The Divine Hunter

The warm ball of light slowly slid down to the skies in the west. After coming back to Lofoten, the witcher wasted no time in asking all the villagers about the case, but everything they knew was everything Eji and Eva told him.

And then he ran into a young man.

An old oak tree with entwining roots and a huge canopy stood in the eastern part of the village, and it was there a lad of about fourteen years old came to see them.

Compared to the average Skellige man, this lad was scrawny. He only donned a rough flax shirt and greyish-white jacket. He looked so weak, a gust of wind was probably strong enough to blow him all the way to Ard Skellig. His hands were covered in calluses and frostbite. Obviously, the boy came from a poor family.

He had freckles on his nose, his hair was short, unkempt, and grey. His face was red from all the sea breeze blowing on him, and his eyes were blue, but he had this sheepish look to him. He was fidgeting, hesitating to speak. “Krott, Mr. Pitt, are you trying to find Ortolan?”

Roy smiled at the lad warmly. “What is your name, child? Do you have news about Ortolan?”

Roy wasn’t that much older than the lad, but his smile was so inviting and warm. The lad trusted him for some reason. “My name’s Yank, and I need your help, please. If you find Ortolan, can you ask him where my father is?”

“Can you give me more details?” Roy cocked his eyebrow. “What’s your father’s name, and what does Ortolan have to do with him?”

Noticing Yank’s hesitation, Krott shook his head, sighing. He explained, “His father’s a man called Flanden. They live in Ivy Village just east of Lofoten, but Flanden’s not a reputable man. Never works and gambles all his coins away. Never cares about his family either, but it’s been a while since he showed up. Sorry, Yank.”

“It’s alright. That’s the truth anyway.” Yank shook his head, looking dejected. “My father used to spend all his time in Ard Skellig’s gambling dens. Gambled all our money away, and ma got so angry, she fell ill. But about a year ago, my father went missing.”

Roy stared into Yank’s eyes. “And what makes you think Ortolan took him away?”

Roy shook his head. Judging from the story, that money was payment for Flanden’s life. The life of a chronic gambler. Flanden must be dead by now, but he didn’t want to crush the lad’s hope. “Do you remember how long it’s been since your father’s disappearance?” Roy asked.

Yank answered without hesitating, “I made a record every month after his disappearance. It’s been a year and four months since then.”

Roy’s eyes glinted, and he quickly plugged that info into the timeline of this story. Two years ago, Ortolan and Eva got married and had four months of fun on this island. Then came four months of neglect. Then two months of Ortolan’s infidelity, and then he disappeared. Eva remarried two months later, and it has been one year since. Which means the lad’s father disappeared between the period of neglect and infidelity.

Ortolan first took Flanden away and led three women who look like Eva to the island. Two seemingly unrelated cases, but perhaps they share a connection? Roy started wondering about a question. Is Ortolan actually a casanova, or is he just using these people to achieve a goal?

He had a strong feeling that the answer to these questions were hidden in Ortolan’s secret lab somewhere on this island.

“You have to help me, Krott, Mr. Pitt. I just want to talk to Flanden,” the lad pleaded.

“Tell me more about your father. His age, looks, height, everything,” said Roy.

“He’s about six feet tall and a hundred and eighty pounds heavy. Muscular, gray hair, has a faint mustache, and he’s thirty-five this year.”

“I see. I’ll tell you once I have news.” Roy patted his shoulder and saw the lad off.

He then looked at the skies. The sun was setting, and a layer of crimson light was draped over the houses of the village. “Let’s go. Eva should’ve calmed down now. We should see her again.” If I want to find Ortolan’s secret lab, I’ll have to start from his wife. She used to be the closest person to him, after all.

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