The Divine Hunter

Tretogor, Redania’s capital, was built on the ruins of an elven civilization. Unlike Novigrad, it wasn’t a city that never slept, and unlike Oxenfurt, it was no beacon of knowledge or academia, but it was home to the chambers of Vizimir II.

Chilly northern winds blew across the flags in the corridors of the palace, whispered down the stone streets, and blew the doors of Night Cat open.

A pair of witchers took up a table in the corner. They were sitting side by side, and in front of them were a few plates of greasy grilled meat and dozens of glasses of wine. Vizima stout, Fiorano, Kirsch, acorn wine, dwarven liquor, and more. Most of the glasses were empty, however.

The witchers raised a toast again, and drops of wine flew everywhere, filling the air with the scent of hop and malt. Then they downed their booze in one go and burped.

“Been a while since we met. You’re a better drinker now. Can’t believe you’re on par with ol’ Lambert. Did you go into training just for today?” The man with a receding hairline wiped his sweat away and smiled at his slightly red friend.

The man before him had a gaunt face and short hair. He was wearing brown leather armor, his eyes were reddish-brown, and his nose was slightly crooked. The man scratched his nose and scoffed, pulling the burn mark on his chin wider. “Yeah, right. You’re not a drinker at all, Lambert. You got wasted in Rinde and climbed your way into the peasants’ farm. The cow wouldn’t stop mooing the whole night. They thought you were a vampire and drenched you in garlic juice. The smell didn’t go away for a whole week, and all the coins we made went towards the repairs.” Aiden narrowed his eyes. “So, which poor animal are you subjecting to your terror tonight?”

“That’s a lie.” Lambert looked miffed. “I didn’t fuck any cows. I just hugged it like a pillow. It felt like a warm blanket. That was in the middle of winter, and all I did was do what my instincts told me, got it? And speaking of which, you were sober, but instead of taking me to my room, you laughed at me!” Lambert snapped. He stared at Aiden again like he just saw him for the first time. “You’re a traitor, Aiden. You stabbed me in my back.”

Aiden raised his chin. “Still better than someone who’d fuck a cow in their sleep.”

The witchers engaged in a staring competition, and sparks flew. Like children, they pointed at each other and started calling names and bringing up old embarrassing stories, only stopping to eat and drink.

Eventually, all the wine was gone, and the witchers high-fived. Both of them let out a hearty laugh and sighed. That banter earlier released all the tension they had been holding inside them.

“Alright, we had our fun, Lambert. One more cuss and you’re sewing your mouth shut.” Aiden crossed his arms, a frown wrinkling his forehead. His face was red from all the alcohol, but the look in his eyes was serious. “So, tell me. Why did you leave Kaer Morhen and come all the way to Tretogor for me? I had a ghoul to kill. Did you run into something? Say the word and I’ll help.”

“I was counting on that, but I’m not the one who needs help. You are.” Lambert stared silently at Aiden. He was worried about his friend.

Aiden shook his head. “Don’t talk in riddles, Lambert. You’re not a bard, so get to the point.”

“I have a… friend. A trusted friend. He gained the powers of clairvoyance after the Trial. And he told me you’d be running into a lethal crisis a few years down the line.” Lambert shrugged. “But your good friend—that’s me—wouldn’t let that happen, so I traveled all the way here to Tretogor. Just to save your ass.”

“You’re telling me a witcher is clairvoyant?” Aiden’s cheeks twitched. The look in his eyes said, ‘You must be mad.’

“Allow me to elaborate.” Lambert told him about Roy’s prophecy about the duke, his daughter, the request, political plays, and the nobles who despised Cats.

Aiden shrugged it off as some joke Lambert conjured, but the more he listened, the more he realized this might be no joke. When Lambert was finally done, a solemn Aiden rested his chin on both his hands, contemplating what he just heard. “That was… vivid. I don’t think an idiot like you could have come up with such an elaborate story.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Fine, I’ll believe you for once. I promise I won’t take any requests involving any ogroids.” Aiden took a deep breath. He and Lambert might fight every time they met, but they were actually good friends, and they trusted each other. “Can you tell me who made this prophecy? Eskel, Geralt, or was it Vesemir?”

“He’s an honorary member, mate.” Lambert looked a little disappointed, and then his eyes lit up with respect. “His name’s Roy. From the Viper School, and he’s their best hope at revival. No, he’s every witcher’s hope. Under his guidance, we, the Cats, and the Vipers are now settled in Novigrad. And we set up a brotherhood there.”

The shock in Aiden’s eyes failed to escape Lambert, and he felt smug about it. Lambert pushed the stool away and walked around the empty inn.

Aiden was frozen as if his mind lost control of his body. The notion of witchers of different schools banding together was as preposterous as putting a lion in the same cage as a tiger and expecting them to get along.

He quickly rolled away from the assault. The monster missed his quarry and crashed into the walls instead. Still, it started attacking the wall, and the power was enough to tear a big hole in it, sending debris flying everywhere.

Someone cast Aard at the monster’s back again, burying it in the walls. Its back was turned on the hunters, and it tried its hardest to break free from the stones, but it was too late.

Geralt swung his sword and thrust it into the back of the monster’s head, and Kiyan followed quickly, stabbing the fleder in the same spot. Black blood rose into the air before it fell and drenched the ground.

The fleder slowly fell backward and hit the ground with a thud. Its pupils were starting to dilate, but its mouth was still moving by reflex.

“Not bad.”

“You too.”

Geralt heaved a sigh and high-fived Kiyan. And then he started cutting the fleder up. “The mutagen might come in handy for Carl.”

“Take its innards and skin too. Time to start making the pre-Trial for the kids.” Kiyan whipped out his short sword and cut the fleder’s belly open.

The witchers made swift work of the fleder’s body and took about half of it. They cleaned the blood up and lit their torches before advancing further into the passage.

About a minute later, they found some skeletal remains outside a broken portal and got what they came for—Cat silver sword diagram. And there was also a bonus too—Professor Sigismund Gloger’s notes.

Kiyan grabbed the notes, and for some reason, he started looking dejected and remorseful. He handed the notes to Geralt and waited for the White Wolf to chastise him.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked. He seldom saw Kiyan look so vulnerable. The man toughened out thirty years of imprisonment and was a nice teacher to the kids.

Kiyan shook his head and looked at the notebook. “You’ll know once you read that. It’s a record of what my greed did.”

The skeletal remains belonged to a member of the Oxenfurt team of archeologists. Decades ago, Prince Adrien of the Sea Cats Dynasty sponsored them on this trip to Est Tayiar to search for the treasures of the legendary King Maeglor.

Kiyan was the bodyguard the prince hired for the team, though he had another secret mission too: retrieve the diagrams and take it back to Adrien. The scholars found the diagrams in the armory during their excavation, and as per the prince’s orders, Adrien asked them to hand the diagrams over.

The team refused that demand. They were adamant that everything they retrieved must be shared with the academy. Kiyan slaughtered most of the team members and took the diagrams. He had a job to complete. Just like most Cats, he would kill to complete a request and think nothing about it.

Kiyan muttered to himself, “That was a terrible mistake.” He crouched down and stared at the yellowing skeletal remains dumbly. “And the gods punished me by subjecting me to years of torture. I reflected on my actions when I was imprisoned. When the people who tortured me died, I thought I had let everything go, but when I see this… this innocents who died because of me, I know I owe them something.”

Geralt said nothing for the longest time, and he shoved Kiyan’s shoulder. “Remorse is normal, my friend. Especially for witchers. But you can’t shoulder every single blame. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone incurs debts, but not every mistake can be rectified. Not every debt can be repaid.” Reminiscence flickered in Geralt’s eyes. “Destiny decreed that we survive, and we must look forward. That is the role of the survivors. Guilt gnaws away at you because you have the blood of innocents on your hands, so save even more innocent souls. The children, for example. Raise them. Teach them how to survive. If that makes you feel better, then concentrate on it and put your guilt aside.”

Kiyan closed his eyes for a moment. Then he heaved a sigh and held the skeletal remains up. “You have a point. I should look forward and leave my guilt in the hands of Destiny. I committed a grave crime against these people, but I have to protect those who still live, or I’ll never live this down.” Kiyan shook his head, resolve flaring in his eyes. “Time to go, Geralt. To the abandoned Drahim, where the last diagram is. I’d like to see if Prince Adrien is still around.”

***

A couple was standing outside the gates of Oxenfurt. The man on a grey horse had a black hat atop his head and two swords strapped to his back. He sent a flying kiss to the lady in the black dress and veil, and then he left. One month had passed since he came to Oxenfurt, and after a reluctant goodbye to his lover, Vesemir rode happily to Novigrad, the winds blowing his saddlebag open, revealing a part of the armor and weapons sleeping within.

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