The Divine Hunter

Chapter 533: Conjecture and a Guest in the Night

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

The chamber was plunged into darkness, and Roy was staring at the crystal in the xenovox, his mind elsewhere.

“The cruel Ortolan, a master of genetic modification, and a sorcerer who’s lived for more than three centuries, sacrificed himself for his wife and child. That’s ironic.” That was completely different from his conjecture. He did not expect the story to take this turn.

“Well, conjectures are always just conjectures. The truth can always be different. Lesson learned.”

He still felt conflicted about this man. In order to save his wife, he cruelly tortured and killed four innocent people. Ortolan found salvation, but it was based on the despair of innocent lives. Roy thought that was wrong, and it was a twisted way to express love.

However, another voice in his head told him that Ortolan had given those people payment for their lives. It was nothing but a fair transaction.

Money can’t be equated to a life, no matter how much the amount is. Roy shook his head and tossed out the jumbled up thoughts in his head. He then focused on the task at hand. He came for an important goal: to find clues about Idarran and his whereabouts.

“According to the last part of the testament, Idarran provided a way to destroy souls. Ortolan must’ve left Hindarsfjall to see him, but he didn’t give any concrete locations. I wonder if Ortolan got his wish in the end.”

Did the sorcerer destroy himself alongside that evil spirit? And what was the way Idarran provided? A way to destroy the flesh and soul of a sinner…

Roy thought that felt familiar. Just a few months ago, he came across something similar in Mayena. A sinful food provider was vaporized by a red light, and his servant, Mateo, was almost burned up right before Roy. It was possible that these cases were connected.

The grandmasters’ tracks were hard to find, and the red light appeared out of nowhere. Even the druids from the circle failed to find the source of it. “I’ll assume that everything that happened in Mayena was the work of Idarran and the grandmasters for now. If I extrapolate, then the reason for their joining the battlefields and reaping souls would be for the cleansing of this world’s sins.”

If that’s true, then their way of thinking is naive and idealistic. Where there is good, there is bound to be evil. They are two sides of the same coin. Leaning into the extremes of either side would cause an imbalance, Roy thought. He took a deep breath and stopped thinking about it. Before he found Idarran, his hypothesis held no worth.

***

Five minutes later, he tucked the corpses away in his inventory and took the silk bag, but he hesitated for a moment and placed it back where he found it. He then took the necklace on the magical door and left the chamber.

A crescent moon was ascending into the night sky, the pond in the woods reflecting its dappled light.

“Oh, my baby, my mead. Come here and let me kiss you.” Krott was still hugging the willow tree, giving it kisses and trying to sweet talk it, snot and slobber dribbling down his face. The young guide was imagining the tree as the woman of his dreams.

Roy shook his head, a smile curling his lips. He dug a big hole nearby with Gwyhyr and buried the dead. Then he snapped his fingers.

“Huh? Wh-What happened to me?” Krott wiped off his drool and snot. He almost caught a cold being blown on by the night breeze. He then stared at the moon, bemused, then he scratched his sore crotch.

“You had a good sleep, lad.” Roy nodded at the guide. “Fell asleep sitting by the pond. Fast asleep too, so I left you to it.”

“Ah, very sorry about that. Went around with you too much today, and my legs were going to break, so I was a tad panicked. So did you find anything, Mr. Pitt?”

Roy gave it some thought and nodded. “I found a mark Ortolan left. He’s gone back to Lan Exeter and resumed his place as a wealthy merchant. Probably found another wife.”

“I knew that guy was a cheating, disloyal bastard.”

***

Silvery moonlight draped itself over Lofoten, a thin layer of fog slithering around the houses and streets. The barks of dogs and crickets of bugs played within the village, lending it an air of serenity.

Once again, Roy came to the red house, but this time, the witcher didn’t knock. Instead, he looked inside through the window. The bright light of the warm flames illuminated a warm family. Eva had her hair tied and was wearing a grey apron. She was happily stirring the cauldron hanging over the crackling bonfire, the scent of meat and greens wafting out the window.

Standing beside her was a tall, muscular man in a simple jacket. He was holding an infant high up in the air, a happy, blissful smile curling his lips. The man looked honest.

“Do you miss Daddy, Arthur?” He poked the infant’s nose and tickled the baby’s face with his chin’s stubble.

The baby gurgled.

“Are they having a match?”

“Ye never heard of it? ‘Tis the Fists of Fury of Skellige Isles. Hindarsfjall selection. Winner’s goin’ to Ard Skellig’s Kaer Trolde Harbor for the next round.” Eji was staring at the ring with passion. “Any warrior worth their salt ain’t lettin’ this chance go. Every victory takes ye one step closer to Queen Birna’s Arena, where ye fight in the finals. If ye come out victorious ‘gainst Olaf the Unbeatable, ye’ll be Skellige’s hero. I lasted two rounds before I got eliminated, though.”

“Don’t look at me.” Krott shook his head. “Fistfights are out of my depth. Those fighters are going to rip my head off.”

Roy took a deep breath and downed his mead. A rush of air escaped his nose, his eyes glinting coldly. He then took off his sunglasses and cloak, revealing a lean body underneath. It was covered with brown leather armor. The enchanted armor was caved in from the encounter with the ice giant, and it needed to be repaired.

“Keep an eye on my stuff.” Roy raised his head.

A burly man grunted and held his black eye, plopping outside the ring. He was howling in pain, while the winner in the ring held up his bandaged fists. He was naked from the waist up and covered in sweat and oil. The fighter glared around him, daring someone to step into the ring.

The crowd’s shouts calmed down a little. None took up the challenge. The witcher then stepped into the crowd.

“Professor Pitt, fight defensively, and good luck.”

Krott and Eji noticed the unique eyes, and they shuddered. The professor’s a witcher? Someone’s going to be crushed.

The inn’s bonfire was burning strong, and the crowd’s cheers were still thunderous. Then something astonishing happened. A burly, hairy man with a red nose flew into the air like a punching bag and fell outside the ring, a yellowing tooth spinning in the air.

The crowd’s jaws dropped.

Skelligers might generally be stronger than northerners, but they were no match for witchers. To the crowd, Roy moved as swiftly as a phantom, and his strength rivaled that of a rock troll. The fight was already unevenly skewed toward the witcher in the first place.

“Winner, Professor Linus Pitt of Oxenfurt University. And he’s also a witcher. Any challengers?” The judge half-crouched and waved frantically at the crowd. “Stand up, men of Skellige! Are ye going to hand over the honor of victory to a witcher? Or are ye scared o’ his beastly eyes?”

“I’ll fight!” A hook-nosed man entered the ring.

Two seconds later, he held his swollen left cheek and fell with a thud, his consciousness lost.

“Come on, children o’ the seas! Men o’ Skellige, don’t ye just stand there like a coward. Show ‘im what we’re made of. Knock ‘im out cold!” the judge roared, wishing someone would defeat the witcher.

“Ain’t gonna let a mutant laugh at us!” A towering man seven feet tall and more than two hundred pounds heavy stepped into the ring. He roared, “Freya bless me! I’ll be ye rival this time.”

The man was ready to fight, and as soon as the judge finished counting down, everyone saw a blur whizzing past the ring. The witcher darted ahead, leaving nothing but a gust of wind behind. He easily passed through his opponent’s defense and slammed his fist against the man’s torso.

Like a cooked prawn, the burly man curled up and spewed projectile vomit consisting of alcohol and half-digested lobster and salted fish. His barf drew an arc across the air, drenching the judge and the audience.

“Ah, ‘at’s better.” The drunken man burped.

The air was filled with the slightly acidic stench of vomit, and roars and curses filled the inn.

The witcher stood beyond the pool of mess, staring at the crowd sharply. The Skelligers were furious, of course, but when they met his eyes, they hung their heads low. These men worshipped the strong.

***

“Ye bunch of scallywags. Any more challengers?” The irritated judge wiped the barf off his face. No one came ahead. “Fine. Today’s winner is Linus Pitt! Congratulations, matey. Tomorrow ye can make ye way to An Skellig for the next round of challenge.”

“Hey, Pitt!” A red-faced man in a fur robe held up a barrel of mead and slammed it on the counter. “Ye might’ve won the fistfight, but do ye dare have a drinkin’ match with me?”

“Rules?”

The Skelligers exchanged a look. “We’re goin’ to challenge ye. All of us against one of ye.”

“Challenge accepted.” The witcher stared back at them fearlessly. He wanted to toss everything aside and drink himself drunk just for one night.

***

At the same time, a pair of drakkars stood on the seas dozens of miles away from the bright inn, hiding in the dark like monstrous sea creatures quietly swimming across the surface of the sea, slowly wading toward the isle of Hindarsfjall.

Silvery moonlight shone upon the black ships. The edge of blades, axes, and the metal of armor reflected its glint, shining icily.