The Divine Hunter

Dark clouds hung over Cintra, filling the air with a heavy layer of humidity. In the endless wilderness beyond Cintra stood Eist, Calanthe, their royal council, and a sorceress. They were waiting for the soldiers to congregate.

An elderly, sprightly, gray-haired man in blue armor spoke. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, our troops are ready. About twenty thousand of them. Nine thousand of our men and three thousand Vizima soldiers led by Jan Natalis.”

Standing before the rulers were their soldiers. The Cintran army took up one side, while the Viziman army took up the other side. All of them were clad in armor and equipped with every kind of weapon available. Every time they took a step, the clang of metal would roar into the skies.

Two thousand of these soldiers were cavalry, their eyes always fixed on the space ahead of them. The air of solemnity made their horses neigh and stomp their feet.

The sounds of drums and flutes echoed in the air, playing a tune to send the warriors off into war.

“On your word, we shall make our way to Marnadal and build up our defenses. The fuel and other components have been sent to the base in the woods of Erlenwald. Our soldiers are ready to give themselves for this battle. Once Nilfgaard’s troops pass through Amell, we shall receive news of it.

Eist pinched his beard and took a step forward. Once he raised his hands, all the soldiers fell into silence. Even the tune from the instruments died down. All that remained was silence.

The king scanned his soldiers silently, his eyes filled with the explosive power of a volcano. “Brothers, I trust you know why we are gathered here today. For years now, Nilfgaard has been invading numerous countries, beginning with Ebbing in 1239. And since then, it has set its sights on our homeland. Now their soldiers have made base in Amell. Their invasion is only a matter of when, not if. They wish to conquer our kingdom, burn our houses, kill our families, take our wealth, and sully our women! Men of Cintra, we shall not stand for their transgressions!”

“Fuck those sons of bitches!”

“Kick their asses back to Nilfgaard!”

“Off with the southerners’ heads!”

The soldiers responded with a furious roar, rumbling the air and shaking the earth.

“My soldiers, you are heroes today. We shall battle in Marnadal.” And then, with grim resolve in his voice, Eist spoke. “I will not lie to you. Nilfgaard’s troops outnumber us two to one, and they are all well-equipped. Once the battle begins, we can and will die.” Eist’s voice broke. “For some of you, you may never see your family again.”

“But death does not scare us. Never will we lay down our weapons and grovel before the invaders! Cintran men shall fight to the bitter end!” Vissegerd roared, his hair and beard shivering. “We will never surrender!”

“To battle!” The soldiers thumped the ground with their weapon, their faces red with fury, their eyes flaring with the flames of rage.

“To the bitter end!”

“We shall win or die trying!”

Eist swung his fist, roaring, “If Nilfgaard wants war, then we shall give it war! These bastards fight for evil. For their ambition of conquest! We are the allies of justice. We fight to defend our home! Our conviction will triumph over theirs! We have with us the blessing of Freya and the seas!”

“We stand with Cintra until the very end!”

“Justice will prevail!”

“To victory!”

“To victory!”

The man needed a catastrophe to happen so he could pass his bold and almost insane idea. He wished for more power in the brotherhood. “I care not who the interloper is, but if they think they can change the landscape and stop my plans, then they are fools.”

He stood up and made his way across the corridor beside the hall. Then he entered a passage with a statue in it. A bright bedroom stood beyond the passage, and the man entered it. Books. Books everywhere. This bedroom looked more like a small library. Rows and rows of bookshelves housed exquisite, valuable tomes. Some of them were the books written by the three great mages. The Invisible World, Natural Magic, and The Magic of the Elder Folk.

Before the desk stood a big tank filled with blue seawater. The glass was covered in glittering runes written in Elder Speech. A dark gold, metallic cap the size of a banana leaf floated over the tank. There were holes in that cap.

Within the tank was a black model ship slowly cruising ahead. The man approached the tank and cast a spell beyond the woman’s sight. He weaved his fingers through the air, and a cool sensation welled within the room, filling it quickly.

A blinding flash of magical light covered the man’s back, forming a halo over his head. He looked just like a god, and Lydia found herself drawn to him. Never had she seen anyone with this volume of mana reserves and level of mana control.

Even the oldest mage in the brotherhood, Gerhart of Aelle, was no match for this man. Not to mention this man was a lot more adept at close combat than all the mages. His fingers kept dancing in the air, and mana raged around him, summoning a gale that howled across the room.

Countless ripples appeared in the tank, and bubbles popped up across the surface. Waves roared and crashed across the surface, resembling a stormy sea.

Eventually, the ripples and foam congregated and formed a whirlpool in the center of the tank. A thunder boomed from the metallic cap, and dark clouds appeared from the holes on it.

The man’s hair and shirt were billowing in the wind, and he sped up his incantation. An arc of electricity came forth from the cloud and slammed down onto the sea like a jellyfish’s tentacle.

The whirlpool, the dark clouds, and that arc of electricity formed a trifecta and created a tornado of water. It engulfed the model ship, taking it high up into the sky, where the dark clouds were.

A great explosion pierced the air. Like a signal, the simulated storm in the tank came to an end, and the water’s surface returned to peace. But one thing was missing. The model ship. It looked like there wasn’t even a ship there to begin with.

But then something crashed outside, and a great boom traveled across the air. Lydia hurried to the window for a look. Underneath the cliff slept a dried-up river, and now there was a shipwreck on that dry river.

The ship was crushed, its deck filled with charred spots. Lying around the shipwreck were dozens of torn up, mangled corpses. Feast for the vultures. The birds screeched in delight and descended upon the corpses for a feast.

Lydia looked further ahead. Lying on the sands were dozens of shipwrecks. The resting place of countless damned souls.

“Everything seems to be in order.” He heaved a sigh. “Lydia, I need you to tell the mages in the south to summon some storms. Stop the Skellige battleships. Or at least get them to Sedna Abyss.”

Lydia nodded. She looked at him with eyes filled with respect and love.

“And tell the king… No, I’ll write a letter to him myself. Leave me.”

Lydia was reluctant to leave, but the man no longer talked to her. He took a seat behind his desk and curled his finger up.

‘Your Majesty King Emhyr var Emreis,

I, your most faithful ally, has uncovered some unsettling situation. Vizima has sent reinforcements to Cintra… Skellige is currently sending out their battleships… I fear they shall pose a threat to Nilfgaard’s plan. You will have to bring forward your plans of ambush to an earlier time. Should you delay the plan any longer, then this war might prove to be troublesome even for you…’

The parchment rustled as the quill wrote upon it. Fascinatingly, there was no one holding the quill. The light from the magical lamp shone upon Vilgefortz’ sickeningly handsome face. A smile curled his lips, and his eyes flared with ambition.

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