The Divine Hunter

Exquisite aurora strips rained around the witcher, and then they rose into the air above. A sea of golden souls stood behind the waterfall of aurora, praying like devout believers.

Roy had escaped the nightmarish strip of energy and entered the realm of Freya once again. This time, however, he wasn't here in soul only. And there was more than one goddess around.

Two golden figures with obscured faces stood within the shifting aurora, near and far at the same time. They gave Roy an audience, and the witcher felt a little nervous in the presence of not one, but two goddesses.

"Roy, bearer of the Elder Blood, I have responded to your call and risked great danger to save you from the Sea of Chaos." The voices of a young lady, a pregnant woman, and a crone spoke at the same time. Roy heard them in his mind. "And you have promised to carry out the duty."

Roy stayed silent. He did say that.

"And my duty is to protect my believers. However, only the bearer of the Elder Blood can extinguish the coming crisis. When the end times draw near, and the White Frost descends, remember your duty and grant salvation to the world, or fade into nothingness with it. And tell the ice giant to get back to his post as soon as you can," said Freya. "Then your debt to me shall be settled. And do not think you can run to another world in a bid to escape this calamity." A hint of warning seeped into the goddess' voice. "The price to pay for a broken word is far heavier than you can imagine."

Roy bowed at Freya honestly. "If you had not saved me, I would have died with Vilgefortz in the energy strip." No one could escape the Sea of Chaos. Not even someone as talented as Vilgefortz. He didn't have the luxury to refuse his duty. "Witchers are people of our word. I will use everything at my disposal to solve the coming calamity."

Roy tried to exile Vilgefortz, but he was taken to a goddess' abode instead. Perhaps this was what destiny wanted for him.

***

"Freya alone could not have saved you. I, too, have incurred a considerable loss," another voice said, and it sounded more majestic and imperious than Freya’s. Freya sounded like an affable elder sister, but this one sounded like a stern and arbitrary mother.

Her visage was obscured, and her eyes were golden. Majestic, solemn, and deep. She was taller and curvier than Freya, and she resembled a female giant. Roy remembered her eyes vividly. Two years ago, he had a glimpse of her in her temple in Ellander.

"Melitele?"

Melitele was a goddess far older than Freya, and most of the North put their faith in her.

"Yes. You are not my believer, and so, this rescue does not come without a price," she said.

Melitele softened a little. "As you have taken on the role of a savior, then this payment I require will not be as expensive. Until the arrival of the end days, you are required to protect the temple in Ellander and my believers. Shield them from the ravages of war."

"As you wish, milady."

The goddesses gazed at the witcher one last time.

"Never forget your promise, child. We cannot speak to you for long. Every moment you spend in our kingdom is a great toll on the reserves of our faith energy. Leave."

The golden goddesses waved at Roy, and the witcher quickly teleported away. The beautiful aurora disappeared as Roy found himself transported back to solid earth.

The skies over Stygga were still ominous, and thunder roared overhead as lightning danced between the clouds. The torrential downpour drenched the parched land underneath, muddying the soil. In the center of the land, far from the shipwreck of the drakkar, four towering beasts lay unmoving.

Leviathan looked like he was cooked like a steak. His icy-blue hair was burned to a crisp, and his skin was fiery red, covered in twisted burn marks and patches of blisters. The rain was pelting it, the air filled with a bizarre stench that was the fusion of cooked meat and body odor.

Roy's mana was burning at a blistering rate, converted to the power of healing. Quickly, his mounts' wounds were disappearing. Gryphon's wounds were a lot less severe, though its thick, lustrous feathers were mostly burned off. It looked more like a vulture than a griffin now.

Roy grinned and carefully patted Gryphon's bald head. The beast humphed and opened its eyes. It saw its master, and that was the sign it could finally vent. Tears fell down its cheeks, and it grabbed the witcher's legs as it nuzzled up to his chest.

"I'm sorry, girl. Don't cry. If I hadn't been too weak, none of this would've happened."

Ifrits were the most destructive of all elementals. Even their young had considerable strength. Not even Roy could confidently come out triumphant from a battle with an ifrit, let alone his mounts.

Fortunately, the moment Vilgefortz was taken to the Sea of Chaos, the ifrit broke free of his control and returned to the plane of fire. The mounts were still alive through pure luck.

Roy whipped his hand crossbow out and fired off a couple of bolts. He blinked and returned to the wrecked chamber. He then summoned his mounts so they could heal up away from the elements. The witcher popped a dose of healing potion into his mouth. He was about to meditate and replenish his mana, but the couch Vilgefortz toppled at the start of the battle moved.

Someone groaned in pain. Roy pulled the couch away and was met with Lydia, Vilgefortz's most trusted lieutenant. She fortunately came out of the ordeal alive, though only just. Her dress was caked in blood, and she had a high fever due to her exhaustion and blood loss.

***

The crowd at Novigrad had dispersed, and the corpses of the guards who died in the battle were cleaned up. The downpour came without any warning, drenching the plaza in muddy crimson. Moments later, the blood was whisked away into the gutters and seas of Novigrad, erasing most of the mark of the bloody battle that took place here.

The bodies of Scoia'tael members, however, were hung on the plaza as a warning and announcement that they were the masterminds behind this confrontation.

The witchers, after the bloody battle, congregated in a brightly-lit lab under the Temple Island. They took off their broken and blood-caked armor, switching them out for loose robes. Most of them had bandages wrapped around at least one body part. It almost looked comical if not for the fact they almost died in the battle earlier.

The witchers sat in a circle around a bonfire.

"So Jiji… I mean, Cyrus, blamed everything on Scoia'tael?" Felix adjusted his glasses, surprise flaring in his eyes. He thought the battle in the alder woods was hard enough, but his companions went through something even more life-threatening.

"The church didn't come after you, even when you killed hundreds of their guards?"

"We wish." Vesemir shook his head. "Even with the Hierarch's orders, the guards would kill us if given the chance."

Serrit dipped a finger into the dwarven spirit in the mug beside him, and the witcher lathered it across the wound on his face. He winced. "Most of the guards who died are locals. They have friends and families in this city. About a thousand or two are related to them."

"The reason doesn't matter. Fact is, we fought, we killed, we made enemies." Lambert smirked at Geralt, who had a bandage around his left forearm. "Everyone saw it, and I am not exaggerating. By tomorrow, everyone's going to call us 'Butchers of Novigrad.' Try as they might, the bards won't be able to salvage our reputation."

Geralt scratched his nose. He was reminded of his other title. The Butcher of Blaviken. He only slaughtered the bandits to protect the townspeople, but he was charged with a crime in return. The butchering in Novigrad was even more egregious than what Geralt did. They would be cursed for this action.

"Tension is at an all-time high. Jiji did everything he could to lessen the impact of the confrontation on our reputation. Blamed everything on the elves and defended our running of the orphanage. With the King of Beggars, Cleaver, the Collector, and the knights helping us, the people's hatred is mostly diminished. Save for the families of the guards we killed, of course. Can't change the fact that they're scared of us."

Felix said, "Oh, Geralt, we have a couple of knights at the orphanage waiting for you. Grimm and Cahir, they called themselves. They'd like to see you, and they seem genuine. You should check it out once we're done with the aftermath here. They put in a lot of effort to clear our name as well."

Geralt nodded.

Letho rubbed the salve on the top of his head. Unfortunately, for him, part of his scalp was shaved off during the battle, and now his head looked like an egg that wasn't peeled perfectly.

"It'll take years to turn our reputation around again. We won't be popular among the people, so we'd better lay low." Coen rubbed his chin. One of the attacks shaved off the pockmark around his beard. It was a pleasant accident.

Eskel took a sip of his liquor, his eyes glinting. There was a hint of melancholy on his face. "So we can't stay at the House of Gawain anymore? We must leave?"

"The new Hierarch did not mandate an expulsion." Lambert looked at his friend enviously, to the point Eskel felt unnerved.

Even Carl and the young witchers were staring at Eskel. With his perfect skin and the removal of his scar, Eskel was no longer the rugged witcher he once was. Instead, he was a dashing, sculpted, and muscular hunk.

"But if we stay, we're bound to be harassed. Incessantly. That's going to hamper the children's training and studies. I've had enough killing for a long while. With our infamy spreading far and wide, you know it will, no one is going to get any ideas. For a while, at least." Geralt held his hands over the open fire. He smiled bitterly. "I'd rather not fight again for a bit."

Serrit scanned his brethren. Adamantly, he said, "We need to move. If we want any peace and quiet, that is."

A deafening silence fell upon the room. The only sounds that remained were the crackling of the flames, and the young witchers' heartbeats.

Auckes snickered and dusted his bandaged arm off. He broke his arm in battle. "You're joking. You're telling us to move just because of the regular man's distaste for us? We've been running this place for years. We have a smithy, a lab, a greenhouse, and the crops are almost ready for harvest. You're telling us to abandon the whole operation and run away? We're the victors here. We can't run. I'd rather fight those bastards again than run away like a coward."

"We're not running away, Auckes," Vesemir said gently. "This is just a temporary relocation. It's a good chance to let the kids explore a different place and learn something different. We'll move back in a couple of years. I've talked to Evelyn, and she's volunteered to stay and keep an eye on the greenhouse and orphanage."

"I'm staying too." Kiyan clasped his hands together. He looked at his brethren apologetically. "Sorry, guys. I'd like to stay with Evelyn and help Kantilla out with the potion shop."

Auckes and Lambert stared at Kiyan. "I see," they drawled.

"Treasure her," Geralt encouraged.

Eskel thought he could stay as well, and he quickly said, "I—"

Vesemir shot him a withering look. "You're coming as well."

Eskel shut up.

"Yeah." Lambert smacked his shoulder. "And you can bring your succubus along too."

"What's with that look? You think I'd sleep with her?" Lambert was red and indignant.

"Alright, shut it!" Letho raised his hand. He muttered, "But it's not wrong to keep an eye out on Lambert. Now let's get back on track. Kiyan and Evelyn are staying back, while the kids are moving with us. Dandelion and Kantilla are staying too. They have to run the ballroom and potion shop. Coral and Kalkstein can go anywhere they want, given they have portals. But first, we need to settle on a location. So where are we moving to?"

And then tension flew in the air. Aside from the nomadic Cats, everyone else shot glares at each other, daring the other witchers to make a suggestion.

Coen spoke first. "How does Kaer Seren sound? Kovir and Poviss are right beside it. It's a kingdom as bustling as Novigrad, and there's no non-human discrimination. The fortress stands under a snowy mountain, so no one's going to come knocking either. And the seas are bountiful. Food won't be a problem."

"Yeah, no." Serrit shook his head. "If another avalanche happens, we're done for."

"Aw." Coen's face scrunched up. He was disappointed.

"Gorthur Gvaed, then." Auckes backed his brother up. "It's deep in the woods, so we'll have our peace and quiet. And it's near a cliff, so even if there are attacks, we can easily defend it."

"No. Gorthur Gvaed is in the South, and Nilfgaard will launch a war again, I'm sure." Vesemir stroked his beard and shook his head. "And you're the ones who told us Emhyr has his eyes on the fortress."

Geralt and Lambert exchanged a look. They spoke at the same time. "That leaves us with one place. The fortress in Kaedwen and home of the Wolves—Kaer Morhen."

Their voices were trembling with excitement. Excitement of going home. And this time, they were bringing along a group of students with them. Their predecessors would be overjoyed if they knew.

"Kaer Morhen is thousands of miles away from Yaruga. Nilfgaard's troops won't be attacking anytime soon."

"And it's a beautiful place. Quiet too. And bountiful. And it has something crucial for the Trial—the Circle of Elements."

Auckes cocked his eyebrow and complained, "Now you're just abusing your power to get what you want."

"Someone's jealous," Lambert mocked.

"Si— Brothers," Carl interrupted carefully. This was the apprentices' first time joining a witcher meeting as an equal. After the battle, the veterans showed them more trust. "Roy's not back yet. I think we should wait for him before we make a decision."

The other apprentices nodded quickly. And then everyone looked worried.

The concern in Letho's eyes flickered for a moment. "I wonder if he's fine." He then shook his head and smiled. "He probably is. Maybe he's having fun somewhere out there."

"I don't know. Gawain said he went after that sorceress. He summoned Gryphon and that ice giant away too." Auckes massaged his temples. "He might have a tough customer on his hands."

And then a gale screamed through the lab. A black portal tore through the air, and a slender figure leapt into the crowd, haggard and exhausted. Behind him was a vulture with all its feathers plucked.

Gryphon hid behind its master, burying its face in his shoulders.

Roy looked around, and a smile curled his lips.

"Roy!"

"Kid!"

"You left the plaza out of nowhere. Where'd you go?"

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. "I had to deal with a certain guy. Would've been a thorn in our side if left unchecked. Good to see everyone's fine. Had a bit of trouble, but he's done for now. Rience and his master won't be a problem anymore."

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Serrit asked nervously, and the other witchers turned their eyes to Roy.

"Long story."

"Then take a seat." Letho tossed a bottle of dwarven liquor to Roy and beckoned him. "And give us all the details."

"It's a shocking tale, so let's save it for last. Where are Coral and Kalkstein?" Roy sat in the center and held his hands over the open fire. His purlicue had cracked from overexertion. The witcher had a smile of relief on his face, glad to find that all his brethren were in one piece. "Rience's masters left a mountain of valuables, and I need an experienced sorcerer to deal with it. And there's a little errand they have to run."

***

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