The Divine Hunter - Chapter 550

Chapter 550: And So What

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

The cloaked witcher stood proudly before the doppler, facing the contempt of the crowd, unfazed and unafraid.

“Roy?” Jiji stared at the witcher, dazed, touched, and worried. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Roy, without turning back, said, “We’re allies, and witchers do not abandon their allies.”

The nobles around the stake yelled and cursed at Roy for his actions that inadvertently hurt them. Some of the peasants who escaped the impact broke into an uproar, while some of the younger rebels looked at Roy, impressed.

“You know this guy, Grimm?” Cahir helped a beautiful young girl up after she was bumped into by the crowd. The lady stared at the toughened knight, infatuated by his looks.

“We met once in Cintra. Friend of Ravix of Fourhorn. Ravix is an alias for Geralt.” There was excitement in Grimm’s eyes. “Find him, and we find Geralt. Then we find Ciri.”

Cahir let go of the girl and clenched his fists. “So are we…”

“No. Not yet. Let us see how things unfold.”

The slender Schirru stood among the crowd, sizing up the witcher. A sneer curled his lips, and he whispered something into the woman’s ear.

“You filthy mutant. I was going to capture you after I burned this blasted doppler into cinders. You dare trespass into my domain?”

With his guard’s help, Cyrus slowly stood up. He was trembling, and he spoke, his voice sharp and majestic.

“You have defiled this sacred cleansing with your evil ritual. You have flouted the laws of Novigrad and spat at the authority of the Eternal Fire! You have committed grave sins! Guards, capture them and burn them at the stake!”

“Burn the mutant!” someone in the crowd shouted, but then they curled up like the craven scum they were.

“Did you not hear his request, Hierarch?” Cleaver roared, his voice thundering like a gong, and his greased Mohican hair glimmered under the sun. He glared at the Hierarch and crossed his arms. Righteously, he demanded, “Regale him with his sins. Tell him every detail of them. And even if he’s a criminal, death by fire is a touch too far. A week in the dungeons should be enough. Not to mention you have no proof for your accusations toward the doppler.”

“He’s right,” one of the beggars said. “The church has to be fair. We’re all witnesses here, Hierarch. If you want to pass judgment, you’ll have to convince us first. And we have bards among us. I’m sure they’ll turn these events into a play, a story, or what have you. The North will hear of this. Your lies will never stop them.”

The bards and poets nodded.

“You don’t want your reputation ruined, do you?”

“Silence!” Cyrus knew he was in a pickle, but he stood up straighter and stared at the young witcher, meeting his gaze. “Very well. As you wish. Over the last two years, with the assistance of this filthy animal, you and your accomplices have conducted evil experiments on the poor orphans, turning them into new witchers.” Cyrus roared, “Do you confess?”

The witcher approached Cyrus, and three guards quickly stood before him, cautious and on high alert.

Roy seemed alone, but when he spoke, his voice traveled far and wide for everyone to hear. “Cyrus, if you think helping a group of orphaned children get back up on their own two feet is a crime, then you’re saying all blacksmiths, teachers, farmers, and hunters who lend a helping hand to the children who need it are criminals as well. Should we burn all of them, then?”

“That’s a different thing, witcher! Do not equate them with your crimes.”

“How is it different? Monster hunters are tradesmen as well, aren’t we? We are paid to get rid of any monster infestation after all.” Roy gave the Hierarch a knowing look.

The elderly Hierarch hissed, his face turning a shade of white, then it gained the color of grass. He shivered and almost fainted.

A burly guard with a mustache snapped, “Don’t change the subject, witcher. And if that’s your argument, I take it that you confess to your crimes?”

“I do not understand why we’re criminals,” Roy answered coolly. “We take in children who have lost their parents and their homes. We give them food and a place to stay when they have neither. We care for them and raise them to be better people. How is that a crime?”

“If that makes me a criminal, then everyone here who’s ignored the children and left them to the mercy of the elements and kidnappers would be nothing but human scum.” Roy skewered the crowd with a lethal look. Everyone he looked at hung their heads low, unable to counter his argument.

“And the claims of evil experiments are nothing but a fool’s theory. We have never forced any children to walk the path of a monster hunter. They did it voluntarily.”

“And how can you prove that?” A portly mercenary in a jacket—hired by Schirru—asked, “If we don’t see them for ourselves, how can we be sure the children aren’t abused? Bring the children to us so we can ask them ourselves. Every child in the orphanage has a file in the church and city hall. Bring them to us. All 53 of them.”

Those who despised the witchers finally had a place to vent, and they capitalized on it.

“Bring the children to this plaza, witchers. Prove your innocence.”

“No evil can hide under the light of the Eternal Fire!”

“Dare you take the challenge?”

“It does not matter even if you don’t. The guards will cleanse your evil themselves.”

“Do you hear that? That’s what the people want.” Cyrus finally found his voice, and he pointed at the witcher. “Dare you take their request?”

“He does not have to do that.” A beggar in tattered clothes spoke up. “We’ve seen the orphanage for ourselves. Some of the guards here did as well. We’ve seen the children, and they were as happy as the witcher claims. They didn’t force them to do anything. The children are living better lives than most of us here.”

“Who are you?” A guard charged ahead and dragged the beggar out of the crowd. “And why are you defending him? Are you his accomplice? Answer me!”

The beggar shook his head. This was as far as they could go for the witcher. Any more and they would be exposing themselves to danger.

Cyrus turned around and scanned the guards around him.

“Anyone willing to testify for the witcher? Come forth!”

The guards exchanged a look, but they said nothing.

“When I was the commissioner, I—” Jiji spoke.

“Silence, heretic. You’re the mutant’s accomplice. Your testimonial bears no weight. So what now, witcher? Everyone’s waiting for your answer. There’s no way out of this.”

The look on Roy’s face took on an icy tint, and he said nothing. The children had escaped to the shelter right underneath this island. He wasn’t about to lead them into this mess.

***

“Abduction isn’t their only crime.” A gaunt woman in cheap clothes in the crowd let out a roar, and she glared at Roy with hatred. “Their sins are far more grave.”

Cyrus gave his guards a look, and they made a path for the woman. She walked past the crowd and approached the Hierarch, her back hunched, and she fiddled with her fingers, her gaze devout.

“Worry not, child. Talk slowly. Give us all the details.” Cyrus held her hands gently and gave her a warm smile. He prayed to the Eternal Fire a thousand times for her. Ah, just in time to extricate me from this mess.

“What is your name?”

“Tarika.”

“And you have a grievance against witchers? They have brought untold harm to you? Tell everyone what they did. The Eternal Fire, I, and the citizens will bring justice to you.”

Roy’s calmness disappeared, and a frown furrowed his brows. He had an ominous feeling about this.

***

“Yes!” The skeletal woman was shivering. There was anxiety in her sunken eyes, and a hint of excitement too. Excitement from finally bringing her enemy to justice. “Five years ago, I had a home in the outskirts of Tretogor. In a village called Sweetwater. We had a ghoul problem, and one day, a passing witcher dealt with it for us and claimed his payment, but he did not leave. That night, he…”

The woman shivered, and she opened her mouth. She let out raspy gasps as if her chest were sliced open by a machete. “Like a madman, he slaughtered everyone he saw. Dead, all of them. More than fifty families, killed by that monster. Only I lived.”

She glared at Roy with unadulterated hatred, but the witcher was unfazed.

Hey, I wasn’t the one who killed your family. Don’t dump your hatred on me.

“And the bastard left without saying a word, as though slaughtering a whole village were nothing to him. He’s an animal!”

***

“A monster indeed.” Cyrus narrowed his eyes and gave the witcher a knowing look. He cleared his throat. “Now do you see? We have a witness. Tarika’s testimonial proves that witchers are born without any humanity. Their mercy was killed in their experiments. This witcher is lying. Everything he says, he says to gain your trust.”

***

“Tarika.” The blond, handsome knight cut in, “Do you swear everything you say is the truth?”

Roy looked at the person who spoke up, and it caught his attention. Oh, it’s him. The guy who sparred with Geralt in Cintra. The guy with a powerful sword. Thought he went around the world after he was kicked out by the duke.

“I swear!” Tarika was furious about getting doubted by a knight. She raised her right hand and bellowed, “I swear to Melitele, Eternal Fire, Kreve, and all the gods up there! If a single word of that was a lie, then may the gods plunge me into oblivion!”

The solemn oath garnered Tarika the crowd’s trust. Most of them had their faith in Melitele, after all, and an oath to Melitele would catch their attention.

“Settle down, child.” Cyrus smiled at Tarika warmly. “The Eternal Fire has shown me a vision. You are a loyal believer, and your word is true. And now…” He looked at the deadpan Roy. “Anything you wish to say for yourself?”

“Witchers are evil! They have and always will be the same!” The men Schirru hired started spreading rumors among the crowd. “Witchers and that godforsaken doppler make a perfect match.”

The crowd watched on, and Roy laughed. He laughed as though he’d heard the world’s greatest joke being cracked. And his laughter drove a chill down everyone’s spine.

Someone in the crowd roared, “You laugh in the face of death and condemnation?”

Roy ignored the accusation and looked into the crowd. He raised his voice. “People of Novigrad, I have a question for you. Do you think the soldiers of the South, the very same who invaded Cintra and destroyed countless families, should be condemned to oblivion?”

“Is that a trick question? Of course they should suffer!” Cleaver roared loudly. He had no idea what Roy was trying to say, but he showed support, and his brethren chipped in as well.

Some of the cheekier citizens added fuel to the fire too. “Nilfgaardian pigs should burn in hell! All of them!”

“Good.” Roy turned his attention to Cyrus and announced, “Then that condemnation extends to you as well, Cyrus.”

“You bastard!”

The guards unsheathed their swords and whipped out dimeritium cuffs. They surrounded the witcher, the edge of their blade gleaming icily under the sunlight.

“How dare you? Beg for the Hierarch’s forgiveness immediately, accursed mutant!”

“Hey, I was only speaking the truth.” Roy looked down at the guard from high above. “You’re the ones who claimed that all witchers should be held accountable for the killings done by a single witcher. I’m just extending your line of thinking to the invaders. If you’re condemning them for their actions, then shouldn’t anyone and everyone who works with them burn in hell as well?”

Roy looked at the esteemed Hierarch, and a sneer curled his lips. “Well, come on, Cyrus. Defend yourself. Or do you think you’re exempt from that line of thinking? Only beasts get to escape that judgment, though I guess you’re no better than a common cur.”

Dead silence enveloped the plaza, the crowd astounded and flabbergasted by the brazen accusation thrown by the witcher.

“That witcher has serious guts. This is nothing but trouble for him,” Cahir praised quietly. “No one in the South would ever insult the Great Sun’s Hierarch. They’d be skinned alive at least.”

No one had ever dared to insult the Hierarch of the Eternal Fire, especially not in Novigrad, where the cult’s base of operations lie.

***

Fury flared within Cyrus’ heart, and his mind was clouded with rage. He patted his chest and took a deep breath, a pained look smeared over his face. Everything around him started spinning, and he fell backward.

“Hierarch!”

“I am fine! You’re twisting the story in your favor again, accursed mutant.” Cyrus held the guards’ arms with trembling hands, veins throbbing on his face. “There are but fewer than a hundred of you out there in this world. The differences between your schools of thinking mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Do not equate yourself to us.”

Roy took a deep breath.

“They have fifteen witchers at least,” someone in the crowd said. “Tell ’em to gather round this plaza. Tarika will see if the butcher’s among you.”

Roy whirled and met eyes with a mercenary. Murder flared in the witcher’s eyes, shining brightly like a crimson comet smashing into the earth.

The mercenary shivered. He felt his brain skewered by dozens of invisible knives. His pupils dilated, his mind scattered, and he wobbled, but he snapped out of it and covered his bleeding nose as he ran into the crowd.

“Do you hear that, witcher?” Cyrus noticed the witcher’s ferocious expression, and he laughed. The more he lost composure, the more afraid he was. “If you wish to prove your innocence, take all the children and witchers here for us to see. We will be the judge of your claims and decide if that orphanage is just a home for poor children. Why the silence, witcher? No more lies? Or are you scared? Trying to find your escape?”

Roy was silent. He was now sure that this whole fiasco was a setup for the witchers. First, the enemy set Jiji up to lure the witchers out, then they slandered the witchers and tried forcing them to show the children in a bid to find Ciri. And now they came up with a so-called witness. All these just to make sure the witchers would leave their well-protected stronghold.

Cyrus dismissed his guards’ help, and he approached the witcher, holding his crutch. Shrilly, he said, “Turn around and face your adoring defenders. They have heard of your odes. The fair witcher, the helpful witcher, the ally of justice. They have high hopes for you. You will not disappoint them, will you now? If you still have any misgivings, then I, Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart, swear on the name of the Eternal Fire.”

Cyrus held his crutch up and poked Roy. “Prove that you’ve never forced the children to turn. Prove that you are not harboring the butcher of Sweetwater, then I shall humbly apologize. And to sweeten the deal…” Cyrus looked at the doppler, a hint of reluctance flickering in his eyes. “I shall release this bastard. How about it?”

“Witcher!” A beautiful girl in a green dress looked at the witcher, her eyes glimmering. She swung her fists, cheering him on. “Prove your innocence! I know you’re not evil!”

Roy cocked his eyebrow.

“Witcher.” The beautifully dressed bards looked at him with anticipation. In their hands were their lutes. “Please, prove that our plays were telling the truth.”

The King of Beggars stood among the beggars, the hood of his cloak covering his head. Cleaver looked at the witcher, his hair swaying in the wind. The merchants, blacksmiths, tradesmen, nobles, and people from every level of society, had their eyes on him.

“You think he’d do it? Look at him, he’s scared.”

Part of the crowd jeered, while part cheered for Roy. The witcher crossed his arms, his leather vambraces rubbing each other. A sliver of frigidity slipped into the air around him. A long while of hesitation later, another voice broke the cacophony.

“Very well. As you wish.”

A bald, burly man as towering as a bear pushed away the guards standing sentry.

“Who goes there?”

“Back! Back, I say!

The guards pointed their swords at the newcomer and held their dimeritium bombs.

A stiff smile cracked Letho’s lips. “You wish to see all the witchers of the orphanage? We’re all here.”

A group of witchers clad in armor from different schools appeared, and the crowd made a path for them. The witchers’ medallions glinted under the sunlight, and with every step they took, the crowd parted for them. They looked around them, their swords swaying.

Aiden and Kiyan of the Cat School, Vesemir, Lambert, and Geralt of the Wolf School, Letho, Auckes, and Serrit of the Viper School, Coen of the Griffin School, and all the boys who’d just passed their Trial were here. Monti, Carl, Acamuthorm, Charname, and Lloyd. Aside from Felix, Eskel, Evelyn, Coral, Kalkstein, and Gryphon who had to stay back and guard the stronghold, all the combatants were here.

A sharp air of solemnity undulated across the plaza, and the crowd held their breaths.

“Life is precious. If you hold it dear, I suggest you do not make any sudden moves,” Serrit said, his voice steely like iron.

“Hierarch, Tarika.” Lambert followed his brethren to the stake and bowed at the guards, the Hierarch, and the crowd, but there was not a smile on his face. His pupils were as sharp as a viper’s, determination flaring within his eyes. “All the witchers you wanted are here. See if the butcher is among us.”

***

A pair of sorcerers stood in the second floor’s antechamber in the eastern plaza. Sunlight poured through the window, shining upon a man with a scarred face and a pair of razor-thin lips. He rubbed his chin, a smile curling his lips. An elegant sorceress stood beside him, her face shifting like the aurora lights. They were staring at the plaza.

Beneath them was a man in purple robes made of silk. He was handsome, his skin was fair, and he had a beautiful goatee. The man was tied up, his hands cuffed, his mouth stuffed with a piece of cloth, and he was curled up like a shrimp cooked to perfection.

***

At the same time, a group of elves swiftly slithered into the forest in the outskirts of Novigrad. They wore leather armor of different shades of colors, and they were armed with wooden bows, silver swords, and dimeritium bombs. Ornaments resembling a squirrel’s bushy tail hung from their waists.