The Divine Hunter

Chapter 235: Fate in the Web

The dark clouds that hung over Vizima for the whole afternoon faded in the evening. The rain cleansed the smog, and the sky was gleaming blue. A dreamy rainbow was hanging on it as well.

The witchers had searched most of the cultists' abodes, and they noticed something wrong. The cultists came from all walks of life. Some were merchants, some were laborers, some were worksmiths, some were beggars, some were soldiers, some were Vizima's public servants, and some were serial killers. Almost half of the cultists killed themselves, including the couple they found at first.

They even hid themselves in conspicuous places before they killed themselves. Locked basements, storerooms under stairs, attics above ceilings, and more. It was as if they were trying to buy as much time as possible before their bodies were found.

"This is… unnerving." All the ‘martyrs' had their scriptures around with them, and there were notes written in all of them. Some were like diaries, while some were in-depth analysis of themselves. The things they read depicted a rough outline of the cultists’ lives.

They were a bunch of people living in hell. Life robbed them of something important once, and they broke down from it. Either that, or they were twisted people. Their notes in the scriptures told of their evil worldviews. Roy was not surprised people like that were cultists. The Lionheaded Spider encouraged live sacrifices. An evil and cruel god like that could only attract madmen and weirdos.

Most people would stay away from it. That was why the cult only had a few dozen members even though they were already around for decades. Unfortunately, the dead cultists did not point to where Abigail was hiding right now.

The other half had left Vizima before Adda could track them down. Perhaps they thought it was not the time to return to the fold. They took everything valuable and left an empty house for the witchers to search.

***

"One cultist left."

They came to the poorest street in the temple area—Arch Alley. An old man in tattered clothes sat cross-legged on the stone ground in the alleyway. The ground was wet and cold after the rain. He curled his gaunt body up like a stray dog, shivering and muttering something under his breath.

The witchers tossed a bronze coin into his empty bowl, but the beggar did not get delighted at all. His eyes were still empty and glossed over.

"Hey!" The witcher crouched and stared straight at the beggar. The beggar had prominent cheekbones, dead eyes, flat nose, and dark lips. He was nothing but skin and bones. The beggar was covered in a tattered canvas. His ribs were exposed, and his hair was unkempt. Dandruff and oil clumped it up, and there was lice jumping on his head. There was a strong odor coming from him as well.

He stared up at the witchers for a moment and went back to muttering under his breath without even asking them anything. He did not even thank them.

"Grayba the Black," Roy said. "Coram Agh Tera."

The beggar smiled weakly. His teeth were decayed, black, and yellowed. "I haven't seen you before." His voice was a whisper, as if he had not eaten in days. It was raspy, as if he had a blob of phlegm stuck to his throat. "But I know you, heretic. You're the Lady of the Lake's lapdogs. You can't fool me."

"You have a deathwish, you old git?" Auckes snarled at him and held the hilt of his blade. The beggar stared straight at him. There was no fear in his eyes.

"Gill… Ah, I should just call you Biravis." Roy stopped Auckes and cast Observe. "Don't look so surprised. Not only do I know your real name, I also know you were born in Maribor. You're forty-eight years old, and you're a believer of the Omen God.

"Who are you?" The beggar looked surprised. He had never told anyone about that, save for his god.

"Why don't you answer one of my questions first? Just to be fair," Roy said. Before Biravis could say anything, he said, "Your fellow cultists either killed themselves or fled from Vizima. Why are you staying back? You're just a beggar. The princess' men could arrest you at any time."

Serrit added, "Trying to get into jail so they can feed you and you won't have to wander around?"

The beggar was not riled up at all. He leaned against the wall and gave them a smirk. "Ah, I was mistaken. You're no heretics. You're misguided lambs. Ones without a god." He was but a beggar, but Biravis thought of himself as a higher being. He was looking at the witchers with pity. "Escape is nothing but betrayal to my god. Those who escaped will be sentenced to eternal torture after their deaths. There is no such thing as escape when it comes to me. If you're willing to repent and put your faith in my lord, I can begrudgingly guide you to the path of enlightenment. I shall lead you away from the whirlpool of ignorance." The beggar was unkempt and squalid, yet he could muster a serious look, and a hint of holy light appeared in his eyes. "Serve the lord, and the lord shall grant you entrance to the eternal web."

The witchers exchanged looks. They thought it was ridiculous that a beggar was trying to proselytize them.

"Everyone can make themselves out to be a hero, Biravis, but that doesn't change the fact that you're a coward. If escape is blasphemy, then why did your oh-so-respectable high priestess become a blasphemer as well?"

Biravis said nothing. Apparently, the subject of Abigail was touchy.

"Think about it." Roy sighed. "If you're not escaping, then why didn't you become a martyr like the others? Are you scar—"

"Suicide was the path our great Coram showed them, but it is not my path, nor is it the great priestess'."

"The Lionheaded Spider decides how its believers die? What's your final destination, then?" Serrit grinned toothily, but his gaze was as sharp as his blade.

The beggar looked up and craned his neck. It was as if he were waiting for his sweet relief from the witchers.

"We won't kill you, you poor sod. The knights will do that for us." Roy tossed another bronze coin into the bowl and pretended to leave.

The beggar heaved a sigh of relief, but Roy suddenly turned around and cast Axii on the beggar. The moment the sign hit him, his eyes glossed over, and he lost himself.

"Let's have an honest chat, Biravis." Roy kept on casting Axii, and he asked, "Why did Abigail sabotage Adda?"

"The scroll…" Biravis' eyes went out of focus, and he stopped resisting. He answered monotonously, "Adda took away the holy relic. Coram was furious. The believers sacrificed their lives to appease the lord, but it's not enough. The lord demands revenge."

"She… She's…" The beggar was starting to break up. He would tense up for a moment and relax the next.

"Think closely. You know where she is, right? She's safe, isn't she? Hiding somewhere we never thought she would?" Roy asked gently, guiding the answer out of him.

The beggar started shaking his head violently. He straightened his arms and legs, and he started spasming. The beggar started letting out a guttural growl, and his eyes flickered back and forth between white and black. It was more terrifying than having a fit.

Roy backed off, and his companions unsheathed their silver blades. The old beggar spasmed for about ten seconds. When he finally stopped, his face was blood-red, veins popped on his neck, and his eyes were completely black. To make things even worse, his limbs turned around, and he leaned back against the wall, scuttling up the arch like a spider.

He stared down at the witchers, his eyes like a pair of deep dark abyss, sucking in the souls of those who stared at it for too long. "Sinners, you have blasphemed the lord!" The beggar's voice had changed. It was as if countless humans of all ages were shouting at the same time, and their voices merged as one.

A burst of gale blew in the alleyway, billowing the beggar's hair. "Curse you, Roy, Auckes, and Serrit of the Viper School!" he roared. "In the name of Grayba the Black, I shall curse you to an e—"

Someone cast Aard and stopped the beggar from finishing his sentence. A flash of light arced through the air, leaving a mirage of a crescent moon behind. The mirage flickered out of existence, and Roy flung the blood off his blade. He sheathed Aerondight into its scabbard, and a decapitated head rolled over to him.

It was the head of that beggar. The ghost of his last curse was still etched on his face. The moment he died, the wind went silent as well.

"How do you feel? Feeling unwell anywhere?"

Auckes shook his head. The battle might have ended, but he still shuddered when he thought about it. "The curse must have been stopped."

"I have to be faster next time." Roy was frustrated. "But he was our final lead, and we still don’t know where Abigail is."

"Agreed!" Auckes shared his sentiment. "We'd best stay out of this whole mess."

***

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