The Divine Hunter

A blanket of fog draped over the clear skies of rural Vizima. A stream happily gurgled down its way to the sea, but the young witcher cared not about it. What he cared about were the woods beyond the stream.

“This is the latest crime scene.” He said to the crow on his shoulder, “Perhaps there’s some clue left.”

Gryphon gave his arm a peck of agreement, and Roy patted its head. “Keep an eye out for me.”

Into the air the crow went. It swiftly perched atop of a tree, staring around cautiously and jumping around from branch to branch like a little detective searching for clues.

Roy straightened his cloak out and crossed the river. Once on the other side, his eyes shone as brightly as a beast’s. Something changed in the air. He started seeing ribbons floating in the air and hiding in the grass. Some were almost palpable, while some were almost nonexistent.

He saw blood, bodily fluids, excrement, and footprints of humans and animals alike. As if painting the grass, the footprints came in different colors. Red, green, grey, and more.

“No trace of a higher vampire. But that’s to be expected. They come and go as they please. Not like regular humans can fend one off.”

He hunkered down and carefully parted some grass, revealing a dark, circular patch of blood. He sniffed it. “Young victim. Younger than twenty. Kalkstein’s right on the money. Was probably attacked when he came to collect his fish. Blood splattered everywhere. That monster punctured his artery here.” Roy approached the forest, where the ribbons were almost palpable. Once again, he parted the grass, and once more he found patches of blood. On and on he went, until he found five patches of blood.

Unlike cast-offs and passives, spatter stains occurred from the first spurt of blood that came from a wound. The murderer injured its victims in multiple areas. “If the killer is a low-level vampire, it would incapacitate the guy during its first attack and tear him apart in its second. It could have ended things in two blows. A higher vampire couldn’t have made this mess.”

Roy rubbed his chin and looked around the scene. Cicada chirps carried across the air, breezes swaying the tree branches.

Roy had an idea. “It was playing with its prey. It kept injuring its victim and keeping it alive but fearful. But higher vampires dislike the blood of terrified prey.”

Back in Kaer Morhen, Roy went through a book that was titled Hamlets: Establishment and Growth of Human Communities. It was a literature work about vampires. According to the book, humans would produce noradrenaline and cortisol when they are in a state of great fear. Noradrenaline and cortisol would sour the taste of their blood, and most higher vampires would balk at it.

So why did this one go out of its way to strike fear into the victim’s heart? Roy frowned. He had no idea at all. To complicate matters, the other traces had been muddied by the villagers, investigators, and passing beasts.

***

That higher vampire had committed five murders in the span of one month, all done in remote corners of Vizima. At least that was what Kalkstein said.

The next crime scene Roy visited was a quiet place a few miles away from the nearest village. Gryphon would scout the surroundings way up in the air, while Roy took the ground route. It did not take long for them to arrive at the scene—a hillock covered in myrtles. A gust of wind cantered across the hillock, and the grass danced in its presence.

Roy turned his witcher senses on and searched the bushes for any clues, but alas, the higher vampire left nothing behind. Similar to the first place, spatter stains littered this scene. The victim was tortured before the tormentor took their life.

“A girl. About seventeen or eighteen. Fresh and young. Our customer is a picky one. Twice it has gone after younger people. Could have been a coincidence the first time, but not the second.” Roy plucked two gleaming mangosteens off the tree branches. He popped one into his mouth and tossed the other into the air.

A loud caw shot up into the skies as a black silhouette zipped past the mangosteen. Gryphon perched atop a branch, craning its neck as it gulped down the fruit Roy tossed into the air earlier.

“Might be dealing with a psycho higher vampire here. Probably killed for fun instead of sustenance.”

Roy took a deep breath. For some reason, the air got chilly all of a sudden. Higher vampires possessed superhuman strength and incredibly long lifespans. Some, like Francis the coroner and Queen of the Night, might abide by human laws, but most higher vampires saw humans as nothing but lowly creatures. A source of food for them, so to speak.

To them, humans were nothing but mere slaves. Slaves whom they could torment and look down upon. The higher vampire community was divided into three factions. One would insist on cooping humans up and using them as mere food, one would let humans roam free and hunt them when the need arose, while another one would learn to care and coexist with humans.

***

Just like how some humans would hunt boars, wolves, and other wild animals for fun, some higher vampires would torture humans for pleasure. But most of them had gone into hiding over the last century. Some lived in mountains, some in the wilds, and some hid in deep, dark caves, while some blended in with humans.

Their ability to disguise themselves was second to none. On par with dopplers, in fact. If they ever so wished it, not even a witcher’s medallion could sense their energy signature.

It had been many years since a higher vampire committed murders of such magnitude in the Northern Realms. Roy speculated that the Unseen Elder must be behind this.

***

“We have a rogue maniac on our hands. An invading high vampire.” Atop the hillock stood the witcher, his gaze set on the myrtle, the mangosteen trees, the verdant plains, and the villages that slept yonder. “The Queen of the Night came straight to Kalkstein to get some black blood so she could apprehend this monster. Didn’t even try to talk it out. Perhaps I should just destroy it instead of giving it over to the alchemist.”

He stared at the ground, and then he noticed something off.

“What is this?” Roy hunkered down near a tree and held up a petite mushroom between his fingers. It was the size of his nail, its cap was red, and its stalk was white. Looks like a fly agaric back in my old world.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to. But this is a rite of passage for every man. Still better than falling into a shithole.” An apologetic voice was speaking. “Now, tell me all about your investigation. What do you know about the victims and the killer?”

“A-All the victims are between the ages of fifteen to eighteen,” Fritz answered, his voice monotonous and lacking any emotion. “Three boys and… two girls. Came from different… villages. Some died during the day. Some died during… the night. They… didn’t have many friends. Never… got into any big fights. These were no… revenge murders. Their deaths were… horrific. Torn to shreds.”

Yeah, so you guys won’t realize they died from an excessive loss of blood.

“The coroner… checked on them. Said… it wasn’t a beast assault. The chancellor of security… thinks a ghoul or nekker might have done it.”

Roy shook his head. No, they don’t tear their victims to shreds. They chew and devour them.

“B-But Triss noticed… something. The victims… were virgins. Maybe that was why… the killer picked them.”

“Damn that psycho vampire. He terrorized virgins and took in their fear-tainted blood,” Roy said. “His palate is certainly unorthodox.”

He had a bad feeling about this monster. Only ancient higher vampires were so picky about their food, and the older a higher vampire was, the more powerful they were.

“A-And that crossed the necrophages o-off our list of suspects.” Fritz paused for a moment. “Triss thinks the killer… might be a werewolf. They might be hiding in some village, pretending… to be human.”

Roy shook his head once more. Certainly, the signs of their death pointed to a werewolf being the killer, but werewolves had a certain trait about them. Their body odor was far more repugnant than most beasts. If the killer were a werewolf, there should be some lingering odor around the scenes, even after days or weeks. Roy would have picked that up, but he smelled no odor.

“W-We’ve searched… all twenty-five villages around the… crime scenes. N-No unfamiliar individual went in or out. Merigold also used her… telepathy on the suspects. N-None of them did this.”

Well, that saved me a lot of time. This was a fruitful trip.

“W-We asked the villagers to search around. Th-Three-mile radius, but we found nothing. The investigation has grinded to… a halt. Triss thinks there are… clues we missed. So we came back and… patrolled the area.”

“Did you see this, then?” Roy whipped out the glowing mushroom.

“Y-Yes. Cleveland found some. B-But no one paid it heed.”

They overlooked something as important as this? Are witchers the only ones who consider everything during an investigation?

Roy shook his head. He knew his earlier guess was right on the mark, or close to it, at the very least. That vamp isn’t hiding in any village. It’s hiding in…

“So what are you guys gonna do now?”

“Bait it out. W-We looked into it. The killer kills once every… week. It’s almost time for its next… murder.” Fritz spilled everything without any resistance. “W-We will be sending out a sixteen-year-old knight to lure the… killer out.”

“When and where?”

“Tomorrow. Night of the full moon, at eight. About… a mile and a half east from Hop Village. A clearing on the shores of… River Kree.”

Huh. That monster isn’t gonna fall for the bait that easily. The Queen of the Night would have caught the bastard by now otherwise. But it’s worth a try.

Roy slowed his gesture down and gave Fritz an apologetic smile. “Alright. Once you wake, you will forget you ever saw me. You won’t remember what we talked about. You will feel exhausted from shitting for too long. And you fell in your own poop. Um… you’ll regain your strength in thirty seconds after you wake.”

He stared at the zit-filled face and quickly added, “You’ll reflect upon your life while you rest later. What you have experienced today is a cruel trial, but only blood or the stench of rot will give rise to a rose. You will not feel humiliated. Instead, you will delight at letting go of the shackles that bind you. You are now one step closer to knighthood. The real meaning of knighthood is close at hand.”

And then the witcher disappeared into thin air.

Fritz shook his head, waking up in a pile of his own piss and poop. He sniffed the air and touched his rear by instinct.

As he stared at his filthy, foul-smelling hand, a big smile curled his lips. No longer was there doubt in his eyes. There was only resolve. Disgust, cowardice, and humiliation had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like he just returned triumphant from a momentous battle. There was no longer anything that could stop him. He could do whatever he wished.

The knight wiped the filth on a tree’s bark. He pulled his pants up and wore his armor once more. With pride in his heart, he marched back to his colleagues. Flames of resolve flared in his eyes, and adamantly, he said, “Fritz, from now on, you are a real knight of the order.”

***

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