The Divine Hunter

First of January, 1263. The light of dawn broke through the horizon, shining upon the land. A gust of chilly wind descended the slopes of Amell and sauntered across the great plains before it scurried into the woods of Erlenwald.

A pair of guard posts and spiked obstacles were the only things that made Cintra’s base in the woods. And the people there were talking in hushed whispers.

“My girl, she grows up quick. Been thirteen months since I last saw her. Last time I went home, she was already walking and running around. To think she used to be nothing but a little ball. She looks like Mary, really. Especially her nose and mouth. Ain’t lying. You should see her. She’s adorable,” a young man said gently. The flickering candle light shone on his stubbled face, his eyes tearing up. “A pity I can never see her again.”

“Worried about my ma. She’s alone and without many friends. After I’m gone, I just don’t know how she’ll get on with her life.” A bearded man covered in armor lamented, “Nobody’s gonna massage her legs when her condition comes up again.”

A gust of wind blew across his clumped-up hair.

“About a year ago, I was traveling on Yaruga. A witcher on my boat killed a monster octopus. And I helped him rescue my brat back then.” Adonis commented, “That’s a legendary boat. Was gonna leave it for little Reggie, but I had to sell it. I just wished I could helm it again and take it for a few spins around the river. Then I’d die happy.”

The other guards reminisced about their past as well. They knew full well the goodbyes they said this time would be permanent. Only memories were driving them on. Memories and the desire to protect their home.

“Alright, you can stop bragging now. I’m a widower, you know.” Gaspard stood up. With his warm, callused hand, he patted his soldier’s shoulder. And he looked at the remaining men he had. Eight left. “His Majesty has promised to care of your family until the day they die. Don’t complain. If Cintra falls to those bastards, they’re going to ruin it. Our families will be nothing but refugees. Trust me, it’s worse than death. There are a lot of things worse than death. Cintran men are no cowards.” His voice broke. “We’re just… returning to Freya’s embrace a step sooner than everyone else.”

Something exploded in the air, and a blinding flash of yellow light burst into the skies in the distance, lighting up the firmament.

“That’s Feur’s signal!”

The look on the soldiers’ faces changed. Their eyes glinted with despair, but they clenched their fists and gnashed their teeth. All of them exchanged a look, and they nodded. Gaspard rushed into the sentry tower and opened up a beautiful wooden box with a key he had kept close to his side all this time.

A petite paper crane fluttered out of the box. It zipped past him and flew into the sky, where it turned into a living, breathing crow. Then the crow whizzed through the skies as it headed toward Marnadal.

Gaspard saw the flying messenger off, and grim resolve flared in his eyes. The old soldier picked up a torch covered in an oilcloth and a bucket of oil. He then left the tower and entered the woods.

Just one moment later, all the guards were out of commission. Some lay in the pool of their own blood, some were covered in bolts and arrows, while some were tossed away as they charged toward the knights.

Gaspard was holding on, but barely so. His chin and half his face were gone, and his spine was broken by the enemy’s morningstar. His legs were crushed under the hooves of the horses, and his heart was stabbed by his ribs. Slowly, the valiant guard fell.

With the last of his strength, he turned around to see his friends one final time. Just moments ago, they were talking about the past, but now they were all dead.

The soldiers of Nilfgaard stood over him and tilted his head up with their swords.

Agony, sorrow, and sadness overwhelmed him, while blood and tears blurred his sight. Through the corner of his eyes, he looked at the burning forest and the knights who were surrounded by the sea of flames.

“We did it! Glory to Cintra! Victory to Cintra!” The ghost of his last laugh forever etched on his face, a tear falling down his cheeks. His arms slowly went limp, and his fingers extended themselves.

At long last, he and his comrades could finally rest. Gaspard closed his eyes and didn’t see the despair that was coming next.

A downpour fell upon the woods, dousing the flames in but a few moments. Steam rose into the air, and winds blew it away.

***

The Nilfgaardian troops numbered so many, they could form a line that went for miles. Their armor was pitch-black, and hanging over them was a forest made of their kingdom’s flags.

A dozen mages in black cloaks sat atop the horses in the center of the formation, heavily guarded by the Nilfgaardian soldiers.

They weaved complex gestures with their hands, and magical light flowed across the woods. The flames were doused, clearing the way for the troops to march on.

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