The Divine Hunter-Chapter 584 - : Who Am I

Chapter 584: Who Am I

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

Roy and the other witchers followed the blinking mist back to snow-capped Haern Caduch, hidden among the mountains. On the first floor of the castle stood an empty great hall. The ceiling was held up by multiple rough stone pillars, and sconces hung on their sides. The fire in the fireplace was crackling and burning brightly, illuminating the grandmasters and sorcerers around the table.

Ivar joined the team a hundred years after the first three. He missed a hundred years’ worth of activities. With a conflicted gaze, he scanned his long-lost friends. The other witchers were still wearing almost the same clothes as when he last saw them, but time left some marks on them. They had scars on their faces and felt more storied, but aside from that, there wasn’t much difference, though there was a hint of numbness on their faces.

Alzur, his mentor, was still as dashing as ever. He had not a single wrinkle on his face, but his hair was fully white, and his eyes had a tired look in them. Ivar smiled bitterly. “Like the gods’ believers said, we’re heretics cursed by destiny. That’s why the schools we spent our lives making crumbled in the end. The members either die or leave. Our efforts were for nothing. In the end, we’re alone.”

“Are you trying to show off, Ivar?” Elgar heaved a sigh. He looked at Ivar enviously. “You’re a lot luckier than us. At least your school has a legacy to carry on. My Kaer Morhen, Erland’s Kaer Seren, and Arnaghad’s Haern Caduch are barely left with anyone to carry on.”

A moment of silence froze the chamber.

Ivar broke the silence. “Alzur, even you survived the disaster of Maribor. So why isn’t Cosimo around?”

Alzur tensed up. The flames in the fireplace roared higher, the light illuminating Alzur’s sad, forlorn face. “He left fifty years ago.”

Everyone hung their heads low.

“What? But he’s always been a healthy guy.”

“He was cursed.”

In their trip to the Dragon Mountains, Cosimo was cursed by Lilit’s image before its death. Not even his modified body could take on the dark, powerful, divine power. He wished for a few more years of life from djinns, but he didn’t make it to the end.

“I will fulfill his wish,” Alzur said solemnly. Cosimo’s dying message rang in his mind, steeling his resolve.

“What a shame.” Ivar rested his cheeks on his hands. Forwardly, he said, “To be honest, Alzur, the old man was a lot more likeable than you. Now back to the topic at hand. How are you going to help me deal with the Wild Hunt?”

“We’re not helping you.” Arnaghad shook his head. “We’re helping one another.”

“Aside from Idarran, everyone here has a wish and ideal so grand, not even djinns can fulfill,” said Erland. “That’s why we’re gathered here, so we can complement one another.”

“How are we doing this?” The witchers turned to Alzur.

“Ivar, what I’m about to say might be unbelievable, but I promise there’s not an ounce of lie within it. A great existence is sharing a body with me. You may call it the Most High.” Alzur was silent for a moment. “Once it matures, it will come into possession of endless power. Power that can fulfill all our wishes and patch up our regrets. I came to you because I need your Evil Eye to search for more food so it can grow quickly.”

Ivar cocked his eyebrow and looked around. “Are you sure this isn’t a joke? You sound like the fool who’s been tricked by the devil in the bottle and the evil god from another dimension.”

“You do not know of its power.” Alzur extended his left hand at Ivar, and an eerie red light bloomed in the sorcerer’s hand.

Ivar saw something horrifying before him. A round, bouncy, crimson octopus leapt out of the void. As it flailed its tentacles, it showed the witcher scenes that came out of nightmares. Ivar’s eyes went wide, and his expression took on a look of horror. The monsters he’d killed in his career leapt out at him from the void around him, snarling. The people he killed were wailing and screaming as they clawed their way out of the bloody, bone-covered hell beneath him, dragging the witcher down.

They tore at his flesh and cursed his actions. Ivar felt his muscles tense up so much, they started to convulse. His pupils contracted, and sweat drenched his head. Mysterious power seeped into his pores, covering his nerves. He couldn’t even move a finger. Ivar was like a pig slated for slaughter, and he could do nothing about it.

Alzur waved his hand, and the octopus leapt back into the void.

Ivar wiped his sweat off with his clammy hands. He breathed deeply and took a step back, putting some distance between him and Alzur. There was caution in his eyes. “This… Most High isn’t a kind entity. It’s shaped like something bizarre. Like an evil god born in the void. Its abilities are vicious. Horrifying. It can create nightmares from a person’s past and use it to attack them. I almost fell. Honestly, I think it’s using you to reach some kind of evil goal. You have to be careful, Alzur.”

“An evil goal?” Arnaghad retorted, “Are you sure it’s more evil than the thing that kidnapped your brethren and brainwashed them into pale, emotionless skeletal knights? Is helping the Most High worse than watching your own castle being burned down by the sorcerers, priests, and peasants? Worse than watching your comrades being buried under the snow and turned into icicles? Worse than watching your brethren stabbed a hundred times but you can’t do anything about it?”

Erland and Elgar blanched. Bad memories were stirred up.

“Worry not. The Most High was in an extremely weakened state when it merged with me. I am still the dominant one here,” said Alzur adamantly, red light strobing around him. “It cannot defy me.”

Ivar hung his head low. A long while later, he shook his head, smiling. “You’re right. Even a knightly man like Erland took your invitation. Thinking about good and evil is just adding unnecessary problems to my plate. If anything goes wrong, you guys are going to deal with it before I have to. If we can get rid of the blasted Wild Hunt, I’m in. So what is it about food?”

Alzur gave Idarran a look. Idarran got up and bowed to everyone like an actor. An excited grin curled his lips, then he approached the black wall on the east side of the hall. He brushed his gnarly left hand from up to down. Like an expert painter making a portrait, a golden oak tree appeared on the wall, connecting the ceiling to the floor. However, the tree had nothing but a trunk. It didn’t have a single branch of leaf.

“The Most High’s food comes in the form of human souls. The easiest and quickest way to gain souls would be to use forbidden spells and destroy a whole city. There’ll be thousands of souls to harvest from a destroyed city, and Alzur possesses the ability to level a city.”

Everyone was reminded of the time the myriapodan was summoned in Maribor. Its arrival meant destruction.

“Or we can create a plague. Those killed by the plague will be fed to the Most High. I have devoted my life to the field of genetic modification, and I think that’s a good way to go,” said Idarran proudly. “I say that’s the best way. After all, the priests and sorcerers a hundred years ago claimed that the witchers created the plague that razed Vizima. They summoned an avalanche and destroyed Kaer Seren for that. We should play along and give them what they want, but alas, Cosimo disagreed. He thought that we should have a moral compass even though we’re fulfilling our dreams. Alzur follows his teachings, and Erland refused to work with me as well.”

Ivar heaved a sigh of relief. If Alzur had agreed, then he would probably have been taken over by the evil creature within him.

“And that’s why we went the slowest, clumsiest way. War. War is the deepest evil humanity can provide this world. It’s the most disgusting creation humanity has created, all for bloody politics. They’d kill their own brethren for profit. There’s nothing to be guilty about if we harvest those kinds of souls.” Idarran whipped out a porcelain bottle from his belt. A cross and enneagram was drawn on its cap. He tossed the bottle to Ivar.

Ivar was stunned for a moment, but he grabbed the bottle. It felt warm to the touch, and the residual chaos energy was making his medallion buzz. “To harvest faster, Alzur used djinns to strengthen his soothsaying abilities. He can predict the time, place, and rough number of casualties for every war that will happen on the Continent. The witchers, with their physical skills and alchemical tools, cross the battlefields and collect the souls of the dead.”

Idarran brushed a finger down the oak tree, and a line of words written in Elder Speech appeared on the bottom of the trunk. There were times, places, and numbers. The line was like a branch on the tree.

“1150, 20,000…” Idarran read the numbers out loud, a little excited.

Ivar knew what the letter in the center meant. Dol Blathanna. He then realized that the numbers meant the year the war would happen in, as well as the number of casualties. “This is the legendary bottle of Geoffrey Monck? The one he sealed djinns in? Where did you get this?”

“Geoffrey was Cosimo’s mentor. He left his student a record of some of his treasures’ locations. Alzur spent a lot of time finding them, and he managed to gain about a dozen of them. The Most High is the existence that appeared in Geoffrey’s last will and testament. Alas, we’ve used three bottles over a hundred years. We have to see the future again every few decades or so,” Idarran explained, gesturing with his fingers. The light of magic kept adding leaves and branches to this tree of war.

“1170, Vizima, 12,000.”

“1186, Tretogor, 5,000.”

“1198, Oxenfurt, 1,000.”

“1220, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss, 5,000.”

The witchers in the mist realized what was going on. This was the mural they saw in Haern Caduch. This was the answer they guessed, and it was right.

***

“If you’ve found a way to harvest souls, then why do you even need my eyes?” Ivar asked, confused.

“It’s not enough,” Alzur said grimly. “The frequency of wars that happen in this world is not enough to satisfy the Most High’s needs. I require your ability to see through dimensions precisely because I want you to find wars that happen in other worlds.”

“Other worlds?” Ivar was surprised. “But portals can’t cross the barrier of worlds.” That was why Ivar could never cross into another world, or he would’ve gone to Tir na Lia and brought the fight to the Wild Hunt’s home.

“I cannot make any portals that can cross the barrier of worlds either.” Alzur turned his attention to the magic bottle. “But djinns can help us cross to and return from other worlds.”

That was what they did to Roy back in the castle of Cintra. They used Ivar’s eyes and a djinn to exile Roy to Skyrim.

***

“Last question,” Ivar said. “So what’s everyone’s wish? Djinns can help you regain your emotions, can’t they, Arnaghad?”

Arnaghad shook his head. “They will also turn back the changes in my body, changing me into a regular man who’s more than two hundred years old, but I will never give up my power.”

Ivar nodded. As for Erland and Elgar, he knew what their wishes were. Idarran was just here to help as a friend. He then turned to Alzur.

“This world, this era, is no place for me to meet the person I want or to fulfill the dreams I have,” Alzur said. “But the Most High has the power to turn things back and grant us all the dreams we have.”

“That kind of power exists?” Ivar said in disbelief. “Not even gods can do that.”

“Just because our world does not have that kind of power does not mean other worlds don’t. The parallel branches of the world tree are infinite. There will be one world that matches our wishes. That is as much as I can tell you. When the time comes, you will know the truth.”

***

Parallel branches? Roy had an inkling of inspiration, but then the scenes changed once more.

Haern Caduch was gone. Three grandmasters cloaked themselves in black and stepped into an era of war without hesitation. Their figures cross through the lands of blood and fire, drifting across crimson seas and mountains made of corpses. Black balls of light flew out of the broken, mangled bodies. As if drawn by something invisible, the souls threw themselves into the box the grandmasters carried.

With Ebbing finally taken over by Nilfgaard, the empire in the South set its eyes on the Northern Realms. There weren’t many wars, but skirmishes were plenty. A few mysterious figures would appear on the battlefields, moving around.

***

Ivar kept his eyes set on the changing skies. He saw different, bizarre worlds that did not belong to the realm he was in.

On a snow-capped peak was a kind of humanoid creature. It had green skin, long fangs, and muscles as big as hills. The creatures rode frostwolves, screaming something that sounded like ‘Lok’tar Ogar!’ as they battled soldiers in black armor.

On a riverside, fully-armed human soldiers were swinging their swords, fighting gurgling, slimy humanoid monsters with fish heads. In a mine, bearded, heavily-armored dwarves held up their hammers and axes, smashing fluorescent, humanoid fruits into jam. On a barren wasteland, a group of soldiers with barrel-like, long-ranged weapons and circular steel helmets were hiding in a ditch, pulling triggers and sending bullets flying everywhere. Ivar saw black machinery as clumsy as carriages, shooting streams of fire at the enemy camp. The flames exploded, and the air itself roared.

***

With the djinns’ assistance, Ivar traveled to more than ten bizarre worlds, then he came back to the sewers of Maribor, holding souls that died in wars that happened in different worlds. Alzur controlled the souls and absorbed them. The crimson silhouette behind him grew and grew, until it was vast and soul-shaking. The Most High was nearing its matured state.

***

On a certain day in the year of 1260, Alzur had an encounter with a young and lovely lady in Maribor. She called herself Sasha Crawford, but her real name was Carthia van Canten. She radiated an air similar to Lylianna, so Alzur chatted with her. Unbeknownst to him, the Most High split a sliver of crimson light and swam into Sasha’s body.

Then the mist rolled once more. The existence in the mist pulled Roy away from Alzur, then crimson tentacles shot out of the mist, pulling everyone into its depths. Only Roy followed Sasha. She went all the way south, eventually entering the village of Kaer in Aedirn. He watched as the woman stole a gold Gwent card from Jack the old captain. She rode on a horse and ran into a weak, dumbfounded, and bumbling village boy.

Roy saw a rickety wooden shack. It was his old home. Moore and Susie were taking care of the boy who the horse bumped into. Crippled by exhaustion, they dozed off on the sheet of hay beside them.

The unconscious boy, unbeknownst to everyone, let out one final sigh, and he drew his last breath. His legs went limp, and the last dregs of life flowed from his face. The boy was already a corpse.

‘Roy

Age: 13 years old

Gender: Male

HP: 0 (Deceased).’

***

Impossible. Roy was shaken. I crossed two worlds and merged souls with Roy in this world, but he was already dead before I got here? Then where did I come from? Who am I? In disbelief, Roy extended his hand toward the icy corpse on the bed.

And then, for a moment, beautiful red flames flared in the void. As if an invisible gate had opened, slivers of crimson light leapt out of the icy corpse, and it fell beside the body like a ball of sponge, weaving and converging. A moment later, to the young witcher’s horror, another Roy appeared beside the corpse. The boy was thin, had a clean face, big eyes, and regular lips. He looked just like the dead boy down to the last strand of his hair. The only difference was, this new body was breathing, and its heart was thumping.

The crimson flames roared and drowned the corpse, turning it into wisps of shards, then the shards disappeared into the air. The new boy took the place of the old Roy and became the son of Moore and Susie.

That was the current Roy. No. Impossible! The young witcher reeled in shock. He felt goosebumps flaring all over his skin, and every single strand of hair on his body rose. His soul was shaking, as if a shadow that loomed over the world and coming down on him, suffocating him.

I was nothing but a clone this entire time? I was a life form created by the Most High?

And then, an ear-piercing sound screeched in the air. It was the sound of shattering glass. Everything before Roy cracked and shattered like a glass panel.

Roy swayed, and everything around him spun. The mysterious mist that had gone on for a long, long time finally dispersed. Roy reappeared in a room that was warm as spring. The warmth coming from the room was intoxicating. It almost felt like he was back in his hometown. Every cell in his body was screaming in delight.

Yet… yet the decorations that adorned this room was a scene of horror. Uneven balls of crimson flesh formed its walls, and the red light coming from it illuminated every corner of the chamber. Roy then raised his head, and he froze, his eyes going wide.

Nine figures were embedded in the wall, forming a pyramid from top to bottom. On the top of the pyramid was Alzur. Beneath him was Arnaghad, Ivar, and Erland, though their eyes were closed as if they were asleep. The ones on the bottom of the pyramid were Elgar, Vesemir, Letho, Felix, and Coen.

The witchers were like insects stuck to spiderwebs. An endless sea of crimson tentacles drowned them, engulfed them, leaving only their faces visible.

A long sigh echoed in the room. “Roy, the final shard. In the end, you still came.” Alzur looked worse for wear. His hair dangled over his forehead, and he laughed at the witcher, but there was despair, dejection, and resignation in his laughter. It was the laughter of a man who was eliminated from a grand race right before he could reach the end.