The Divine Hunter

Hauteville was connected to Beauclair’s lower city area, though it was closer to the outer ring of rural Beauclair. Hauteville might be a village, but its houses and streets were as clean as the ones in Beauclair.

The four of them followed the carnation’s trail, and it led them to the west of Hauteville. The skies had turned orange, heralding the coming of dusk. Under an arch bridge slept a man on a thin haystack. His clothes were black and tattered, he reeked, and his body was gaunt.

The man was about five foot five, and his hair was unkempt, though the tips of his ears were subtly pointy. This man was part-elf. Grime and soil covered most of his face and body, covering him in natural camouflage. Still, it failed to hide the scars and calluses underneath. The man failed to notice the incoming group of four. He was sleeping soundly.

Roy cast Observe.

‘Jerome Moreau

Age: One hundred and seventy-five years old

Gender: Male

Status: Gryphon School witcher

HP: 150/260 (Weakened)

Mana: 200

Strength: 24

Dexterity: 23

Constitution: 24

Perception: 13

Will: 8

Charisma: 6

Spirit: 20

Skill(s):

Witcher Signs Level 10, Alchemy Level 8, Meditation Level 8, Gryphon School Swordplay Level 7, Witcher Senses Level 8, Griffin Arts Level 5: Dual Signs and mutated Clamp, Blacksmithing Level 9

Second Mutation (Passive)’

***

Letho exchanged a look with everyone. He then crouched and hollered, “Hey, Jerome Moreau!”

His voice echoed like thunder, shocking everyone who heard it. Even those who were unconscious would wake if they heard Letho’s shout, but this man remained still. His snores were still audible.

“Did we get the wrong guy?” Lytta pinched her nose in disgust. She looked at the witchers for a moment and turned her attention to him. “Is he really a Griffin?”

The man looked like a beggar, but he didn’t even have a bowl with him. Even a tramp led a better life. He could have lived better if he would just take requests.

“The magic around him tells us the truth.” Letho’s eyes shone. “It’s thicker than most witchers’ but weaker than spellcasters’. His magical talent lies somewhere between a regular human and spellcasters.”

Coen crouched down beside Letho and pulled back the hair of the ‘beggar.’ It reached his chest, infested with fleas, tied up in clumps, and smelling rotten. And Coen froze.

He saw the griffin medallion hanging quietly before the man’s chest. It still gleamed like the man regularly cleaned it. It was a stark difference compared to his gaunt body and dark complexion.

A long sigh of relief escaped Coen’s lips. He fell back down, a silly smile hanging on his lips. Finally, he was no longer the only Griffin left on this land.

“And that was what I did, so I escaped.” Jerome paused. It was a long pause. Everyone could see he was trying to get into the flow of the story. “I found myself in a villa in Beauclair’s lower city, and it was there I saw my savior. It was my mother—Lydia.”

***

Everyone finally understood why the epitaph on Lydia’s gravestone read, ‘Just a little longer, child. Hold on. I am coming to save you…’

She had her wish fulfilled, and the group finally found out who saved Jerome.

***

“On the day we met, she told me I had been locked up for thirty-three years. I was sixty-seven then, and Lydia was eighty-five. She was just a regular woman. Old, hunched, and her hair was grey.”

Roy cocked an eyebrow. If she was a regular old lady, how did she activate the portal and save Jerome?

“The moment Lydia hugged me, her life started to wilt.” A sliver of emotion finally showed in Jerome’s voice. He was still whispering, but there was sadness in his voice. “I’ve never gone back to her since I left home at six. I never knew she missed me dearly. Could never forget how she cried when she saw me. And she called my name. If I could turn back time, I would have gone back to see her more.”

He suddenly took a deep breath. “And so I reflected on myself. I thought I might have been too cruel to my family.”

Aside from Roy, everyone else was unfazed. They didn’t feel too much about the story, Lytta included. Everyone left home when they were young children, and it had been decades since then. They had forgotten what their mothers looked like. Or they just refused to remember.

***

“But still, she asked me to forgive Tomas for his acts of evil. She claimed he did it so she could have a normal son. So I could return to the family. But witchers don’t have a deep bond with their families.”

“And you believe her?” Letho asked.

“Doesn’t matter. No matter the reason Tomas did what he did to me, it still wouldn’t erase his sins. He killed countless innocents.”

“But he changed his mind before he died and assisted Lydia in aiding you.” Roy still didn’t forget that Tomas and Lydia died in the same year.

Jerome fell silent for a moment.

“Yes. Before his death, he finally told my mother about the second exit of my prison as well as the trigger for the portal. He never thought I’d still be alive after more than thirty years.”

Everyone respected Jerome a bit more. Not everyone could last for more than thirty years in a hell like that.

***

“That’s all for Tomas. After my escape, Lydia talked to me. For fifteen minutes. And she died in my arms. The reaper took her away from me, forever.” A deep sorrow filled Jerome’s voice. “I buried her in the cemetery, far, far away from that bastard. He doesn’t deserve to stay by her side. Not after what he did.”

***

The group listened to Jerome’s tale intently. In the end, they finally sorted out Jerome’s story. Everything started when Erland lent Tomas a hand, but the blame was not on the Law of Surprise alone.

If Erland hadn’t helped Tomas in the forest, then the family would’ve lost a father and a husband instead of a son. This was an impossible dilemma, no matter the family member that could’ve been lost.

Roy took a deep breath and crossed his arms. He spared Jerome a look of sympathy. His father tricked him, and he watched his mother die. That’s why he fell so far. He’d rather live a reclusive life. But I don’t think that’s the end of his share of tragedy.

***

Jerome finally turned around. He leaned on the wall and wriggled to sit up straight, mockery filling his eyes.

“After I laid my mother to rest, I followed my heart’s desire and returned to the coast of Poviss. With longing in my heart, I entered Dragon Mountains and stepped on the snowy path that would lead me back to my true home—Kaer Seren. I wished to tell my brothers my tale.” He forced a sad, crazed smile. “But when I got there, I saw nothing but a snow-capped landscape. The fortress was buried under layers of snow, and nothing was left of my brethren. Nothing but a row of gravestones. I searched and searched, but I found no survivors. And Erland was missing. So, Coen of the Gryphon School, now that I have answered your question, it’s your turn to answer mine. What happened to Kaer Seren?”

***

***