observing me since the beginning? He stayed silent. Roy had no idea if these men had seen more of his abilities. If they did, and he lied to him about his powers, that would incur their wrath.

Ivar shook his head, smiling.

Just when he was about to say something, the aloof Arnaghad interrupted, “Not the time to reminisce, Ivar. Tell us, kid. Do you know Sasha? Sasha Crawford, or to be precise, Carthia van Canten. A graduate of Nilfgaard’s academy. A thief and a seductress.” Arnaghad had a powerful voice, not unlike rolling stones that were coming down a mountain with incredible force. “She stole something important from us. For years we’ve been trying to find it, but it’s an unpredictable item.”

Sasha Crawford? Confusion filled Roy’s eyes, and a frown creased his brows. He was trying his best to remember who that woman was.

Then, Geralt’s shouts came from the corridor’s corner. Erland snapped his fingers, and the air at the corner rippled like the surface of a lake brushed over by a gust of breeze. The White Wolf held his humming medallion with one hand and a silver sword with the other. He walked sideways like a crab and went to the next floor as if he didn’t see Roy and the grandmasters.

Roy saw him off in silence. He wished for no more sacrifices.

“Good move, kid.” Arnaghad nodded. “Now continue.”

“Before I answer your questions, I have some of my own.” Roy took a deep breath and looked at the grandmastes once more. He asked, “I have a feeling you’re important figures among withcer schools. And I’ve befriended Letho, Auckes, Vesemir, Geralt, Keldar, Jerome, and more. If their descriptions are right, you’re Ivar, Arnaghad, Elgar, and Erland, aren’t you?”

“A hundred years we’ve been gone, and yet someone still remembers us,” Elgar lamented.

“Why have you never returned to your school? What have you been doing all these years? Have you really abandoned the very school you built? The creed you’re so proud of? The students you taught?” Roy shot Erland a quizzical look. “Jerome, for example.”

“The schools represent obsolescence. Their code of neutrality, their creed… None of those are needed in our mission. We’re chasing the future.” Something stirred in Erland’s eyes. “And Jerome has fulfilled his dream moments before his demise. He left with no regrets in his heart.”

“Our dream and ambition are top secret. It’s a bit shocking to most people,” said Ivar, his eyes glinting. “We do not entertain mediocrity, nor will we tell you the answer for nothing. So tell us, where did you meet that girl? Sasha, that is.”

Roy fell silent for a moment. He could hear the grandmasters’ heartbeats, and they were steady. They’re not afraid. Must have something up their sleeves. And that woman’s not even my acquaintance. No need to keep secrets. “Fine, I’ve seen her. About two years ago.”

Sasha Crawford was a name that existed in the deepest recesses of his memory. A twist of fate led them to a near-meeting. Let’s turn back time to about two years ago. Where the very first chapter of this book took place.

A young man in Kaer of Aedirn fell into a coma after a horse bumped into him. When that young man regained consciousness, the soul of a man from another world merged with his and became the young witcher we know. And that same young man awakened something he called the character sheet.

The rider who knocked Roy out was none other than Sasha. She stole One-Eyed Jack’s prized Gwent card and rode away, escaping the clutches of that innkeeper. And that little accident gave birth to Roy’s subsequent adventures. Had that accident never taken place, Roy would have married someone in his village and raised a family while working as a farmer.

“But I’ve never talked to her at all. She almost killed me. I have no idea how she crossed you people.”

The grandmasters exchanged a look, and a hint of regret filled Ivar’s eyes. “You do not understand. You have crossed paths with her, and you might possess the very thing we are searching for. And after witnessing your powers, I’m sure of it. You’re a young, talented, and incredible witcher. This is why we’re telling you this, but we’re sorry. You cannot remain.”

“What do you mean? What did she steal from you?” A cold shudder ran down Roy’s spine, and a sense of dread filled his heart. He gently wrote a few letters on Triss’ back, and magic glimmered beneath the sorceress’ jacket.

“You’ve merged with it, haven’t you?” That was a rhetorical question from Arnaghad. “And the bonds of destiny will reunite the shards eventually.”

“Merging with it is a foolish way to utilize that power,” Erland commented matter-of-factly. “Though that item does grant the one who merged with it some special power. The mana of a mage, for example, though I am inclined to believe that power has some connection to the soul.”

“If a mediocre soul had tried to merge with that item, it would have devoured their soul, yet you still have a mind of your own. You must possess something special.” Elgar pointed at Roy’s chest.

I have something special? Wait. The seed of power. Are they talking about the character sheet? But I thought this came with me after I was transported to this world. Now they’re telling me I got it by chance when Sasha bumped into me? This is ridiculous. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Listen to me, kid—” Ivar backed off right away without finishing that sentence.

Once again, Roy cast Fear, and bloody tentacles wriggled out of the ground. Immediately, they wrapped Erland, Elgar, and Arnaghad up, lifting the grandmasters high up into the air. At the same time, Triss shoved a blast of blue air current and forced Ivar to retreat.

Roy darted backward. He didn’t hurt the grandmasters. Instead, the young witcher produced a teleportation crystal, but before he could summon a portal, Ivar came after him and kicked his hand.

The crystal fell and slid away. Furious, Roy swiveled around and sent Ivar flying with a blast of Aard. Behind him, Triss crossed her hands, and a storm of mana swiveled around her, billowing her maroon hair, brushing Roy’s cheeks. She looked just like a goddess, but the blood that trickled down her cheeks and her ghostly pale visage spoke of a woman who had been through too much.

Another portal opened, and Roy leapt toward it with Triss on his back. Alas, he did not manage to escape. A translucent wall made of air appeared before the portal, blocking Roy’s escape. He rammed into it just to fall backward, a hint of blood trickling down his forehead.

Triss grunted and fell, agony filling her eyes.

Yet another cloaked figure appeared ten yards away. His face was as pale as a cadaver’s, the look in his eyes dark, and magic flickered in his hands.

Roy took a quick look at him.

‘Idarran

Age: Three hundred and fifty years old

Gender: Male

Status: Mage, ?’

***

“So you’ve merged with a shard of the Most High, ignorant to the fact that no two Most Highs can exist in this plane of existence.” A dark smile curled the man’s lips.

The grandmasters are working with a mage notorious for his hybridizing work? What kind of organization are they in?

Roy whipped out Gwyhyr and sent an energy slash hurtling at Idarran, but the sorcerer quickly created a crimson cross before him. A gigantic centipede with a greenish-grey crab shell hopped out of the portal and came to its creator’s defense. It had a pair of pincers, and its many legs were scuttling around. Its conical maw and feelers were waving around disgustingly.

The energy slash hit the creature and swiftly cut it in half, but then it disappeared, and Idarran was unhurt. The light of surprise glinted in the mage’s eyes. He quickly weaved some gestures, magic flowing around him.

“Leave me, Roy!” Triss leaned on the wall. With one hand, she held the blood-soaked bandage on her leg, and with the other, she quickly cast a spell. “Run!”

But Roy didn’t. A roar echoed across the corridor, and gales howled in the air. Roy cast a Sign, and an illusion leapt out of the magical wave. It put Triss on its back and charged ahead, trying to break through the grandmasters.

And then Roy charged toward Idarran. He was betting on the possibility that the grandmasters would leave Triss alone. After all, Roy was their quarry here.

But his gamble failed. Ivar deftly dodged Triss’ fireball and swung his blade through the air. The illusion was destroyed, and its frost nova froze both Ivar and Triss, but the grandmaster still extended his hand and pressed down on the sorceress’ neck.

At the same time, Erland—who had recovered from Fear—crossed his hands and shoved a blast of Aard at Roy’s back.

The young witcher flew up into the air, but he summoned his Gabriel and fired a bolt into the distance. The air around him rippled, and he teleported to where the bolt was. And not a moment too soon. Idarran’s bolt of lightning would have struck him had he failed to dodge.

And then, a gust of wind came whizzing at Roy. Arnaghad was holding his greatsword up high, charging at Roy like a human tank.

Roy reacted quickly enough. He switched his hand crossbow out for a sword and turned around to block the incoming attack.

The clash of metal and tearing of air boomed across the corridor as two silhouettes moved at inhuman speeds. Their blades glinted beneath the lights of flames, the winds produced from the clashes threatening to blow the fire out.

The battle lasted for but two seconds. Roy and Arnaghad split up, standing back to back with only a distance of less than a meter between them. A gust of wind entered the corridor, and the aloof grandmaster sheathed his greatsword.

A crimson line appeared on Roy’s neck, and the skin on the base of his limbs started to crack. Blood spurted as Roy’s head, neck, limbs, chest, and torso were cut open like they were tofu. And then his blood spilled all over the ground.

The young witcher’s head rolled over to Arnaghad, while his limbs were strewn all over the place, and his innards spilled out to the floor.

The grandmaster whipped out a beautiful box and opened it up. As he held it up high, the mysterious shard lying within shone a beautiful crimson.

The lights in the corridor flickered, and the illusion of a gigantic octopus appeared on the ceiling. It let out a delighted roar, its countless tentacles dancing and swaying like monsters ready to feast.

And then the monster charged right at the witcher’s corpse. A smaller, identical version of that octopus leapt out of Roy’s body, snarling at its bigger counterpart, and yet it could do nothing but stay on his body.

There was anticipation in Idarran’s eyes, while Triss could do nothing but scream. “No… No!” She shivered, trying to break free, but to no avail. And tears fell down her cheeks.

A sigh escaped Ivar’s lips, and he knocked Triss out.

Lytta was admiring her reflection in faraway Novigrad when all of a sudden, she clutched her chest. An inexplicable fear grasped her for a moment, a tear falling down her cheek. Worried, she took out her crystal and tried to activate it, but nothing happened.

And then, there was news from the witchers at the orphanage.

***

“Arnaghad, you merciless executioner! Haven’t the countless betrayals taught you anything? Haven’t they taught you about humanity?” Ivar roared at his comrade, his face contorted with rage. “He should’ve destroyed you from the beginning!”

Arnaghad ignored the lecture. Suddenly, he muttered, “Something’s wrong.”

The octopus that was going to devour Roy slid back into the crimson shard like it was snow meeting the sun, and then something bizarre took place.

The chunks of Roy’s body glowed golden, and as if by a miracle, they started gathering and slowly healing themselves.

“Whoa, he’s still alive after all that? I can’t believe he powered that shard up so much. I’d love to let you go and see how far you can take the power, but alas.” Idarran’s eyes shone with excitement, not unlike how a starving cat would react when it saw fish. But his excitement was dangerous.

Ivar, however, stepped in before he could.

“Hold it right there. I’ll handle this. He could have killed all of you right away, but he didn’t. This calls for mercy. He shall depart this world, but not in the form of death.”

Arnaghad’s face fell, but Erland held his shoulder. Elgar stopped Idarran before he could do anything, and the mage sneered. “You’re explaining this to him when we get back.”

“I know what I have to do.”

Ivar put down the unconscious sorceress and whipped out a yellow jar. Then he took the cap off the lid. The cap with a cross and enneagram. Crimson gas flowed out of the jar, beating rhythmically as if it were a heart. Eventually, it formed an irregular ball, hovering before Ivar calmly.

The ball had a distorted head measuring six-foot tall. There was no nose, but the creature had gigantic eyes and the beak of a bird, while silver bolts of lightning danced within its body.

Ivar held the cap, his eyes fixated on the creature. And he saw countless illusions. Eerie towns covered in a blanket of fogs and plague, towering volcanoes hiding in plains shrouded in darkness, caves and mountain ranges occupied by dragons that hoarded all their riches there, tundras where mammoths and giants fought to the death, and neon lights flashing in a city of night occupied by creatures of flesh and steel.

“Wygnanie!”

A stream of light flowed from the cap Ivar was holding, and the creature’s head shone a blinding flash of white, covering the healing witcher.

A moment later, the light went away, and Roy was nowhere to be seen.

“This is farewell, boy,” Ivar muttered.

***

Not too long later, all the witchers showed up. All of them drenched in blood. Lytta and Geralt came as well, but they were too late. All they saw was an unconscious Triss and a deserted corridor.

Roy was nowhere to be found, and Geralt was reminded of Ciri’s prophetic nightmare. The same nightmare he took as a joke. For he never thought Roy would leave them, and yet here they were. Even you left. And his heart was plunged into a freezing hell.

End of Arc