The Divine Hunter - Chapter 552

Chapter 552: Melee

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

And then sounds of breaking glass slid into the air as the guards and Scoia’tael members hurled their stock of dimeritium bombs into the fray. Glimmering dust snaked and spread throughout the battlefield, and the protective light upon the witchers’ skin was quelled.

From the corners of the plaza, sickly pale elves appeared. Layers of leather belts hung from their necks, their capes and pointy hats billowing in the wind. In their hands were wooden staves with engravings of leaves and flowers. These elves conjured complex gestures and chanted magical incantations under their breaths.

A spell was unleashed in the form of a red fireball. It burned like a small sun, crackling the air as it hurtled through the battlefield and slammed into the crowd. A pillar of fire roared into the skies, filling the air with smoke. Debris flew everywhere, and a crater left its mark on the ground.

Letho, Auckes, and Geralt were in the center of the explosion. Failing to dodge in time, they were thrown into the air and slammed into the army. They knocked out a group of soldiers and rolled around.

The explosion didn’t tear through the armor reinforced by dragon scales, but it did hurt their innards. Letho and Coen held their chests as they spewed out blood, then they quickly whipped out a dose of Swallow and gulped it down.

“Carl, Monti, you guys alright?” a bloodied Serrit roared, slicing open the temples of a guard trying to break through their defenses.

“We’re fine!” Carl kicked the belly of a hook-nosed elf and pulled his sword out of the corpse’s neck. Blood spurted all over his face.

No longer was Carl as calm and adorable as he used to be. Veins throbbed all over his visage, contorting his face. His fledgling companions were furious as well. They were fortunate enough to escape the brunt of the explosion, and they huddled around the fallen Coen, fending off the swarming enemies as best they could.

Vesemir, Kiyan, and the witchers who got away with lighter injuries kept an eye on their companions so they could heal in peace. With their mana sealed by dimeritium, the witchers were locked out of their Signs and magical barriers. They could only rely on their swordsmanship and battle instincts to survive the ordeal.

The elven sorceresses did not rest either. They flung and hurled and threw every spell in their arsenal at the witchers, bombarding them with the wrath of the elements.

The witchers’ advance was brought to a grinding halt.

***

The guards defending Cyrus were trembling in fear. They had never seen any warriors as fearsome as the witchers. In mere minutes, they’d taken down more than fifty guards. Demons, all of them.

Cyrus held his crutch, staring at the witchers on the battleground, a confident smile curling his lips. “They might be formidable, but their numbers are limited. Vilgefortz’s reinforcements are here, and so are our guards. They cannot win.”

As if on cue, an army of guards armed to the teeth came from the southern bridge, swelling the enemy numbers to nearly a thousand. A few were stationed at the port and city gates, and the rest came charging to the battlefield evacuating the people and reinstating order however they could.

And they attacked the witchers.

***

A minor altar stood in the northern part of the plaza, licked by flames. A gigantic greatsword flew into the air and swung at the elves, cutting them in half.

“Murder! Someone save me!” a pudgy spice merchant screamed.

“Shut it. The knights are doing their best to keep us safe.” A gaunt young man looked at the knights with worship in his eyes.

Grimm wiped the blood off his face and took back his Sword of Justice. He stood before the defenseless citizens, fending off the elves that tried to attack them. Cahir kept an eye out for him, taking out any stragglers Grimm failed to catch.

A while ago, the knights noticed a group of elves clad in old fur armor snaking around the fringes of the plaza, tossing burning bombs at the citizens and the buildings around them. Everywhere they went, they killed.

These elves were agents of chaos, and they were filled with hatred and malice. Hatred for humans. Who are these terrorists? They attacked humans and used the witchers as their scapegoats. To what end do they do this?

Cleaver the dwarf stood by the knight, swinging his warhammer up. He leapt into the air and slammed his warhammer into the chin of an oncoming elf, embedding his weapon in his enemy’s head.

As if hit by a siege weapon, the elf’s skull was shattered, and he fell backward, his head a mushy mess.

Cleaver’s hair swayed, his eyes wide as saucepans. He saw the crimson squirrel tail on the elf’s waist, and his face went stern. He muttered, “Scoia’tael? Thought the bastards were hiding in Dol Blathanna and Mahakam. Why’d they attack Novigrad?” Cleaver looked around, the look on his face dark.

The sanctified plaza was a mess of blood and flesh. Flames burned away at the buildings around, tendrils of smoke billowing in the air, blotting out the sun and sight of the people. In the center of the plaza stood countless guards and Scoia’tael members, attacking the witchers like hyenas trying to tear down a pack of lions. At this rate, they would chip away at the witchers and eventually take them down.

***

Roy held Gwyhyr before him and sliced at an incoming fireball. The stars on his blade shone, and something cut the fireball in half. The residual impact was absorbed by his armor, and the attack only managed to singe off a few strands of his hair.

“Stay here. I’ll deal with the sorcerers.” Roy gnashed his teeth and looked around. The witchers were rooted to their spots, buffeted by the fearless guards and elves and their relentless attacks.

With their mana locked away, the witchers had nothing to shield themselves with. They were covered in wounds, their breathing was ragged, and it was all they could do to fend for themselves while slowly chipping away at the enemy, but for every fallen soldier, two more took their place.

“I’m coming with you, kid!”

“No. You’re staying here.” Roy spat a cork out of his mouth and gulped another decoction. Black veins throbbed and spread from his chin, and he switched his blade out for Gabriel.

The witcher pulled the trigger, and a bolt flew through the air, eventually slamming into an elven sorcerer before he could toss out another fireball. The magical barrier around him popped like a bubble, and horror flickered on his pallid face.

He did not expect Roy’s bolt to pack this much of a punch. It would take at least three bolts to break through his barrier, or at least that was the case for regular crossbowmen. The sorcerer sidled away, and not a moment too soon either.

Another bolt landed in the very spot he stood in earlier, its force chipping off a corner of the marble wall behind. The black-haired witcher charged ahead like the wind, the image of a great, terrible dragon appearing behind him, tearing and clawing away at the soldiers standing in its way, smacking them off the path.

The witcher was closing in on the sorcerer at a blistering speed, all the while pulling triggers and tossing a dimeritium bomb at the sorcerer.

The bomb broke into shards, but the elven sorcerer jerked toward the pillar of the church’s hall, hiding behind it in a bid to escape the anti-magic dust. He waved his left hand and shot out a purple electric bolt. The air crackled, and the bolt charred the ground between him and the witcher.

The air was filled with blinding light for a split second, and the moment the bolt touched Roy, he exerted every ounce of his strength to jerk away. The arc of electricity grazed his left shoulder, and a great tendril of white smoke billowed from his armor.

The skin of his arm was charred, and Roy stopped in his tracks, wobbling like a drunken man, his face contorted in pain, but eventually, he came to the sorcerer.

The sorcerer’s eyes glinted with icy resolve. He would take Roy down with him even if it was the last thing he did. He held his left palm before his chest and quickly made a complex hand gesture. The sorcerer chanted something under his breath, then he shoved his hand at the witcher.

An invisible force of magic hit Roy squarely in the chest, and he was blown back, but even though he was flying through the air helplessly, the witcher still pulled his trigger.

The sorcerer thought he was safe behind the pillar, but that bolt was far more powerful than the ones that came previously. It pierced the pillar, the barrier, and the sorcerer’s skull.

A bloody hole bore through the forehead of the elven sorcerer, and he fell backward, his face frozen.

***

Roy rolled around and neutralized the impact of the sorcerer’s final spell, then he sprang back up to his feet, his body so much lighter than before. His mana was no longer locked. If it is death you seek, then death is what you shall get. Roy gnashed his teeth. Come forth, Leviathan!

A thunderous rumbling exploded across the plaza, and a great shadow loomed over the smoking battlefield. In came a giant with mountainous muscles and a crude canvas jacket. Leviathan was holding an oak tree in his right hand, and he slammed it into his left as he let out a roar, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Kill again! Kill everyone!

Another roar was let loose, and everyone in the battlefield froze. The ice giant leapt high into the air and landed in the south, facing off the guards trying to barge into the plaza. He swung his oak tree and sent countless guards flying through the air. They fell with a horrifying thud, their limbs broken, their chests caved in. They were an inch away from death, moans and groans of agony swimming in the air.

***

“By the gods!” The citizens ran away frantically.

“Is this a sign of the end of days?” a man cried in fear.

The braziers of the halls shone upon the guards hiding within. One of the younger ones stared at the ice giant, agape. “What in the name of Eternal Fire is that?”

“Could that be… could that be divine retribution?” His companion was in disbelief as well, his hands shaking, his blade almost falling.

“But why’d the gods punish us instead of the evil witchers?”

Cyrus looked scandalized, and he quickly whirled around. “No, this is another trick of the witchers! Kill that evil creature! We have the numbers!”

And then hundreds of bolts flew toward the giant, trying to pierce it, but all were deflected by the giant’s hard skin. Dozens of armored knights rode across the bridge, charging at the giant with their lances and weapons held high. Despite their best efforts, the giant squashed them into mincemeat easily.

Leviathan’s strength and defense were to be reckoned with. Before him, humans were nothing but weaklings. Weaklings that could be taken out easily.

***

With Leviathan joining the fray, a huge weight was lifted off the besieged witchers.

“Must be Roy.” Geralt was revitalized. He spun around and sliced the neck of a Scoia’tael member open, blood drenching his hair.

“I am not surprised, given that he tamed a griffin.” Letho swung his blades and cut down a pair of guards. Now let’s kill these bastards, people.”

“Let’s go!” Carl and the young witchers roared.

A breath of second wind was injected into the witchers, their morale boosted once more. Their attacks were swifter and deadlier, clearing the attacking army around them with lethal accuracy.

Leviathan distracted most of the enemies, and without their reinforcements joining in a timely manner, their line of defense was torn open. Like an unstoppable wave, the witchers crashed upon the guards and Scoia’tael members, crushing their bodies underneath their onslaught. Blood splattered everywhere, but then it was vaporized as soon as it was drawn.

The witchers roared as they cut open a bloody path to the main hall of the church.

***

A white flash of light shot through the air, heading toward the northeastern part of the church. An elven sorceress in green robes was making a great fireball, but then her magical barrier broke without a hint.

She felt the crimson silhouette of death looming over her, and a scream escaped her lips, then she rippled and disappeared like an illusion, reappearing ten yards away in the next moment. She thought she had escaped death, and she heaved a sigh of relief, holding her staff tightly.

But then the air before her shattered, and she felt the metal of a sword held to her cheek. A crouched silhouette came out of the portal before her, crimson tentacles dancing behind him. Murder flared brightly in his eyes, but it was cold. Freezing. The witcher’s frigid gaze turned her soul to ice, and she couldn’t even lift a finger.

“You shall die.”

Another white flash arced through the air, and the elf’s head flew high up into the sky.,

***

Two down, three to go. The remaining sorcerers knew someone was out to get them. If they didn’t band together fast enough, the assassin would destroy them all eventually. Quickly, they made their way to the antechamber in the east, their cloaks billowing in the air, their steps quick as the wind.

Still, their magic was no match for the speed of Roy’s bolts. A handsome sorcerer turned his head around in his escape, and his eyes went wide.

The release of the bolt was the elves’ death knell. He saw the magical barrier of his comrade burst into pieces, and then a crimson octopus leapt from the air behind him and grabbed the elf with its tentacles and wrapped him up until he was a cocoon.

It held the cocoon high up in the air, and the witcher appeared behind it mysteriously. He was holding an ivory blade with both hands, and he thrust the blade ahead.

The tentacles slowly moved away, revealing the elf within. The blade skewered him like he was meat, and blood frothed at his mouth. His eyes were wide, and whimpers of pain gurgled weakly from his lips.

Roy held him high up in the air, as though he were offering a sacrifice to an evil god. He humphed and pulled his blade out of the corpse, then he flicked the blood off its edge.

The witcher locked on to an elven sorceress, his desire to murder freezing her soul.

And then a few silhouettes appeared behind the sorceress, the magic radiating from them almost lighting the air ablaze.

Sorcerers. Roy scanned all of them, and he stopped at two of those he recognized. He had no idea who the elves were, but the humans he knew. One was in the attire of a mercenary. He was in hunting gear, making it easy for him to move. His eyes were black and glistening, his lips were razor thin, and a scar hung from his cheek.

The man was holding a short knife against the neck of his hostage: a man tied up beside him. The knife had made a small cut, drawing blood.

Rience had taken Gawain hostage, and the doppler was blinking furiously at the witcher, pleading for him to leave.

Standing with Rience was a sorceress in a clean, blue dress. She was a gaunt lady who radiated the air of an intellectual. There was a hint of sorrow in her silence, and Roy almost felt like she should’ve been an artist instead of a sorceress.

She was far removed from this battle. Her cheeks were bizarrely stiff and almost uncanny. Lights of magic strobed upon her skin. She could see the witcher sizing her up, and her eyes were filled with displeasure.

Lydia van Bredevoort. And Rience. Vilgefortz’s most trusted lieutenants. Finally. These snakes are making their entrance. Roy knew the true battle was about to begin, and he moved behind the pillar.

“Don’t move, or my hand might slip. Don’t want to get your friend hurt, do you?”

Rience heaved a sigh of relief and stopped the elves from throwing their spells. The elves glared at the witcher venomously, but they followed their orders. Francesca specifically told them to listen to Rience.

***

And a conversation began.

“You’re far stronger than I expected. Not even an army could take you guys down, and they lost a ton of them in the process. The church is going to find its reputation damaged significantly. And you. You possess the power to traverse space. A lowly witcher like you, possessing a power not even my master has, and he is the world’s greatest sorcerer. And to think you also have control over that ice giant.”

Rience clicked his tongue, part of it sarcasm, part of it compliments. “You are a respectable rival.” Rience gazed at him. “It’d be a waste to kill you just because of your momentary ignorance. You have two options. One, surrender and give us that grey-haired girl. You know who I’m talking about. And I shall generously forgive your offensive behavior. I shall take you to my master, and you can swear fealty to him. That’ll bring this fiasco to an end.”

Rience proudly said, “My master is a powerful man. He can help you witchers gain a better footing in society. No longer will you be treated like scum. No longer will the people try to chase you out. If he’s feeling generous, you shall come to possess a plot of land for yourself. A land where witchers could build their kingdom.” Rience smiled, almost alluringly.

***

“But if you wish to continue with your futile efforts at resistance…” He turned around and looked at the church. Leviathan and the army of the church were in a stalemate, but the ice giant was slowly having his stamina drained. The unrelenting attack had made its mark, covering the giant with wounds. Even its swings were getting sluggish.

The witchers were engaged in battle with a group of guards before the entrance of the church. The guards were Cyrus’ last line of defense.

“Then the Collector shall die, and soon, so shall your comrades,” warned Rience raspily. “Even if a few of them manage to escape, there will be no place in this world you can call home. The armies of all kingdoms will chase you to the ends of this world.”

Roy kept his silence, holding his blade tightly. His eyes were glinting. He must meet Vilgefortz and make him pay for everything he did.

“Worried about your precious orphanage?” Rience smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, friend. My comrades are on their way to take care of the matter. The children should be all asleep by now. Don’t waste my time and give me your answer.”