The Divine Hunter

An overcast sky loomed over the land, cold winds howling across the mountains. Roy was clad in armor, and a cloak was draped over him. The mountain path came to an end, widening up into a road that meandered through the wilderness of Sodden.

The scenery was as much as he’d expected. He’d seen a lot of this since he stepped foot into Kalkanor, a town near Sodden. A group of unkempt, gaunt, and malnourished refugees trudging around, resting in the grass beside the path, and some even slept on the path itself. Destroyed carts were strewn all over the place, and horses lay unmoving in pools of their own blood. Sacks and baskets of a myriad of items rolled around, and rotten corpses decorated the wilds. In just a single day, Roy had seen more than thirty corpses.

Some were Cintrans who ran from their fallen kingdom, refusing to live under Nilfgaard’s rule, though most of them were Sodden’s natives. Some corpses were covered in a swarm of flies feasting on their rotten flesh and bones. Some still had fresh blood pooling around them. Apparently they’d just died not long ago. Some were killed by swords, some were smashed by morningstars and hammers, while some were shot through the heart. The killers were obviously the smaller groups of soldiers wandering through this area.

After Nilfgaard retreated, most of their troops went back to Cintra and set up camp there, but they’d send out some small teams to harass the alliance. Some of the corpses, however, had wounds caused by hoes and farming tools. Some were killed by branches of trees, while some…

Roy stopped before the body of a young boy. A rotten apple and a basket lay beside him, the contents of the basket nowhere to be seen. The young witcher adjusted his sunglasses and checked the boy’s neck. Signs of asphyxiation. Someone throttled him, and the killer wasn’t strong. He must’ve suffered before he died. Even when the boy was dead, his eyes were still wide open and bulging, the ghost of his last scream forever etched on his face. Flailed around and got a lot of skin and soil in his nails. Wasn’t a soldier who did this. Roy dusted his hands off and heaved a sigh.

Wars. Every time that happens, the only casualty will be the people. Concern started rising in his heart. Who knows if I’ll one day see someone I know among the dead. “And where would Geralt be?”

The White Wolf rode to Sodden all alone to find his Unexpected Child. He claimed that Destiny was guiding him, and he declined all offers of help to make sure nothing would get in Destiny’s way. In the original timeline, Geralt’s mission would end with him finding Ciri and taking her home, but in this timeline, the events took place five months earlier because of his meddling. He was worried something might go wrong.

Of course, small teams would pose no threat to the White Wolf, but if he were to run into a big army… And Ciri might be in danger. Roy hastened his pace. He rode past a stream, drenched in red by the blood of the dead, and an empty sack of horse feed lying beside the river.

Roy prayed that the feed was fed to Roach. He turned on his Witcher Senses and followed the trail of the scent leading off the main path, and he jumped into a patch of ancient shrubbery. The land behind it slightly sloped downward. Roy followed that trail for five minutes and was greeted by the sight of a patch of uprooted trees. Standing behind that was a clearing with a few wooden houses, warehouses and huts.

A dilapidated fence circled the yard. For some reason, the yard managed to escape the ravages of war. It was rundown, but the place was mostly intact, but then Roy’s heart sank.

He heard a dull thud coming from the yard, and the witcher crouched, looking through the cracks between the trees, then he fished something out of his hood. The owl was woken up unceremoniously, held by the nape of its neck. Gryphon swayed around and flapped its wings reluctantly, then it landed on the roof of the barnhouse. It hooted and looked around, sharing its vision with its master.

A terrifying creature was prowling outside the house, slamming on the door with its purple, stubby claws, and it was growling. The monster looked a lot like a ghoul. Its maw was filled with yellowing teeth, and its skin was grey and thick. It moved on all fours, not unlike a beast, and three bone crowns the size of a human hand adorned the top of its head, swaying as it attacked the door.

‘Graveir

Age: Eight years old

HP: 220

Strength: 20

Dexterity: 16

Constitution: 23

Perception: 8

Will: 6

Charisma: 2

Spirit: 5

Skills:

Plagued Claw Level 8: Graveirs are carriers of a myriad of germs, viruses, and poison. Anything that they attack will come down with symptoms like fever, weakness, and rotting wounds.

Devour Level 7: Graveirs can heal regular injuries and HP through ingesting flesh and blood.

Madness (Passive): Graveirs will store a part of the energy of their food in their body. When its life falls below 20% in battle, they will consume this energy and regain some of their HP. When that effect takes place, +4 to Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution. They will also enter a berserk mode. Lasts for one minute.’

***

A pair of smaller ghouls stood a few dozen yards away from the graveir, standing guard around a pair of young corpses. They were laid in a shallow hole, their limbs and forehead chewed out, their bone marrow sucked dry.

“No wonder there are no soldiers here. So we have ourselves some guard dogs.”

“Huh?” Erbert’s face fell, and he glanced at the witchers’ swords. He was in a dilemma, and he said, “I’ve been cooped up for days to stay alive. Most of the food’s eaten. The only thing I have left are the turnips. You can take some if you want.”

“Can I have some water then? I’ll leave after that.”

Erbert reluctantly moved away so the witcher could come in.

The house was every bit as messy as the yard. Obviously, it had been a while since someone cleaned this place up. Something akin to the hide of a stray dog decorated the wall. There was a short table and long bench in the center of the house. An oven made with stones and clay stood right beside the wall. A big cauldron sat over it, but it was empty inside.

“Just a moment. I’ll get some water for you.”

The witcher sat down and watched the old man as he went into the other side of the house. He then looked around and saw crimson ribbons floating in the air. Some were entangled, some drifted out of the house, while some went into the other side of the house.

Alright, this confirms it. He stood up and followed the ribbon into where Erbert was. The old man was scooping some water from an old vat. The water was almost out, and it took his all just to scoop some up. Unbeknownst to him, Roy was slowly closing in.

The witcher noticed a piece of wood with an axe embedded in it, and there were marks of dried blood on it. The ground on the right side of the vat had a certain tile with a darker color compared to the rest of them.

Erbert picked up the bowl and turned around, then the first thing he saw was a Sign.

“Are you the owner of this house, Raul?” asked Roy. That was the real name of this man.

“No.”

Roy’s face fell. “And where do you come from?”

“Riverdell. Southeast of Sodden.”

“And what’s with the monsters and the corpses?”

“I passed by this place a week ago, hungry and tired. The couple took me in, seeing that I was but a frail old man. When they slept that night, I took their axe and slit their throats, then I tossed them out and dug a hole for them. Was going to sleep and deal with them the next day, but then the monsters came.”

“What did they do to you? Why did you kill them?”

Erbert struggled for a bit, but he couldn’t break free of Axii’s power, so he shook his head. “The Battle of Sodden Hill had just ended, and this chance wouldn’t come by every day. If I had delayed—”

A crimson flash arced through the air, and the eyes of the man named Raul went wide. He tried to cover his throat, but there was no stopping the deluge of blood. He hissed and pounced at Roy, but he missed and fell to the ground. The man spasmed for a while, and he stopped moving.

“I kill monsters, especially those who are worse than ghouls.” Roy shook his head. War brings out the worst in us. He regretted killing the ghouls as swiftly as he did. I should’ve let them torture this guy.

Roy wiped his sword with the shirt of Raul, then he quickly went around to search the ground. It didn’t take him long to find the handle, and he pulled it up. The wooden tile swung open, revealing a dimly-lit underground chamber.

He walked down the rickety stairs. The air here was slightly cooler, and the lamp shone on baskets of dried greens, carrots, turnips, and pickled vegetables. A few barrels of liquor sat in the corner of the cellar, filling the air with the stench of alcohol.

Roy carefully walked past the racks and made his way to the innermost part of the cellar. A workstation—presumably to dry and pickle the vegetables—stood near the wall, and a petite body lay on top of it.

She was a young girl, presumably the daughter of the house’s owner. She had just taken her last breath when Roy happened upon her, her bruised face filled with fear and pain. Her body was covered in wounds, and she looked like a doll who’d been turned to rags. So young. And she and her parents managed to escape the war, but because of their misplaced kindness, they paid the price.

Roy took a deep breath. Once again, he regretted killing the old git that easily. He was about to pick the girl’s body up and bury her with her parents when something behind the workstation barked. A black puppy came rushing out. It had a rope around its neck, and the dog was but a few months old. It bristled and shook rigorously, barking at Roy, biting him as it tried to keep him from taking the girl away. Despite how much Roy was trying to calm him, his efforts went unnoticed.

“It’s your lucky day, you loyal cur. You’re coming with me.” This little pup was a surprise, and it lit up the witcher’s heart, even though only for a bit.

He cast Axii on the puppy, and confusion filled the pup’s eyes. The little creature whimpered and lay down, wagging its tail, then Roy patted its head. “Once I find Geralt and Ciri, I’m taking you back to Novigrad. The kids will love you.”

***

Roy dug a grave for the kind family and buried them, then he lit up the wooden house, burning the tragedy down forever. A pillar of light shot into the air, and the witcher emerged from the woods, holding a black dog in his arms. An owl flew overhead, following the witcher as he traveled ahead.

***

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