The Divine Hunter

The sky was overcast, and dark clouds overseered the land. It felt like rain was coming, but not a raindrop fell. Thanks to that, the marks on the ground remained. The witchers tracked the bandits down with these marks. It went on for a day and a night, and eventually, they came to a great forest.

The air was filled with the scent of blood. They settled their horses and went into the woods, the ground squelching under their feet. The umbrella-like canopy blotted out most of the light, obstructing their view. The witchers could only see the tall branches and short bushes near them, though they were perfect camouflage.

They curled up like cats and darted around from cover to cover on their tiptoes. About five minutes later, a moose came out of a bush, and a corpse was lying in its path. It was a man, and he was lying beside a fir tree. He looked about thirty years old, and his crude hemp shirt was covered in blood. His biceps were as big as basketballs, and his chest was filled with thick black hair. He would fit in with a bunch of bears. Even so, someone still killed him in one blow. He failed to even draw his weapon.

Roy checked the corpse, and the cause of death was a wound on his neck. It was precise, clean, and as minuscule as a thread. The wound was just deep enough to cut open the artery. Roy imagined how the fight went down as he touched the wound. The man was relieving himself in front of the tree, and the ambusher closed in silently. He covered the man’s mouth and sliced his throat open, then the killer retreated into the shadows.

“He’s a pro,” Letho said curtly. He touched the blood. It was still warm. “Didn’t even waste one ounce of his strength. This guy has perfect control of his body.”

“Of course he does,” Auckes whispered. “Those madmen spend all their time sharpening their swordsmanship.”

Roy had a feeling that he would not get the EXP he so wanted this time. Aside from the neck’s wound, the guy was missing his ears as well. There were only two gaping holes instead. Witchers would only do something like that to monsters, not humans.

“He’s a madman alright.”

“Probably just wants to let the kid have it. As proof that he avenged the villagers.”

***

The witchers went deeper into the woods and saw the second corpse lying in the middle of three trees. He was killed in one blow, and his ears were cut off as well. There was a dead deer beside him, so he might have been ambushed while he was hunting.

His wounds were draped haphazardly, and most of them were redundant. The fatal wound was the sword’s thrust that pierced through his back and chest. The killer must have stepped on him and pinned him down with the blade.

At this point, the killer had gone into a frenzy. Murder alone could not satisfy him, so he started torturing his prey.

“I told you those guys are mad.” Serrit crossed his arms. He had a look of disapproval on his face, clearly disgusted by what the killer did.

“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” Roy objected. “These animals aren’t worth any mercy. They should die a painful death.

“Wrong, Roy. I do not pity him, but there’s no need to torture a dying enemy. Any unnecessary emotions will lower your efficiency and chances of winning. The enemy can also make a comeback.”

Before they could finish the argument, a bush started to rustle, and they heard a ragged breathing, then sounds of footsteps approached them. A moment later, a bloody man came out of the bush. His eyes widened, the sight of the witchers a welcome one for him. He thought he was saved, and surprise showed on his face. “Help… Save me!” The man’s voice trembled, and he extended his hand with difficulty.

He gritted his teeth, trudging over to the witchers. The man picked up his pace, and the witchers went to him as well, but someone was faster. A silhouette leaped out of the bushes, craning its neck and stretching its limbs like a feline.

He jumped up higher and landed behind the man. The silhouette circled it, and blinding flashes of light arched through the air. The man broke into pieces when he was done. The pieces of his corps flew everywhere, and his head rolled over to the witchers.

His lips moved, a smile curling them. He thought he was saved.

The witchers looked up. A leanly built man stood not far from them, wiping the blood off his blade. He gave the witchers a toothy grin.

***

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