The Divine Hunter

“Begone, you dogs! You are nature’s enemy!” the voice roared. It was like a crone’s shout, but it was amplified by a hundred. It sounded crazy and hysterical. A violent air current swept past the cave as the shout overwhelmed them. The stalactites were trembling, and ripples spread across the lake’s surface.

The witchers were undaunted, however. They went through the water passage in the center and came to the cave’s deepest parts. There was nearly no light here. The dim illumination shone on a gigantic, bloated creature. It hung from the walls and top of the cave like a fleshy mountain filled with disgusting tumors.

The biggest and most conspicuous part of the mountain was located in its center. It was shaped like a heart, and the mass of flesh was still pounding. As if by magic, the whole cave was responding to its heartbeat, raining down debris and dust on the witchers. The flesh mountain was covered by a layer of rough, hard tree bark covered with yellow needles. It was as if the mound of flesh were protecting itself with a spiky layer of armor.

The witchers’ pendants were vibrating violently. The air was filled with mana. Perhaps this mound of flesh itself was a magical creation.

“A tumor…” Letho said.

“It’s the tree’s core,” Roy corrected. “It’s connected to the roots of that oak tree on the hilltop.” A thick root surrounded the core, squirming like a snake.

“Begone!” the crone shrieked again. Its voice echoed in the cave, and it was then the witchers realized that the thing that spoke was this core in front of them. “Leave my territory immediately, or you shall suffer!” the core roared. The root pulled itself out of the wall and circled the air, pointing its sharp end at the witchers.

“You misunderstand us, madam.” Roy cast Observe on the core, but it was covered in a light green layer of energy. It was a natural camouflage. All he could see was the same details as the tree. He could not see through the core’s real identity. “We are witchers, not dogs.”

“You lie! I could sense your scent from the moment you came into this hillock. It’s the same stench as those ugly, vile bitches! I know that stench anywhere, and you killed my guards!” the core screamed. “Leave if you want to live!”

“And what if we refuse?” Serrit was annoyed by the attitude. He pointed his blade at her and retorted, “Your werewolf and endregas are dead. You’re in no position to threaten us.”

“Try me.” The core was not afraid in the least. “And you’ll find the cave collapsing on you before you can even attack!”

The witchers’ hearts sank.

“Calm down, madam. I think I know where that stench came from.” Roy tugged on Serrit’s arm and tossed the dagger to the core.

The core flew into a rage and slammed the root into the dagger. The root flailed like a whip, and winds blew everywhere in the cave. Sounds of something getting smashed filled the air, and the witchers took a step back in case the root hit them by accident.

The witchers shook their heads.

The core continued, “You know who the Whispess is? Yes, she’s one of the crones. She loves cutting off human ears and turning them into her spies. The Weavess loves to make silk clothes out of human hair and cover her ugly, oversized body. The Brewess brews soup made of flesh for her sisters. Sometimes she would invite random creatures to join in the feast.”

Roy knew that. One of those creatures was the infamous Wild Hunt.

The core slowed down. “So, do you think they’re actually angels?”

“I see. So you’re not The Mother, nor did you create the crones. And they’re not actually goddesses who keep the people of Velen safe.”

“I see you understand what I am saying.” The core heaved a sigh of relief. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I had a good chat. I lost my temper for a bit.”

“We understand.” Letho nodded. They would go mad as well if they were trapped in a tree for a century. “Who are you, actually? Will you help us fight the crones?”

“Very well. You were willing to listen to a monster’s ramblings. I suppose I can tell you some of Velen’s truths.”

The core stopped for a moment, and the witchers paid full attention to it.

“I am a member of the Druids’ circle. I protect the woods and swamps of Velen, keeping the balance of nature and its ecosystem. You may call me Kunguran. The crones, or as the people call them, Ladies of the Wood, are monsters from another dimension. They descended on Velen during the first Conjunction of the Spheres. They can absorb mana from the earth and control the fates of nearby creatures.”

She continued. “They wish to steal this land, so they destroyed my body and sealed my soul in this tree. Nature, my ward, protected me and kept me safe from the crones’ conspiracy. Nature is furious that her guardian died. She created The Whispering Hillock and awakened the beasts’ primal instincts. She sent them on a rampage and stopped the crones’ henchmen from harming me. Witchers, the crones have hurt both you and me. If you wish to work with me, then I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“Release me from this tree I reside in.”

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