The Divine Hunter

A warm dawn shone on the land, and a gentle breeze danced through The Whispering Hillock, the Hunched Swamp, and the beautiful, verdant fields. It pranced through the muddy paths on Lower Velen, refreshing the witchers.

"Bald Mountain, the crones' base of operations, and that mysterious oak tree…" Auckes was holding the bloody package of sacrifice with one hand and the horse's reins with the other. He sighed. "Darn it. Why couldn't I go with Roy?" Auckes swung the package in frustration. "Lower Velen's a shit place. Running errands is so boring."

"Shut up, you fool!" Serrit followed behind him, looking around cautiously. After confirming that the fields and bushes were not rigged with ears, he whispered, "Don't ruin the plan! The crones' spies might be around!"

"I know. I just don't like this. Why does Letho get to take the most important job?"

"Obviously because you talk too much!" Serrit retorted, and he smirked. "This isn't really a boring job if you think about it. Perhaps we will get to see the ladies' beauty this time." Serrit sounded expectant. "It'd be really great if they were as gorgeous as the paintings made them out to be."

"Quit dreaming." Auckes snorted and shook his head. "The core told us the crones are old, wrinkly women. But if that's your standard of beauty, I guess they're pretty too."

"Are you sure the core didn't lie?" Serrit gave him a mysterious look. "Auckes, I might be a worse swordsman than you, but I understand women better. They would hurl every curse under the sun at their enemies. I think the truth is completely different from what we're told," Serrit explained. "The crones are powerful. It should be easy for them to stay young."

Serrit's adamance made Auckes waver. He rubbed his chin. "If they're still beautiful, then I suppose I can see them."

"You get it now, don't you?" Serrit added, "So what if they're crones? What's important is they're beautiful and sexy enough."

Felix was right in front of them. He shook his head. They're still fighting even now? Are they stupid or mad? Or are they actually calm? "Is this how Vipers relax?" Felix shook his head. Lower Velen was in sight now, and he clenched his fists.

***

"Have you brought the sacrifice, witchers?" Carson was smoking at the entrance, and he puffed the smoke at the witchers’ face.

"Have some faith in our reputation, old man. We always keep our promises," Auckes said. He tossed the package to Carson. Carson looked surprised and horrified when he saw the contents.

A great, snarling werewolf's head was facing him. Its eyes were gouged out, leaving two little holes behind. Its tongue was cut at the base, and blood was still flowing. Its teeth gleamed under the sunlight, almost blinding Carson.

Carson gulped, and he gazed at the witchers. "Take it to the clearing behind the village. There's an altar there. You have to present this to the ladies yourself. That's the last step of the sacrifice." He pointed in right the direction for the witchers.

"Aren't you coming with us?"

Fear flashed in Carson's eyes. "I cannot disturb the ladies unless they summon me." He turned around and chided the villagers who were watching them. He shot a glare at the guy with thick chest hair. That guy was staring dumbly at them. "Yeah, you! Don't just stand there! You can't kill anyone with that pitchfork! Do you want to see the ladies too?"

The burly man let out a scream and ran away. The other villagers left as well. They scurried back to their houses like scared children and huddled near their windows to see the witchers off. There were looks of fear, disgust, and schadenfreude in their eyes, as if they were happy that the witchers would be faced with calamity.

"Why don't you go first?" Auckes lost his fervor. He started hesitating.

"No, brother. You should go first. You love to be the vanguard," Serrit refused.

Felix held up the bloody package and went ahead before they could argue any further.

***

A stone altar half the height of a regular adult stood in the center of the clearing. The altar was covered in dried blood and crimson handprints after countless sacrifices. It was already the color of metallic brown. Vulture placed the werewolf's head on the altar. As its blood seeped into the altar, a magical wind started blowing out of nowhere. It was filled with mana, and the witchers' pendants vibrated.

They took a step back, holding the hilt of their blades and casting signs by instinct. A cacophony of noise rang in the air. It was eerie and flowed fluidly like water. There was a woman's sigh, the roars of beasts, and silvery laughter that belonged to children. The voices merged and became whispers that hung in the air.

In the end, they heard the sound of something falling behind them. The thing's footsteps sounded heavy, and the ground shook with every step it took. They were reminded of giants and enormous creatures. They swiveled around and pointed their blades ahead. Three silhouettes suddenly appeared before them. When they saw what the silhouettes were, the witchers cursed silently, This is bullshit! Kreve! Melitele! Eternal Fire! Any god out there. Open your eyes! Something this ugly shouldn't exist!

Auckes and Serrit's fantasy was shattered into a million pieces. The gap between expectations and reality made them purse their lips tightly. For a moment there, they almost retched. It was almost impossible for someone who had dealt with disgusting creatures like necrophages and nekkers to retch.

"Put your swords down, little ones," one of the crones said. It was raspy and vile, just like the typical voice everyone imagined when they thought about old, vile witches who dwelled in swamps and forests.

Auckes squinted at them, as if he were worried their grotesque faces would burn his eyes. The crone who greeted them was the Weavess. She was hunched and stood on the right. Most of her body was covered in a dark brown cloth that resembled a canvas or some dirty handkerchief. Only her thin, four-fingered arms and two gigantic feet were exposed. A red witch's cap covered most of her head, and a brown eyepatch made of hair covered her right eye. Her left eye was made out of a tumor that looked like a ladybug. The witchers wondered how she could see. Her nose was red and as long and sharp as a crow's beak. Her lips were pale and cracked. The weirdest thing about her was a pair of child's legs growing out of the cloth covering her belly. The legs swayed as she breathed, as if they were nothing but trinkets.

"They look even better in the flesh," the crone in the middle said quietly. She was the Brewess, the mightiest and fattest of the sisters. Her arms were as thick as pillars, making it easier for her to swing her big spatula in her cauldron. Her legs were as big as small dams, and her waist was as gigantic as a bucket. Her belly was as round as a cauldron, and she was about three or four heads taller than most humans. The Brewess looked just like a moving, fleshy mountain. Her bulging body was covered tightly. Instead of calling her the Brewess, it would be far easier calling her the Pig Lady. She looked just like a swine who just learned how to stand on its two hind legs. Unlike her sisters, she did not hunch. She put her hands on her hips and puffed her chest out. Her face was covered in a cage made out of hay, perhaps to cover her horrifying face.

"I like the one in the middle. I prefer men with his looks," the Whispess said, looking at Auckes. She was standing on the left. The Whispess looked like the Brewess, and her face was covered with a reddish-brown silk cloth. Her size stood between her sisters. She was moderately sized, and her back was hunched. Her muscles were big, and the way she stood resembled something between an ostrich and a kangaroo. Her skin was pale, wrinkly, and filled with growths of different sizes. The one thing that attracted everyone's attention was the big cloth bag hanging from her waist. It was covered in blood, and a child's arm was sticking out of it. The stench of rotting flesh drew the flies in. They circled the air above the cloth bag.

Auckes held his disgust down and pulled his sword back a little. "Ahem. Thank you for the praise, ladies." He said as calmly as he could, "But you don't resemble the paintings at all."

"Ah, but the paintings did not lie, witcher. That was what we looked like when we were young. We loved living our days out with strong, handsome young men like you." The Whispess chuckled. "Alas, Velen is filled with malice and negative emotions. They're more destructive than the most potent poison you can find. They gnawed at us, and we grew old."

"Ladies, the people of Lower Velen and Velen at large praise you," Felix interrupted. He had no interest in guessing whether that was the truth or not, nor was he intrigued about flirting with a monster like her. "We've given you the sacrifice as promised, and now it's your turn. Give Carl back to me."

"Yes. We always keep our promises." The Weavess grasped at the air with her spindly hands. "The poor child was as thin as a stick when he first got here. He was tired, scared, and couldn't even stand."

"We've been taking care of him as best as we could." The Whispess shrugged innocently.

"We treated him like our own," the Brewess added.

"Alas, he would not listen to us. Tried to escape a few times." The Weavess sighed. "We loved him for nothing."

"Where is he? Why didn't you take him here?" Felix gnashed his teeth. The veins on his face popped, and he was holding the hilt of his blade tightly.

"Calm down, witcher. We did not hurt him. He's waiting for you somewhere safe. He's fed and clothed." The Whispess fiddled with the hand in her cloth bag. "The crows just sent him to the village chief's house in Lower Velen. He's waiting for you there."

Felix wanted to leave right away, but the Brewess stopped him. "A minute, please. I have a proposition for you." She went to the altar and picked the werewolf head up. She sniffed it, and it almost made her drunk. "A perfect sacrifice. It has enough mana, and…" The Brewess paused for a moment. "It's dipped in The Whispering Hillock's madness. You have breached the forbidden area, haven't you, witchers?"

"So what?" The witchers stood side by side.

"Have you seen a tree's core there? It's incredibly big." The Whispess grasped the air. She observed the witchers, but the looks on their faces did not betray their thoughts. "I would like you to go back and destroy that thing for us."

"Is that a request?" Auckes mocked, "Or are you going to kidnap one of us again to force us into submission?"

"We will reward you adequately this time, witchers." The Whispess explained, "The first time was merely a test."

The Weavess said, "Not every witcher is willing to talk to us. At least we're off to a good start. We held up our end of the bargain, didn't we?"

The Brewess scratched her gigantic body. "If you help us, we'll show you that even an impoverished land like Velen has its own treasures too. They'll be worth the work."

***

The witchers exchanged looks. The core's soul had been taken by Roy the night before, but the beasts were still rampaging on the hillock, so the ladies did not notice that.

"We need more information on this request. What is the core? And what do you have to do with it?" Auckes pretended to be interested in this. "And Felix has to take the boy first. They have to leave Velen."

The Whispess said, "Speaking of which, this reminds me. Where are your other companions, witcher? I remember there were two of them."

"They've left Velen," Auckes lied. "Not every witcher works in teams." He smiled.

"Is that so?" The Whispess stared down and felt the land quietly, but her spies did not give her any information to prove that this was a lie. Her doubts were cleared.

Auckes heaved a sigh of relief. That's all the time I can buy for you two, he thought.

***

About three miles from the west of Lower Velen, two witchers smeared in the core's blood came to Bald Mountain. They walked on their tiptoes, moving as silent as cats. The witchers slipped past the ladies' priests and guards, heading to the top of the mountain.

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