The Divine Hunter

Chapter 624: Curse School and Preparations

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

Willow branches swayed in the gentle breeze. Angouleme was bent over, standing in the courtyard of the House of Gawain. She formed claws from her fingers, staring at the gaunt man in black-robes through her hay-colored fringe. She pounced at him, quick as a bolt of lightning. As she leapt through the air, claws shot forward from her fingertips, and black fur that was tough as steel covered the back of her hand and her neck. A tail that was more like a whip grew out of her rear. Her head transformed into a wolf’s head, her eyes red, her fangs prominent.

Her claws swiped through the air, going for the man’s shoulder, but he easily evaded it, as if he’d teleported away. Angouleme lost her target.

And then, something like a night owl’s screech tore through the air. The corn fields outside the fence saw a golden ripple coursing through them. Angouleme stiffened up and slowly turned around. A surge of strength crashed into her claws that were crossed before her chest. She was thrown through the air like a sandbag.

The wolf-girl did not lose her balance, however. Like a feline falling from a great height, her back tensed up, and so did her limbs. She swayed her tail and fell to the ground gracefully. Angouleme touched herself and felt blood covering her fur. The gash on her nape was healing up quickly.

Her rival wasn’t even breaking a sweat. He flung the blood off his fingertips and smiled, as if this was just warm up for him. His disdain angered Angouleme, her pupils turning into slits. She snarled and howled into high heavens. Her beastly body swelled up even further, her muscles growing until it tore her shirt apart. Crimson light swirled around her. She looked like a little rampaging giant.

Angouleme leaned over and breathed heavily. Like a beast, she ran on all fours toward the man before her. The moment she hit him, the man turned into a swarm of bats and flew behind her, covering her as he took her into the air. The man shook her around, but Angouleme roared and howled.

Her struggles stopped abruptly moments later. The bat swarm wriggled and reformed into a regular man. After being released from her bondage, Angouleme turned back into her human form, prostrated on the ground. She was exhausted, her jacket stained with blood and left with holes, revealing her skin underneath. The scars left by the bats were quickly healing.

“How do you feel, lady?” Acamuthorm had been watching from the sidelines. He led a bunch of kids and surrounded Angouleme. The young witcher draped a big black cloak over her, covering her almost naked body.

Angouleme wiped the sweat off her forehead. She was pale, but she smiled at her companions. “I’m fine. I’m so hungry, I could eat a whole cow.” She then looked at the barber-surgeon, dismayed.

“Be content, young lady.” Regis shook his head, smiling. “Aside from Signs, decoctions, and silver weapons, your physical prowess and regenerative abilities are far superior than fledgling witchers who’d just gone through their Trial. I’m not exaggerating when I say you can tear those who wish to harm you apart with your bare hands. That strength alone gives you enough power to keep you and your friends safe. I should be going now, but I will return at the same time tomorrow to train you again.”

Regis leapt into the air and turned into a sliver of black smoke. He then disappeared.

Angouleme clenched her fists quietly, feeling her strength. She was on par with an adult even in human form, and her dismay faded away, replaced by a bright, confident smile. All the torment she suffered in the omen god’s orphanage finally paid off, and it was all thanks to the witchers’ generosity.

“Congratulations, Angouleme. Or should I say, the first ever witcher of the School of the Curse.” Kalkstein stroked his goatee, coming from the laboratory. He eyed Angouleme like she was a perfect work of art. There was content in his eyes. And then he was reminded of the crazy months spent on this research. He fused the necklace and Lionhead Spider’s fang, turning them into a Trial that could change painful memories into power.

This sparring session proved that the Trial of the Curse was safer and more efficient than the Trial of the Grasses. The transformation would allow the user to change into a Cursed One. Aside from their easily agitated tempers and weakness toward silver weapons, they didn’t have any apparent weakness. When they turned back into their human forms, they would be like any other human.

It meant they could have children, unlike the witchers who went through the Trial of the Grasses. However, the Trial of the Curse required more from the adepts. If the adept had not gone through inhuman amounts of pain and torment, they couldn’t activate the curse. For now, Angouleme was the only successful case.

“This is a huge breakthrough. The brotherhood now has another Trial beside the Grasses.” Vesemir looked at Angouleme. Formally and proudly, “But more importantly, child, welcome. From now on, you are part of the brotherhood as well.”

“I… I…” Angouleme sobbed. She looked at the witchers around her, the rims of her eyes red.

To witness this historic moment, Geralt, Felix, Ivar, Coen, and the younger witchers like Carl, Monti, and Acamuthorm came back. Everyone gave Angouleme looks of approval and acceptance.

Ever since she was born, no one had shown her the kindness the witchers extended to her. No companion of hers ever relied on or looked up to her. Angouleme clutched her cloak tightly, a lump forming in her throat. Words failed her. She teared up and sniffled. I’m finally someone useful.

“Wipe your tears away. You’re part of us now. Do away with the formalities.” Roy came out of the crowd, smiling. He solemnly handed a wolf head medallion that had its silver content taken out to Angouleme. Unlike the usual medallion that showed a snarling wolf head, this one looked calm, and its mouth was closed.

If another Cursed One should appear down the line, the witchers would make another medallion for them, depending on the form they took on. Roy patted Angouleme’s shoulder encouragingly. “Remember, Angouleme. Fury that makes you stronger is good, but too much fury is not a good thing. Do not let your emotions take over your mind. Etch the face of this medallion into your head. Remember to control yourself. Witchers are not brutes. Sometimes, a cool head is more useful than violence.”

“I understand, Roy.” Angouleme clutched her medallion and nodded. The other boys and girls looked at her enviously.

“That’s all for fun, kids. Get back to the classroom.” Kalkstein nodded. “Angouleme will have to go through a total checkup to confirm she’s not suffering from any complications.” He held Angouleme’s hand and turned to the witchers. “As for you people, you’re going to the conference room. Don’t let the ladies wait.”

***

The conference room’s magical lamp shone on the long table gnawed by maggots. There were people seated around the table, ten of them being young witchers. They were listening to the gorgeous sorceress talking about the long-distance meeting that happened a while ago.

“And they’ve reached a decision. Early next month, Francesca will be attending the meeting in Thanedd. Tissaia has given me permission to take you into Loxia.” Coral stood behind Roy, holding his shoulders. Her hair tumbled down to his cheek, and she blinked at everyone. “So, any plans for this upcoming conference, people?”

“First, we’re seizing this chance to talk to Francesca— Can you sit right here, Coral? I want to see you talk. I can’t get used to you standing over me.”

Lytta sat beside Roy, and the witcher continued, “For Ciri, Eileni, and my safety, we must ask Francesca for the Wild Hunt’s waypoint. We’ll then take down their commander, Eredin, the sage, Avallac’h, and King of the Alders, Auberon, ending all hunt for the Elder Blood.”

The mention of Wild Hunt made everyone solemn, especially the Viper School, the school that was a victim of the Wild Hunt’s terrors. And joining them were Geralt and Yennefer, who were worried about Ciri. It was weird that the Wild Hunt hadn’t appeared in years, however.

“The elven queen has bad blood with us, especially with what we did to the Scoia’tael.” Serrit shook his head. “It’ll be hard to talk to her. I suggest we prepare for any eventualities. If negotiations won’t work, then we’ll need something with more force to convince her.”

“You sure you want to threaten a sorceress on her turf?” Yennefer’s eyes twinkled with disdain. “The fireballs will turn you into a pile of ash.”

“There is no need for violence.” Geralt touched his stubble. “Vilgefortz might be dead, but his assistant, Lydia, is on our side. She is in Gors Velen with Casiga as we speak, and she holds evidence of Francesca’s partnership with Nilfgaard through Vilgefortz. If the elven queen does not wish to be a villain scorned by all, she will have no choice but to work with us.”

“Calling her out during the conference means nothing.” Roy shook his head, his eyes glinting coldly, and he scanned his companions. “The Elder Blood has shown me another vision. This conference will be the herald for the chaos in the Northern Realms.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Everyone listened closely.

Roy took a deep breath, his voice echoing around the room. “I see the light of magic rampaging across the island. I see blood and fire everywhere. A great explosion will bring the palace to ruins. Francesca will have a falling out during the conference and eradicate anyone who opposes her. Her accomplices? Scoia’tael and the sorcerers who have banded with the South. Redania’s consultant, Philippa, will band with the allies of the North and wipe out all traitors during the meeting.”

Roy looked at Triss. She was the color of clouds, her freckles shivering. “Trust me, Triss. It won’t be long before Philippa asks you and Keira to join her.”

Triss pursed her lips. If the Southern spies got their way, the Northern Realms would be plunged into war once more, and she would accept Philippa’s invitation without hesitation.

Roy turned to Yennefer. “Because you’re a part-elf, Philippa will see you as a traitor.”

Yennefer froze up. Geralt held her icy hand tightly.

Lytta shook her head in disbelief. “Daisy of the Valleys is a gorgeous woman, but she has a heart of stone. How dare she attack her colleagues?”

Lambert rubbed his hand across his hairline and smirked. “Not out of the realm of possibilities. How many Scoia’tael members has Francesca sent to their deaths? And all to revive the elven kingdom. Nothing’s beyond her.”

“And?” Coral tapped her finger on the table. The air rang, and the shadow weighing on everyone’s hearts was dispelled. “What do you see? Did that traitor triumph?”

Roy said, “My vision showed me carnage. After the battle, the Northern allies, the Southern traitors, and those who stayed neutral suffered great losses. The Northern sorcerer brotherhood was disbanded after this conflict. Nilfgard launched its second invasion. Which is why we not only have to get Wild Hunt’s waypoint from Francesca in the meeting, but we also have to consider our stance. Should we remain neutral, or should we take the Northern Realms’ side? I think everyone in the brotherhood should decide whether to meddle with this meeting.”

Roy’s old plan was to punish the Wild Hunt and help the elves get away from war, finding a suitable piece of land for them to live. However, Francesca’s repeated refusal to grant him an audience wore out his patience. He would not beg for her attention.

“Did you forget something, kid? When you killed so many Nilfgaardians back in Cintra four years ago, you have already taken a side,” said Auckes calmly.

Roy fell silent.

Eskel shook his head. Gruffly, he said, “Then everything we do this time, we do it to protect Ciri and Eileni. I think we should just mind our own business. Just get the Wild Hunt’s waypoint and keep our sorceresses and their friends safe. Our enemy is the Wild Hunt. Only the Wild Hunt.”

Vesemir, Lambert, Serrit, Letho, Ivar, Kiyan, Felix, and Aiden nodded. Carl and his friends agreed as well. They were the more rational ones among the fledglings. The brotherhood was growing well because they never touched politics or war.

Yennefer held Geralt’s arm, saying nothing. She was a supporter of the North, but Philippa saw her as a traitor, and she wouldn’t help them if that was the treatment she would receive.

Triss shook her head violently, her hair swaying. She looked at everyone with a plea in her eyes. “But I can’t just sit by while the traitors kill my colleagues. I need to pin them down and crush their plans.”

Acamuthorm and Lloyd suddenly stood up, their eyes filled with determination. “Sirs,” they said clearly, “we’re born in the North. We have a duty to contribute to the peaceful days of our homeland.”

“This is not your place to speak, brats.” Letho flicked his finger at their foreheads. “Just shut up and listen.” But he was a little moved.

This was the first time Triss made a request ever since she joined the brotherhood. The witchers had to pay importance to that.

Coen, one of the knightly witchers, at Acamuthorm’s quiet persuasion, spoke up. “I despise destruction and ruin.” His face was shining warmly under the sunlight. “The conflict in Thanedd will clear the path for Nilfgaard’s invasion. The black-armored knights will once again raze our homes. Now that I know that’s the future we’re facing, I cannot sit idly by.”

Coen held his medallion tightly. “Even if we do not join the war, we should try to change the outcome of this conference and avoid the Northern sorcerers’ doom. As long as we do not get too deeply involved, we’re not going against our principles. Let’s just help Triss out. And me.”

The witchers fell into silence, but their apathy was starting to change.

Lambert crossed his arms, his eyes flaring with envy. “I understand how you feel, mate, but don’t forget, Tissaia only let Roy and Geralt accompany the ladies. Which means they’ll have to face more than twenty traitors, a ton of deprived sorceresses, and a lot of Scoia’tael members. They’ll be wrung dry.”

“Wrung dry? Are dirty thoughts all you can think of?”

Coral and Yennefer shot Lambert icy glares, and mana roared around them. Lambert’s medallion buzzed furiously, as if it would throttle him.

Aiden quickly held his stupid companion’s shoulder. Lambert’s eyes rolled back, and he fell unconscious.

“Why don’t I bring Coen with me, then?” Triss gave the Griffin a grateful look.

“Three’s not enough. They’re facing the strongest sorcerers in the North.”

Letho and Ivar exchanged a look. Ivar nodded, and Letho said, “Here’s the plan. I, everyone else, and the kids are going to Thanedd beforehand and hiding. We’ll be ready to help out when the time comes.”

Triss clasped her hands and bowed at everyone, her cheeks red.

Serrit looked at Roy. “But since we’re interfering anyway, why don’t we go all in and get our new allies to help out.”

Everyone felt their heart skip a beat. They were reminded of that scene. The scene where a bunch of gigantic bats were flying in the skies. Ever since Roy sent the Elders home, the higher vampires in the North were under his control. No matter how arrogant they were, they were as docile as lambs when a bearer of the Elder’s mark appeared. They listened to Roy’s every order.

It was also why Regis was dragged out of his isolation just to train the new witchers. He felt really resigned over that.

“Three hundred and twenty-eight higher vampires. Enough strength to level a kingdom.” Ivar looked at the young Viper with praise in his eyes.

“One hundred and thirteen, to be exact. Most of them are slumbering. Waking them up by force is going to cost, and it’s an unnecessary cost. Summoning higher vampires is something that costs a lot of mana and stamina.” Roy got up and approached the window. He rolled his sleeves, revealing a crimson bloodline mark on his arms.

The witcher rubbed his hand over it, and the mana in the air started to boil. The witchers’ medallions buzzed loudly. Crimson light burst forth like a blanket of bloody mist. “But Serrit’s right. Only overwhelming strength can ensure the conflict of Thanedd is resolved quickly, safely, and thoroughly.”

Everyone looked outside the window. In the golden skies over the horizon, a patch of inky clouds appeared, crimson lightning swimming within. A great maw was torn open in the horizon, as if the end of days were coming.

The dark clouds quickly approached them and enveloped the alder woods around the orphanage. Gales howled, clouds gathered, and black rain fell into the courtyard. Eventually, the rain converged into silhouettes. Dark, gaunt, terrifying silhouettes.

The crimson light coming from the skies above shone on the silhouettes’ faces. They were pale, their eyes scarlet. And all of them were bowing to the conference room, their hands at their chests.

“Our new allies are ready to go. We’ll take this conference by storm.”