The Divine Hunter

Chapter 472: Bleak Falls Barrow

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: hibiki]

Flynn lit up a torch, illuminating an ancient, spacious hall before the adventurers. Stone pillars with a hue of green covering their surface held up the cobweb-filled ceilings. It was a grave for many unfortunate critters and bugs, all of which were dried, empty husks of their former selves. Vines slithered out of the cracks in the walls like snakes, extending across the ground to reach the other side of the hall.

The Dragonborn shifted his attention to a corner of the hall. There, behind a pillar, stood a single silhouette—the silhouette of a beast half the size of an adult man. Oblivious of the adventurers’ intrusion, the beast crouched low to the ground, clawing away at the air.

Upon seeing the countenance of the beast, Flynn almost leapt in surprise. Yet he remained still and calm, exchanging a look with the witcher. An understanding was reached, and the adventurers slowly closed in on their quarry.

It was then the beast finally noticed the intruders. An ear-piercing shriek rattled the great chamber as the beast emerged from its hiding place.

A skeever. Rodents the size of a hunting dog. Covered in gray fur, and its claws were sharp enough to tear through flesh easily. The beast glared at the intruders with its crimson eyes, the feral desire to hunt welling within them.

Even though its enemies were armed, the skeever charged right at them without fear or fervor, a screech escaping its snout.

Alas, that was the last thing it would do in its beastly life.

The Dragonborn brought down his sword on the incoming rodent, easily slicing it in two. Blood spurted out of the two halves of its corpse, covering the ground in red. The dead skeever writhed and spasmed for a moment. Then it went dead. Unmoving.

“What is this place? Or to be exact… What was?” Flynn surveyed his surroundings. “We got bandits guarding the gates, and the first thing we run into is a rat the size of a dog. How did it even get so big anyway? Not like there’s anything to eat here. Gods, that thing could kill a cat easily. Saber cats aside, anyway.”

Then, a momentary pause swooped down on Flynn. “Mate, I have a bad feeling about this. Something more dangerous slumbers in the depths of this place.”

But the witcher paid him no heed. Instead, he hunkered down and cut off the skeever’s tail. To his surprise, this tail was also an alchemical component.

Flynn’s lips twitched, though he said nothing about the witcher’s odd behavior. It was not the first time his companion exhibited an almost bizarre curiosity about all manner of beasts and greenery. Oftentimes, he would stop for a moment just to harvest leaves and vines and animal parts, tucking them away in his seemingly bottomless sack.

And then they were off again. This time, they came face to face with a dark, narrow passageway. The witcher harvested some luminous mushrooms off the walls before he followed his companion into a room that was almost fully closed off.

“These must be the traps Farengar talked about.” Frustrated, Flynn massaged his temples. Standing at the far end of this chamber was a steel gate. A lever sat before it, and on the left side of the temple were three obelisks they could spin. “Gods, we’re not even mages. Cracking this is going to take a whole day.”

No. Flynn was wrong.

The witcher scanned his surroundings, especially the two stone slabs over the locked gate and the lone slab on the first floor, seemingly fallen from its place. And the witcher stepped ahead, spinning the obelisks on the room’s left side. Before long, the obelisks showed, from left to right, the pattern of a snake, a snake, and a dolphin.

Then the witcher pulled the lever, and as if by magic, the steel gate slowly rattled upward, revealing a path behind it.

Filled with awe and shock, the Dragonborn gawked at his companion, a hue of ashamed red tingeing his cheeks. I looked at the chamber and all I saw was a chamber. He looked at the chamber, and he solved a puzzle. Am I stupid? The Dragonborn shut that thought down almost as immediately as it arose. Nah. Goldeneye’s just too smart. I’ve seen him do great things. Probably nothing he can’t do.

Despite the clear path ahead, Roy was in no hurry to pass. Instead, he put one leg forward and extended an arm, assuming a weird spellcasting stance. Then, the witcher pointed at the ground, pouring part of his mana into the rune of Conjure Familiar that was deeply embedded in his mind.

Five points of EXP were deducted as well, but in exchange, a ball of blue light emerged from his fingertip. As if it were a key, it opened the door to an unknown realm, summoning a hell hound bigger than the skeever they ran into earlier. The creature was sitting on its hind legs, letting out a languid yawn that revealed its terrible, gleaming teeth.

The creature was resting when Roy summoned it to this chamber. Its summoner gave it an order, and the hound stood up, shaking his body. Happily, it charged into the path beyond the steel gates to check for any threats. It did not take long for the hound to come back. It barked softly, telling its summoner the way ahead was clear of any danger.

Only then did the witcher tell his companion to go through the gate. And they were greeted by dusty wooden racks and porcelain jars. “This place gives me the creeps. And it looks like a tomb. Are… Are these jars grave goods? And the smell of these cloths… Phew. Smell like shrouds to m—”

The sentence was never finished. Roy shut him up by showing off a gold coin he found in a jar. Galvanized, the adventurers went to work, scouring the chamber for every single valuable they could get their hands on.

***

Two streaks of silver arced across the air, slamming the corpses of two skeevers into the walls of these chambers. A hole was bored through their heads, claiming their lives almost instantly.

The hell hound chomped down on the throat of a third skeever. The rodent screeched and screamed, but there was nothing it could do. Eventually, death came for it.

Flynn swung his sword down, cleaving a fourth skeever in two. He then flicked his wrist around, his eyes fixated on the maze of paths that was unfurling before him. Sleeping around him were droves of black, ancient caskets. I knew it. This place is a mass burial ground. Or was a mass burial ground.

Some were embedded in the walls of the chamber, while some stood upright. And these caskets were not empty, no. Something slept within them. Corpses. Hideous corpses.

These corpses must have been dead for years now, yet streaks of flesh hung off their bones like they were dried cadavers. The skin and muscles of the corpses were all but rotten, leaving behind a visage so gaunt, it could traumatize a child should one lay their eyes on them.

The corpses donned sleeveless metal armor as if they were warriors, and within their hands slept their rusty weapons. Greatswords, battleaxes, longswords, axes, shields, and even bows and arrows. Had they been alive, the adventurers could imagine just how majestic these corpses would be.

And then, realization struck Flynn. He knew who these corpses were, and he spared them a look of respect. “Ancient Nordling warriors.”

He wished to pay them due respect, but Roy held him back. The witcher shook his head and turned his attention to the hound.

With its orders made clear, the hell hound charged at the caskets, but before it could reach any single one, the dead sprang to life, ready to cut down those who would dare wake them from their long slumber.

The sound of bones rattling and grazing off one another echoed through the hallway as the seemingly dead corpse was rising back to life. It cracked its neck and held its weapon tightly as it stood, ready to face the living.

And yet before it could cut down the intruders, a crossbow bolt was flung through the air. It slammed into the draugr’s chest like a sledgehammer, and the monster crashed back into its casket, stirring up a cloud of dust in the air of the hallway.

Half of its head was blown off, bits of crimson flesh hanging from its skull. Sickly green brain matter oozed from the wound on its head, and yet it hung on to life. Or unlife, in this matter. The light of all that was unholy glinted in its remaining eye, tethering it to the land of the living.

Roy stared at his adversary, once again casting Observe to glean more information.

‘Draugr

Status: Ancient Nordling, member of the Dragon Cult

Strength: 9

Dexterity: 5

And with that, all the draugrs were killed off.

Covered in blood, Flynn huffed and puffed, looking around him. On the ground were the fallen draugrs, and he was merely nicked in the battle. The wounds on his shoulder and legs went away with a health potion.

And after all these battles, the Dragonborn grew from an inexperienced country boy into a slightly experienced adventurer. One who could hold his own in minor battles. And it filled him with a little pride. The Dragonborn turned his attention to his companion, who was not out of breath at all.

It was all thanks to him that this journey was a smooth one, the Dragonborn thought. Or I would’ve been dead ten times over. And he’s a noble man. I barely did anything in battle, but he still shared half the earnings with me.

A hint of worship flickered in the Dragonborn’s eyes. In his very limited life experience, none could measure up to Goldeneye. His friend was a noble soul and a master of magic, swordplay, and archery. He’s probably stronger than Ulfric Stormcloak, who was rumored to have killed High King Torygg in a fair duel.

And then, a sudden thought popped in his mind. Perhaps Goldeneye might be able to kill the dragon that terrorized Helgen. The Dragonborn clenched his fists. And I’m going with him.

***

Through the winding tunnels our adventurers went. Before long, they were faced with a chamber. A chamber with layers of cobwebs covering its entrance. The adventurers stopped in their tracks, and Roy put a finger to his lips.

The witcher stared at the thick layers of cobwebs extending from the low ceiling that hung overhead. They were gleaming a menacing white, and each strand of the web was as thick as a rope. The weaver’s huge.

With his witcher senses activated, Roy saw a pair of colorful ribbons hanging in the air, passing through the cobweb. One of those ribbons spoke of the scent of a human, while the other… was of something else. Something that smelled of blood. Hurt. Injured. And it smells like a bug. Weak scent, though.

With ease, the witcher cut through the cobwebs and gesticulated in the air. Yet another illusion of him leapt into existence. It took the hand crossbow and followed Roy’s hell hound as it charged into the cobweb-infested chamber.

A thick, ropelike strand of spider silk cascaded into the hall, and a furry spider the size of a buffalo slid down its silk. The spider was grayish-white, with eight legs spread about it, supporting its gigantic body. The spider held up its two front legs, swinging them around like a grim reaper wielding its scythe.

There was a maw attached to its head, and a pair of pincer-like fangs—bigger than its head—jutted out at the maw’s end, clasping together like someone snipping a pair of scissors.

‘Frostbite spider

Gender: Male

Age: Twelve years old

HP: 210

Strength: 15

Dexterity: 17

Constitution: 21

Perception: 12

Will: 7

Charisma: 3

Spirit: 5

Skills:

Poison Web Level 5: Shoots out a ball of web at a target. The web is resilient, sticky, and hard to destroy. Contains paralyzing poison that activates on skin contact.

Curse of the Frozen (Passive): Gains an increased fifty percent resistance to deep cold and ice magic, but takes fifty percent increased damage from fire attacks.’

***

The spider hurtled down toward the petite hell hound, but the creature deftly leapt to the side and evaded the attack. But the spider was not done. It shot out a ball of white goo at the hell hound, and the goo exploded like a little bomb. The web rained down on the hell hound, wrapping it up tightly like a cocoon.

Before the spider could do anything, illusion Roy fired off a bolt straight at the weaver’s abdomen. An explosion of blood splattered the ground, and it staggered to the side.

While the monster was distracted, the hell hound burned the web off with a stream of fire. The creature regained its freedom, but now its skin shone an eerie green. The green of poison.

The hell hound did not have much longer to exist. A guttural growl escaped its snout, and with the last of its strength, the hound pounced onto the spider’s head. It clawed and chomped away, drawing blood with every strike, splattering the walls and ground with smatterings of the spider’s blood.

The spider let out an ear-piercing shriek and quickly climbed up its silk. The hell hound was crushed against the ceiling, leaving only a patch of blood behind. Once again, it returned to Oblivion.

Illusion Roy fired two more bolts, both slamming against the ugly head of that spider. The monster fell, howling in pain. But it quickly bent its legs and pounced at illusion Roy, trying to destroy it with all the strength it could muster.

But then, another blue ball of light illuminated the air. Then, a second hell hound was summoned, and right away, it shot a ball of fire at the pouncing spider. At the same time, Roy finally made his move. Quickly, he made complex gestures, and a crimson rune bloomed like a rose. The flames of fury burned across the air and crashed into the spider’s abdomen once more.

And the spider’s belly splattered. It splattered into tiny little pieces like an exploding watermelon. Except the things that rained down were no rind or melon. They were, instead, the innards and blood of the spider.

Even with half its body blasted to bits, the spider still lived, but not for long. Roy’s flames slithered up to its head, and the spider, in its death throes, tried to move away, but it was for naught. Barely a moment later, it fell motionless. Yet the flames burned on.

‘Frostbite spider killed. EXP +200. Level 12 Witcher (4300/12500).’

***

Roy whistled, and his hell hound—covered in green—quickly approached him and rolled around like a good little pup. The witcher gave it some belly rubs to reward its performance, then he cocked his eyebrow.

“Help! Save me, please! Let me out of here! Please!” A desperate shout for help arose from the corner of the chamber.

Flynn approached the source of the cry, while Roy quickly cut off a bulging venom sac and harvested a white spherical item that resembled a mutagen before reconvening with the Dragonborn.

Like most of the room, this corner was covered in cobwebs of the dead spider. But within these cobwebs lay a gaunt-looking man. Aside from his face, every inch of his body was wrapped up in the spiderweb, and naught a finger of his could be moved.

The sight of these newcomers delighted him, but then he froze. One of them… One of these adventurers looked different. His eyes were multicolored, and he possessed better looks than most if not all beings he had seen. And he was staring at the man weirdly. The man had a feeling he was being stared at like he was prey. The thought of that alone sent a cold shudder down his spine.