The Divine Hunter

A long, long while later, the air was filled with a loud moan as Toluvair broke free of Axii’s spell. She opened her eyes groggily, and to her surprise, she found herself within a dank cave. Varselie was lying inches away from her, the wound on her leg bandaged. Eveline was crouched beneath a flickering torch, staring at a crystal in her hand. There was sadness, gratitude, and hatred in her eyes.

“Where are we, Eveline?” Toluvair pushed herself up, though she was sore all over. She approached Varselie and patted her cheek. The sorceress groaned and woke from her sleep.

“He spared us,” said Eveline, almost stiffly.

“The witcher did? But wh—” Varselie gasped in pain. She then cast a healing spell on her wound, her finger glowing green. “That butcher slayed so many of our kin, and yet he spared us?”

“Why?” Toluvair patted her charred chest, heaving a sigh of relief. She gratefully said, “Because of Eveline, of course. Seriously, it’s way better to be alive. Just don’t ask questions.”

“This is mortifying.” Varselie clutched her chest, her heart screaming out in pain. “Over two hundred of our kin, dead. And we’re the only ones left? How are we supposed to face Filavandrel? Or Francesca?”

“I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so. Everyone who crossed the witchers died. I said, hey, we should retreat, but no. You just had to charge straight into death. If you’re that mad about it, you can slit your throat and say sorry to our kin in the afterlife.” Toluvair dusted her clothes and hands off. She stood up and approached Eveline. “Eveline and I are still of some use, so we’ll keep on fighting. Once I confirm that the witchers are gone, I’ll go back and tell them that everyone’s dead. They’ll give you a proper burial.”

Varselie curled up in the corner of the cave, her face red. If she and Kenzafa hadn’t been adamant about the assault, no one would’ve died. The witchers were like an unstoppable army.

“No, we’re not going back to them.” Eveline shook her head and took a deep breath. She was reminded of Roy’s final message to her. He was the same person she knew years ago, and yet everything had changed. Still, he made a gamble and spared her, and he made a good point. These assaults were pointless. They were killing innocents. Eveline couldn’t be happy about it, not when her kin were getting thinned out as well. It was agony. Very well, Roy. I’ll listen to you once.

“Open the portal, Varselie. I’m going back to the Blue Mountains.”

“Why?”

“I need to see Francesca. The witcher has a message for her.”

***

Dawn had broken through the horizon, the witcher’s caravan slowly coming away from the charred battlefield. Roy was seated in the carriage, staring at Wenck as he and his soldiers slowly disappeared from sight, along with their carriages filled with stones. “So what next for you? Going back to Mahakam, or are you coming along with us to the temple of Melitele?”

Barney and Reagan looked miffed. They came to Kaedwen and served its king all to gain glory so they could return with pride, yet now they ran away with their tail between their legs, their ambition yet unfulfilled.

“W-We ain’t going back to Mahakam t-that soon. A-Ain’t wanna make a-a family a-and guard t-the barren m-mountains,” Barney said.

Yarpen shook his head and fiddled with his axe. His eyes were on the trees that they slowly passed by. “I told Brovar I ain’t ever going back.”

Lambert was on another carriage. “So you’re going to find another king to work for?” he joked, scanning the dwarves. “I heard Foltest of Temeria is great to his soldiers. He’s wise, generous, and industrious.”

No witchers argued with that. Working for Foltest was a damn sight better than serving Henselt. Unlike the other kings in the Northern Realms, Foltest had no hate for nonhumans. He could speak fluent Elder Speech and was a decent appraiser of elven poetry and dwarven beer. He would cull any Squirrel on sight, of course, but he trusted nonhumans in general.

“And the kid’s friends with Adda, his princess,” Letho boomed, his voice covering the creaks of the wheels and thronging of the horses. Everyone in the caravan heard him.

“And he shares a close bond with the Lady of the Lake in Vizima,” Auckes added, a smile curling his lips.

Grimm, who was trying his best to make Oreo sit upright like a knight, froze. He then looked at Roy, his eyes blazing with passion. He knows the Lady of the Lake? Why hasn’t he told me before?

Lytta, who was straightening out Renee’s teeth, froze as well. She skewered the dumbfounded Roy with a quizzical look.

Barney, Yannick, and the Dahlberg brothers pulled on their reins and slowed their steeds. They were tempted by the suggestion.

“We’re nothing but allies.” Roy cleared his throat.

“Thanks for the suggestion, but ’tis alright.” Yarpen stepped on the stirrup, greasing his hand crossbow at the same time. “This mission opened my eyes. If the king I’ve served for years would subject me to this kind of insult, the other kings will only be worse. They’re the same, kings. Ain’t gonna really trust dwarves. No reason to simper for them.”

Yarpen heaved a sigh, a weight dropped off his shoulders. A hint of a smile returned to his face. His companions nodded as well. The ever-optimistic dwarves once again threw their worries away. We’ll find a place eventually. “Since yer goin’ to Ellander anyway, we should be visitin’ our old friend Cranmer. We’ll talk about the future later.”

“I have another idea. If you’re still keen on proving that nonhumans and humans can get along in peace, you can give this a shot.”

Yarpen was intrigued. “Well, spit it out. I ain’t wanna give up on our mission.”

A genuine smile curled Roy’s lips. “There is only one place that can alleviate the tension between humans and nonhumans.”

“Where?” Barney looked at him curiously.

“Kovir and Poviss?” Reagan smacked his head, his beard swaying. “You want us to piss off to Poviss?”

The dwarves’ eyes shone.

“Kovir and Poviss is located in the Continent’s northernmost corner, neighboring the Dragon Mountains. It’s a long distance from Yaruga. As a neutral kingdom, it is not threatened by Nilfgaard. It has a bustling sea trade and ore mining business. It’s an open kingdom near the sea and is accepting of many races. Pioneering humans, nonhumans and sorcerers have found their homes there. It’d be a good choice to live your life in peace.”

Roy then added, “However, it’s a remote place. It frankly cannot do much to change the Continent’s view toward nonhumans or influence any kingdom’s policies. The only place that can exert that influence is Novigrad. It’s located in a strategic place, houses many ports, and is home to all races.”

“Ya want us to make a breakout in the free city?” Yarpen cracked a whip at the horse. “Whatcha want us to do? Join a gang?” He cocked his eyebrow in disdain. “I’ve heard of Cleaver. Guy’s the one handlin’ all the Novigrad dwarves, isn’t he? Sure, he’s capable, but his mind’s narrower than a ditch and shallower than it too. He cares nothing aside from coins.”

Yarpen commented on the ganglords in Novigrad. “They ain’t gonna make it big, much less change the nonhumans’ situation.”

“I’m not talking about Cleaver.” Roy turned around and looked at the dwarves in the carriage behind him. Slowly, he said, “I’m talking about Cyrus. The Hierarch of the Eternal Fire.”

Rattled, the dwarves stopped their horses. The steeds raised their front legs and neighed.

“What?” Yarpen’s jaw dropped. He looked like he had seen a ghost. “Ya want us to work for the Eternal Fire? Are you for real?”

“M-My faith is in M-Mahakam.” Barney shook his head. “I-I don’t believe i-in E-Eternal Fire.”

“Roy, and you witchers as well.” Reagan was in disbelief. He asked, “But I thought you slaughtered hundreds of Eternal Fire guards. You should be at loggerheads with them at least, shouldn’t you?”

At loggerheads is putting it mildly. You guys are nemeses. The Hierarch isn’t coming down on them, but this idea sounds more like a suicide mission.

“The truth is sometimes vastly different from what the rumors say.” Roy said earnestly, “Yarpen, Barney, Reagan, and everyone else, if you have your suspicions, you can always go to the ballroom in Novigrad and tell Dandelion what I told you.”

Roy stared ahead. The caravan was moving into the vast wilderness. The expansive prairie dotted by verdant bushes, beautifully yellow soil, and gurgling streams cleared his head. “Dandelion will arrange a meeting with Cyrus. You’ll see who he really is once you get to meet him.”

Roy was reminded of how determined Jiji was at the stake. He was ready to die if it meant peace. He, more than anyone else, wished to eradicate the prejudice and discrimination against nonhumans. And now, he was the Hierarch of the Eternal Fire.

There were more than a hundred temples and altars dedicated to the Eternal Fire in the Northern Realms. The cult’s influence was only second to the religion of Melitele. If any organization had the chance to get rid of the gap between humans and nonhumans, the Eternal Fire would be one of those organizations.

Yarpen and his companions had the same dream as Jiji. They would be the perfect partner for the job.

“Dandelion? He’s just a second-rate poet.” Yarpen fiddled with his axe. Confused, he said, “Why’d you think he can get the Hierarch to meet us? We’re a buncha no-names.”

“No names?” Auckes counted his fingers. “You hunted dragons, basilisks, and ogres.” He smacked his steed. “You’re heroes. You have the right to have an audience with Cyrus.”this content of novelfullbook.com, if you reading this content please go to website novelfullbook.com to continue reading, fastest update hourly

The dwarves were hesitant.

“Even if you can’t meet him, Novigrad’s still a good place to run around.” Serrit had no idea what Roy was up to, but he would help. “Dandelion’s going to provide all the booze you could ask for.”

The dwarves tossed all their worries out the window.

“Well, what a-are we waiting for? L-Let’s see Dandelion!” Barney couldn’t wait to go. He was looking to vent, and a tear hung from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah. Sometimes you gotta play a little.” Reagan nodded. “To Novigrad we go.”

Yarpen mused over it. He had no idea why Roy wanted him to go to Novigrad, but he knew the witcher wouldn’t harm him. If the witchers hadn’t intervened, his team would have suffered casualties. Yarpen owed him a lot. He would risk his life if Roy asked him to, let alone make a trip to Novigrad.

Roy continued. “If you’d like to leave now, Coral can open up a portal to Novigrad right away.”

“‘Tis alright.” Yarpen exchanged a look with his companions. “We’ll keep going until we get to Kaedwen’s borders.”

***

The remaining journey was a slightly quieter one. With the dwarves worrying over their uncertain future in Novigrad, they lost their interest in regaling anyone with their stories. The only dwarf who still was in the mood to fool around was Barney. He’d chat up the children and crack some jokes.

The children and young witchers were weighed down by something else, however. They weren’t smiling that much anymore.

“I know we won, Felix, but something doesn’t feel right.” Five days later, Carl couldn’t take it anymore. They’d killed many Squirrels in the battle of Novigrad, but it was an exciting battle. This time, however, something haunted his heart. He felt dragged down by some sort of sin.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see the Squirrels glaring at me.” Monti winced a little. “They kept charging straight at me, shouting ‘For Aelirenn’ and ‘For Shaerrawedd.’ Every one of them died. And I see blood everywhere.”

The children in the carriages were looking around as well. Under the protection of Coral and the witchers, they were perfectly unharmed, but they saw and heard everything. The cries and howls of battle, the splattering blood, the blazing flames, and the magma that vaporized everything it touched. It left an indelible mark on their hearts.

Wars were far more terrifying than any street fight they’d been in.

Felix didn’t chastise his protégé for raising that question. He patted the boy’s head. The witchers looked at them, and the dwarves were observing in silence as well.

“I’ve been waiting for that question since the battle in Novigrad. It’d be odd if you hadn’t asked. I’d wondered if the new and improved Trials had killed off some of your humanity.” He scanned the young witchers, a small smile tugging on his lips. “But I’m glad that you’re all still normal.”

Infected by his smile, the young witchers cracked slivers of smiles as well, and their hearts calmed a little.

“The worst things you’ve killed before the battle in Novigrad were drowners. And then you made the jump to humans. Humans are different. In appearance, personalities, and how you fight them. But most importantly, they, like us, are sentient creatures. We feel no burden of murder during the battle in Novigrad, since we were doing it for survival. The previous battle, however, was a massacre. The Squirrels were at an overwhelming disadvantage. And before the battle, Yarpen told you of their raison d’être. You acknowledge their reason to fight, so you regret killing them. It is a normal reaction.”

Felix acknowledged their feelings, but then he added, “Though you do not have to let it weigh on your minds. Think about it. Why do you kill? For fun? Or for some other nefarious goals?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Yes. You kill for survival. Had you hesitated even once, you’d be joining the Squirrels in the afterlife. No one can judge you for the killings. Not even gods. And you’ll get used to the nightmares.”

The young witchers felt more at ease after hearing that.

“Still, remember this well,” Vesemir said, staring at the endless wilderness, heaving a sigh, “There are no victors in war. There are only losers.”

“The best way to win a war is through a nonviolent method. If one exists, anyway.” Geralt once again brought up his philosophy about neutrality.

The young witchers didn’t take that to heart, however.

“I didn’t take you as a peacekeeper, Geralt. Asking your apprentice to employ the way of diplomacy is akin to cutting off their wings.” Paulie noticed the look of dilemma on the young witchers’ faces. He said, “I say you don’t have to think so much about it. You have to do what you have to do sometimes.”

The young witchers nodded.

“If y-you lost, t-then that’s all M-Mahakam’s plan.” Barney took a bottle of spirit out of his bushy beard and took a swig.

“We do not put our faith in anything but destiny,” said Letho calmly.

“And destiny always points you in the right direction,” Roy said, his eyes roving over the young witchers. Realization had dawned upon them. “If you have to kill, do not hesitate. Do not regret it. That is what destiny wanted you to do.”

The men bellowed in laughter, while Lytta shook her head.

“To blasted destiny!” Yarpen laughed and tossed Carl a bottle of liquor.

“To destiny.” Carl took a swig and handed the bottle to his friend.

***

There are no victors in battle. Go for a nonviolent method to resolve wars if possible. The regular kids in the carriage carved that message into their minds. Little did they know, their futures were about to change.

***

Two weeks later, the witchers and the dwarves’ journey together came to an end. At the borders of Ellander, they bade their goodbyes. They exchanged hugs, and the witchers saw the dwarves off as they went for Novigrad.

Three days went by, and the witchers came to the temple of Melitele standing on the outskirts of Ellander.

***

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