The Divine Hunter

A warm dawn shone on the land, and a gentle breeze danced through The Whispering Hillock, the Hunched Swamp, and the beautiful, verdant fields. It pranced through the muddy paths on Lower Velen, refreshing the witchers.

“Bald Mountain, the crones’ base of operations, and that mysterious oak tree…” Auckes was holding the bloody package of sacrifice with one hand and the horse’s reins with the other. He sighed. “Darn it. Why couldn’t I go with Roy?” Auckes swung the package in frustration. “Lower Velen’s a shit place. Running errands is so boring.”

“Shut up, you fool!” Serrit followed behind him, looking around cautiously. After confirming that the fields and bushes were not rigged with ears, he whispered, “Don’t ruin the plan! The crones’ spies might be around!”

“I know. I just don’t like this. Why does Letho get to take the most important job?”

“Obviously because you talk too much!” Serrit retorted, and he smirked. “This isn’t really a boring job if you think about it. Perhaps we will get to see the ladies’ beauty this time.” Serrit sounded expectant. “It’d be really great if they were as gorgeous as the paintings made them out to be.”

“Quit dreaming.” Auckes snorted and shook his head. “The core told us the crones are old, wrinkly women. But if that’s your standard of beauty, I guess they’re pretty too.”

“Are you sure the core didn’t lie?” Serrit gave him a mysterious look. “Auckes, I might be a worse swordsman than you, but I understand women better. They would hurl every curse under the sun at their enemies. I think the truth is completely different from what we’re told,” Serrit explained. “The crones are powerful. It should be easy for them to stay young.”

Serrit’s adamance made Auckes waver. He rubbed his chin. “If they’re still beautiful, then I suppose I can see them.”

“You get it now, don’t you?” Serrit added, “So what if they’re crones? What’s important is they’re beautiful and sexy enough.”

Felix was right in front of them. He shook his head. They’re still fighting even now? Are they stupid or mad? Or are they actually calm? “Is this how Vipers relax?” Felix shook his head. Lower Velen was in sight now, and he clenched his fists.

***

“Have you brought the sacrifice, witchers?” Carson was smoking at the entrance, and he puffed the smoke at the witchers’ face.

“Have some faith in our reputation, old man. We always keep our promises,” Auckes said. He tossed the package to Carson. Carson looked surprised and horrified when he saw the contents.

A great, snarling werewolf’s head was facing him. Its eyes were gouged out, leaving two little holes behind. Its tongue was cut at the base, and blood was still flowing. Its teeth gleamed under the sunlight, almost blinding Carson.

Carson gulped, and he gazed at the witchers. “Take it to the clearing behind the village. There’s an altar there. You have to present this to the ladies yourself. That’s the last step of the sacrifice.” He pointed in right the direction for the witchers.

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

Fear flashed in Carson’s eyes. “I cannot disturb the ladies unless they summon me.” He turned around and chided the villagers who were watching them. He shot a glare at the guy with thick chest hair. That guy was staring dumbly at them. “Yeah, you! Don’t just stand there! You can’t kill anyone with that pitchfork! Do you want to see the ladies too?”

The burly man let out a scream and ran away. The other villagers left as well. They scurried back to their houses like scared children and huddled near their windows to see the witchers off. There were looks of fear, disgust, and schadenfreude in their eyes, as if they were happy that the witchers would be faced with calamity.

“Why don’t you go first?” Auckes lost his fervor. He started hesitating.

“Calm down, witcher. We did not hurt him. He’s waiting for you somewhere safe. He’s fed and clothed.” The Whispess fiddled with the hand in her cloth bag. “The crows just sent him to the village chief’s house in Lower Velen. He’s waiting for you there.”

Felix wanted to leave right away, but the Brewess stopped him. “A minute, please. I have a proposition for you.” She went to the altar and picked the werewolf head up. She sniffed it, and it almost made her drunk. “A perfect sacrifice. It has enough mana, and…” The Brewess paused for a moment. “It’s dipped in The Whispering Hillock’s madness. You have breached the forbidden area, haven’t you, witchers?”

“So what?” The witchers stood side by side.

“Have you seen a tree’s core there? It’s incredibly big.” The Whispess grasped the air. She observed the witchers, but the looks on their faces did not betray their thoughts. “I would like you to go back and destroy that thing for us.”

“Is that a request?” Auckes mocked, “Or are you going to kidnap one of us again to force us into submission?”

“We will reward you adequately this time, witchers.” The Whispess explained, “The first time was merely a test.”

The Weavess said, “Not every witcher is willing to talk to us. At least we’re off to a good start. We held up our end of the bargain, didn’t we?”

The Brewess scratched her gigantic body. “If you help us, we’ll show you that even an impoverished land like Velen has its own treasures too. They’ll be worth the work.”

***

The witchers exchanged looks. The core’s soul had been taken by Roy the night before, but the beasts were still rampaging on the hillock, so the ladies did not notice that.

“We need more information on this request. What is the core? And what do you have to do with it?” Auckes pretended to be interested in this. “And Felix has to take the boy first. They have to leave Velen.”

The Whispess said, “Speaking of which, this reminds me. Where are your other companions, witcher? I remember there were two of them.”

“They’ve left Velen,” Auckes lied. “Not every witcher works in teams.” He smiled.

“Is that so?” The Whispess stared down and felt the land quietly, but her spies did not give her any information to prove that this was a lie. Her doubts were cleared.

Auckes heaved a sigh of relief. That’s all the time I can buy for you two, he thought.

***

About three miles from the west of Lower Velen, two witchers smeared in the core’s blood came to Bald Mountain. They walked on their tiptoes, moving as silent as cats. The witchers slipped past the ladies’ priests and guards, heading to the top of the mountain.

***

***