The Divine Hunter

Their instructor for the next day was a foul-mouthed, hot-tempered, and balding man. Monti was still very much clumsy in his training, and Lambert mocked him for an hour and a half. Very much like something Lambert would do, even to a child. It took Monti everything to hold it in.

Something delightful happened after breakfast. The orphanage received two newcomers. One was a lanky boy wearing black, tattered clothes and torn shoes. His hair and eyes were black, and his face was freckled.

The girl beside him looked adorable, though her face was caked in grime. Her blond hair tumbled down her shoulders like dried paddy. She looked gaunt and apparently malnourished. Her sickly white hand was holding onto one of the witchers. It was the one with dark gold eyes.

Monti had to say he was the most handsome and charming witcher of them all. If he was the newcomers, he would be willing to get close to Roy too.

Carl grinned toothily and greeted the newcomers. “What’s your name? How old are you?”

Monti hid in the corner and watched.

“Acamuthorm.” The black-haired boy quickly wiped his hands off his shirt before shaking Carl’s hand.

“You’re part-elf, aren’t you?” Carl looked at his slightly pointy ears.

Acamuthorm started trembling. The fact that he was part-elf earned him a lot of beatings in Novigrad.

“Worry not, child. I’m a part-elf as well.” Roy pointed at his ears and promised, “Nobody will look down on you in this household.”

The sheepish Acamuthorm squeaked quietly.

“I-I’m Vicki…” The girl stuck her head out like a nervous squirrel. She had a pair of beautiful purple eyes. “I’m seven years old.” She stared at the boy hiding in the corner.

Monti stood stiffly and stammered, “I-I’m Monti…”

***

House of Gawain was starting to gain traction. Every two or three days or so, the teachers would take in new kids. Two weeks later, they had twenty kids in the orphanage, and the numbers stagnated. The witchers had stopped searching for new kids, as they wanted to try out some new things with the children. If their teachings worked, they would continue the search.

Most of the kids were boys, and only seven were girls. All of them were homeless kids in Novigrad and the villages around it. Monti recognized a couple of them too. They were the ones who lost in the fight for a spot at the church’s orphanage.

***

The kids started to get along after a while and let their guard down around one another. Monti eventually realized that everyone’s classes were different.

When the clock struck six in the morning, all the children would wake up and train. The boys would go for the obstacle course and one-leg-standing practice, while the girls who slept in the other big room with Stacy the cook only had to run around the compound a few times.

***

Breakfast was at seven-thirty, and when the clock struck eight, all the kids would sit in the same classroom and learn how to read and count. Eskel the lecturer loved to pick one kid at random every day to answer the questions he threw out.

And he would also give every student a square wooden board dubbed ‘test papers.’ All the test papers had something called ‘questions’ written in charcoal pencil. The kids would be tested on their mastery of everything taught so far, and Eskel would mark every student’s test paper seriously.

Fortunately, there were no punishments for low scorers, but the high-scorers would get a little reward. If they accumulate ten rewards, they could have one little wish granted. Mostly it was something like singing nursery rhymes in front of the kids or having an extra thirty minutes of break every day.

This system instilled excitement and a little anxiety among the kids.

Classes went on until twelve. Lunch and break took up another hour, and then two kinds of classes would begin after that.

When morning training finally got to the swordplay basic stances and post-standing, most of the boys gave up, and Carl called them peasants. On the other hand, he called himself, Monti, and two other boys who kept going on as reserve witcher apprentices.

The reserve apprentices would take classes on monsters and herbs in the afternoon, while the farmers went to do their toil on the farms around the orphanage. The teachers would take them there after nap time every day and show them how to till the soil and dig up little trenches.

The kids would sow seeds of carrots, radishes, spinach, and garlic just like regular farmers would, but they were working at a much slower speed.

“This isn’t the right way to train, kid. They need more trials and bloodshed.” Serrit frowned. For some reason, only the witchers around him could hear his whisper. “We’re training witchers here, not royalty. If we keep this up, they’re going to end up weak. It’s time to show them what the real world is like. They need to be hunters, not kids living in a secluded orphanage in some woods.”

“I smell jealousy, Serrit.” Auckes shook his head. “But I have to say they’ve laughed more in a month than we did during our years of training back in Gorthur Gvaed.” He sighed. “Why didn’t our mentor train us like we’re training the kids?”

Letho blinked. Gorthur Gvaed wasn’t the best place on this land. Pain and agony were the Vipers’ friends, and joy was just some kind of distant relative who came to visit once in a while.

Lambert cleared his throat. “Our clairvoyant did come up with some special training. Are you sure we can whip them up into passable wichers? Gawain’s representative came for a few visits, and he looked at you like you were some kind of saint. We spent more than five hundred crowns this month on the children. Not a single orphanage is as generous as we are, though Gawain did sponsor most of the money. And I’ve watched the kids closely. Their hands shake whenever they’re laughing. Not good for sword training. If this keeps up, they’re going to be more vulnerable and weak-willed in the future. Worry and pain are the ingredients for growth, but an excess of fun shreds willpower.”

Felix had his arms crossed. He was reminded of his own apprentice and how happy he had been lately, and that was worrying. He wondered if Carl could hold on until the Trial. The agony he has to suffer might make him give up.

“You’re a fool, Lambert.” Geralt shook his head. Unlike his peers, he wasn’t worried at all. “And since when are you a philosopher? There’s no rule that apprentices must suffer before they take the Trial. I think Roy’s right. At least now the kids see this place as home and their friends as family. Family, friendship, and joy are deep bonds. They’ll help with the pain of the Trial. And I’ve talked to Dandelion. Oxenfurt Academy’s child psychology professor told him happy children are strong children. They can take more pain than children who suffer for most of their lives.”

Serrit scoffed at that theory. “Joy is poison. Once the Trial hits its peak, they’ll die.”

Kiyan and Eskel said nothing, but they were deep in thought.

“Alright, just listen to me,” Roy stopped them and circled the stakes, and then he looked at Serrit. “You guys overlooked one thing. The kids were vagrants before they came here. They’ve suffered enough. Society has punished them enough, and you suggest we do it again? If nobody gives them love and sympathy when they need it the most, they’re going to become sociopaths when they grow up.”

Roy’s statement pushed everyone into silence. The witchers joined their schools due to the Law of Surprise, but none of them led a life of suffering like these kids. Vilgefortz, the infamous mage, had a twisted personality thanks to his lonely childhood.

Roy said, “We want comrades who can watch our backs when we need it. They need to feel happy and loved. They need to feel at home with us. With the orphanage. At least for now they have to. Training is a process. We can’t rush it or inflict more punishment onto the children, lest they become maniacs who’ll end up killing innocents on a whim. And you know the kids are smart, Serrit. They’re more mature than their peers, which means they have a higher chance of passing the Trial.”

***

“Alright, fine. I’m convinced,” Felix blurted. “Don’t let me down.”

“So we’re going ahead with the same training?” Serrit asked.

“Yes.” Everyone nodded.

A moment of silence later, Kiyan asked, “Should we train girls too? Our recipe works on girls as well, but we’re only training boys at the moment.”

“We’re putting that on hold.” Lambert shook his head. “Your school’s recipe comes with a severe drawback.”

“So which recipe should they choose?” Geralt asked. It was an important question.

For obvious reasons, all the witchers were biased toward their own school’s recipe.

“Third rule of the brotherhood: equality and fairness,” Roy said. “We’ll have to get a mage and have her analyze every factor for the aspirant before we decide on the recipe that suits them most.”

Everyone nodded.

“The orphanage is now up and running.” Roy took a deep breath. “I should be going to Kerack and convincing Coral to join us.”

“I’ll be traveling to Tretogor tomorrow and waiting for Aiden,” Lambert said. “I’ll try to return with him in a month.”

“Kiyan and I will be going to Est Tayiar to find the remaining Cat School diagram and get some mutagens for the Trials,” Geralt said.

The remaining witchers would run the orphanage and the search in Novigrad.

“Come back soon.” Eskel and Letho grabbed their companions’ shoulders. “Don’t leave the kids hanging, or they might cry if their favorite teachers go missing.”

***

***