The Divine Hunter

Decadent moonlight spilled into the window, shining upon the figures sitting cross-legged upon the icy ground.

Carl’s face tensed up. Like a general trying to order his soldier around, he smacked Acamuthorm's shoulders. "Mate, I have an important mission for you. Stand guard outside the cellar later."

"Piss off." The part-elf shoved his hand away in scorn. "We're doing this together."

"Don't argue. My gut tells me something's wrong with the guards. You have to stay back just in case anything happens." Carl stared outside the window, musing.

"There's something wrong with you. You killed the drowner last time, so this time, I'm dealing with whatever this is." Acamuthorm's eyes were as wide as saucepans. He argued defiantly, "I'm the one who offered to do this for free. I'm taking the risks myself."

"That's a different matter. You can be the main unit when you beat me."

That hit Acamuthorm where it hurt, and he laughed mirthlessly. Knowingly, he said, "You'd be so selfless and thoughtful of someone else? Do it, then. After you die, I'll take care of Vicki in your stead."

Carl grinned toothily, his eyes icy. He held his hand up and aimed it at his comrade’s crotch, gesturing like he was going to chop something off. "I didn't know you picked up Lambert's bad habit. Maybe I'll cut that off first."

"Try if you dare."

The witchers bantered for five minutes, and they calmed down. Carl held the silver weapon on his left side and grabbed the hilt with one hand. He greased some specter oil on the blade with his other hand. Then he smeared the blade with the Viper School's modified, colorless pufferfish toxin. Just to make things safer.

The moment the liquids slid into the stylistic rune, Carl brushed his index finger across the back of the blade like a swordsman going into a deadly dance. Like a sword maker making a sword. Once the oils were evenly spread, the blade glimmered greyish-brown. He sheathed the weapon and grabbed two bottles from the pouch around his belt and chest. One was made of porcelain, while the other was a long, silver container.

The corks fell to the ground, and Carl gulped the decoctions. Cat enhanced their mutated eyes so they could catch light easier. Thunderbolt expanded their muscles, coursing power through their veins and awakening their potential. Carl was like a panther lying in wait for his prey. Black veins wriggled and throbbed, snaking from the neck to his temples. The veins spread through his face, contorting it until Carl looked like a demon. Slivers of white mist poured forth from his nose and mouth. As his eyes turned, lightning bolts seemed to flicker around.

Carl stood up, his cloak billowing. He strode out of the doorway, and Acamuthorm followed. He relaxed his muscles, livening up his body.

Snow fell through the landscape. There was only silence around the temple, accompanied by the chilly night wind. The priestess and her guards were holding up torches, standing before the sealed house beside the barn where the horses stayed. They were shivering.

Carl took a few steps, and his ears wiggled. He heard soft moans and cries coming from the darkness of the house, spreading through the night like icy winds. It reminded him of madwomen who stayed in cemeteries, whispering to themselves. Within the weak voice was chilly air that could seep into the bodies of those who heard it.

When the torches shone on the witchers, the man with unkempt hair was shocked by Carl's demonic look. Cautiously, he held the dagger around his belt. "Carl, are you sick, or did you get possessed?"

"Calm down. This is just tattoo magic. It can scare ghosts off. And it works on humans, though only just a bit. Calm down." Acamuthorm's face was covered in black veins as well, and he smiled, but it was a terrifying smile. "Well, don't just stand there. Open the door."

Rumachi wheeled around and looked at Daisy. The moment she nodded, he pried the sealed door with a hammer and tossed the wooden boards onto the ground. They stepped into the house.

It was a place made of wood. Dark and empty, it looked like it'd been deserted for six months. Dust and cobwebs came flying at the intruders. In the center of the house was a piece of wood that slightly caved downward. The torches shone on it and the ball of chains that were wrapped up like a metal python. There was a lock on it.

The priestess looked at the witcher and patted her chest. She took a deep breath, crouched, and took out some keys from her robe. One by one, she unlocked the chains. She had her back turned to everyone. Her hair swayed, inadvertently revealing a pattern on her nape. It was the pattern of a cobweb, and it was the size of a fingernail. Most of the pattern was hidden under the robe, revealing nothing but eerie black runes.

A mark? A tattoo?

The injured nightwraith attacked Carl's legs with its dagger. Carl leapt in time and kept his knees intact, but the new nightwraith swung its lantern. Sparks flew across the table, and it grazed Carl's right hand.

A gash opened up. Carl's hand screamed in pain, and he almost let his sword fall. Fortunately, he'd gone through tons of hellish training in the brotherhood, so his endurance was remarkable. Quickly, he bent backward at the perfect angle. He evaded the monsters' attacks and quickly swung his blade in an arc.

The nightwraith on the left howled, a corrosive wound opening up on its wrist. The one on the right had its belly hit by the blade, and it screamed louder. Carl quickly cast Aard and shoved the left monster backward.

The injured nightwraith swung its weapons like an insane beast. It hit the witcher's left waist, but it only left a white mark on the dragonscale-reinforced leather armor. Carl only grunted. He spun around and leapt out of the monster's attack range. Quickly, he moved to its side and swung his blade at the monster's back, then he thrust his weapon ahead.

A stream of fire swam across the air. Flames burned on the blade, trying to pierce the nightwraith from back to chest. The monster shimmered, trying to become incorporeal, but it had no more strength for that. It let out one final, ear-piercing scream as its skin was peeled off from its whole body.

As if the monster had been rotting for many centuries, it turned into dust, leaving nothing but a pile of green specter dust behind. Carl was breathing heavily, swaying like a clock, but he quickly leapt at the other nightwraith that had split itself into three, bombarding it with Signs, bottles, and his sword.

***

"Do you hear that? The battle's raging. Are you sure he can deal with it alone?" Daisy gritted her teeth. She looked at the dark cellar with worry. "Are you sure you're not going to help?"

"Don't worry. He's not an idiot. He'd have asked for help if he needed it. Since he's not saying anything, he can deal with it." Acamuthorm had a determined and confident look in his eyes. "Get ready to welcome a victorious warrior."

And then the sounds of battle came to a halt. The four standing outside the cellar tensed up, holding their weapons and torches tightly.

Ten minutes later, a pair of gleaming eyes quickly ascended the staircase, and then, a young face covered in black veins appeared from the darkness. The witcher was covered in soil and dust, sweat trickling down his chin. Carl was pale and exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for three days. A small gash decorated his cheek. It was obvious he'd gone through a tough battle.

Dino, Rumachi, and Daisy froze in shock for a moment, then they smiled brightly. "You won?"

"Took everything I had, but fortunately, I dealt with the monsters." Carl wiped the sweat and blood off his forehead, then he smiled. "The cellar is safe for now."

Acamuthorm heaved a sigh of relief.

"Speaking of which, your information is seriously flawed." Carl frowned. He dug out a bottle of Swallow and poured it on the back of his bleeding hand. "There were two nightwraiths inside, not one. If I wasn't prepared enough, I would've died."

"Oh, sorry, Carl." Panicked, the priestess and her guards quickly bowed. "Please forgive us for our mistake."

Carl leaned on the edge of the staircase and looked at the trio, then he turned to the angry Acamuthorm and shook his head. "Forget it. Now get some shovels and help us."

"What do you want to do?"

"I searched the cellar, but I couldn't find the source of these nightwraiths. They might be buried underground. We need to find the corpses and deal with the problem once and for all. We have a long night ahead of us."

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