The Divine Hunter Chapter 628: Choice

A sea of thoughts swam through Roy's mind. It would be too sudden if he asked her about the Wild Hunt's waypoint. So instead, he wanted to find an answer about a question that had been on his mind for a while now. "I am not interested in your fight, politics, and conspiracy against humanity. All I want to know is the relationship you share with Aen Seidhe. Are you close, estranged, or hostile? I am sure Vilgefortz doesn't know of that secret."

Francesca was smiling, but her gaze remained calm.

"It's my turn to ask now. All you have to do is answer the question," Roy said.

Francesca was silent for a few moments, and she answered, "It's complex. The fact you're asking this question must mean you know of our history. I will not explain that. Ever since I was a child, the tribes' leaders have never stayed in contact because of their differences in ideology. Only the Aen Saevherne, or what you humans call sage, still remain in little contact through long-distance magic."

Roy nodded. "Ideology differences?"

"Aen Elle does not make anything for themselves. Instead, they prefer pilfering the resources and essences of other civilizations to bolster themselves. Aen Seidhe despises the endless invasions and wars. We are willing to coexist in peace with all races. We prefer changing the world into a perfect home through our wits."

Roy looked at Francesca like he just heard the biggest joke getting cracked. "You prefer peace, so you ask Scoia'tael to kill the innocents?"

"You are that ignorant?" Francesca shook her head in disappointment, her hair brushing her face. "More than five hundred years ago, Aen Seidhe was the true ruler of this land, but after their first landing, the cunning humans pretended to befriend us. Under our aid, they survived, thrived, and learned magic. Through their beastlike ability to reproduce, they bolstered their numbers."

Francesca sneered. "In the end, the humans spat in our faces and forced their saviors into a corner. They forced the dwarves to retreat into the caves of Mahakams. They took over the cities and infrastructures we built and chased us into the barren lands of the Blue Mountains. What we're doing is nothing but payback for humanity's actions. We are just taking back our homeland."

She extended her left hand and clenched it. The elf said, "Aen Seidhe hates wars, but we are no cowards. We are just doing to the humans what they did to us."

***

Roy thought. "So do you still think Aen Elle's ideology to pilfer worlds is wrong?"

"Aen Seidhe are rebels, not invaders." Light flashed on Francesca's face. "All we want is Dol Blathanna, a place for Aen Seidhe to thrive. After that, we will stop our operations. We will never invade any kingdoms. If we do, then how are we different from those disgusting humans?"

Roy stared at the elven queen. The witcher's opinion on Scoia'tael changed, though only slightly.

"I have answered without reservations. Now it is my turn to ask." Francesca gave Roy a quizzical look. "A few years ago, Eveline escaped to the Blue Mountains and gave me a message. You claimed you could find a piece of land for my kind to thrive, and they would never have to sacrifice themselves again. That was a brazen claim. Not even the emperor of Nilfgaard can make that promise. You are at loggerheads with Scoia'tael, so why are you showing kindness to us? Because of the elven blood in your body, or because of Eveline?"

"That's part of the reason. Eveline is like a sister to me. I have good memories of her, and I do not wish to watch her kill innocent people. Her heart suffers because of that, and I don't want to see her leave." Roy was honest. "And I'm not just doing this for free. I'd like to make a deal with you. I get a piece of land for you, while you"

"I do not remember witchers having the power to give elves a piece of sovereign land in the North," Francesca interrupted, her gaze icy. "I think I realize what you're doing. You're here on behalf of a Northern king. Is it Vizimir II or Foltest?"

"Don't take this the wrong way. I have no interest in being an errand boy for any king." Roy smiled proudly. "The land I talk about is neither in the North or South."

"It's in another world?" Reminded of something, Francesca's breathing stopped for a moment, her eyes narrowed.

"You guessed it. It's the world Aen Elle is in. All we need now is a waypoint, and I'm sure the sage in the Blue Mountains knows it. Find the waypoint and give it to me. That's one of my terms."

Francesca pondered the proposition. Roy, hands clasped behind his back, paced around her, appreciating the sight of the elegant elven queen. "Aen Seidhe and Aen Elle share a common ancestor in Aen Undod. Despite your long estrangement, a reunion is possible, transforming your relationship. The world of the Aen Elle is vast. Its original inhabitants are gone, leaving ample territory to house ten Aen Elle tribes. No humans will be present to plot against you. Furthermore, Auberon is aging. The tribe he commands lacks the Elder Blood essential for large-scale incursions. Only the Red Riders harbor fantasies of a resurgence. Conversely, you are young, vibrant, and hail from the same lineage as the Aen Elle. You could journey to their realm, seize control of their tribe, and thus eliminate ideological differences."

The witcher acted like a tempter, urging the elven queen toward a critical decision. Never before had any elf from her tribe articulated such a unique perspective. The two disparate tribes, despite their separation, could indeed reunite and coexist in a single world.

"That's an impossible dream," Francesca scoffed, her voice laced with disdain. "Auberon would never consent. The gulf between us is nearly unbridgeable. Moreover, our worlds are separated by a chasm far vaster than the divide between our tribes. How could I possibly transport my people there?"

Roy responded with calm but firm conviction, "Auberon, the Wild Hunt loyalists, and the logistical challenges—they all fall to me. If you concur with my terms, then once tonight's conflict is resolved, we can commence our planning."

"What makes you believe you can resolve this matter?"

"The Elder Blood. Why do you imagine I possess knowledge of the elven tribes' hidden secrets?"

Francesca felt as though she had been physically struck. She gazed at the witcher, her expression shifting to one of profound disbelief. Suppressing her barrage of questions, she stubbornly shook her head. "No, there's no need for such measures. Why should I endure such arduous steps to traverse to another world? I have a superior alternative. Once the second war commences, Emhyr will grant us Dol Blathanna as promised, and my people will finally possess our own lands."

"I concur," Roy stated. "Emhyr is a man of his word. Given all your people have done, you certainly deserve recompense. But what of the duration of this war? How many of your kind will perish before you reclaim your ancestral lands? Nilfgaard lacks the element of surprise this time, and your attempt on the lives of the Northern kings has failed. The Nilfgaardian army will face resistance unlike anything they have encountered before. This promises to be a protracted conflict, and are you truly aware of the nature of the Scoia'tael army?" Roy inquired.

The elven queen's shoulders trembled slightly.

"You may call them a vanguard, if you wish. That is merely a euphemism. They are nothing more than expendable fodder. Emhyr will undoubtedly deploy the Scoia'tael in the most perilous and intense battlefields. Such locations function as colossal meat grinders. The sole purpose of the Scoia'tael will be to expend their final breaths in a valiant, yet ultimately futile, stand. When the war concludes, how many will remain? Perhaps half? A mere third? Or perhaps merely one in ten?"

The witcher's words struck Francesca's heart like a barrage of daggers.

"Yet, that is not the conclusion. Misfortune will continue to plague the surviving Scoia'tael. Emhyr will task them with disrupting the North's defensive lines until every last one of them is annihilated. They will serve merely as candles, burning themselves down to wax and ash. When the wind blows, not a trace of them will endure. Following Emhyr's conquest of the North, and for the sake of his reputation, he will instruct the appointed elven queen to sever ties with the Scoia'tael. To consolidate public confidence in his rule, he will demand that you hand over the remnants of the Scoia'tael. Those responsible for the slaughter of children, women, and the elderly. Those whom the people of the North despise more vehemently than the Nilfgaardian army itself. They will become scapegoats, sacrificed to appease the people's wrath. The final sacrifice of royalty."

Every detail Roy recounted originated from his own recollections. The more Francesca contemplated his words, the less capable she felt of refuting them. Her face grew pale.

Roy observed the elven queen in silence, a flicker of pity in his eyes. "Enid an Gleanna, queen of the Aen Seidhe. Once your pact with Emhyr is fulfilled and you reclaim Dol Blathanna, the fortunate elven children will taste the air of freedom. They will have verdant lands and thriving forests to enjoy. But what of the mangled remains of the Scoia'tael warriors who perished in the war? Who will grant them a proper burial and vindicate their names?"

Francesca found herself unable to provide an answer.

"And where will their souls find rest? In a foreign land, one that is not even their true home?"

The question hung heavy in the night air. Francesca gazed out into the darkness, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. Her heart spoke words that could not be heard, for the departed could not listen.

Choose Emhyr, and every last one of the surviving Scoia'tael will face agonizing deaths," Roy stated. "But choose me, and you can halt further bloodshed. That includes today's."

"Today?" Francesca's voice quivered.

"Do you truly believe your operation is so discreet?" Roy slammed his foot down. "The advisors to the Northern kings have laid a snare for you. You and the Scoia'tael hidden in the cellar are nothing more than mice caught in a trap."

***

After a considerable pause, Francesca released a sigh, her eyes clouded with worry and indecision. "Roy, whose side do you stand with? The South or the North?"

"My allegiance leans North, yet I have no desire to intervene beyond what is absolutely necessary. I merely wish to strike a bargain with you. If you accept, join me in the hall in five minutes. Publicly declare yourself a spy for Nilfgaard and renounce Emhyr. Then, the Aen Seidhe can escape this political tempest."

This was the proposal from Triss and Coen; they aimed to detach the Scoia'tael from the Southern forces and enlist the Aen Seidhe in the battle against the Wild Hunt. Francesca drew a sharp breath, adopting a dramatic expression.

"Your grasp of warfare is impressive, but you're behaving like a pompous fool right now. What leads you to believe I would abandon years of careful planning, terminate my operation, and betray Emhyr? He represents my sole path forward. Is it merely because you bear the Elder Blood? Or because of a nascent plan that hasn't even begun? Perhaps there's more to it?"

"I prefer to demonstrate through actions. Just wait. You will understand in due course." Roy's eyes blazed like the sun, piercing the night sky visible through the corridor's windows.

In a distant location, a vast swarm of bats silently traversed a bridge spanning the seas, making their way towards Aretuza, the structure nestled within an immense defensive barrier.

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