The Divine Hunter

Chapter 604: Requiescat in Pace

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

‘Level 14 Witcher (20200/16500) → Level 15 Witcher (700/18500 [-3000 for Guardian])

You have leveled up. Your Mana and HP are fully restored.

You gain 1 skill point and 1 stat point.

Will: 30 → 40 (+2 to main stat).’

Gwyhyr and Gabriel were gleaming. They were waiting to be imbibed with treasures that complemented them and gain more power. Sherry, the soul living in Aerondight, spun around, dancing happily for the witcher.

The blob of evil energy cursing Roy’s battered body disappeared. Flesh grew from the broken body, and bones mended themselves back together, forming a complete body. Roy’s limbs grew back, his skin smooth as a baby’s, and he regained his senses as well. He could see the light, hear the whispering breeze, taste the scent of soil and bush. He had missed this.

Besides the weakened state from using his alternate form, Roy had never felt better. He held up the remains of the Lionhead Spider. It was a black fang the size of a fist and the shape of a curved bead.

‘Remains of the God of Omen

Components: Fang of the Lionhead Spider, the power of pain

Effect:

The fang constantly absorbs the power of pain from its surroundings. You may injure a target with the fang. The power of pain stored within the fang will be injected into the target’s body as a curse, changing them into a werebeast (their beast is influenced by the target’s genes and personality).

Werebeasts retain their sanity. They can change from their human form to their beast form as they please, but the process is irreversible. Werebeasts are sensitive to silver.’

***

This thing absorbs pain, curses its target, and turns them into werebeasts. In a sense, it’s a kind of powerful mutation. Roy thought this fang had the same kind of effect that necklace he got in Hindarsfjall had, but it was a more potent version. The cursed ones would not be afflicted with hunger, nor would they be bound to a certain spot.

The werewolves and werebears were as tough as regular witchers. This curse was some sort of special mutation. And then Roy saw a new path. A path of witcher creation that deviated from the Trial of the Grasses. A path that focused on the power of curses. But now is not the time to dwell on that.

He turned around, searching his surroundings. The Eternal Web was broken. The depressing sky was replaced by a sunny backdrop. The sticky web was now snow-covered ground. The temple of Lebioda was as beaten up as ever. Its fence was still smashed by the carriage, and ruins stood between the beautiful houses. Beneath the statue of Lebioda and the God of Omen was a pool of blood. It was still not dried, and half the corpse of a horse slept underneath the statues.

“Roy! Why’d you disappear all of sudden? You scared us!” one of the apprentices gasped. They quickly came over to Roy. The higher vampire decoction had healed them up, and they were red with excitement, their eyes gleaming.

“Worried? There was nothing to worry about.” Acamuthorm bumped Carl’s shoulder. “You know who he is. He’s the seer of the brotherhood and the strongest witcher. Didn’t you see the battle? It was marvelous. It was just a big spider. Roy must’ve defeated it easily.”

Roy shook his head, smiling. He looked past the apprentices, where a group of children stood. Then he stared at the apprentices until they were white in the face. “You’re not slipping away just because you praised me. You’re lucky I had time to come over. The trouble’s dealt with, and it’s not coming back.”

The apprentices heaved a sigh of relief, and they swung their fists in excitement.

“But don’t get cocky,” Roy said tartly. “If I hadn’t come over, you’d have been in big trouble. Both of you.” The witcher was solemn. If he came one step too late, the evil god would have recruited two new singers of pain. Abigail would’ve made her escape as well.

The apprentices knew they’d done something rash. They were ready to be punished, and they hung their heads low.

“Tell me, what happened? How’d you cross the priestess of the omen god? And you used the higher vampire decoction?”

“Oh, we didn’t cross her.” Acamuthorm tensed up, putting both hands behind his back. He circled Roy and said righteously, “We did an act of justice. As per the teachings of Coen, we lent a hand to those in need, just like how a Griffin would.” He turned to the scared orphans crouched outside the dormitories, then he glared at the animals tied up beside the children.

The young witcher told Roy about their story. Roy listened to him, observing the abandoned, abused, and brainwashed children. They were in a daze. They were fearful. Fearful of the future. And they were stealing glances at the witcher who showed up, their eyes filled with trepidation and longing.

It didn’t take long for Roy to notice the girl who looked like Ciri, and he paused. Angouleme? Angouleme was bruised. She noticed Roy looking at her, and she shot him a glare like a bristling cat.

“Fate can be surprising,” Roy commented. Angouleme was no ordinary girl. She left a mark on the original timeline of the witcher world. This girl had a dream of opening a brothel in Toussaint. In the future, she would join Geralt on his search for Ciri. In the end, she would come to Stygga and be injured in the leg while saving Ciri. Eventually, she’d die from blood loss.

Before that event, Angouleme led a terrible life. She was tormented in a temple that provided service to pedophiles. Eventually, she would convince her friends to work with her to escape the temple. They killed a few people along the way.

However, because of Roy’s interference, Abigail the priestess left the sewers of Vizima early and took over this temple brothel by accident. That dashed Angouleme’s hopes of escaping. If it weren’t for the young and naive apprentices passing by, Angouleme would’ve died from the butterfly effect.

Roy looked at the apprentices gently. He thought they were adorable now.

Acamuthorm happily held the hilt of his sword. “We saved a ton of people from that spider. It was worth the risk.” He lived up to the quote on his weapon.

Carl smiled, and he looked at Roy with longing.

“Not bad.” Roy patted the boys’ shoulders. He didn’t chastise them too much. Everyone had the right to choose their own paths. Even if it were to end in death, it was still a choice they made themselves. Roy couldn’t change that, no matter how much he could lecture them.

The only teachers that could turn them into real men was time and experience.

“Only one thing I want to say, Acamuthorm. You shouldn’t have riled Carl up. You should not have forced him to understand your point of view or make him accept it. Have you forgotten about history? Stubbornness and forcing someone else to do things they don’t want to were the reasons the order broke up in the first place. If the brotherhood wants to live, we must be more accommodating, both of the members’ opinions and the changes of time.”

“I’m sorry, Roy.” Acamuthorm was red as an apple, and he bowed in apology to Carl. “I shouldn’t have said that to you, Carl. I shouldn’t have said I’d take care of Vicki in your stead.”

“That’s enough.” Carl blanched. “You’re forgiven, but don’t bring that up ever again. The thought of it alone drives me crazy.”

***

“Back to the issue at hand, boys. Lebioda’s temple is ruined. These children have nowhere to go, so what’s next for them?” Roy asked, prepared to negotiate. He turned to the portly men tied up by the apprentices. “And we have to do something about these pedophiles too.”

“We’ve checked the kids,” Carl raised his voice so everyone in the courtyard could hear him. “The mark of Grayba disappeared the moment you came back. I promise they’re all back to normal now. They’ll never turn into those werespiders again. Can we bring them back to the House of Gawain?”

Acamuthorm gave Roy a pleading look, and the children listened closely, waiting with bated breath.

“Some of the kids are a bit too old for the Trial,” Roy said with regret.

A disgruntled Angouleme held herself up with a bloodstained table leg. She looked around, as if looking for something. Most of the children shivered, and some cried. They’d gone through years of torture, never leaving this temple. The future, for them, was uncertain.

“But if you guide them and have them become a part of us, we can take them home. We have enough room for eighteen kids,” Roy said.

The children felt their hearts soar, and cries of jubilation crossed the courtyard. A smile curled their lips.

“You’re not even that old, Roy. Don’t let the old gits’ bad habit rub off on you,” Carl muttered quietly.

Roy massaged his temples. “As for the criminals…”

Something icy glinted in Acamuthorm’s eyes. “Why don’t we have the victims have their way with them?”

***

The animals were taken to the children. The kids shrank away from their former tormentors like mice running away from cats. They were almost going to bury themselves under the snow.

Angouleme, however, was an anomaly. There was great courage in her little body. She stepped up for her companions. The girl picked up the bloodstained table leg and slammed it into the heads and rears of the pedophiles.

She gave her companions an imperious look. Driven by their submission and courage, a red-haired boy took the table leg and dealt some hesitant blows, though it felt more like a loving touch instead of punishment.

And then the whole thing turned into a game of pinata. Every child did what the kid before them did. Eventually, one round was up, and all hell broke loose. The kids struck harder and harder. Some thought kicks and punches alone were weak, so they picked up bricks and smashed them on the bodies of their tormentors.

The criminals, having their mouths stuffed, couldn’t even howl.

The children, faces red and eyes bloodshot, let out guttural roars. Just like how these men abused them, they dished everything back. Eventually, the criminals drew their last breath, their bodies turning into a mangled mess.

The children were crying and laughing, tears hanging on their cheeks. They stood taller than before, and a breath of life was injected into their souls. Those who had been tormented by agony could only grow through resistance. Roy held the fang of Coram Agh Tera tightly. He had a feeling it would be put to good use in the near future.

***

Acamuthorm approached Angouleme. He cooed, “They deserved it.”

The girl was silent. From the temple ruins, she dug out the remains of her comrades, Pamela and Cyria. Carefully, she put them on her back. It was time to do good by her promise. She would bring them on an escape from this place.

***

Carl and Roy were standing beside the statues. The younger witcher looked at the orphans, glad that they were better. Expectantly, he asked, “What next? Should we go back to the temple of Melitele in Ellander?”

“I know what you’re thinking, boy. You’re barely a lad, and you’re already dabbling with romance? You want to see Vicki, don’t you?”

Carl turned a shade of red. He hung his head low in embarrassment.

Roy grinned, his eyes twinkling. “You’re getting your wish, but first, we’re going to Lan Exeter. I’m making Dandelion buy new clothes for everyone.”

***

Balls of flames tore through the silence of the dawn. The corpses and statues in the temple of Lebioda burned away, taking with them the pain and sin buried within this place. Light had finally crushed the darkness. Eighteen kids held each other up, their eyes filled with trepidation and uncertainty. They would be embarking on a new, exciting adventure far divorced from their lives hitherto.

The apprentice witchers, leading the team, looked back. On the knapsack behind Angouleme, smoke and flames shone on the phantoms of two young girls. The one on the left was petite and adorable. She had long, golden hair and big, bright eyes. Her nose was aquiline, lending her an air of obstinance. Her blouse was old and bleached, and in her hands was a tattered ragdoll. The one on the right was slender and had short black hair. She wore a layer of thick cotton clothes, her cheeks pink and freckled.

The girls had gratitude in their eyes, and they bowed at the apprentice witchers for a long, long time. Tears spilled from the corner of their eyes, but the warmth of the sun evaporated it.

Thank you, Carl. Thank you, Acamuthorm.

The apprentice witchers could hear the girls’ final messages.

Farewell, Pamela. Farewell, Cyria. We’ll take care of the kids.

The young witchers waved at the girls, the shadows of their last moments slowly fading into the skies above. Carl and Acamuthorm exchanged a smile, the golden sun shining brightly upon them.

And they shook hands.