The Divine Hunter

The rural areas in the north were filled with fertile fields. Crops like radishes, carrots, and chillies stood high, while bushes and weeds surrounded them. A main path sat in the center of the fields, connecting Vizima to the north as far as the eye could see.

Wheel tracks filled the path as carriages made their way to and from Vizima every day. Some were making their way to Novigrad, while some went to Gors Velen in the west. The No Man's Land, so to speak. The witchers were not going with the path, however. As planned, they rode their mounts into the great wilderness after leaving Vizima. The wilderness was a land of mystery and danger, but also one of resources and treasures.

It was early October, and fall had descended. Wild animals pranced around in the wilderness like nobody's business. They would run into foxes, deers, and reindeers coming out of the woods, bushes, and rocks, only to frolic around. Roy even saw a family of boars running between patches of grass. Papa and mama boar were leading their kids around.

After some argument, the witchers decided to let them go. They refused to tear this family apart. Eventually dusk fell, and the witchers split into two teams. Roy and Gryphon went to hunt, while the other witchers set up camp in a clearing behind a boulder and built a bonfire.

The moon climbed high up into the sky, and the aroma of meat wafted into the air along with the smoke. The young witcher held a brush with one hand, lathering spices and honey on the cleaned and disemboweled deer while spinning it around with his other hand. Eventually, the meat turned golden, tender, and juicy.

***

The witchers gathered around the bonfire. Roy took the dwarven liquor and apple cider from his inventory. They wolfed the deer down, their lips covered in grease. The big creature became nothing but a skeleton in mere moments.

"Say, you’d be a great chef if you somehow quit being a witcher." Letho licked his fingers. He still wanted more. "They'd pay you handsomely for your skills."

Serrit burped. "How about we have some beef tomorrow?" Serrit rubbed his belly and picked his teeth with his left pinky. He was starting to plan his dinners. "And then we'll have rabbit after that, then…"

***

"That's enough. I'm a witcher, not your servant.” Roy stuffed Gryphon with a piece of meat, shutting it up. It already had two rabbits earlier, but it wanted more.

"You should be honored, Roy. It's tradition for the youngest witcher to cook for his seniors." Auckes shot up and beckoned at Roy. He grinned toothily. "Well, we had our fill, so time for some exercise. And by that I mean we're sparring."

***

They had their sparring session, then the witchers cast Axii to calm their mounts down. They spread dried forktail excrements around their camp, stopping any creatures from disturbing their sleep. One witcher would stay up and watch the camp. Beasts were not the only threat in the wilderness. Monsters like endregas, basilisks, and kikimores might ambush them, and someone had to fight.

Roy was not on night watch duty though. He would sit around the bonfire and listen to his comrades talking about their adventures in the dangerous south and how they fought off dangerous monsters. Most importantly, they would talk about their combat experience. For example, potion usage and monster recognition. Naturally, they would also spar and train his combat sense.

Roy would also train Gryphon. Sometimes, he would sneak out of the camp late at night and take the telescope out to chat with Coral, who was miles away in Kerack.

A week had passed, but nothing particularly dangerous showed up, save for a grizzly bear. However, the witchers finally ran into something peculiar on one overcast day.

Dark, clumpy clouds covered the sky. The sun was blotted out, and the air itself felt tense. A gust of cold wind blew across the wilderness, pushing the bushes down, silencing the chirping bugs.

The witchers were still moving slowly ahead, but they set their gaze on a small path that was standing between fences. A row of dilapidated buildings stood at the end of that path. It was a small village.

"Do you smell that?" Letho sniffed the air. There was the smell of soil, plants, and animals, but there was also something else. Something… odd. The witchers sniffed the air for a while, and their faces fell. A faint scent of blood was coming from the village, and not just animal blood. There was human blood as well.

"Be careful…"

They tied their horses to a nearby tree and took cover under the big elephant grass. They snuck closer to the village and hid behind a small hut made of wood, soil, and hay. The witchers listened for a while, but only silence greeted them. There was not a sound, not even a moo or a cluck. They heard no breathing or heartbeat either.

Things were looking weird, and the witchers were on high alert. They climbed up the rooftop quietly and crouched on it like cats, observing the village from a bird's eye view. Dozens of huts made out of hay and wood stood in front of them. Most of them were people's homes, but there were some larger huts too. Some were inns, and some had whetstones in the yard. Those were blacksmith shops. However, there were no blacksmiths around.

It would have been normal if this were an abandoned village, but there were messy footprints, wheel tracks, and horseshoe prints on the path in the center of the village. It was proof that there were human activities not too long ago.

"What happened here?" They leaped down from the roof and split up, looking in the directions the blood led them to. Eventually, they found weird clues spread across the whole village. There were signs of bloody struggles, dried blood, and cattle corpses lying around. "Well, it doesn't seem like a ghoul attack to me."

Roy pulled an arrow out of the livestock farm's fence. The arrowhead was made of steel, and the workmanship was crude. It was primitive and had some faults. The maker was obviously not a professional.

The young witcher froze up when he looked into the farm. A corpse was lying quietly in a stack of hay. He went inside to check it out. The victim was around fifteen or sixteen. She was a fair and lovely lady. All the boys in the village would love to marry someone like her, but her life ended before it could even start.

He confirmed that she died from asphyxiation. She was throttled and abused before she died. Obviously, there was more than one killer. He took a deep breath and balled his fists. Eventually, his comrades came in. They had seen similar things happen many times in their lifetimes, so they were not fazed.

"I know how you feel, kid," Letho said. "We'll bury them later. They should rest in peace."

"Them?" Roy was surprised.

"Come here. We found something."

The most spacious hut in the village was the inn. Its door was kicked in, and the glass bottles on the counter were smashed. The floor was filled with glass shards and wine. The air was filled with a sickly intoxicating scent fused with the stench of blood. The trail led them to the main hall.

The tables and chairs were destroyed and pushed aside, while a pile of corpses stood in the center's clearing. There were thirty-five of them. The witchers took them down and laid them out to take a look. There were men, women, children, and the elderly there. Most of them were gaunt, had callused hands, and their skin was rough. They were the local villagers alright, but all of them were dead.

"We've checked these guys, and they were all killed by the sword," Serrit said. "Judging from the shape and depth of the wounds, I'd say there were at least ten killers, and all of them powerful men. But they've never been trained, and their skills are more flashy than practical. Most wounds are redundant."

Lots of the corpses were smeared with a layer of alcohol, as if the robbers were trying to pull a sick prank. All they needed was a fire, and these bodies would have turned to ash.

"Most robbers would usually destroy the bodies, but they didn't. It's like they don't care. They're probably some ragtag soldiers passing by." Letho paused for a moment. "You should have noticed the horseshoe prints on the path. The killers are probably long gone."

"You want to avenge them?" Auckes snickered.

"Yes." Roy tensed up and took a deep breath. "It's our job to hunt down monsters that hurt humans. You saw the girl. Those bastards assaulted her." His eyes gleamed coldly. "Shouldn't we kill them? There are more than ten of them. They have to stop and make camp somewhere. It'll be easy to catch up to them if we just try."

"Yes, but you forgot the witcher's rule—equivalent exchange, and mind our own business. We're not knights like the guys from Griffin School. We have no time for charity," Serrit retorted. "It's already kind enough that we bury them."

"I don't mind chasing them down." Auckes shrugged. "Letho—"

"Hold it. Someone's around." Letho looked at a tree far away from them. "Look behind you!"

Roy swiveled around and looked to where Letho was pointing. A big banyan tree stood outside the inn's window. It was on the other side of the village, and a petite silhouette was climbing down the tree.

***

"What's your name, child?"

He was a boy of about seven or eight. His clothes were in tatters, and he smelled like food that had gone sour. His face was caked in soil, dust, and dried dirt. The boy was scrawny from malnutrition, and ribs poked through his chest. He was trembling uncontrollably, staring at the witchers in fear. He leaned back against the cold, hard well, keeping his mouth shut like a scared little deer.

"Don't worry. We won't hurt you." Roy cast Axii to calm him down and win his trust. When the boy's fear had gone down, he handed some jerky to him. The boy took it and wolfed it down.

"Ca-Carl. That's my name," the boy finally said.

The veteran witchers stared at the boy, and they were seemingly coming up with a plan.

"Do you live in this village, Carl? What happened here?"

The boy choked on himself, and he coughed violently, as if something were stuck in his throat. Roy patted his back and handed a pot of water to him. When Carl calmed down, he puckered his lips, and tears fell down his cheeks. "Dead. Everyone's dead. The chief… Miss Sheena… Mr. Tom… Even Mr. Duncan!" the boy wailed.

"Who did this?"

"A bunch of meanies! Bandits!" Carl screamed a curse, baring his teeth like a wolf's cub, but then he cried again.

"How many of them were there?" Letho asked.

"Sixteen." Carl hiccuped and bit the jerky. "They rode into the village and attacked everyone. I hid in the tree." He cried. "I was scared."

"You did well. You're very brave." Auckes patted his unkempt hair. "Do you have any family elsewhere?"

The boy did not answer. His tears and snot dribbled down his face as he cried. That was what the witchers wanted to hear, and they exchanged looks.

Before they could say anything, the boy suddenly answered, "But I have a teacher. He asked me to wait for him right here. He'll avenge my friends."

"Teacher? What teacher?" Auckes was frustrated. He thought he could get a new witcher for the school, but now his hopes were dashed.

The boy licked his lips and hesitated for a while, then he slowly took a pendant out to show the witchers. It was made out of black rope, and a silver pendant hung from the top. It was the shape of an animal's head. A cat's head, to be specific. Its mouth was open, its fangs bared, and its eyes were gleaming.

***

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