The Divine Hunter - Chapter 578

Chapter 578: The First Witchers

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

A witcher went through the mist, and Letho of the Viper School found himself in a small room within a dark castle. Empty crates, rugs, pots, pans, wooden buckets, and miscellaneous items were strewn about haphazardly. In the corner of the room was a gaunt boy in a cheap grey jacket. He stood on a bucket, his back turned to Letho. The boy was on his tiptoes, his hands tightly grabbing the steel bars of the window. He looked through the bars, staring at the bright sky outside greedily.

“What are you doing, boy?” Letho rasped.

Shocked, the boy almost fell from his bucket. He tensed up like a wooden bat and put his hands tightly against his lap. He stared at his feet, but he quickly looked at the intruder, and his eyes flickered with mischief.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to hide in this place. I’m sorry, please, forgive me.”

“Sir? What do you mean?” said Letho slowly. He forced a smile, but it was a little horrifying on his eternally deadpan face. He opened his hands up, telling the boy he meant no harm. The witcher looked like a big grizzly bear that meant no harm.

The boy clutched his chest and heaved a long sigh of relief, then he looked at Letho precociously. “You thief. You bald, bizarre man. Where did you come in from? The door was locked tight. Did you sneak in through the window?”

“What’s your name?” Letho asked.

“Ivar.” The boy harrumphed.

Letho looked shocked. His cheeks tensed up, and his eyes were as wide as lanterns. A sharp glint glimmered within them, then he grabbed the boy’s gaunt little face. Looks familiar. Letho could vaguely see the outline of Ivar’s face, but he didn’t have the iconic evil eyes. Instead, he had regular, brown, monolid eyes.

Shocked, the boy leapt into a corner and crossed his arms defensively. He stared at Letho. “Your turn. What’s your name?”

“Letho. What is this place?”

The boy had a weird look on his face. “Rissberg.”

“How is that possible?” Letho muttered, falling into his thoughts. Did I go back to Rissberg as it was hundreds of years ago and see Ivar as he was when he was a bratty kid? Am I dreaming?

“Why aren’t you talking?”

“How did you get here, Ivar?”

“You ask so many questions. Like a dame.” The boy pursed his lips and hesitated for a moment, then he said, “Cosimo brought me here.” The boy had a conflicted look on his face. There was gratitude and fear.

“And before that?” Letho looked at the boy gently.

“How’d you even grow so big when you’re as stupid as a swine? Can’t you see? I’m a war orphan. I wandered around for a long time. Human traffickers got me and almost tortured me to death. Good thing Cosimo saved me in time.” The mention of human traffickers made Ivar clench his teeth. His eyes flared with hatred, as if he were a wolf ready for revenge.

“Have you gotten used to this place?”

“I have food and water, but the teachers keep making me drink colorful stuff all day long. Made of herbs, but tastes worse than manure. I try to vomit every time I have them, but I can’t.” Ivar’s face scrunched up. “And then there’s the injections, checkups, and physical training. We get punished if we don’t do as we’re told. Cosimo and Alzur keep bringing up talks about possibilities.” Ivar cleared his throat and held an arm before his belly. Clumsily and amusingly, he mimicked, “Time takes its toll. The older the clay, the harder it gets. You cannot modify adults. That will only destroy them. Only young lives have possibilities.”

Ivar added, “I’d have run away if it weren’t for the food we get at every meal.”

Rissberg, possibilities, Ivar. Letho was sure that this place he was in was the legendary Rissberg Castle. He was witnessing the process of the first witchers’ birth. “Are there any other children here?”

A warm smile flickered on Ivar’s face. “Thirty-seven of us. Madox, Jagda, Erland, Mishi, Elgar, Flair, Arnaghad, and more. Some are orphans, some were sold by their parents. Now it’s my turn for questions, right?”

***

The mist came rolling back in like waves, stopping the conversation.

***

In another dark chamber, Vesemir found himself within a scene as bizarre as what Letho was experiencing. “You say your name is Elgar?” He looked at the boy on the wooden bed. He was pale, his nose and eyes were small, and he was feverish. Vesemir was in disbelief, but this boy did resemble the legendary Wolf.

“So you mean you know someone else named Elgar?” The boy stared at the bizarre man before him in shock. He was ancient, yet he had no hair, beard, or brows, but he looked eerily wise.

Vesemir fell into a stupor. He didn’t find Elgar in this misty world, but he saw Elgar when he was a child. Vesemir patted the boy’s head, just like how Elgar patted him so many years ago. “Where are your parents, Elgar?”

“I-I’m an orphan. Wandered around Cidaris, and then Alzur brought me here.”

“Do you like it here?”

Elgar nodded, excitement flickering on his face. “I have a lot of brothers and sisters here, and we can eat all we want. No one has to fight for a meal. Everyone has a few new sets of clothes. Once we take our medications, go through our checkups and training, we can play. We hide and seek, and draw and… It’s a lot more fun than wandering around a city.”

Genuine delight filled Elgar’s face, but the left hand that was hanging outside the blanket was covered in syringe marks and bruises. Vesemir shook his head. Poor boy. You’re satisfied with just this? You’d die from happiness if you came to the House of Gawain. “Won’t it hurt drinking the medicine?” Vesemir looked at the wounds on Elgar and sighed. “Can you endure it?”

“It does hurt, but I’m happy. It’s never boring, since we share a big room. It’s just a little sacrifice. I am fine with it. I’m grateful for Cosimo and everyone. I want to stay in Rissberg forever if I can. I want to be with everyone forever.”

***

“You’re Arnaghad? Fucking hell.” Felix adjusted his glasses and looked at the ten-year-old boy before him.

He was absurdly burly for his age, and his shoulders were wide as a bear’s. He had a buzzcut, and his eyes were almost perfectly circular. When he opened his eyes wide, the whole room would be lit up by the genuine happiness within them. He had bushy eyebrows, a round nose, not-too-thick lips, and slightly chubby cheeks. Even if he wasn’t smiling, he radiated happiness. When he grinned, the genuine happiness in it almost made Felix smile. This was an adorable boy.

“Did I offend you somehow?” Arnaghad was lifting a dumbbell in his left hand, but he was still smiling, staring at this bizarre man in surprise. He appeared in the training room out of nowhere, and he called himself Felix.

“Not yet. Never thought the heartless grandmaster of the Bear School looked like this when he was a kid.” Felix’s pupils contracted. He sighed. “Didn’t account for this. How am I supposed to spar when you’re just a kid? It’d be unfair.”

“Heartless? Are you talking about me?” Arnaghad paled, a hint of guilt filling his eyes. It could make anyone sympathetic.

“No. I got the wrong person.” Felix shook his head.

“Perhaps you’re right. I left my father, mother, brother, and sister. They loved me. I’m a heartless boy.”

“What do you mean you left your family?” asked Felix.

“The harvest this year was horrible. We made nothing from the fields, and the family would starve. The weather’s been unbelievably chilly lately. At that rate, my siblings wouldn’t have made it.” Arnaghad barely had anyone to talk to. He buried his face in his hands and spoke of everything that weighed down on him. “I had no choice. Someone had to make the sacrifice. I’m the eldest of the children, so I sold myself to Cosimo and left some coins for my family. It should be enough to tide them over a few winters and bad years.”

“You sold yourself? Aren’t you smart?”

“It’s not that bad here.” A big smile curled young Arnaghad’s lips. “At least it’s better than getting sold to Skellige. Maybe I can go back and visit my family after they’re done with their experiments. Won’t take a few years.”

“You have no idea of the fate that’s in store for you, do you, boy?” Felix shook his head. He went ahead and grabbed Arnaghad by his throat. The witcher lifted the boy off the ground, and Arnaghad flailed his legs like a fish trying to gasp for water. Darkness flickered in Felix’s eyes, and murder welled within them. If I take his life now, will he appear in the future? He had a heart before the mutation, but he took the Trial that robbed him of his emotions. Killing him might be a release in some form.

***

A magical lamp shone on a desk in the room’s claustrophobic corner. A ten-year-old boy was holding a small leather book, confronting the man before him. The man was burly, cloaked in black, and was hiding in the shadows. He had an eye revealed, and his iris was three colors.

“This is Rissberg? So you’re Erland?” Coen stared at the lifelike eagle tattoo on the side of the boy’s face. Goosebumps covered his body.

“Are you our new teacher? I’ve never seen you.” Erland held Virtue’s Guide before his chest, staring at Coen cautiously.

I’m your student’s student in the future, Coen thought. He then held back the excitement of seeing his idol in his younger years, and he put on a big smile. “I’m Coen. So, tell me, Erland. How did you get here?”

Erland spat on the ground and shook his head in determination and disdain. “You ain’t getting anything from me, fucker. Why should I answer your questions?”

“Calm down. I just want to talk. Answer my question, and I’ll lend you a hand with something big. I’m an adult, you see.”

Coen’s earnest energy convinced the young Erland. “That’s a promise, or I’m going to ambush you every night even if it means I get no sleep.” Erland muttered. Reminded of a bad memory, a hint of hesitation flickered in his exotic eyes. “How else did I get here? My mom’s a Skellige pirate. She’s ruder, angrier, and stronger than most men. Raised me on a ship until I was ten. Then I got my short temper from her, and she got tired of me. Thought I was a deadweight who leeched off her. Alzur passed by and gave her a good price like she asked.”

Erland looked at Coen, who was in disbelief. A hint of harsh gratification flickered in his eyes. “Yes. My mother sold me off. That hypocrite took me to this castle and tossed this stupid book to me. Told me to keep reading it. Said it’s good for nurturing my soul. Smiles at me every day. Fake smile, I know it. Says I’m just like him, but I know he’s up to no good. He’s trying to kill me with poison!”

This is Erland? The ally of justice and the knight of valor who establishes the Griffin School in the future? Coen’s lips twitched. Are you sure this isn’t just a rampaging boy in his rebellious years? Only thing remarkable about him is the chaos energy around him. He’s a Source. “How are you getting along with the other kids, Erland?”

“Besides Jagda of Aedirn, everyone’s a brat who’s sucking on their mother’s teats. Moronic idiots who know nothing. These people feed them poison every day and use them as test subjects, but they’re grateful for them. You want to know how I’m getting along with them? Take it this way. This castle’s a rundown chicken coop, and they’re the fowls who chirp to no end. They drive me mad.”

Coen was silent. Erland might have a sailor’s mouth, but he had a point. The Trial was akin to poison, especially when these kids were the first batch of test subjects. The Trial was incomplete, and the children were taking on the biggest risk of death. “Who’s Jagda?”

Erland tensed up and matter-of-factly declared, “A girl who’s like me. Best person in the world. Nicer to me than my piece of shit, heartless mother. When I leave this prison, I’ll marry her.”

“She’s a girl, and she’s joining the experiment? Taking medicines and going through checkups every day?” Coen remembered that there were no girls in the first batch of witchers. No female witchers until the Cats showed up.

Erland took a deep breath and bit his nail. Worry filled his eyes. “Yeah. Twelve girls, in fact, and they sugar a lot more than the boys. There are twenty-six of us. The poison hurts them a lot more than they hurt us. It’s even more painful than giving birth.”

Erland paused, then he looked at Coen. “Time for you to uphold your promise. You have to give Jagda some time to rest no matter what. Don’t let the sorcerers feed her any more poison. I beg you.”

“I will do my best.”

The mist drowned out Coen’s answer. The mist showed scenes in an erratic manner and would take the witchers through different points in history. This promise would never come true.

***

A drizzle was covering the fortress standing between the cliffs. The magical crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling were shining brightly, illuminating the laboratory on the top story of the castle.

Alzur and Cosimo stood side by side before the windowsill, their eyes set on the graveyard underneath the mountain. Another grave was added to the sea of headstones. A hunched man was burying a petite, lifeless body. Her eyes were wide, her face was contorted, the ghost of her last scream still lingering on her face. She was put through hell before her death. Alzur took a deep breath and brushed his nail across the parchment journal in his hand. The name of Jagda was sliced in half. Ten broken names sat beside that page.

“Do you regret this, Alzur?” Cosimo looked at his student wisely.

“There is no regret to speak of. If I wish to rid this world of monsters and save my brethren, I must pay the price and sacrifice a few lives. This is their trial as well. They led dark, pitiful lives. Unimportant and insignificant. Ignored by the people as if they were ants, but should they pass the trial, they shall emerge with superhuman powers and stand a better chance at survival in this world.”

He tucked the journal away, and an old lily emblem floated in his palm. He slowly brushed his fingers across it. “I have a feeling someone will come out as a success in this experiment,” he said adamantly.

Then screams filled the air.

More than twenty adepts lay on two dozen operating tables. All of them were children younger than ten. Leather straps tied their limbs down. They were coughing, breathing heavily, shaking, and crying.

Figures in surgical aprons and plague masks paced around the operating tables, pouring bottles of decoctions into the mouths of adepts. Colorful lights of magic flowed through the bodies of the adepts, and the sorcerers took note of the changes.

***

Roy stood at the entrance of the laboratory, his silhouette hidden in the mist. He’d seen the cruel experiments conducted by the sorcerers in this castle. Compared to the Trial in the House of Gawain, the Trials here were ten times bloodier and crueler. Horrifying, risky concoctions were poured into the adepts’ bodies. Sadly, he had no way to intervene.

No matter how much he tried, he confirmed that whatever actions he took in a scene would not affect how the next scene would unfold. He had become an observer who was hiding in the darkness. He looked at the test subjects with sympathy and empathy. The young children were howling, struggling, screaming, spasming, frothing from their mouths, or crying silently.

Aside from Alzur and Cosimo, Roy saw another familiar figure among the sorcerers. Ortolan.

“Cosimo! Alzur! It hurts! I’m dying! Save me! Save me!” Ivar howled, and then he roared, “I have not yet rid this world of human traffickers! I have not yet brought an end to wars! I don’t want to die!”

“My Jagda! Give her back to me, you monsters! You fiends!” Erland’s snot and tears drenched his tattoo. He glared at the ones experimenting on them, fury flaring in his eyes.

Elgar was wriggling and jumping around like a fish out of water. He cried, looking around at his tormented friends. “Hang in there, brothers!” Even though he was in agony, he still weakly provided encouragement. “Live! We’re all making it through!”

Arnaghad tensed up, his eyelids twitching, his temples throbbing. The pain was making him lose control of his face. Sweat drenched his forehead, and he felt as if his flesh were being sliced off inch by inch. He then saw the scene where he bade his family goodbye. “Father, Mother, Flax, Cadur… wait for me. Wait for me!”

Roy heaved a sigh and turned his attention to the silhouette standing on the other side of the door beside him. He had a feeling someone was inside, but he couldn’t see who it was.

At the same time, Letho, Vesemir, Coen, and Felix, who was hidden within the same mist, looked in the direction of their comrades. They were standing in front of the same laboratory, yet they couldn’t see even a single strand of their companions’ hair. It was as if a secret veil had separated them. As if they were not in the same world.

***

The scenes in the mist kept morphing and changing. Time went by, and the first Trial in history was moving by quickly, the lights in the laboratory still shining. Every time the witchers blinked, a few days would’ve gone by in the experiment. The sorcerers in plague masks kept feeding the test subjects medicine, checking on them, and moving the corpses away.

More and more graves were erected in the graveyard under the castle. Fewer and fewer children were left on the operating tables. On the thirtieth day, all the girls had died, leaving twenty boys on the tables. They’d scratch away at their clothes, scream, or even stay eerily silent sometimes.

Five more test subjects died on the fiftieth day. All the remaining boys had fallen into a deep coma and rarely woke up. Even when they woke, they would only vomit until they had nothing more to cough up.

Ten were left on the seventieth day. They had cases of seizures, bleeding from their faces, and vacant looks in their eyes. Over the next two weeks, five more names were crossed off from Alzur’s list, but the remaining subjects were settling down. Their breathing was stable, and their faces were red.

Ninety days later, the remaining five out of thirty-eight children woke up from the nightmarish Trial, drenched in sweat. They opened their eyes, revealing colorful irises within. Their pupils were vertical and as sharp as beasts.

The five first generation witchers were born before their descendants hiding in the mist. They were: Madoc, Erland, Elgar, Ivar, and Arnaghad.