The Divine Hunter

Chapter 551: Spare No One

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

The air was stultifying, filled with the scorching heat of the sun, but the witchers had expressions as frigid as ice.

Some of the peasants wilted under the witchers’ reproachful looks, and they hung their heads low, muttering and cursing under their breaths. Some of the nobles shrank in silence, while the guards, Cyrus, and Tarika glared at them murderously.

The bards and the patrons of the ballroom stared at the witchers, their eyes shining. The knights could see the White Wolf who was standing within the group of witchers. They exchanged a look and heaved a sigh of relief. With Geralt making his appearance, they were one step closer to finding Ciri.

The mercenaries hiding within the crowd sneered, as if their plan had finally worked. The mutants had to give in after all.

The dwarves, elves, and part-elves had conflicted looks on their faces. The fate of the witchers was nothing short of a prophecy to them. They too were non-humans. If the witchers were judged despite their innocence due to sheer ignorance, then who was to say they would not fall into the same circumstance in the future?

The plaza, once again, was plunged into chaos and cacophony.

“You shouldn’t be here. What about the orphanage?” Roy muttered to his companions.

Serrit turned around and looked at him. “Too late to backtrack, kid. We have to push on.”

“If they want peace, then we would’ve left them alone,” Kiyan hissed coolly.

“But should they yearn for war, then they shall find themselves waking up in the burning hells,” Letho added tersely. He’d had enough of these fools’ unfounded prejudice. They wished for nothing but peace, but…

“All we wanted was to be left alone, and yet they wish to back us into a corner.” Vesemir looked at the crowd around them, his emotions conflicting. This scene reminded him so much about that battle in Kaer Morhen a hundred years ago. “This time, I shall not run.”

***

The guards surrounded the witchers, and Cyrus scanned them, delighted. They take the fight to us. To our turf. They’ve lost their advantage. There was wariness in his eyes as well, and unbridled contempt. He had no idea a group of witchers had made their home near his abode, and seeing them gathered in the plaza only intensified the impact of that reality.

He was old and experienced enough to know how dangerous these mutants were. They were unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Should anything go wrong, these mutants could destroy Novigrad as it was. They must be eradicated.

“Fifteen of you, and one-third are nothing but children.” Cyrus clicked his tongue. Coldly, he judged, “Witness their sins, citizens. This is proof of their evil experiments!”

The boys snorted in disdain, refuting the Hierarch’s claim. They were young, wet behind the ears, inexperienced, and a little nervous. They’d never been in front of this big a crowd before, and they were a little excited about this show they were putting on. They shivered, eager to go.

“Do not change the subject, Cyrus.” Roy stepped ahead. “As per the citizens’ request, my brethren are here. What are you waiting for? Come forth, Tarika. Find the butcher. See if he’s among us.”

“Worry not, child. We have many witnesses here.” Cyrus sneered at the witchers. “The mutants wouldn’t try to butcher everyone.”

If the witchers resorted to violence in this circumstance, then no matter the reason, the people would see them as evil incarnate. Novigrad would never allow them to stay.

Despite the guards’ protection, Tarika still shivered. She clasped her hands and gritted her teeth, then she approached the witchers, scanning their faces.

Everyone’s eyes followed hers. When they saw Kiyan’s scarred, disfigured visage and crimson eyes, the people gasped.

“Is that even a human?”

“Was he thrown into a fire?”

“No, must’a been the mutation. Evil mutation.”

Kiyan ignored the disgust and contempt shown by the crowd. He held his head up proudly. He had his brothers by his side, a bunch of students he must protect, and a woman who loved him. He cared not for these people’s opinions.

He was not the only one who held his head high. The witchers Tarika looked at all stared into her eyes, unafraid. They had never met this woman in their lives.

“Look closely, Tarika.” Auckes smiled at her. He thought it was a friendly smile, but Tarika shivered. She thought a beast was glaring at her. “Make sure your verdict is correct. Do not make any mistakes. We don’t want to live our lives branded by a crime we never did. Remember your oath. One word of lie, and the burning hells will be your resting place.”

“Silence!” a guard roared. “You dare threaten the witness before the crowd?”

“They be nervous!” some people jeered.

Auckes snickered.

“Is the butcher among them, child? Do not let anyone slip.” Cyrus had a foreboding feeling welling within his soul. Tarika’s expression was turning downtrodden, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

“No…” Tarika looked away from Kiyan and Aiden, the only Cats among the group. She looked disappointed. “Brun of the Cat School is not among them.”

“Are you positively sure about that?” Cyrus’ face turned the color of clouds. He clenched his crutch tighter, his knuckles white.

The guards did not look happy either.

“I swear to the Eternal Fire, I could recognize that monster anywhere.” Tarika pursed her lips. “He’s not among them. I cannot lie. Not when the gods are bearing witness.”

Cyrus closed his eyes, disappointed.

The bard near the plaza heard everything, and he happily played a tune. He spun around, almost starting to dance. “Told you we weren’t making things up. The witchers are innocent. They deserve to have odes written for them.”

Cyrus slammed his crutch down. Through ragged breaths, he roared, “Too early for that, bard. They’ve only proven they didn’t wipe out Sweetwater. That’s not the only crime they have to disprove. There’s also the children.”

Cyrus looked at the witchers, his eyes blazing with fury. “Why’d you come alone? Where are the children? We must hear their testimony. They must confess that they’ve never been abused or forced to be your test subjects.”

“Test subjects? That’s the most ridiculous crockpot theory I’ve heard.” Carl approached the Hierarch, his head held high. A few of the younger ladies were swooning because of him. “Let me tell you this, Cyrus. Nobody forced us.”

Carl turned around and spoke to the crowd. “We lost our parents. We lost our homes. We had to fight for scraps. When this city treated us like dirt, the witchers took us in. Taught us how to fend for ourselves. We chose to be part of their order.”

The other kids stepped ahead and stood with their brother, staring at the crowd. With their hearts soaring, they told their stories.

“We wish for more children to find a home among us. There are no evil experiments. Lies, all of them.”

They turned to the veteran witchers, their eyes filled with gratitude and worship. “They are our teachers. Our family. They’re the ones who took us in when nobody wanted us.”

The crowd was shaken by the children’s ardent support for the witchers. They knew the kids must’ve gone through unimaginable horrors for them to take witchers as their family instead of regular humans.

Cyrus was unfazed. In fact, his fury dove deep into the freezing ends of hatred. They are beyond saving. They must die. They must be sacrificed for the good of the Eternal Fire.

“Look at ’em! They have a beast’s eyes! The experiments have taken over their minds! Standin’ with the witchers is like standin’ up for themselves! We cannot trust ’em!” someone shouted. “Show us all the children! All fifty-three of ’em! They’re the only ones who can prove your innocence!”

A slight buzz hurtled through the air, and Roy disappeared. And then a man’s howl pierced the crowd as a silhouette was sent flying across the row of guards. The man fell into the plaza, curled up like a cooked shrimp. His gut felt like it was slammed by a sledgehammer.

The man was burly, mustached, and donned in brown, grimy leather armor. He was a mercenary.

One of the guards barked, “How dare you harm an innocent citizen, witcher? You are in the presence of the Eternal Fire! Cease this at once!”

The guard swung his blade, pushing the crowd away and making his way to Roy.

Something moved. Before anyone could see what took place, the guard’s blade fell to the ground, and he staggered backward, shoved by a great force. He retreated into the defensive line of his comrades, his face white with fury.

The guard tried to curse the witcher, but he was met with a pair of beastly, furious eyes. The air around the witcher tensed up. The guard could feel a terrifying aura swirling around him, and then something worse happened.

The remaining witchers glared at the guard, their eyes filled with a raging storm. The air itself felt suffocating, as if the desire to murder had taken the form of a crimson wave, threatening to swallow those who stood before it.

Not a single guard had the courage to take even a step ahead. Cyrus himself shut up, his heart thumping furiously. Something flickered in his eyes, and he slowly retreated.

“Got you, scum. Had fun riling up the people? Let’s see if you still find this fun.” Roy approached the mercenary and slapped him with enough force to swell his cheek. He then held the mercenary up by the nape, as though he were a puppy.

He swung the man in front of the crowd, but the mercenary could not move a muscle. “Hear my words, citizens. I shall bring this fiasco to an end. I swear to the gods that everything you see and hear is a conspiracy orchestrated by this man and his employers. They’ve played you like a fiddle and turned you against us all for their nefarious ends.”

Some of the more rational citizens took Roy’s defense into account and mused over the whole affair. They realized that the whole thing seemed too much to be a coincidence.

“Tell them the truth.” Roy cast a Sign.

The mercenary trembled, and he spoke. “It’s Kerls. The witcher slander was his order.”

“Do not use your spells, witcher. Show us the children if you dare!” someone else demanded brazenly, but their attacks were nothing more than a whimper.

Roy said, “Oh, you’ll see them. After this guy tells the truth.”

“The mutants killed someone!” A scream tore through the air.

Chaos swooped in, and screams came from everywhere in the plaza, cutting Roy’s interrogation short.

The witchers looked grim. They crouched a little, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Crossbow bolts hurtled through the air. An unlucky guard standing beside Cyrus and the mercenary Roy was holding had their heads shot through. They fell headfirst, their bodies limp.

Schirru sneered and put his hand-crossbow down. He and his companions slithered back into the crowd. Mission accomplished. All that’s left is for the other side to do their job.

A group of feral elven archers with bushy squirrel tails tied around their waists squeezed through the buffeting throng, approaching the witchers.

“The witchers attacked the Hierarch!”

“They’ve gone mad!”

“By the gods!”

“The Eternal Fire has fallen!”

Gasps and shouts echoed through the air, and any semblance of order was torn down swiftly as the crowd on the fringe stampeded their way to the bridge on the south side. The citizens jostled and pushed and stepped on each other all around the halls and plaza, and screams of bloody murder filled the air.

The guards, per their training, went into formation and covered Cyrus, all the while making their retreat into the main hall.

Grimm held his sword before him like a shield, covering for the escaping crowd. Cahir pulled the infatuated lady behind him into his embrace. Cleaver and his troop of dwarves huddled close and stood their ground like an oak tree facing the pummeling waves of the great seas.

“Tighten the lines!” Letho shouted. He spun his wrist, and his blade arced like a white flash, deflecting a crossbow bolt. Nine witchers stood around him in a circle, covered in the protective light of Quen. They kept the doppler and the fledgling witchers in the center of their circle, standing tall like a beacon in the darkness.

The panicking crowd crashed into them, but they allowed them no entry.

“Untie me!” Jiji shouted. “I can help!”

Carl swung his blade and cut off the ropes, then he took off the cuffs and fetters.

Colorful lights strobed from within the doppler, and he grew into a bald, burly man. A carbon copy of Letho was born.

***

More than a handful of citizens were toppled and stepped to death from the stampede, and their cries hurtled across the battlefield.

Within this stampeding crowd, a group of people were traveling against the current, slowly making their way to the center.

A burly elf donning a bandana and green cape stood among the crowd, pulling his bowstring back to the side of his ear, his eyes trained on his target. And he let the arrow fly loose.

The black-haired witcher stood tall within the crowd. He flicked his wrist and cut the arrow in half, then he locked eyes with the elven archer. The sword in his hand was switched out for a hand-crossbow, and before the elf could even run, he fell backward, his body limp.

And he was swallowed by the escaping citizens.

‘Karaka killed. EXP +20. Level 13 Witcher (2520/14500)’

Roy pulled the trigger again, and a white haired elven swordsman let out a blood-curdling howl as he flew backward from the sheer impact of the bolt, and he fell with a sickening thud.

Most of the citizens had escaped, leaving the Eternal Fire’s guards and the witchers in the battlefield.

Nearby, a group of elven fighters and archers charged into the battlefield, howling war cries into the air. They swung their weapons as they surrounded the witchers, giving them no reprieve nor escape.

The guards who’d snapped out of the initial confusion attacked the witchers from behind as well.

The witchers were facing off an army that numbered more than three hundred strong.

“Kill the mutants! They’ve assaulted innocent citizens and our fellow guards!”

The devout guards charged into battle, fueled with rage and hatred and reckless abandon.

The witchers were surrounded by enemies on all sides, and all they saw were hate-filled eyes and deadly flashes of swinging blades.

“Are you blind, you fools?” Lambert spun and smacked the cheek of a black-armored guard, knocking him out. He swung his blade around and blocked a mace that was about to smash his head in. Through the cracks of the clashing weapons, he glared at the young guard before him. “The damn elves are the enemies here!” he cursed.

“Kill the mutants. Leave no survivors,” a wizened, imperious voice ordered from within the guards. Cyrus held his crutch, staring at the witchers like how we would look at ants. They must not be spared. I will never bow to these filthy mutants. This chaos is on their heads. Their deaths will be the fuel for the Eternal Fire to spread further into the Continent. This is Its will.

The witchers came to a silent understanding. They too had their souls dyed red with fury, their eyes glinting with anger.

“Leave no survivors,” said Roy.

He charged into the melee with his blade in hand.

“Kill them all!”

The witchers roared into the high heavens, even the youngest of them. They were comrades, teachers, students, and brothers-in-arm. The witchers held up their blades and charged into the battlefield without any hesitation.

And thus, a great battle began. Driven by rage and murder, the witchers broke free of the fetters of rules, law, and neutrality. Here and now, for this moment, they were but machines made to kill. The only thing they yearned for was the life of the enemy.

***

Geralt leapt through the battlefield like a graceful dancer, his blade fluttering to the rhythm its master was playing. With every swing, a guard would fall dead on the ground.

Auckes thrust his blade and skewered two enemies in one go. He pulled his weapon out and leapt into the air, then he brought his blade down like a meteor. A bloody line parted an elf in two.

The youngest witchers were like wolves trying to take down a lion. They exploited every opening in the melee, dashing and swerving and running around, slamming their weapons into the vitals of the enemy.

This would be their first killing of a human, and they had to think of the enemy as nothing but monsters. The fledglings went for the vitals. The throats. The eyes. The hearts. Again and again they swung, following the instincts gained from their rigorous training. There was nothing in their minds but this battle.

This was their debut battle, and the children were performing remarkably. They traveled through the battlefield like a whirlwind of death, dicing the Scoia’tael fighters, drenching the beautiful marble floor in red. Blinding red.

Kiyan sliced the armor of an elven warrior open like it was butter. The elf didn’t even see his killer’s face as he died.

Letho jumped into the crowd and crouched, then he slammed his left hand onto the ground. Aard’s devastating air current lashed out around him, toppling five guards in one go, then the Viper swung his twin swords, ending the lives of the enemies around him.

Coen conjured up twin Signs with both hands, and a stream of fire burst forth from his palms, blossoming like flowers of fire. The Griffin almost looked like he was holding a fire whip. Anyone who was foolhardy enough to take a step near him would be licked by the flames. Some tried to get closer only to end up running and screaming in agony.

The doppler joined the battle as well, though he was almost fighting defensively, only knocking his enemies out instead of killing them.

***

The plaza was draped in the bloody violence of battle. The ground was covered in blood and flesh, the air filled with screams and shouts and swinging weapons. Within the bloody battlefield, the witchers stood in a single file, tearing a hole in the wall of enemies around them like a lance crushing the defenses of the enemy’s forces.

Roy was in the vanguard, facing the onslaught without fear. His swordsmanship couldn’t be of much use here, so he relied on his instincts to battle.

His magical barrier broke in mere moments, and blood splattered everywhere. Fortunately, his brethren stood by his side, watching his back so he could take out the enemies before him.

Roy swung Gwyhyr around, and everywhere its edge pointed, a crimson crescent moon would charge straight ahead, shredding the flesh of all enemies standing before it.