The Divine Hunter

The sun shone upon Marnadal. Blood-soaked Marnadal. Screams and shouts filled the air, and a gaunt figure was found darting through the corpses on the west side of the warzone. Quen covered his cloak, the look in his eyes as sharp as a falcon. He kept looking out for any magic signal that could appear.

A few hours had elapsed since he entered the battlefield, and Jerome had gone around the warzone twice. His clothes were drenched, and steam rose from the top of his hood. He managed to dodge countless bolts and even noticed the mages from Nilfgaard skulking across the battlefield, but Erland was still nowhere to be found.

"Did we decipher the mural wrongly?" A hint of disappointment filled his eyes. "Perhaps Erland won't show up after all."

The fray was where death would descend on anyone at any time, but Jerome took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. He charged straight into the front lines, where Nilfgaard and Cintra were clashing the hardest.

The Nilfgaardian troops were trying to break through the wall of shields, but the moment they did, Cintra's infantry would close in on them and take their lives with the stab of their spears. These soldiers were like beasts ensnared in the swamp. It was only a matter of time before they were devoured.

A Nilfgaardian soldier attempted to stop him, but he didn't even get to make a single move. Jerome shoved a Sign at him, and mana gathered in his palm before it charged toward the soldier in the form of an air current.

The soldier felt himself slamming into an invisible wall, and he toppled over. Jerome leapt over him and kept advancing into the fray. Just a moment later, a bunch of bloodied, armored soldiers tried to stop him. There was a split second when their attention was fixed on their real enemies, but that split second was all he needed.

Jerome crouched and weaved past the web of steel like an eel. After his second mutation, he could move at speeds faster than what the human eye could catch. The soldiers felt a grey silhouette zipping past them, but when they tried to have a closer look, there was nothing behind them.

The screams, the rain of arrows, the clashing metal, the corpses… None of those could stop Jerome's footsteps. None could make him slow down. He naturally sustained a few injuries along the way, but he finally came to the center of the battlefield.

Nilfgaard had essentially turned their soldiers into a siege weapon. Their troops kept barging at Cintra's line of defense, sacrificing their own with every attack. A path of blood extended far beyond that battle in the middle. Both sides had sustained casualties, countless corpses lying around them. Not an inch of empty space could be found.

Every time someone fell, another soldier would take their place. There was no way to retreat now.

Jerome had no place to stand, so he leapt onto the top of a Nilfgaardian soldier's head and lightly tapped on his helm with his foot. Before he could feel anything, Jerome had leapt onto the head of another soldier. Just like that, he made his way across the death zone of the valley.

War was… cruel. Healthy men went in, and mangled corpses came out. The soldiers noticed Jerome, eventually, and they roared at him. The crossbowmen trained their weapons on him, for he was the perfect target to kill.

A rain of bolts came down on him, and swords were swung against him. Jerome managed to evade most attacks, but even the few that got through managed to break his shield. He was equipped with Kalkstein's item, but even that was only enough to fend the attacks off for two seconds. And Jerome had already stopped making any Signs.

All he felt was the rain of arrows coming down on his back. First there was agony, but then there was nothing. He heard the murmurs of darkness echoing in his head, and exhaustion washed over him. He just wanted to let go of everything. To sleep. To sleep an eternal sleep, but the remaining drive in his mind kept him moving onward like a living corpse.

And then his medallion hummed. That woke him up from his stupor. Jerome felt his head freshen up, and a surge of life sprang forth in his body. He looked ahead only to see a silhouette in a purple cloak making his entrance. The silhouette stood among the troops, his cloak billowing in the wind.

Jerome couldn't see his profile clearly, as it was covered by a hood, but the tense outline and wild amber eyes were familiar to him. He was the one Jerome had spent his life searching for. No matter what, Jerome would never forget him.

The cloaked man pushed his hand ahead, and a little earthquake rumbled the battlefield. A magnificent air current greater than anything Jerome had felt pushed away everything that stood between him and that cloaked man.

All the soldiers and horses in a ten-meter radius were blown sideways, clearing the immediate vicinity.

***

The cloaked man kept casting Aard at the oncoming soldiers, sending them flying. At the same time, he cast another Sign with his right hand, holding up a golden, elliptical shield that protected him and the one who was coming after him.

Jerome followed him all the way across the lines of war. They broke through the valley and entered an unsullied forest.

***

When all signs of war had ceased, the cloaked man finally stopped and turned around.

Jerome stood three yards away from him. He was hunched, and his body was bloodied. His hands hung by his sides, balled into fists, and his eyes were filled with trepidation, but also anticipation. "Erland?"

"Jerome, my child. It has been a hundred and forty years since we met, hasn't it?" a man's voice said. He heaved a sigh and pulled his hood back, revealing a face Jerome was familiar with.

He was a man in his forties. Handsome, muscular, and he had a Mohican hairstyle that swayed in the wind. The tattoo of an eagle extended from the back of his head to the entirety of the right side of his face. His brows were thick and long, and his nose was aquiline. There was a stubble beneath his nose and on his chin. But the most striking feature was his eyes. It seemed to hold an ocean in them. An ocean of knowledge and love. Nobody would think he was under anyone's control.

***

"I knew it. I knew you were alive. I knew you'd show up here. We got it all right!" Jerome let out a guffaw. An almost comical laugh. But then his legs gave out, and he fell forward.

Erland quickly stepped forth and held his arms, keeping Jerome up. He stared at the face of his bloodied protégé, and conflicting emotions welled within him.

"We tried to look for you. For a long time. Coen and Keldar did as well." Jerome started sobbing. He was more than a hundred years old, and yet now he was acting like a child who just wanted to vent everything to his father. "Where have you been all these years?" Jerome stared into his eyes, fury swelling in them. "Tell me the name of the bastard who kidnapped you!"

A moment of silence later, Erland shook his head. And he gave Jerome a shocking answer. "I used to be under someone's control, and I did try to warn you through meditation, but for a long time since then, I was free. I did everything of my own volition. Even now. Nobody's controlling me, much less imprisoning me."

"Because that Place of Power is no longer my goal." Erland stared past Jerome. His eyes were on the sky beyond the woods. The sun was hiding behind the clouds, slowly moving down to the west.

Erland sounded aloof when he spoke next. "The witcher schools are limited in power. They are nothing before our creed and mission."

The light of reminiscence shone in Erland's eyes, but then it disappeared quickly. "I can't go back."

Jerome froze, his heart filled with the pain of abandonment. And then he shook his head bitterly. "Even if you refused to return, why didn't you contact me after that one time? Or Kelder? Or Coen?"

"My work has taken up all my time and energy. And I do not wish to drag you into this. Destiny has been cruel to you. It is unnecessary to put even more burden onto you. I meant it when I told you not to seek me out." Erland spoke with a hint of regret in his voice. "You shouldn't have come."

***

"It's just like you to take on all the worst dangers. That's why you wouldn't tell me. You didn't want to rope me in," Jerome said confidently, but his voice was barely a whisper, and he was wobbling. "But I wish to learn of your work. Your new goal."

"My goal has never changed. The only thing that's changed are my methods. Child, think back to the first lesson I taught you."

"The code of our school? The virtue of knights and the mission to save the world. To make the world a better place." Jerome asked, "So you traveled all these battlefields to achieve your goal? You're the one who went to Haern Cadush, left the dog tag, opened the magic jar, and drew the mural?"

***

"I'll help you," Jerome pleaded.

Erland kept his silence. A hint of disappointment flashed in Jerome's eyes. He felt his strength leaving his body, and his mind was getting slower. "Am I not good enough to join you on your crusade?" Suddenly, he started talking about the past. "You're right. I just graduated from the school a decade or so ago when my father managed to trick stupid little me and locked me up in his prison. I spent half my life in that hellhole, but when I finally got out, I didn't know what to do."

He held Erland's hands tightly, worried Erland might disappear should he let go. He pressed his forehead against the back of Erland's hands. Like a repenting sinner, he muttered, "My faith in the creed wavered, and I wasted my time like a fool. Decades of my time." Blood trickled down his chin. "I've let you down. I've given up on the virtues of a knight."

Erland listened silently. He passed no judgment on the repenting Jerome. All he had for him was acceptance. "No." He held Jerome's medallion. "All you need is time to heal, but Destiny didn't give you that."

Jerome sobbed, his negative emotions disappearing right away. The witcher fell forward and hugged Erland just like how he did the day he arrived at Kaer Seren. Just like how he did the day his brethren welcomed him with open arms.

He was muttering under his breath, his voice barely a whisper now. "I've given it a lot of thought, but the answer still eludes me. I did all the good I could’ve done, and yet misfortune still falls upon me. If that's the case, then why do we put our faith in the creed? If justice does exist, then why do good people get punished, while the villains get to live their lives in comfort?"

Erland listened quietly, and then a gigantic cloaked man appeared behind Jerome. Erland shook his head.

"Did I do something wrong? Is that why the gods punished me so?" Jerome whispered into Erland's ears. His pupils were starting to dilate." Please, tell me."

***

"Jerome, you are a Griffin. There's no doubt about that." Erland's gaze pierced the woods and reached the valley of Marnadal. Then his eyes became bloodshot. It was almost like he could see the humans who were battling it out in the warzone, and that reminded him of something else.

Once again, he was reminded of that fateful night. The night where his home was buried under layers of snow. The night where he had to bury more than sixty of his brethren. He was reminded of the foolishness, the greed, and the grotesque malice shown by the mages, the church, and the peasants.

"The fault is not on you."

Jerome finally got his answer, and tears streamed down his cheeks. A smile curled his lips, for he finally had closure. And that was his last smile. His pupils were dilated, his eyes losing their light. His head rested on Erland's shoulder, but he was no longer breathing.

***

Erland held the battered, tattered corpse of his student, and a tear rolled down his cheek. The grandmaster put Jerome's corpse down and raised his hand.

A crimson shard half the size of a human palm slept in his hand, its shape irregular. A gust of wind blew past the woods, and a sliver of black smoke rose from Jerome's corpse. Then it housed itself in the shard.

"We shall realize the dreams of our school together, Jerome." Erland opened a portal and leapt into it. His companion followed swiftly, then they both disappeared into thin air.

***

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