The Divine Hunter

Another dawn of winter came, and snow fell on the beautiful and delicate town of Oxenfurt, draping the roofs and street white.

A woman holding up a black umbrella walked down the street all by herself. She wore a lavish, embroidered dress that covered every inch of her skin. She was wearing beautiful earrings, necklaces, and rings. Her hat had a veil raining down from the edges, covering her face.

But there was one thing she couldn’t cover.

The best years of her life were behind her. Her skin was no longer supple, and wrinkles ruined any beauty she had. No longer was her hair black and lustrous. Instead, it was grey and dry. There was a hint of sadness coming from her eyes, and memories of her past flooded her mind.

Twenty years had passed since her husband died. They were blessed with no children, and she became the loneliest woman in Oxenfurt. Marena Mignole, a rich woman, and yet no one pitied or cared for her.

She had a manor, but it was empty and horrifyingly quiet. Every day, she would ride her carriage into town just to escape the suffocating loneliness. Her servants would be sent away, while she would trudge down the narrow streets or purchase something she liked in the auction house.

Her late husband left her enough wealth to last her a few lifetimes.

Sometimes she would be buffeted by melancholy. Twenty-eight years ago, she was still a single, unmarried woman. She knew nothing of the world, and it was then she met the man she opened her heart to.

His eyes were feline, and he had an unusual air about him. Despite his advanced age, she still fell for him. He had humor, courage, and unimaginable strength.

Their love came incredibly fast. The moment their gazes met, passion sparked and burned. She slept with him many nights, but alas, they had to separate. Twenty-eight years passed since then, and she collected all the weapons and armor she thought would match him. That was the only way she could assuage her lonely heart.

***

Once again, Marena went to Borsodi Auction House and looked inside. There weren’t a lot of people there. I wonder if I’ll get something good again today. Perhaps the weapon of the first witchers?

A boy suddenly came to her from the streets on her left. He was huffing and puffing, but the boy bowed to her anyway. “Good morning. Might you be Countess Marena Mignole? I’m Tobio.”

Marena looked at the boy and nodded at him. Most countesses would have berated the boy for disturbing them, but Marena wasn’t like them.

“A gentleman wanted me to ask you this: do you still have the Wolven gambeson from 1234?”

“I am sorry?” Marena asked, seemingly confused.

“The Wolven gambeson,” Tobio repeated himself.

Gusts of morning breeze traipsed across the streets, blowing Marena’s veil up and revealing an old, wrinkled face underneath. The woman was no longer calm. Instead, she covered her mouth just in case that gasp would escape her lips. “What’s his name? What does he look like?”

The boy mused. “He didn’t tell me his name, but he was an elderly man. Said if you’d like to return the gambeson, you can meet him at The Golden Sturgeon.”

***

Marena gave the boy one crown and held her dress up to trot across the streets. To hell with decorum.

Five minutes later, a panting Marena found herself face to face with The Golden Sturgeon. This was the place he brought her to after sneaking her out of the manor that night. They drank a lot of blueberry wine, and he kept flirting with her.

***

She took a deep breath and straightened herself up. Decorum is important in this case. And then she opened the door.

***

The lobby was illuminated by magical lamps on the ceiling. Aside from some men who drank through the night, there was barely anyone else in the inn, but she saw someone peculiar before the counter.

He had a weird getup. Strapped to his back were two long swords. He was tall and muscular, though the grey armor he wore looked old. Still, they were well-maintained. And he was also wearing a funny top hat that was popular a few decades ago. Most men would go around wearing one, but they were mostly out of production at this point.

As if feeling something, the man turned around. He locked eyes with Marena, and both of them froze.

Marena had a good look at him. His hair was slicked back with gel, and his beard was shaved off. The man looked just like a young lad, but he felt more trustworthy. There was a happy smile on his lips, and the pendant around his neck swayed. He looked just like he was when they first met twenty-eight years ago.

Marena felt her heart flutter, and it just wouldn’t calm down. Two minutes later, she sat down on a stool beside Vesemir. “You look the same as you did so many years ago, Vesemir.” She put her hands on the counter and took the gloves off, revealing a pair of gaunt, shaking hands.

Vesemir patted the countertop and poured her a glass of liquor. It was her favorite blueberry brandy.

“You shouldn’t say that, Lambert,” Eskel said, defending Geralt.

“Did you fall for her spell too, you buffoon? Dammit. Bottoms up! Your turn, Serrit!”

“Reasonable and knowledgeable women.” A serious frown furrowed Serrit’s brows. “I don’t want a common wench who’d argue with anyone, anywhere.”

Everyone nodded.

Lambert took a deep breath. “My preferences are a bit unorthodox. Don’t laugh or insult me for it. I… I like other women…”

“What? Make it clear, mate!” Auckes complained and pushed a mug of vodka into Lambert’s face. “What do you mean other women? Explain, or you’re drinking ten of these!”

“Other men’s women…”

Everyone fell into a deep silence and gave Lambert weird, cautious looks before moving away from their morally questionable friend.

Oh, yeah. I remember. In the original timeline, Lambert is going to sleep with Geralt’s woman. Man, he’s not a good friend.

“Don’t give me that look!” Lambert yelled. “I don’t sleep with my friends’ women! I’m not that kind of man!”

Geralt and Eskel exchanged a look and nodded. “Lambert, you’ll have to change that habit if you want us to stay friends.”

“Don’t you guys trust me?”

And then everyone turned their attention to the youngest, most handsome witcher. Some were giving him encouraging looks, while some were waiting to see him make a joke out of himself.

“I…” Roy licked his lips. Okay, let’s come up with something. That’s it! He loudly announced, “I… I like my women!”

“That’s cheating!”

“Listen here, you little shit…”

“What’s that supposed to be, a non-answer?”

“I call that mutual feelings!” Roy argued, but that only landed him in more trouble.

“Just be open with it.” Letho had a look of disappointment on his face. “You like curvy, mature, older sorceresses. Like Lytta Neyd!”

“I…”

“No excuses! You’re still lying to us right now? Can’t you be honest? We’re friends!” Auckes held his forehead. “You need to be punished!”

“That’s right!” The other witchers took the chance to vent their frustrations at Roy. He managed to convince them into joining the brotherhood without fear or fervor, and the lad wasn’t even twenty. If this went on, he would be bolder in the future.

Uh oh. Not good. Roy tried to run, but Lambert hit him with an Aard. The witchers pounced at him like tigers and held his limbs and neck. They held him up in the air, and Roy wondered if he should teleport himself to Gryphon and escape this.

But the young witcher gave up on that idea. They have to vent sooner or later. Keeping it suppressed for any longer isn’t gonna end well for me. He stopped resisting and was subjected to some sort of weird game. The witchers ran across Kaer Morhen’s great hall and slammed his crotch against the stone pillars until Roy’s lower spine started to hurt.

Someone whipped out a wooden funnel and stuck it in his mouth. And then they poured five bottles of vodka into the funnel.

Roy got drunk against his will. His eyes were glossed over, and his mind was fuzzy. Roy was starting to see triples. The veteran witchers looked like they occupied the whole room, and that was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness. I’m getting them back for this!

Twenty-fifth of the first month, 1262. Night.

On their last day in Kaer Morhen, Viper School witcher and honorary Wolf, Roy, was sleeping soundly beside Vizima’s lake, and he had a great dream.

***

End of Arc

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