The Divine Hunter

Golden sunset rained down on the rivers of Kaer Morhen. Away the winds blew, and the riverbanks cleared, revealing seven witchers hiding in the patch of reeds, staring at the dark entrance of the cave.

A fat deer was lying silently on the ground, a great gash opened on its back. Its body was drenched in red, and the stench of blood wafted into the cave.

“You sure this will work, Letho?” asked Lambert curiously. He wiped his sweaty palms off, his eyes still on the entrance.

“No guarantees, but the possibility is high.” Letho pulled a reed beside him away and whispered, “Not even the green dragon can resist the allure of cooked ‘mutton.’ You think cyclops are smarter than dragons? Unless something very special happened to it, this plan is going to work.”

“But Old Speartip only eats fresh prey. That deer’s unmoving. Looks dead too. It’s not his usual menu.”

“Shut it, Lambert. You’re worrying too much.” Auckes looked at him. “That only happens under normal circumstances. It’s winter now. Beasts are in hiding, and prey is scarce. I bet Old Speartip would love it if someone wrapped his food up like a present for him.” Auckes continued curiously, “But you sure the poison will work? I think we need a bigger dosage for a guy his size. Not like we’ve killed cyclops before. We have no idea about their capabilities and how fast they can heal themselves.”

“Have some faith in Letho.” Roy looked at the fainted deer. “Not even drowners can survive puffer fish toxin, let alone a cyclops. And it’s fine even if we can’t kill it with poison. As long as we can weaken it, we can get into a war of attrition and wear him down.”

Two days. That was how long the witchers spent catching puffer fish in the nearby waters. It was their ovulating season, and the witchers took out their ovaries and innards to make their poison. They were paired with belladonna and winter aconites, and Letho the poison master concocted the brew.

The deer lost all consciousness five seconds after ingesting the poison, turning its whole body into a big vat of deadly poison.

***

Geralt suddenly put his index finger to his lips, and the witchers stopped moving. At the same time, they listened closely to any movements coming from the cave.

A strange rumble came from within the cave, shuddering the earth ever so slightly. Eventually, the rumble became stronger, making the reeds tremble. The sound of heavy breathing howled across the air. Bushes were pushed lower into the ground, and the air was filled with a foul stench that could knock anyone out if they came even remotely close to it.

And then the footsteps slowed. A humanoid, muscular monster that stood over thirteen feet tall emerged from the entrance, revealing itself to the hidden witchers. Its eye was bulging like a jaundiced patient’s, and its nostrils enlarged as the monster sniffed the air.

The witchers submerged themselves in the water, holding their breath.

Old Speartip eventually heaved a sigh of relief and grinned toothily. If the rotten, yellowing things in his mouth could be called teeth, that was. Murky, viscous drool trickled down its mouth and fell to the ground, and a sigh of delight escaped Old Speartip’s lips as he picked the deer up and returned to his cave.

***

Winds turned into gales, sending ripples spreading across the water.

And then a hairless head popped out of the water. “How long do you think it’s gonna take him to finish that whole thing?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Geralt said. “He loves eating his food alive. No cooking involved. And that deer wouldn’t be enough to fill his belly anyway.”

“Well, what are we waiting for, then? Get ready to rumble, people.”

The witchers exchanged looks of encouragement. Some sat down, some crouched down, while some stood up and greased their sword using a piece of cloth. Two layers of oil were added to the blades. One was ogroid oil, while the other was a concoction made of puffer fish toxin.

***

Blades were unsheathed and glinting dangerously. Some bottles were uncorked, and the witchers downed their Cat and Petri’s Philter combo. Black veins crawled up to the witchers’ faces, and their eyes shone like beasts’ eyes.

The witchers curled up and slid silently into the cave. Lambert was in the lead, given that he knew the structure best. Everyone else followed him, putting some distance between themselves. Through the dank cave they went and up the steep incline they climbed. Despite no signboard in the cave, they could still smell where Old Speartip was at.

Eventually, the witchers covered themselves with the shield of Quen and took their positions behind the stone pillars of the cave clearing. Old Speartip was lying on the ground, his breathing weak. The carcass of an animal was lying beside his leg, blood covering the ground.

‘Cyclops

HP: ? (Weakened)’

***

The poison had kicked in and knocked Old Speartip out before he could even finish his dinner. That lifted some weight off the witchers’ shoulders, but none of them approached the monster.

“Is it dead?” Lambert went ahead and stepped on the gigantic monster that smelled like grilled meat, blood, and shit.

“Yes, Lambert. Letho’s puffer fish toxin worked, especially on ogroids.” Eskel wiped the sweat off his face and said, “Old Speartip is no more. He shall not be a menace to Kaer Morhen now. Wonder what’ll Vesemir think if he knows this.”

“He’s thinking about something important. Probably a big decision. Don’t disturb him.” Geralt shook his head.

“Told you I’d get rid of this bastard, and here we are.” Roy extended his hand to Lambert.

And the Wolf gave him a high-five. “You stuck to your word. Guess we’ll be making that Novigrad trip after all.” Lambert approached the body and spat at its mangled head. “This is for Voltehre, you sucker!”

***

And then it was time for the loot. The witchers carved their prey up like giddy little kids opening up presents. Cyclops were the apex creatures of the ogroid class. They were as rare and powerful as green dragons. Perhaps only losing out by a hair’s breadth. Every part of this monster’s body was valuable.

Serrit sliced off a piece of its squalid, rancid, but exceptionally sturdy skin. “Pity it has holes all over it, or we can make four or five sets of armor out of its skin. This is a lot sturdier than cured draconid leather.”

“Guess we can still make one, even with these holes in them.” Auckes finally managed to pull off some skin the size of a whole nail after some labor. He placed it in front of his chest and filled it with the skin. “This’ll make a fine bracelet.”

Everyone else was carving up the fallen monster happily too.

Letho cut through the ribs and plucked its organs out, tossing the intoxicated parts away.

Eskel was cutting the spine open to collect his spinal fluid.

Geralt was hacking away at its head in an attempt to find the mutagen within.

Lambert was trying to hack the eyelid away and pluck the eye out. It was bigger than his head. “This is its most valuable part. Some rare and ancient recipes need this.”

Roy had his arms crossed. He looked at his busy companions for a moment and turned his gaze to the parts between Old Speartip’s legs solemnly.

“What are you spacing out for? Come over and help!” Lambert grumbled.

“He’s big.”

“What?” Auckes craned his neck curiously.

“That part.”

“Whoa. It’s like a loaded catapult.”

“Yeah. Bigger than the one in Oxenfurt. I bet someone’s going to take great interest in it.” And we can sell it for a boatload of coins.

Roy’s eyes twinkled. He was reminded of an old friend in Oxenfurt—Linus Pitt.

“Maybe he can get me a big client. And then we’ll get paid handsomely for the genitals and skeleton. But the skeleton is like a mountain. Can’t pack it into my inventory space even if I cut it up.”

Roy put the idea of taking the skeleton aside for the moment.

The witchers worked for more than an hour. When the moon was finally rising and the waters were blanketed by a layer of mist, the witchers happily rowed back to the other side, their pockets filled with loot.

Geralt managed to pull out a great fleshy, ball-like structure from the cyclops. It was on par with a greater green mutagen and was the last mutagen Roy needed to rank his witcher rank up.

It was corrupted by puffer fish toxin, but Roy tucked it away in his inventory space anyway. One step away from ranking up.

***

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