The Divine Hunter

Marnadal basked under the scorching sunlight, a heat wave dividing the valley into two battlefields. One was at the valley’s entrance, and the other was on the valley’s slopes. Standing before the valley’s entrance was Cintra’s commander—Vissegerd. His army came with him.

Vissegered lowered his head, and a few arrows whizzed through the air, raining down on his troops. “Men, attack! Attack!” Vissegerd roared like a lion. “Crush these southern bastards! Crush them!”

The war horn boomed, and two armored troops ran down the mountain like an avalanche. Then they clashed on the battlefield. The soldiers’ eyes glinted with a fierce fire, and they threw themselves into the battlefield.

Deafening roars echoed in the air around them, and shouts of war rumbled through the air. Metal gleamed under the sunlight, clashing on the battlefield.

One Nilfgaardian soldier roared to the heavens, and the veins on his face popped. His helmet trembled as the soldier swung his sword upward, slicing the neck of an incoming Cintran soldier.

The soldier covered his neck and howled, but he did not fall. Despite the pain, he charged toward the soldier. A scuffle ensued, and he stabbed the Nilfgaardian soldier with a dagger. Blood spurted, splattering the Cintran emblem.

Both soldiers drew their last breath together, their eyes still wide open and glaring at each other. It didn’t take long for the war to rise in tension. People would die with every passing moment, and a lot of the Cintran soldiers would bring their enemy down with them even if that was the last thing they did.

***

Part of the Nilfgaardian troops circled around the valley in an attempt to attack from behind, but the Cintran army was fighting them there as well.

“Attack! Kill the sons of bitches!”

“Sync up your direction! Don’t sway from the formation! Stay in your group!” Jan shouted. “Vanguard, kneel! Rear guard, stay up! Stab your spears into the ground.”

Jan looked around him. The battle was going strong in the valley. He could feel the heat from here. The Nilfgaardian troops looked like a sea of black, but Cintran’s soldiers stood their ground defiantly. They huddled together, shields held close to one another. Spears and halberds would pierce through the cracks and charge straight at the incoming Nilfgaardian troops.

The Nilfgaardian soldiers were unrelenting, just like waves crashing against reefs. Eventually, one of the knights managed to break through the wall of shields. He sat on the back of his horse and swung his morningstar down at the soldier who was stabbing at him. The soldier died, but another soldier struck the Nilfgaardian, slicing his head off.

“I see we couldn’t trust the witcher’s prediction entirely. Nilfgaard’s invasion started six months earlier.” The light in her eyes dimmed. “Is this fate?”

If Cintra had enough time to prepare, they might have actually stopped Nilfgaard’s footsteps, but now defeat was only a matter of time. Even if Skellige managed to arrive the next day, all they could do was defend their kingdom’s gates. “But Nilfgaard will pay a heavy price. Cintra will make sure of that, even if that’s the last thing we do.”

***

Triss was wearing conservative attire. Her collar was clasped shut, and all her curves were covered under fabric. She kept looking around the battlefield. A troop of shieldbearers protected her, and the soldiers manning the mangonel would shoot wherever she was pointing. Wherever she pointed was where the Nilfgaardian mages hid.

These mages were cunning. They would disguise themselves as soldiers, hide themselves with an invisibility spell, or make themselves lighter. All so they could traverse the battlefield at a greater speed and attack the Cintran army easily.

Only Triss could see through their tricks.

Another rain of arrows thumped against the shields around her.

***

The sorceress was breathing heavily, sweat trickling down her cheek. Her eyes were wide, and her chest was trembling. She was exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally as well. She had never felt this tired before. Sweat kept pouring all over her, and her heart was thumping thunderously in her chest.

A hint of regret filled her heart. Am I going to die? Under this hail of arrows? She shook her head and stubbornly gritted her teeth. With her sheer will, the sorceress held herself up. And it was then she saw a silhouette whizzing past her, fast as lightning. All she managed to see was something grey.

It wasn’t a mage, nor was it a sorcerer. But for some reason, that silhouette looked familiar. He was weaving through the edges of the Nilfgaardian army. His head was covered in a hood, and a cloak shielded his body, billowing in the air like dragon wings.

Wonder who that guy is.

***

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