The Divine Hunter

Slowly, the sun was setting on Marnadal. Dusk fast approached, robbing the air of its warmth. The lands of Marnadal were turned into a hellscape. Tattered and covered in blood. Even the skies looked crimson.

Vizima’s soldiers were on the left flank, but they fell. Even though they fought valiantly, the overwhelming numbers still engulfed them. A crack appeared in the wall of shields, but no new soldiers came to fill it up. The Nilfgaardian troops charged into that opening, surrounding the injured soldiers and claiming their lives.

One by one, the infantry units howled in agony. The last sound they made before losing their lives. The southern soldiers went after the soldiers on the slopes, who were alone and without reinforcements. But most of the southern troops circled the mountain, attempting to surround the army of Cintra.

The war horn of Cintra could no longer produce its reinvigorating sound, and the troops had gone far beyond their limits. No more reinforcements would come, but the southern troops could still go on.

***

Triss could only watch as the soldiers around her fell. It didn’t take long until the corpses of her comrades were surrounding her. She was worse for wear as well. Blood trickled down her lips, and a bruise covered her face. Her body was trembling, sweat drenching her shirt and hair.

Only two crossbowmen were escorting her. Desperately, they tried to make their way to the king, but then a southern troop showed up, the soldiers sneering. They stared at Triss like she was their prey. A prey ready to be gobbled up. And the troop changed directions. Now they set their sights on her.

The crossbowmen who were escorting her felt a surge of pain coming from their backs. They let out a grunt of pain and fell forward. Triss gritted her teeth. She turned around and passed a bolt of electricity between her hands before shooting it at the incoming soldiers.

The horses trembled the moment they were hit by electricity, and the rider was hurled down to the ground. The remaining knights swiftly went around their comrade and closed in on Triss. She tried to cast another spell, but a howl escaped her lips, and she fell back down. Blood once again trickled down her lips. Her magic backfired on her.

The consecutive casting of spells in this battle was finally taking a toll on her. No longer will mana listen to her. It was all she could do to push herself up. She felt a gust of wind coming at her, and the sorceress closed her eyes in fear.

But the pain didn’t come. No matter how long she waited, the pain just didn’t come. So Triss opened her eyes. For some reason, the knights who were trying to attack her were sliced in half. Even their horses were cut up as well. The cut was clean, and what remained of the knights were still, in a bizarre and horrifying way, alive. Though that didn’t stop them from howling in agony. The slash showed no mercy.

A lean figure in tattered clothes leapt into the air and kicked the last knight off his horse so he could take over. And then he cast a Sign to the mount. That calmed the struggling animal. It even licked the witcher’s hand like he was its master.

“Witcher? What brings you to the battlefield?” Triss recognized the Sign. It was Axii. She wondered what a witcher was doing here.

The witcher turned around. His face was covered in blood, dust, and wounds, but she’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He was the one who saved her from the clutches of a higher vampire.

“Roy?” The sorceress’ jaw dropped in surprise, but her voice was barely a whisper. She sounded like a terminal patient.

Roy waved at her and rode over to the sorceress. She could smell the stench of sweat and blood coming from him, but Triss extended her hand, and he pulled her up to the horse’s back.

“Hold tight,” he said curtly.

And Triss wrapped her arms around him. She felt her heart thumping furiously, and a sense of safety welled within her. The sorceress rested her head on his back, listening to his heartbeat. He saved me again. Perhaps this is fate, she thought. This is no coincidence.

Roy took a break after killing the mages. He then hopped back into the battlefield to search for Erland, but he failed. Not only that, but he also lost contact with Jerome. He tried to call him many times, but he found nothing.

The witcher spent the whole afternoon scouring the battlefield. A few times he even tried to teleport into the fray, but the moment he landed, the soldiers around him would rain down attacks, forcing him to retreat. “Dammit, Jerome. At least talk to me!” Roy didn’t want to die. There were a lot of people back home waiting for him. He had no choice but to retreat. And then he remembered seeing Triss on the battlefield.

But she shouldn’t be here! Dammit, the course of history changed because of my meddling. Roy wouldn’t let the potential resident mage for the brotherhood die, so he came.

The horse neighed. Roy held the reins with his right hand and cast Quen over their heads with his left. The golden shield covered them and reflected three arrows. They then rushed all the way to where Eist was.

***

“Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

“Speak.”

“We’ve sustained heavy losses. Jan Natalis died in battle, and so did Kurian. Vizima’s troops have been annihilated, and our troops can’t hold on much longer. We must retreat, Your Lordships,” Vissegerd said grimly. “The last of our troops will ensure your safety. We’ll hold the enemy off until you and the queen have returned to Cintra. And we must do it right now. If the southerners manage to surround us, there will be no escape for any of us!”

Eist teared up and shivered, his fists balled up. He could still hear his soldiers screaming and howling. His men were still fending off the Nilfgaardians, but they couldn’t hold the line much longer. And yet Eist shook his head. “I told you we were no cowards. If I ran away here, I would have let all my warriors down. Time for me to die for my kingdom.”

Not far ahead slept the sea. It was glimmering under the remaining rays of the sun. They could finally see the walls of Cintra standing atop the cliffs.

“What brings you two together, Roy?” Calanthe’s sideburns billowed in the wind. She leaned closer to the horse’s back and rode it like a pro. There was surprise and gratitude in her eyes. She didn’t think Roy had the power to defeat all their pursuers by himself, but he managed it.

“Your Highness, Your Majesty, and marshal, Roy here saved my life.” Triss showed her face.

So he saved our lives and killed those Nilfgaardian dogs at the same time? Well done, Witcher. Calanthe wanted to reward Roy, but Cintra was in a predicament. Any promise of a reward would sound laughable, so she held her tongue.

Roy saw through her, and he smiled. “Just doing it for Ciri. You might not believe this, but I have another business to settle here. Wasn’t going to meddle. Not like I can change the tides of war all by myself.”

He yanked the reins. “And you should arrive in Cintra within a day or so. This is as far as I go. I need to go back.” Jerome is still missing.

“You want to go back?” Triss raised her head, her eyes filled with worry.

“I must, but I’ll be careful. They can’t bring me down. Not those Nilfgaardian soldiers.”

The sorceress hung her head low, keeping her silence.

“Calm down. Witchers follow the code of neutrality. You shouldn’t have joined this battle.” Eist pulled on the reins. His hair and beard looked unkempt, and his back was hunched. The once mighty king looked a little dejected. “But still you came. And you saved our lives. I owe you. Destiny wills it.”

The riders rode into a forest, and Eist sighed. “How should I thank you? Speak, for this is your last chance.”

Roy shook his head. He was about to say no, but then an inexplicable feeling swelled within his heart. Almost uncontrollably, he said. “I would like…”

Surprise flashed in Triss’ eyes. She felt mana flowing in the air. Subtle, but it felt ancient.

“Something that you already have but still aren’t aware of.”

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. For a moment there, he felt like he wasn’t control of himself. And then silence followed.

Calanthe paled. She was reminded of a sad past, and her eyes went wide. Sadness and fury contorted her face. “I-Impossible. You invoked the Law of Surpirse? Witcher, I’ve agreed to let Ciri go with you! You can’t invoke that law once more!”

“Calm down, Calanthe. We failed.” Eist shook his head. Calmly, he spoke, “I’m sorry, Roy, but we have no children. She just checked it last month.”

“Just a random thing I said. Wasn’t expecting another Unexpected Child.” Roy shook his head in disappointment, but when he looked at Calanthe again, he froze.

‘Calanthe

Age: Forty-five years old

HP: 50 (Pregnant)’

***

Roy was reminded of something. Something he had seen before. A petite, black-haired girl with eyes as green as an ancient forest. She was looking at Roy, seemingly giggling in delight. And the girl was even extending a hand to him. “Your Highness, I’d suggest you talk to a priest of Freya once you return to Cintra. They might come up with a different result this time.”

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t know witchers were doctors. And you just took one look at her. No way you can be sure she’s pregnant.” Eist’s eyes widened, his face filled with solemnity, and he held his reins tighter.

“That’s Destiny. You might not believe it, but it is what it is. Congratulations. Both of you.”

The rulers exchanged a look. They were filled with delight, shock, sadness, and grief all at the same time.

***

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