The Divine Hunter

in the crash, and Seville was reminded of the moment a siege weapon crashed against a city gate.
Even the cellar’s ground trembled slightly.
Roy and Seville were also shivering.

“T-this is Aard! The hym’s going to die soon!” Roy roared before leaving Seville for the barrels in the front, craning his neck to look inside the cellar.

Seville’s train of thought had been interrupted by the commotion the Aard sign had caused.
He’d stopped asking Roy about how he knew about Scoia’tael, and instead looked inside nervously.

“Your tricks are useless against me, foul demon!” A strong roar came from deep within the cellar, and Letho leaped over the wine barrel, agile as a cat.
When he glanced at Roy and Seville, his face was filled with black, gnarly veins, and he looked like a creature from hell.

Seville screamed, worry and horror showing up on his face.
“Is Letho’s face hurt? Did the hym curse him?”

Roy stared down and heaved a sigh.
“Don’t worry, Mr.
Seville.
That’s just the side effect of the witcher’s potion.
That demon is no match for Letho.”

The moment he said that, sparks suddenly flew from the barrels that were covering Letho and the monster.
The sparks moved gorgeously, like comets across the night sky, but the heat was contorting their surroundings, blurring the cellar.
“That’s Igni! Letho’s going all out.” Roy gave Seville a look of reassurance, but Seville looked on in horror.
Then he realized something, and the dwarf had a bitter look on his face.
He requested, almost inaudibly, “Be careful, Letho.
That’s a barrel of fifty-year-old dwarven liquor.”

Letho leaped through the cellar, but Roy and Seville could only see his shadow flying across the wall.
He jumped everywhere, attacking the darkness again and again and again.
Afterimages of his short sword lingered even after his attacks were done, and he moved like a viper —  swift and deadly.

And then they heard wails that could only come from a monster.
It was shrill, bloodthirsty, and fierce.
Every time the creature shrieked, Seville would tremble in fear. 

“It is done.” Roy had judged that with certainty, and at the same time, a bizarre shadow appeared on the wall.
It was a creature with limbs as gnarly as branches, its torso as tall as the cellar itself.
It looked humanoid, but was trapezoid in shape, and countless twisted antlers protruded from its sides.

Roy finally showed surprise, and he tried to recall the monsters that matched with the silhouette on the wall.
Not even ignes fatui —  which haunted the mists —  dolls of water hags, woodland spirits, or leshens of the forest were as bizarre as the creature was.
The monster looked incorporeal.
Its body was shifting, contorting, and trembling, as if it were a leaf being blown by the wind.

It had only been a few moments since the monster had appeared, but for Seville, it had felt like an eternity.
The shadow roared at the witcher who was taking cover behind the wine barrel, and it trembled for one last time before melting like ice under the hot sun.

After witnessing the monster’s demise, Seville heaved a sigh of relief, and he stood up straight.
A heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
He looked cheerful, energetic even.
“This is the end of it, then?” He grinned toothily.

A short while later, Letho’s footsteps reached them, and the witcher came out from the darkness of the cellar.

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