The Divine Hunter

Roy sat cross-legged on the tower, staring at the rising sun climbing through the horizon. And he turned his attention to the character sheet.

'Level (10 → 11) Witcher (2000/10500)

Main stat (Will): 24→ 26

Remaining points: 1 skill point, 1 stat point.'

Once again, Roy allocated his stat point into Will.

'Will: 26 → 27'

The shadows of an octopus appeared on the walls behind Roy, its tentacles dancing around as it swam along the walls in delight. For a moment, it felt like the creature would break free of the wall's confines. But a moment later, the octopus vanished as abruptly as it appeared.

Roy closed his eyes to feel the surge of power coursing through him. And then it was time for his skill point allocation. Only one more level remained until the peak of Meditation. The choice was obvious.

'Meditation: Level 9 → Level 10

Constitution: 23.5 → 24

HP: 315 → 320

Spirit: 21.5 → 22

Mana: 295 → 300.'

Roy felt something change within him. Something magical. His body shuddered, and everything turned black, but then beautiful lights shone in the air, leading his soul far, far away from the battlefield and into the world of meditation.

It was a gigantic world. The elements, as if attracted by something powerful, gathered around Roy like he was their king, their confidant. All the secrets they had, they told him. Enveloped him. Through his soul, the elements poured forth into his body, replenishing his mana and stamina, soothing his tired soul and body.

Before this, Roy would feel something blanketing his mind every time he meditated. The world around him, veiled behind something. His mind would work slower than the world around him, but things had changed. Now that he had reached Level 10 in Meditation, no longer was his mind veiled. He could remain awake and fully conscious, even during meditation.

And I can do what I want even when I'm in this world. Let's try Aard out. And then, a mysterious roar echoed throughout the dimension. The elements around him, as if on command, gathered before him and formed a bolt of electricity and hurtled into the skies. Roy did not even need to make any gesture.

A great silver bolt of lightning ran through the dimension before disappearing forever in the distance.

***

Bolts of lightning danced through the air at speeds blinding enough to create an illusion of a web. All thanks to Roy. The witcher cast thirty Staticshocks in a row. All of them imbibed with the power of Roar. If this were the real world, thirty casts of Staticshock would cost six hundred mana. Twice the total mana he had. And Roar would backfire on him after two consecutive uses. Yet that limit did not exist in this dimension. The elements would replenish his mana at all times, and Roar would never backfire on him either.

So I can practice the Signs and Griffin Arts nonstop in this dimension. "Alright. This is good news for Sign practice."

Roy held his excitement down, his eyes staring ahead. A pair of yellow balls of light blinked like candlelights. Roy glided over to the ball of light on the left and touched it with his ethereal hand. And then, a scene unfurled before him.

A stern, bald, and burly man was sitting on a wooden bed, deep in meditation.

"Letho?" Just like how Erland could reach out to Jerome through meditation, Roy could also contact his close friends through the world of meditation as long as his correspondent was meditating as well. Like a xenovox, but a lot better and more convenient. "Wonder what kind of relationship counts as 'close.' Master and student? Law of Surprise?"

The ball of light beside Letho's burned brighter, and Roy touched it as well. The first thing he saw was Lytta's perfect face. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her nose was held up high, while her lips bloomed lustrously. She was meditating on her bed. Her attire for that night was a black nightdress that showed off all her curves. Her fiery-red hair tumbled down her shoulders, swaying lightly.

"Guess being in love counts as a close relationship too. Or maybe it's because our mana clashed together once." Roy tried to hold the ball of light in his arms, and he thought, Sorry, Coral. I might have to stay back for a bit.

The ball of light blinked and disappeared like a frightened fish swimming away into the depths of a lake.

The young witcher stared into the void, and he shook his head, smiling. "Guess I should warn her next time. Wonder what dating in this dimension feels like."

In faraway Novigrad, a gasp of shock rang out in the room of the sorceress. Lytta crossed her arms, her eyes darting around her room. No one's there. Eventually, she realized there was no one around, and the sorceress heaved a sigh of relief. "But that sounded like Roy." Must be missing him too dearly.

She caressed her neck, her cheeks turning rosy. "I have to make him come back soon."

***

Letho and Lytta were the only ones Roy could see. The dimension was devoid of any other balls of light. Mayhaps they were not meditating, or perhaps their bond with Roy wasn't strong enough.

And then, Roy tried to approach the great balls of light hanging high up in the skies. The homes of the elementals. He set his sights on the lands of the air elemental. The home of the legendary wish-granting djinns.

He posited that Geoffrey only managed to capture a djinn thanks to him entering this dimension through meditation. Roy, however, did not risk entering the home of the elementals. Just the act of approaching them rang alarm bells in his head. A sense of doom lingered over his head, telling him not to contact the elementals. Not when he had no experience at all.

***

The elemental particles that drowned him earlier were slowly dissipating. And Roy's eyes snapped open, colorful lights swirling in his eyes for but a moment. Then they went away. Once again, he concentrated on his character sheet.

'Meditation Level 10

Focus (New): You are now a grandmaster of Meditation. You possess a great understanding of the elements and chaos energy. Your elemental affinity is slightly increased. You can now communicate with the elements at a higher efficiency. One full session of meditation is now two hours instead of five.

Activate: Whenever you meditate, your body will absorb and store the essence of all water elements around you. A full round of meditation (two hours) grants you one charge of Activate. When used, Activate can heal you for (60 → 80)% of Mana and HP. Activate can also heal regular wounds and lessen heavy injuries.

Note: You may not stack Activate. A charge of Activate lasts for twenty-four hours before it disappears entirely.'

***

"Higher elemental affinity. Greater sign intensity, I guess. And I only need two hours of rest to replenish all my mana and stamina. This is superhuman. Lytta's going to be horrified when she finds out I can go for longer now." Roy was happy with the powerup. It wasn't useful for combat, but on the side of utility, this was a good enhancement. Our witcher now had more time to train. "And now Activate can even lessen heavy injuries." That includes amputation, broken arteries, and even internal injuries. "It's like a backup for your life."

***

Roy then shifted his attention to his bound weapons. None of his weapons received new affixes. My hypothesis is correct. The potential of a weapon is limited by its components. If I can find some special components for my weapons, they might get new powers the next time they power up.

Roy picked some of the powers his weapon already had for the level up this time.

'Gabriel

Blink (Elevated): Costs (20 → 15) Mana. You can teleport to the area where Gabriel's bolts are.

Gwyhyr and Aerondight

Teleport (Elevated): Costs (50 → 30) Mana. You may teleport to the location of your sword. No distance limit.'

"Alright. Less mana on my escape skills. More survivability unless I run into that binding spell again."

And that was it for his level up. Time for our witcher to leap back into the warzone once more.

***

With the siege machines destroyed, the Cintran warriors finally had their hard-earned respite. The Nilfgaardian troops could no longer launch any more heavy attacks on the walls. At least not at the moment. Their only way forward was to sacrifice more of their men to create a human ladder that would eventually overwhelm the defenders.

But invading a kingdom was vastly harder than defending one, especially when Cintra was a kingdom situated in a special location. And to make things harder for the invaders, all of the Cintran soldiers were battle-hardened, grizzled soldiers who feared no death. Every time the invaders reared their heads, the Cintran defenders would rain down rocks, logs, and sizzling oil on them, sending them to their deaths. Every single one of these soldiers could fend off ten invaders by themselves.

Perhaps unbeknownst to some Cintran soldiers, they had a phantom helper among them. Across the walls he ran, firing off bolts at the invaders, thinning their numbers at a rapid pace. Some of the louder Cintran soldiers would announce Roy's kill count with glee, bolstering their troop's morale while diminishing the invaders’.

The announcements, however, were drowned out by the shouts and bellows of war, but when the number of the invaders killed by this phantom stranger reached two hundred, it filled the invaders’ heart with humiliation and fury.

To deal with this phantom archer, the invaders made a squad of crossbowmen. They hid behind the moat, trying to snipe the phantom down. And the squad managed to slow Roy's footsteps.

But that was the only thing they managed. Most of the invaders died even before they could reach the city walls. A thousand Nilfgaardian soldiers died before they finally retreated to their base.

Then, on the third day, the invaders went with yet another approach.

***

A chilly morning in Cintra. Sea winds swept across the battlefield, and the invaders, all of a sudden, stopped attacking. Ten cloaked mages approached the walls of Cintra under the protection of the blackguards, chanting the same incantation under their breaths.

The skies of Cintra darkened, black clouds looming overhead, heralding the coming of a disaster. Cold winds blew across the city, then pellets of frozen rain as big as eggs pelted the roofs and walls of Cintra. So torrential was the hail that even the walls and streets of Cintra were frozen in ice.

The soldiers who did not manage to escape in time found themselves pounded mercilessly by the hail, destroying their helms. Try as they might, these soldiers would slip and fall every time they tried to run.

Not a single soul on the streets was spared mercy. Not even the women and children. They keeled over and rolled in agony as the frozen rain kept pouring down on them. Left with no choice, the people huddled together under the overhangs of their homes, bloodied, but still alive.

Yet not everyone had their luck. The defenders of the walls had no shelter from the hail. The shield-bearers at least could fend off the hail, but everyone else faced the brunt of this hail. In agony they rolled, blood covering the icy ground.

Once again, Cintra's defenders were dwindling at a blistering rate. At the same time, the Nilfgaardians—from the safety of their base—watched as the city fell to this hail.

A bolt flew through the battlefield, ripples spreading through the air. One lean figure in Cintran armor blinked into the center of the disaster. With his right hand, he held up two shield-bearers who were desperately holding off the hail, and with his left, a golden shield.

His shield faltered in the face of the frozen rain, but Roy gritted his teeth and dragged the shield-bearing men back to the castle, where safety was provided. The witcher leaned on the heavy steel gates, his chest heaving. Even his breath was visible in this cold. He touched his head and felt warm blood on his hand. "Man, that was close."

The witcher picked up some liquor and tossed it to the soldiers. "Here, warm yourself up."

"Thanks, lad." The man's armor was covered in ice, and bruises filled his face. Folan took a swig of the liquor, but he pulled the wound on his face, and the soldier flinched, sweat pouring forth.

He tossed the wineskin behind to a similarly bruised comrade of his. The comrade leaned on a wall, sipping the liquor.

"Name's Folan. Came with Crach. Thanks fer saving me, Lad." Folan leaned on his comrade and put his hands together on his belly. "What's yer name?" He peered at the witcher. "Once this whole hubbub is over an' we get back to Kaer Trolde, I—"

"Imma stop you right there." Roy's heart thumped nervously. The last guy who wanted to treat me to a drink is mincemeat now. "We can have a drink whenever we want, comrade. These Nilfgaardian dogs ought to be killed anyway." He changed the subject, "By the way, is Kaer Trolde that citadel on Ard Skellig?"

"Aye, lad. Toughest baddie on Skellige. Belongs to me captain, now."

"If there's an Ard Skellig, then I assume there's an An Skellig?"

"Oy, ya know yer stuff, dontcha?"

"A word of warning, Folan. Do not go to An Skellig. An ice giant has taken residence there, and it might just wake up someday."

Then Roy disappeared, revealing a red-haired sorceress who was behind him. She was crouched on the ground, facing the city gates. The sorceress looked worse for wear. Her hair was clumped up, drenched with sweat, and radiated a pungent smell. Her white ribbon extended down to her chin, covered in blood, decorating her face with a macabre accent. The sorceress was staring right ahead, muttering something under her breath. Despite her current look, Triss looked like she was in love.

"Are you alright, lady?"

"I just need some rest. Sorry I failed to stop this hail."

"It's alright. They have a dozen mages with them. You did your best."

"Thank you." It was not every day that Triss felt this frustrated, but the war was stirring up her emotions. It was bad, and that was not a statement to be taken lightly. Ever since she was saved back at Marnadal, Triss had hoped to have a long talk with Roy, but alas, that was not to be. Roy spent the last two days fighting atop the walls of Cintra, barely taking a break.

The only time he talked to her, he talked about the brotherhood and its future. Not a word of love was brought up, but Triss was sharp. Whenever Roy was looking at her, she noticed that bit of desire flaring in his eyes. And every night, while they were taking a break from the war, Roy would let her rest her head against his back, just like what he did just now.

I think he has some feelings for me, but damn this war for robbing us of our time together.

Folan stared at the skies. "Spells be damned." The hail was worsening. Arcs of lightning ripped through the clouds, thunder booming overhead.

The foundation of the houses were starting to shake. No, even the ground itself was starting to rumble. Cintra's lands were brought low by this onslaught of hail, and the people hiding under their houses felt a sense of sorrow filling their hearts. Even Eist, even the people of Skellige, even Calanthe, and even Ciri… All felt sadness welling within them.

"Is this it for Cintra?"

A golden silhouette darted through the hail. Roy dragged a bloodied Cintran soldier back to the city gates, but this time, he was too late. The red-faced Cintran fell. Before their very eyes, he coughed up blood and drew his final breath, his eyes still wide open.

Roy heaved a sigh, a glum look decorating his bruised face. At first, he didn't see these soldiers as his friends. He killed the Nilfgaardian soldiers all for the sake of gaining EXP. But two days of battle built a sense of camaraderie between them. Now Roy was willing to risk himself a little just for them. Watching his comrades die was a depressing matter. A huge boulder of depression and despondency weighed down on his shoulders, suffocating him.

Triss held his hand, trying to comfort Roy. To her surprise, his hands didn't feel callused or tough, like most fighters. Instead, they were smooth. Supple.

"Ya think we can win this?" The pale Folan was at a loss. "Don't matter. Those dogs will have ter pay!"

Then, the skies cleared. A sonorous chanting came from the castle, and rays of sun broke through the dark clouds. At the height of the hail, Mousesack finally stepped in and cleared the skies. The remaining pellets gleamed under the sun, but no longer were they a threat. And with every passing moment, their threat was diminishing.

Their work done, the mages retreated, and once more, the Nilfgaardian army charged onward.

***

Roy and Folan exchanged a look, then they ascended the walls, holding their weapons.

***

That day onward, Cintra was subjected to the assault of weather spells, though the time of their casting was unpredictable. Sometimes a hurricane would assault them in the morning, sometimes it would be a downpour in the afternoon, or sometimes it might be a hailstorm in the night.

Yet the Cintran soldiers were prepared. Not too many died from the spells, but these disasters wrought untold havoc upon the structures of Cintra. Every time the spells were cast, all of Cintra's defenses would be ruined, and the Nilfgaardian soldiers would swiftly climb up their ladders.

To make things worse, the enemy was already wary of Roy's abilities. No longer could he teleport to the enemy base or assassinate their mages. And for some inexplicable reason, Roy had a feeling someone was keeping an eye on him. His medallion would shiver for no reason a lot of times. Must be that guy with the binding spell. Or someone else. The sense of danger hung over him like the blade of Damocles, keeping him bound to the walls of Cintra.

All he could do was fight on the walls like regular soldiers. For the next seven days, Roy spent most of his time slashing and shooting away at the enemies. Sometimes he would get hurt too. Only two hours were spent meditating. Luckily got him, two hours were all he required. Even meals were taken during the momentary lulls between battles.

Once again, his EXP bar was filled up.

'Level 11 Witcher (10900/10500).'

Many a soldier did the witcher kill. So many that he lost count. He killed more in this war alone than he did in years after departing Kaer.

And then the eighth day came. The stench of blood was almost overpowering. Nauseating. Pieces of flesh and innards hung on the walls of Cintra, a sea of corpses lying beneath them.

And thus came the final assault of the Nilfgaardian mages. Despite their combined efforts, their spells failed to break through the enchanted castle gates, and so they turned their attention to the walls.

After a week of preparation, the mages finally cast their forbidden spell.

Roy—drenched in sweat and reeking of blood—blinked to the city gates, where Triss was. And he stared up into the skies.

A meteor the size of a house pierced through the clouds, burning and shining brightly as it crashed into the walls. The firmament shook, and the earth rumbled. Debris flew in every direction, and dust clouds flew up into the air. Countless Cintran soldiers were smashed into mincemeat with this single attack alone. Those who didn't die were ignited by the flames of the meteor. They screamed and rolled around like animals, and some ran like headless chickens for moments before they finally succumbed to death.

Dark smoke covered the city of Cintra, and behind that screen of smoke stood the walls of Cintra, broken and tattered. One single meteor tore open a big hole in the defense line.

Blood and flesh tainted the beautiful blue skies, and an ominous blow of the horn echoed through the air.

For eight days, the Nilfgaardian army was denied entry, and now they swarmed the city like locusts flying through a field of paddy. Their winged helms swayed as they charged into the city, their flags billowing in the air.

***

Tattered and broken, the city was. All her strength left her body, and Triss fell backward. She spaced out, her eyes losing focus, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Someone held her. Stopped her from falling. It was Roy. He was saying something, his voice trembling with rage and frustration. Before Triss could say anything, our witcher put her on his back and ran away, his footsteps filled with urgency, and yet his rhythm was steady.

***

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