The Divine Hunter

Chapter 201: Chase

House of the Queen of the Night, Trade Quarter, Vizima.

The magical light hanging from the ceiling cloaked the lobby in a soft light, the soothing tune of the lute whispering into the ears of the patrons. Roy was sitting before the counter, dumbfounded. Voluptuous, scantily-clad women walked around the premises. Some chatted with the customers, while some were dancing by themselves in a corner, attracting anyone who would watch.

All of them had great looks and even greater figures. Every move they made was filled with allure, and the look in their eyes could draw the attention of anyone who looked, sucking them in like black holes.

Roy kept his slightly trembling hands from getting out of control, and he downed the whole Bloody Mary in one go. The fiery aftertaste of the alcohol shocked him awake.

Rumors had it that the Queen of the night, a higher vampire, opened a brothel in Vizima. All the female employees were made up of higher vampires and bruxae. Roy believed it to be true and snooped around alone. Letho was not informed, lest his hatred for vampires lead them into danger.

When he finally came to the establishment, Roy knew that the rumor was just a lie. The brothel was filled with beautiful women, yes, but all of them were just human.

***

The scent of jasmine came from the staircase, and Roy turned around. A mature, beautiful woman slowly came down from the stairs. She had long, reddish-brown hair, and features that seemed harder than most women. Her aquiline nose and tightly pursed lips spoke of her tough personality, and her dark crimson, sleeveless dress had slits that traveled from her chest to her waist, revealing all the skin underneath.

Her skirt barely covered her knees, and she was wearing a pair of long leather boots. She looked like someone working in a construction site wearing those boots, but it did not take away from her beauty. “I don’t really see someone your age coming to a brothel.” The woman noticed the look Roy was giving her, and she smiled at the witcher. “Shall I introduce someone to you? She’s a veteran. You’ll love her.”

“Milady, might you be the Queen of the Night?”

“My name is Sharika. The owner is on a trip to visit her friend. It might be weeks before she returns. Do you need to see her?”

“I heard that this is the best place for information.” Roy tapped on the table. “I am more than happy to pay for it.”

A nice scent brushed across his nose. The woman sat beside Roy, staring straight at him. “If that’s what you need, I can answer all your questions.”

“I am looking for a master blacksmith in Vizima. Someone who can make quality weapons.” Roy omitted some information. “He has the eyes of a beast and used to be a mercenary.”

“It’ll cost you this much. No haggling.” The woman raised five fingers.

“I thought it’s only thirty crowns.” Roy cocked his eyebrow. “Are you trying to cheat me out of my money?”

“It’s the Church of Virtue’s fault. They showed up out of nowhere and attracted all the rich men in the trade quarter. Business has been bad lately, so we need to balance it out.”

The look in the woman’s eyes became hostile, and Roy could hear her gnash her teeth.

“Church of Virtue?” Roy paused for a moment. “How does forty crowns sound?”

“This is not the marketplace. No haggling.”

Roy gritted his teeth and pretended to look really hesitant. When the woman was about to run out of patience, he sighed. “Fine. Fifty crowns it is.”

“It’ll take a few hours to get the news you want. In the meantime…” Sharika pursed her lips and smiled. “Why don’t I get you a lady?”

“No, thank you. Give me an apple cider.” Roy stared at the Gwent board not far away, and he cracked his knuckles. It’s been a while since I played a game.

***

Two hours later, Sharika came back to Roy’s side, looking surprised. I thought there were a few customers playing Gwent here. Where’d they go? “You’re in luck. My friend has news about a master blacksmith that fits your description, and he’s in Vizima.” She paused for a moment, staring unblinkingly at Roy.

Roy handed her the fifty crowns as payment. He won it through the Gwent games he played earlier. “Where is he? And who is this blacksmith we’re talking about?”

“His name is Berengar. He lives in the temple area, and he’s…” Sharika paused for a moment. “He used to be a Wolf School witcher. He’s the one who made a sword named Tor’haerne, and there’s news about him circulating in Vizima’s marketplace.”

“A Wolf School witcher? And his name is Berengar?” A smile curled Roy’s lips.

“But do be careful,” Sharika emphasized. “Berengar despises that part of him. He probably won’t be friendly to fellow witchers.”

***

The remaining rays of the sun swept through the lands, and two witchers came into the temple area of Vizima. The towering statue of the Lady of the Lake stood proudly in the plaza’s center. Knights of the order were giving out food to the people who lined up under the statue. On the other hand, Lebioda’s hospital, which was also in the same area, looked a lot quieter than usual.

Lebioda was famous in the north, but he was not a real god. The best his ‘priests’ could do was scam and lie to the masses. They could never show any real miracle. The patron goddess of the Church of Virtue, however, truly existed. She could perform miracles from time to time, making her look more reputable.

Thanks to the church’s high priest, Princess Adda, the triads in the temple area had stopped their activities. Security had never been better, and the people had gained real benefits from putting their faith in Vivienne. A part of Lebioda’s believers switched their belief halfway through as well.

***

The witchers cut across the center area and weaved through a few dark alleyways before arriving at an area populated by short, dilapidated buildings.

“Number 250, Hemp Alley, Temple Area. Not my favorite number, but whatever.” Roy stood before a blackened door and knocked on it. He did not get any response.

Letho put his ear against the door, and his face fell. He heard something rustling within, but the sound quickly faded away. “Go round the back, Roy. This guy is making a run for it.”

The witchers went to the sides of the house and looked up. A silhouette was standing on the third floor’s windowsill. He curled up and sprang to the next house, landing on the roof neatly. He held a tile down with one hand, knelt on one knee, and stared at the witchers.

“Don’t run, Berengar! Listen to me!” Roy shouted at him, but the witcher did not give them any chance to explain themselves. He ran across the roof, looking like a scared bird.

The witchers exchanged looks, and they flanked the house. A short windup later, Roy leaped up the wall and crawled up like a lizard. It did not take too long for him to get to the roof.

Berengar had put a considerable distance between them. He was agile and could run across the roofs as if he were on level ground. “Hey, we’re the customers here! Why are you running? Don’t you want to make money?” Roy chased after him. He had double the Dexterity of most people, and his balance was superb. He too could run across roofs as if they were on level ground.

Letho went to the other side. If Roy was as quick as a bunny, then the veteran witcher was probably nearing the speed of sound. He left afterimages behind him as he ran.

The setting sun draped a golden cloak on the buildings of the temple area, but three little black dots marred the perfect sight. They kept traversing across roofs, blinking as if they were stars. The chase was like a platforming game for them as they jumped across roofs like a certain game character.

Their superhuman physical abilities allowed them to parkour across the roofs and perform impossible actions. Running on tiptoes, jumping on tiptoes, crawling like a cat, and even doing backflips in the air. They used every move in the book as long as it made running easier. It was fast and dangerous, as if they were in a deadly parkour.

Roy had reached top speed as he traversed the outer side of the roof. He focused and took a deep breath before leaping across the air. The air around him whooshed across like wind, billowing his hair. He looked like a great bird gliding across the air. The young witcher landed a hundred yards away. His heart was thumping furiously, but he rolled forward and got up just to spring into action again.

No matter what he did, however, the distance between him and the veteran witchers started getting bigger and bigger as time passed. Their stats were almost double his, and it was a great gap to close, but he had an idea.

A glinting arrow cut through the alleyway. The air started rippling, and something exploded. The young witcher disappeared into thin air just to reappear about forty yards away out of nowhere. He disappeared again and reappeared on the roof, blinking in and out of existence as he closed the distance.

***

Letho was closing the distance between him and Berengar. He could see the witcher clearly now. The man was lean, and his attire mostly looked like a witcher’s. He was wearing a grey, leather jacket and a pair of tight-fitting pants. His jacket was sleeveless, and it revealed his lean, muscular arms.

When there were only five yards left between them, Letho roared, “Stop right now!” He tossed a handful of gleaming crowns to the witcher before him. Letho got the coins from Roy earlier.

Berengar was running too quickly for him to dodge the coins. They hit him everywhere, and his calves gave out. He fell down the roof.

Letho jumped down as well, but a blade flew across the air and charged straight at him. It caught him by surprise, but he sidestepped it easily, and the blade whizzed past the side of his head. It sent a chill down his spine. “Hold it!” Letho unsheathed his steel weapon.

The blade he dodged earlier flew back for a rematch, but Letho managed to block it with his sword.

A clash of the blades later, the witchers locked gazes on the roof, and sparks flew between them.

Letho was a burly man who looked like a small hill, and a viper pendant hung from his neck. Berengar seemed lean, and he had a dark look in his eyes, but there was no pendant hanging from his neck. He held his blade in an offensive stance, crouching down as he awaited his chance to pounce.

“Listen to—”

Berengar pounced before Letho could finish. Hits rained down on the veteran witcher, and Letho only defended. When Berengar showed no signs of letting up, it fueled Letho’s flame of fury, and he responded in kind.

The screech of metal clashing exploded in the narrow alleyway. The witchers crossed blades, and sparks flew between them, lighting up the darkness for a moment.

Letho swung his blade down, but Berengar retreated. He sidestepped the blade and thrusted his sword forward. The man was experienced, and he thrusted his sword straight at Letho’s arteries, heart, throat, and groin.

He did not get greedy, however. If his attack was blocked, he would back off and circle Letho, preventing him from attacking. Berengar had a great variety of attacks and had no pattern for Letho to recognize. Every time Letho thought he would go on the offensive, Berengar would retreat after he made a thrust. Whenever he thought Berengar would back off, he would go on the offensive and aimed straight at the fatal areas.

He might be at a disadvantage when it came to physical capabilities, but he more than made it up with his swordsmanship. At the moment, the two witchers were in a stalemate.

However, Letho eventually managed to find an opening. He struck Berengar’s blade down and closed in. Metal screeched again as they clashed, and a moment later, their crossguards locked each other down. At this point, it was down to which witcher had the greater strength.

Letho was like a human-sized minotaur. He held the hilt of his sword down and pushed Berengar back. The both of them were red with exhaustion, and they were huffing and puffing. With one hand, Letho made a sign in the air, and Aard exploded in the claustrophobic alleyway. The recoil from the shockwave sent the witchers back in two different directions.

Letho took two steps back, but he was still standing, while Berengar was pushed to a corner and fell down, looking dazed.

A moment later, Roy leaped down from the roof, but the battle had ended. He shot a bolt at Berengar, and it ricocheted off the ground.

“Stop!” Berengar let out a sigh. “I lost. I yield.” He hung his head low, raised his sword, and tossed it aside. He massaged his numb arm, looking like a beast who was recuperating after it lost a battle. “This is not my day. What brings two witchers here hunting me down? Did something bad happen?”

“None of this would have happened if you yielded earlier.” Letho took a deep breath, holding his frustration down. He scanned Berengar’s blade. The blade glinted blue, like a sapphire. An engraving could be seen on the fuller as well. Letho then looked at his own sword. It was already worn down, and the blade was chipped.

“Are you Berengar, the Wolf School witcher who made Tor’haerne?”

“A little correction there.” Berengar leaned back against the wall languidly. He eased up, seemingly already given up on resisting. “I’ve disassociated myself with the school many years ago, and I have never returned to Kaer Morhen. I am just a mercenary now. A pitiful tramp. Now give me a quick death. I’m not fond of torture.”

“Torture? Is that some sort of blacksmithing skill?” Roy joked, going up to him. “If it’ll help with the blacksmithing, I don’t mind doing that.”

Berengar tilted his head curiously. “You’re not here for my life?”

“You thought we were going to kill you?” Roy chortled. “Berengar, this is a big misunderstanding. It has been years since the Viper School had taken an assassination request, and we don’t have any mission like that either.”

Berengar froze for a moment. “Why’d you come after me like you wanted to kill me, then?” He looked at Letho and bared his teeth. “Never saw a big guy like you running like that. I almost can’t feel my legs from running so much.”

“What kind of assassin would use coins as weapons?” Letho crossed his arms. “And I could say the same to you. You were obviously trying to kill me back there.”

“And you didn’t give us a chance to explain. You just tried to run,” Roy added. “What else could we do?”

He has a point.

An awkward silence fell between them.

“There’s an unwritten rule in the world or mercenaries. It goes something like ‘true friends are made in battle.’ Berengar, we’ve battled, so—”

“Ah, cut the crap. All I care about are the coins.”

Roy extended his hand. “Very well. I shall pay for your services.”

***

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