The Divine Hunter

Decadent moonlight spilled into the window, shining upon the figures sitting cross-legged upon the icy ground.

Carl’s face tensed up. Like a general trying to order his soldier around, he smacked Acamuthorm’s shoulders. “Mate, I have an important mission for you. Stand guard outside the cellar later.”

“Piss off.” The part-elf shoved his hand away in scorn. “We’re doing this together.”

“Don’t argue. My gut tells me something’s wrong with the guards. You have to stay back just in case anything happens.” Carl stared outside the window, musing.

“There’s something wrong with you. You killed the drowner last time, so this time, I’m dealing with whatever this is.” Acamuthorm’s eyes were as wide as saucepans. He argued defiantly, “I’m the one who offered to do this for free. I’m taking the risks myself.”

“That’s a different matter. You can be the main unit when you beat me.”

That hit Acamuthorm where it hurt, and he laughed mirthlessly. Knowingly, he said, “You’d be so selfless and thoughtful of someone else? Do it, then. After you die, I’ll take care of Vicki in your stead.”

Carl grinned toothily, his eyes icy. He held his hand up and aimed it at his comrade’s crotch, gesturing like he was going to chop something off. “I didn’t know you picked up Lambert’s bad habit. Maybe I’ll cut that off first.”

“Try if you dare.”

The witchers bantered for five minutes, and they calmed down. Carl held the silver weapon on his left side and grabbed the hilt with one hand. He greased some specter oil on the blade with his other hand. Then he smeared the blade with the Viper School’s modified, colorless pufferfish toxin. Just to make things safer.

The moment the liquids slid into the stylistic rune, Carl brushed his index finger across the back of the blade like a swordsman going into a deadly dance. Like a sword maker making a sword. Once the oils were evenly spread, the blade glimmered greyish-brown. He sheathed the weapon and grabbed two bottles from the pouch around his belt and chest. One was made of porcelain, while the other was a long, silver container.

The corks fell to the ground, and Carl gulped the decoctions. Cat enhanced their mutated eyes so they could catch light easier. Thunderbolt expanded their muscles, coursing power through their veins and awakening their potential. Carl was like a panther lying in wait for his prey. Black veins wriggled and throbbed, snaking from the neck to his temples. The veins spread through his face, contorting it until Carl looked like a demon. Slivers of white mist poured forth from his nose and mouth. As his eyes turned, lightning bolts seemed to flicker around.

Carl stood up, his cloak billowing. He strode out of the doorway, and Acamuthorm followed. He relaxed his muscles, livening up his body.

Snow fell through the landscape. There was only silence around the temple, accompanied by the chilly night wind. The priestess and her guards were holding up torches, standing before the sealed house beside the barn where the horses stayed. They were shivering.

Carl took a few steps, and his ears wiggled. He heard soft moans and cries coming from the darkness of the house, spreading through the night like icy winds. It reminded him of madwomen who stayed in cemeteries, whispering to themselves. Within the weak voice was chilly air that could seep into the bodies of those who heard it.

When the torches shone on the witchers, the man with unkempt hair was shocked by Carl’s demonic look. Cautiously, he held the dagger around his belt. “Carl, are you sick, or did you get possessed?”

“Calm down. This is just tattoo magic. It can scare ghosts off. And it works on humans, though only just a bit. Calm down.” Acamuthorm’s face was covered in black veins as well, and he smiled, but it was a terrifying smile. “Well, don’t just stand there. Open the door.”

Rumachi wheeled around and looked at Daisy. The moment she nodded, he pried the sealed door with a hammer and tossed the wooden boards onto the ground. They stepped into the house.

It was a place made of wood. Dark and empty, it looked like it’d been deserted for six months. Dust and cobwebs came flying at the intruders. In the center of the house was a piece of wood that slightly caved downward. The torches shone on it and the ball of chains that were wrapped up like a metal python. There was a lock on it.

The priestess looked at the witcher and patted her chest. She took a deep breath, crouched, and took out some keys from her robe. One by one, she unlocked the chains. She had her back turned to everyone. Her hair swayed, inadvertently revealing a pattern on her nape. It was the pattern of a cobweb, and it was the size of a fingernail. Most of the pattern was hidden under the robe, revealing nothing but eerie black runes.

A mark? A tattoo?

The witchers exchanged a look. They thought that mark looked familiar, but they couldn’t remember where they saw it.

The guards helped the priestess pull the chains away and opened up the stone slab. A flight of stairs that descended into the underground was revealed. The moans in the cellar became a high-pitched scream, unnerving the hearts of anyone who heard it.

Carl’s medallion was buzzing, and the mana hanging in the air was getting erratic. He quickly made a Sign and covered himself in a layer of golden barrier. Heliotrop followed quickly after. The witcher unsheathed his blade and held it up. Holding his head low, he walked into the darkness like a crab.

“Aren’t you going to help?” Daisy looked at Acamuthorm curiously. He was standing guard at the entryway.action

“He’s my leader. Strongest guy among the first apprentices of the brotherhood. Ruler of the drowners,” Acamuthorm joked, then the look on his face changed. He spoke again, but there was a hint of excitement in his voice this time. “Shh. It’s coming.”

***

The thick scent of dust, rotting items, and soil filled the air. Two green beads were floating in the darkness, shining like glow-in-the-dark balls. Beams of moonlight poured into the holes deep in the cellar, weaving a beautiful silver web. Like a hunting panther, Carl bent over a little and held his breath. He stood on his tiptoes, quietly advancing into the depths of the cellar, where the screech was coming from.

His pupils had contracted into slits, and he looked through the darkness. The ground was a mess. Piles of stones, miscellaneous items, and pickled food were strewn everywhere. Right in front of him, a charred table leg was stabbed into the ground, standing like the mast of a sunken ship. The table and the half-buried marble table further away formed a triangular opening.

A vague silhouette burning green charged through the darkness, stirring up howling winds. It charged at the intruders of the cellar. Carl focused and quickly seized a bottle from his belt. He hurled it at the entity. The bottle broke, and a greenish-grey dust cloud filled the air, covering the entity from head to toe like a net capturing its haul. Electric bolts flickered, and Moon Dust took effect. The entity’s translucent body turned corporeal, revealing itself under the moonlight.

It was wearing a long, tattered green dress. In one hand was a lantern, while in the other was a rusty dagger. The entity was hovering an inch above the ground. It was spindly and skeletal. Its arms were gnarly, its face dried and covered with rotting flesh. The creature was like a corpse bride in a gown that just broke out of its ancient grave.

In the books of witchers, this creature was called a nightwraith. It screamed and spun like it was performing a waltz. The creature’s dagger spun as well, just like a spinning gear. A green wheel spun around, but the witcher knew this was coming. He crouched and rolled away easily, just like how he evaded the spinning dummies thousands of times.

The witcher escaped the edge of the attacking dagger until he was behind the creature. Before the nightwraith could do anything, Carl quickly made a purple Sign and pushed it ahead. The circle of Yrden gleamed on the ground, locking the nightwraith within.

Its screams echoed through the cellar. As if it was fettered to heavy chains, the creature sank like it was caught by a pool of mud. The light around it strobed, and its movement slowed to a crawl, yet it screamed and pounced at the witcher anyway.

Carl smiled. He held his blade up to his cheek, pointing it at the monster like it was a bull’s horn ready to attack. He put his left foot forward and thrust his blade ahead, swift as lightning.

A flash of silver pierced the air and stabbed into the nightwraith’s chest. The silver blade and the oils on it worked their magic and melted the creature’s body like acid. Smoke billowed, and something sizzled. A hole was opened up on the monster’s chest. It screeched in pain and changed how it attacked.

Carl easily evaded the dagger’s swing. He circled the creature like a phantom, swinging his silver weapon around. Bursts of air exploded in the cellar. Every strike the witcher made would hit its target. With the oils on it, the witcher’s weapon left craters on the nightwraith’s body.

Trapped by Yrden and Moon Dust, the nightwraith could not turn itself incorporeal anymore, nor could it move as fast as its enemy who had taken decoctions before the battle. Eventually, the nightwraith was nothing more than an injured beast locked in a cage, unable to escape its destruction.

Carl landed on his toes and dodged the lantern coming at him. Quickly, he thrust his blade ahead three times, going for the monster’s waist and ugly face. The monster was still hovering in the air, the hem of its dress spinning around. It opened its mouth and howled, the underground chamber rumbling.

The waves of its screams blasted all around the monster, and debris flew everywhere. Carl swayed and the black barrier coating him broke, but it fended off the sound wave. The witcher darted ahead, holding his sword before his torso. Like a plough, Carl swung his blade up and pierced the monster’s left eye. He wanted to destroy it.

And then a gust of wind charged from behind him. Another wraith came rampaging out of the darkness. Shocked, the witcher leapt left and hid behind the marble table, but he was one step too late. The dagger destroyed Quen, and the golden barrier shattered.

The battle took a turn for the worse. The injured nightwraith and its screeching companion came toward the witcher, flanking him. Carl knew the battle wouldn’t be easy, but his lack of experience put him at a disadvantage, and he was caught by surprise.

The injured nightwraith attacked Carl’s legs with its dagger. Carl leapt in time and kept his knees intact, but the new nightwraith swung its lantern. Sparks flew across the table, and it grazed Carl’s right hand.

A gash opened up. Carl’s hand screamed in pain, and he almost let his sword fall. Fortunately, he’d gone through tons of hellish training in the brotherhood, so his endurance was remarkable. Quickly, he bent backward at the perfect angle. He evaded the monsters’ attacks and quickly swung his blade in an arc.

The nightwraith on the left howled, a corrosive wound opening up on its wrist. The one on the right had its belly hit by the blade, and it screamed louder. Carl quickly cast Aard and shoved the left monster backward.

The injured nightwraith swung its weapons like an insane beast. It hit the witcher’s left waist, but it only left a white mark on the dragonscale-reinforced leather armor. Carl only grunted. He spun around and leapt out of the monster’s attack range. Quickly, he moved to its side and swung his blade at the monster’s back, then he thrust his weapon ahead.

A stream of fire swam across the air. Flames burned on the blade, trying to pierce the nightwraith from back to chest. The monster shimmered, trying to become incorporeal, but it had no more strength for that. It let out one final, ear-piercing scream as its skin was peeled off from its whole body.

As if the monster had been rotting for many centuries, it turned into dust, leaving nothing but a pile of green specter dust behind. Carl was breathing heavily, swaying like a clock, but he quickly leapt at the other nightwraith that had split itself into three, bombarding it with Signs, bottles, and his sword.

***

“Do you hear that? The battle’s raging. Are you sure he can deal with it alone?” Daisy gritted her teeth. She looked at the dark cellar with worry. “Are you sure you’re not going to help?”

“Don’t worry. He’s not an idiot. He’d have asked for help if he needed it. Since he’s not saying anything, he can deal with it.” Acamuthorm had a determined and confident look in his eyes. “Get ready to welcome a victorious warrior.”

And then the sounds of battle came to a halt. The four standing outside the cellar tensed up, holding their weapons and torches tightly.

Ten minutes later, a pair of gleaming eyes quickly ascended the staircase, and then, a young face covered in black veins appeared from the darkness. The witcher was covered in soil and dust, sweat trickling down his chin. Carl was pale and exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept for three days. A small gash decorated his cheek. It was obvious he’d gone through a tough battle.

Dino, Rumachi, and Daisy froze in shock for a moment, then they smiled brightly. “You won?”

“Took everything I had, but fortunately, I dealt with the monsters.” Carl wiped the sweat and blood off his forehead, then he smiled. “The cellar is safe for now.”

Acamuthorm heaved a sigh of relief.

“Speaking of which, your information is seriously flawed.” Carl frowned. He dug out a bottle of Swallow and poured it on the back of his bleeding hand. “There were two nightwraiths inside, not one. If I wasn’t prepared enough, I would’ve died.”

“Oh, sorry, Carl.” Panicked, the priestess and her guards quickly bowed. “Please forgive us for our mistake.”

Carl leaned on the edge of the staircase and looked at the trio, then he turned to the angry Acamuthorm and shook his head. “Forget it. Now get some shovels and help us.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I searched the cellar, but I couldn’t find the source of these nightwraiths. They might be buried underground. We need to find the corpses and deal with the problem once and for all. We have a long night ahead of us.”

***

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