The Divine Hunter

The burning sunlight fell upon the swamp.

The steam began to rise, and some green figures could be vaguely seen zooming through the wispy smokes.

It was a band of drowners running wildly.

Scales were loosely growing on their smooth gills, and a thin webbing was connecting their fingers and toes at the end of their limbs.

They were like webbing from ducks so they could swim easily.

They had large and sharp ears, and their white eyes were lacking pupils like patients suffering from cataracts. There were sharp teeth crossing with each other in the large mouths underneath their tiny noses.

“@&%#…”

A drowner that was dancing in the mist suddenly stopped, curiously scanning around it.

Its nose twitched like that of a hound, and a strange smell made it look towards its right. A figure wielding a longsword appeared.

Food! Flesh!

In that instant, the drowner screeched out excitedly like a cat when smelling the scent of fish. It showed its teeth as it pounced towards its prey.

Whoosh…!

A scintillating arc was drawn in the air, and it was like thunder booming on a clear day. The drowner’s running figure suddenly stopped, and a line painted with the color of blood was formed on its neck.

Thud!

Its headless body fell into the shallow swamp, and its cleanly cut throat had been burned to a crisp black by a formless flame. Only a little blood had actually been spilled.

“@&%#…”

The other five noticed that something had happened and they jumped out from the mist from some distance away, and they then pounced towards the figure with claws extended.

The drowner killer held his longsword in front of him with his right hand and then grabbed into the air. A small, gray-colored crossbow appeared in his hand.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh…

The crossbow string sprang, and the sound of something streaking through the air rang repeatedly.

Roy instantly fired three crossbow bolts, and two of them changed direction mid-air. Three of the drowners running towards him stopped dead in their tracks as blood burst out between their eyes and forehead. They then dropped dead immediately.

The other two drowners had already made their way towards him, and they opened their mouths filled with jagged teeth and minced meat, and let out a breath of hot, putrid air.

He still remained calm until the fetid breath swayed the hair on his forehead. The crossbow disappeared and, in the blink of an eye, he drew a blue-colored triangle sign with the finger on his left hand.

And he pushed…

Aard!

Boom! A loud explosion pushed the mist outward!

Powerful airflow exploded from within the sign.

A drowner was immediately flipped over.

“Fear!”

The witcher’s eyes turned red, and the last drowner instantly lost its ability to control its body and rammed itself straight into a blade.

Gwyhyr easily pierced under its jaw, and straight into its brain.

Spurt…

He pulled his blade back, and the blood slid off the gleaming blade as it sliced through the air.

The witcher then used his right foot as support and spun around as he sliced. A giant head shot up into the air.

In less than twenty seconds, all six drowners had become corpses.

“Drowners killed. Experience +20×6. Witcher Level 5 (1020/2500).”

The “Drowner Killer” panted and kicked away the corpse of the monster as he wiped the blood from his face. He then took out a sharp dagger, and knelt down to reap his spoils.

He opened their skulls and took out the drowner brain, and then cut out the organs, webbing and ears.

The rotten smell, thick blood and sticky flesh didn’t even cause his expression to change.

It was as if he were simply going through his day job.

***

After some time, the young witcher who had finished harvesting the materials patrolled the other half of the swamp again. When he could no longer find signs of any drowners, he then used the swamp water to wash the grime off his leather armor and skin as well as freshen himself up a bit. He then took a bloodied linen sack with him as he left.

Outside of the swamp, an even larger, bald figure stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Similarly, he held a bloodied sack in his hand.

“How’s your harvest, boy?”

“Twelve ears…” He shook the sack in his hand at the bald man, his slightly youthful face filled with disappointment. “Six drowners… I don’t have enough yet!”

The bald man grinned, flashing his white teeth as he raised the sack in his hand. “I have fourteen. You lose. Dinner is still yours tonight!”

“Haah, lucky bastard! I’ve already prepared half a month’s worth of dinner.” The young witcher’s expression was filled with frustration as he waved his hand. “If this continues, I’ll end up being a cook, right?”

“What are you complaining about? This is training your survival skills,” Letho said. As a thought crossed his mind, he reminded him, “This time, don’t you dare deceive me again and cut my rewards.”

“Can you trust me a bit more? I’m the treasurer that you personally appointed!” Roy said as he began counting his fingers. “I’m simply trying to be frugal and save some money beforehand… Since we want to build a branch for the School of the Viper in the Northern Kingdoms, we’ll first need to earn enough money to buy a landed estate. And then, we need to renovate, buy materials… We need ten-thousand crowns at least to cover all these expenses. That’s why we need to plan early.”

“Stop! Enough! You’re the boss when it comes to the finances!” The powerful man’s expression was filled with annoyance. He was getting a headache as he heard all those numbers. “You can save half of the rewards, but you need to leave me some money for beer.”

***

The two of them had left Ellander for about half a month. They had also accepted a few contracts to eliminate nekkers and drowners. They earned some money, but to Roy, the biggest reward was still the experience and newly learned skills.

Witcher Signs LVL1: After being taught by the witchers, you have begun mastering the five basic signs: Igni, Aard, Axii, Quen and Yrden.

The power of the signs is related to one’s Spirit and Skill Level.

***

Roy’s Spirit had surpassed the witchers’, but his sign levels were quite low. Despite expending the same twenty mana, the power of his sign was much weaker than Letho’s.

But the strangest part was that every time he used a sign, the amount of mana he expended would be different. It would range from ten to twenty.

According to Letho, that was because he hadn’t yet fully mastered the seals and couldn’t use it on reflex. He still had a long way to go.

***

The two of them were chatting when they reached a simple village about 500 meters away from the swamp.

Several strong men wearing linen clothing and headscarves greeted them while they were still far away.

They didn’t conceal the prudence in their eyes when they looked at the two witchers as they tightly held their hoes, sickles, pitchforks, and other “weapons”, as if they wanted to expel some dire beasts.

At this time, the village chief who had a beard and a crooked back walked out of the crowd of about a dozen villagers. He straightened his neck and then asked with a hardened tone, “The drowners are dead?”

The young witcher threw the two heavy, bloodied sacks onto the ground and said in a cool tone, “Twenty-six ears from thirteen drowners. You can count them. There will be no more monsters harassing you from the swamp. You’re safe, at least for the next year or two.”

The village chief gave the strong villager next to him a look, and the villager immediately went over and opened the sack and began counting. He then nodded at the others.

“Correct. Thirteen drowners.’

The bearded man plotted in his mind and then had someone deliver them a bag of crowns. “This is the reward that we’ve promised. We no longer owe each other anything. You two can leave now.”

“Wait, the numbers seem to be lacking.” As soon as he held the bag, Roy realized something was wrong.

“There are only fifty crowns in this bag, right? If I remember correctly, the amount we were promised was a hundred crowns.”

“Do you think we’re fools? Do you think we witchers can’t count?”

This was not the first time they had encountered villagers who wanted to renege on a deal. Not all villagers knew the power of the witchers.

Most of them were silly plebs. They believed in the wild rumors, and as such looked down and hated the witchers.

They knew the witchers were good at slaying monsters. But they didn’t know the blades in their hands… were also used to kill men like animals.

“Those who did not know how to respect others wouldn’t live long.”

Roy’s dark, golden pupils turned into diamonds as he scanned the men with violent intent.

He looked like a beast that was choosing its prey.

The bald man stood next to him with his arms crossed, and the muscles on his arms began to show. His eyes were filled with murderous intent, and his expression was so cold it could freeze men in place.

The atmosphere was extremely dangerous. The village chief’s skinny body trembled, but the villagers behind him were trying to raise his spirits and took a step forward towards the witchers with their hoes and pitchforks in hand.

“That’s all we have. Take the rewards and leave! Or you won’t get even one crown!”

“Do you think the witchers are all easy prey? That you can intimidate us however you want? You need to give us fifty more crowns!”

Roy said menacingly, “Or we’ll take your heads!”

His right hand suddenly reached to his back and he drew out Gwyhyr. There was still a sliver of blood left on the blade’s glistening edge. He’d intentionally left it there.

When the villagers saw that, their faces turned pale as they watched in horror. They had finally regained some of their sense. The witchers could easily kill dozens of drowners. How were they supposed to fight against them?

At the same time, the tall and huge Letho seemed to have received some kind of signal and moved his short and thick neck… And cracked his giant fists.

“Just in time. Those dozens of drowners weren’t enough for me.”

“Stop! You can take them!”

The bearded man finally succumbed and wiped away the cold sweat on his forehead. He quickly took out another pouch of crowns and threw it at them.

“A hundred crowns in total! Not one coin less! Are you two happy?”

Roy put away the pouch, satisfied, and exchanged a glance with the man.

“The contract is concluded. Goodbye then, you fools!”

“One final word of advice. Not all witchers are as friendly as us.”

“If you try to renege on a deal next time… every single person in your village might end up dead.”

***

Once they left the village far enough as they took their horses with them, Roy asked curiously, “If the villagers didn’t want to pay up, were you going to attack?”

“Once they’ve been beaten up and have some sores, they will naturally know the importance of trust and give up the money.” The witcher’s voice suddenly stopped as his expression turned cold. “But if they dare to use their weapons…”

Roy understood. The bald man must have killed plenty of people in his long life.

If they were to attack the villagers, that meant they would have to kill every single one of them. If any one of them survived, the witcher would become a wanted criminal. There were several examples in history. Roy knew several himself.

But he didn’t think too much about whether he should kill or not. His reflexes would make the choice for him.

“We will never know if the person who issues the contract is someone trustworthy or someone who will renege on the deal.”

“But there is one thing we can be sure of. Ninety-nine percent of the villagers had not mastered the ability to kill Geralt by poking him at his waist.”