The Divine Hunter

Dark clouds hung over Cintra, filling the air with a heavy layer of humidity. In the endless wilderness beyond Cintra stood Eist, Calanthe, their royal council, and a sorceress. They were waiting for the soldiers to congregate.

An elderly, sprightly, gray-haired man in blue armor spoke. "Your Majesty, Your Highness, our troops are ready. About twenty thousand of them. Nine thousand of our men and three thousand Vizima soldiers led by Jan Natalis."

Standing before the rulers were their soldiers. The Cintran army took up one side, while the Viziman army took up the other side. All of them were clad in armor and equipped with every kind of weapon available. Every time they took a step, the clang of metal would roar into the skies.

Two thousand of these soldiers were cavalry, their eyes always fixed on the space ahead of them. The air of solemnity made their horses neigh and stomp their feet.

The sounds of drums and flutes echoed in the air, playing a tune to send the warriors off into war.

"On your word, we shall make our way to Marnadal and build up our defenses. The fuel and other components have been sent to the base in the woods of Erlenwald. Our soldiers are ready to give themselves for this battle. Once Nilfgaard's troops pass through Amell, we shall receive news of it.

Eist pinched his beard and took a step forward. Once he raised his hands, all the soldiers fell into silence. Even the tune from the instruments died down. All that remained was silence.

The king scanned his soldiers silently, his eyes filled with the explosive power of a volcano. "Brothers, I trust you know why we are gathered here today. For years now, Nilfgaard has been invading numerous countries, beginning with Ebbing in 1239. And since then, it has set its sights on our homeland. Now their soldiers have made base in Amell. Their invasion is only a matter of when, not if. They wish to conquer our kingdom, burn our houses, kill our families, take our wealth, and sully our women! Men of Cintra, we shall not stand for their transgressions!"

"Fuck those sons of bitches!"

"Kick their asses back to Nilfgaard!"

"Off with the southerners' heads!"

The soldiers responded with a furious roar, rumbling the air and shaking the earth.

"My soldiers, you are heroes today. We shall battle in Marnadal." And then, with grim resolve in his voice, Eist spoke. "I will not lie to you. Nilfgaard's troops outnumber us two to one, and they are all well-equipped. Once the battle begins, we can and will die." Eist's voice broke. "For some of you, you may never see your family again."

"But death does not scare us. Never will we lay down our weapons and grovel before the invaders! Cintran men shall fight to the bitter end!" Vissegerd roared, his hair and beard shivering. "We will never surrender!"

"To battle!" The soldiers thumped the ground with their weapon, their faces red with fury, their eyes flaring with the flames of rage.

"To the bitter end!"

"We shall win or die trying!"

Eist swung his fist, roaring, "If Nilfgaard wants war, then we shall give it war! These bastards fight for evil. For their ambition of conquest! We are the allies of justice. We fight to defend our home! Our conviction will triumph over theirs! We have with us the blessing of Freya and the seas!"

"We stand with Cintra until the very end!"

"Justice will prevail!"

"To victory!"

"To victory!"

Eist peered at his enraged soldiers, his heart swelling with pride. Veins popped on his fists, and he nodded.

Beautiful Calanthe was in men's attire that day. A sigh escaped her lips. She looked at her soldiers, then her husband, and resolve flared in her eyes like a shining sun.

Standing beside her was Triss. Her hair was tied to the back, and she was in hunting attire. Her fingers were trembling uncontrollably.

"Vissegerd, tell the soldiers to keep their eyes out. We will make our way to the battlefield right now."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Vissegerd left.

Mousesack took a step forward. He had a staff on his back, and his head was covered in a helm with stag antlers jutting out at the top. And his beard was as thick as usual. "Your Majesty, King Bran has prepared fifty battleships housing a hundred Skellige soldiers each. They might be soldiers, but every single one of them can take on ten men easily. They are progressing at full speed and shall arrive at the port in five days. I have also asked for a favor from my friends on the island. They shall be calming any storms that might happen."

The Cintran royalty perked up, and Mousesack nodded. A pause later, he said, "And the druid I sent to Novigrad has given me news. The orphanage is just like Roy and Geralt described. Children are well taken care of. Education is free, and abuse or unfair treatment does not exist. If they can care for children whom they are not related to, I trust they will not mistreat their Unexpected Child."

Eist held Calanthe's hands, and their eyes met. A hint of tenderness flitted across their eyes before resolve replaced it. We shall not let the southerners taint the bloodline of Cintra.

They must ensure their only family’s survival before they could face the war without worries. Letting Ciri go was the only way to make sure one little part of Cintra survived. Should they lose the war, at least they could entrust the hope of a revival in Ciri.

Calanthe rubbed her belly, sighing in silence. She and Eist tried for a baby multiple times, but months had gone by, and yet there were no signs of a pregnancy. It felt like Destiny didn't want them to have another child.

***

An owl flew across a lake on a cliff. Beneath it was the plains said to be haunted by the souls of those who died in a shipwreck. But she ignored that and flew into the window of a dilapidated castle.

Lights shone, and smoke billowed. What used to be an owl a moment ago turned into a woman. Her face was covered in a layer of ever-changing light, her body covered in a red silk dress. Every step she took would make her dress rustle.

The ceiling was held up by magnificent pillars, a chandelier hanging from the top like a gigantic spider overseeing the hall.

Standing before Lydia van Bredevoort was a man. A man who had been waiting for her.

He sat atop the throne. The man was muscular, handsome, and regal. He was clad in a short-sleeved shirt worn by knights, and the man smiled gently at her. He didn't seem to mind her bizarre looks. "Come closer, Lydia. Now tell me, what did you find in your exciting travels?" He stared into the woman's eyes.

His voice was as velvety and beautiful as ever. Lydia loved it every time he talked to her, but alas, she knew he had no love for her. Lydia talked, but there was no sound. Her throat, much like her destroyed chin, was ruined in that experiment. The only way for her to speak was through magical vibrations.

The man closed his eyes and listened to her. "This is a surprise. Eist changed a lot" He cocked his eyebrow. "From what I know, it’s not like him to turn his kingdom into some sort of prison just to catch a few spies. And he even went to Vizima to ask for help? That's not like him. What made him realize the threat Nilfgaard is posing?" he muttered to himself.

"Henselt, Demavend, and Vizimir are keeping their hands out of this, so why did Foltest send help? What prompted him to do that?" The man rubbed his chin. "Mag Turga is under the protection of the southern mages. Even if he did send his scouts, the information he could have gotten must be limited. Twenty thousand soldiers isn't enough of a threat to alarm him, so who's convincing him to help? And he sent three thousand soldiers?"

Lydia talked again.

"There's more? Skellige's battleships are on their way and could be here at any minute? This is surprising. I thought they'd at least delay their deployment by six months. The extra soldiers will undoubtedly slow Nilfgaard's invasion."

Coldly, the man said, "And this is going to throw a wrench in our plans."

The man was a crucial member of the brotherhood of sorcerers in the north, but all he wanted was to work with Emhyr and try to get more benefits for himself. War was profitable, after all. "If Nilfgaard can't take Cintra down at a speed alarming enough for everyone else, I won't have an excuse to gather the brotherhood's forces to fight the Nilfgaardians."

The man needed a catastrophe to happen so he could pass his bold and almost insane idea. He wished for more power in the brotherhood. "I care not who the interloper is, but if they think they can change the landscape and stop my plans, then they are fools."

He stood up and made his way across the corridor beside the hall. Then he entered a passage with a statue in it. A bright bedroom stood beyond the passage, and the man entered it. Books. Books everywhere. This bedroom looked more like a small library. Rows and rows of bookshelves housed exquisite, valuable tomes. Some of them were the books written by the three great mages. The Invisible World, Natural Magic, and The Magic of the Elder Folk.

Before the desk stood a big tank filled with blue seawater. The glass was covered in glittering runes written in Elder Speech. A dark gold, metallic cap the size of a banana leaf floated over the tank. There were holes in that cap.

Within the tank was a black model ship slowly cruising ahead. The man approached the tank and cast a spell beyond the woman's sight. He weaved his fingers through the air, and a cool sensation welled within the room, filling it quickly.

A blinding flash of magical light covered the man's back, forming a halo over his head. He looked just like a god, and Lydia found herself drawn to him. Never had she seen anyone with this volume of mana reserves and level of mana control.

Even the oldest mage in the brotherhood, Gerhart of Aelle, was no match for this man. Not to mention this man was a lot more adept at close combat than all the mages. His fingers kept dancing in the air, and mana raged around him, summoning a gale that howled across the room.

Countless ripples appeared in the tank, and bubbles popped up across the surface. Waves roared and crashed across the surface, resembling a stormy sea.

Eventually, the ripples and foam congregated and formed a whirlpool in the center of the tank. A thunder boomed from the metallic cap, and dark clouds appeared from the holes on it.

The man's hair and shirt were billowing in the wind, and he sped up his incantation. An arc of electricity came forth from the cloud and slammed down onto the sea like a jellyfish's tentacle.

The whirlpool, the dark clouds, and that arc of electricity formed a trifecta and created a tornado of water. It engulfed the model ship, taking it high up into the sky, where the dark clouds were.

A great explosion pierced the air. Like a signal, the simulated storm in the tank came to an end, and the water's surface returned to peace. But one thing was missing. The model ship. It looked like there wasn't even a ship there to begin with.

But then something crashed outside, and a great boom traveled across the air. Lydia hurried to the window for a look. Underneath the cliff slept a dried-up river, and now there was a shipwreck on that dry river.

The ship was crushed, its deck filled with charred spots. Lying around the shipwreck were dozens of torn up, mangled corpses. Feast for the vultures. The birds screeched in delight and descended upon the corpses for a feast.

Lydia looked further ahead. Lying on the sands were dozens of shipwrecks. The resting place of countless damned souls.

"Everything seems to be in order." He heaved a sigh. "Lydia, I need you to tell the mages in the south to summon some storms. Stop the Skellige battleships. Or at least get them to Sedna Abyss."

Lydia nodded. She looked at him with eyes filled with respect and love.

"And tell the king… No, I'll write a letter to him myself. Leave me."

Lydia was reluctant to leave, but the man no longer talked to her. He took a seat behind his desk and curled his finger up.

'Your Majesty King Emhyr var Emreis,

I, your most faithful ally, has uncovered some unsettling situation. Vizima has sent reinforcements to Cintra… Skellige is currently sending out their battleships… I fear they shall pose a threat to Nilfgaard's plan. You will have to bring forward your plans of ambush to an earlier time. Should you delay the plan any longer, then this war might prove to be troublesome even for you…'

The parchment rustled as the quill wrote upon it. Fascinatingly, there was no one holding the quill. The light from the magical lamp shone upon Vilgefortz' sickeningly handsome face. A smile curled his lips, and his eyes flared with ambition.

***

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