The Divine Hunter Chapter 630: The Dust Is Settled

For a century, mages largely dismissed witchers as relics of the past, outdated experiments that ought to have vanished. Universally neglected and scorned by both humans and sorcerers, witchers have always existed on the fringes of society, a community looked down upon. Their sole advantage, acknowledged despite their skills and the frequent slaying of formidable monsters globally, was sheer strength. They were never considered equals to sorcerers, who possessed the ability to command chaos energy. Years of persistent effort by the witcher brotherhood had barely chipped away at the mountain of prejudice they faced.

Yet, as Roy entered Aretuza, the mages watching him found their long-held stereotypes about witchers completely dismantled. Their ingrained pride and arrogance were utterly crushed by someone they had once deemed beneath them. This crushing defeat left some of the more conceited mages so overcome with shame and fury that, had they not been bound by invisible magic, they might have taken their own lives.

Roy paid no mind to the hostile gazes directed his way. He simply snapped his fingers, and gasps echoed through the hall. Linus, who had been standing near a vase on the east side, Adda and Grimm, beneath a tapestry to the west, Philippa and Sigismund by the saffron curtains in the south, and Tissaia, Margarita, along with a few neutral mages near the golden pillar to the north, were all freed from their magical restraint.

However, no one immediately cried out.

Linus swallowed hard, his eyes wide with fear as he turned to face the cloaked figure. "What is happening, Roy? How did those bats turn back into people?"

"You will soon have your answer." Roy then leaped onto the central table, laden with candelabras and food. Glancing around to ensure he had everyone's attention, he raised his voice. "Mages of the brotherhood and honored guests from every realm, I apologize for disrupting your gathering and for taking up your time. However, in the name of the witcher brotherhood, I assure you we intend no harm. Once this matter is resolved, the majority of you will depart unharmed."

A sorceress, annoyed by Roy's demeanor, which struck her as even more arrogant than a king's, stomped her foot. Despite her irritation, her voice lacked its usual strength as she questioned, "I am aware of the five witcher schools, but what exactly is this witcher brotherhood? What are your intentions? Are you collaborating with the Southern mages to hold us captive at sword point? Do you serve Emhyr var Emreis?"

"The witcher brotherhood is merely an organization formed by individuals seeking a way to thrive," Roy stated, meeting Geralt and Coen's eyes. His voice resonated throughout the hall. "We serve no kingdom. All our actions are dedicated to aiding the members of our brotherhood."

Just then, the distinct sound of footsteps echoed from the hall's entrance. Eyes burning like embers pierced the darkness, followed by the arrival of lean witchers, the unmistakable silhouette of twin swords strapped to their backs. The most experienced witchers, Vesemir and Ivar, led the advance, while the younger generation, with Carl at the forefront, formed the rear guard. They moved through the assembled crowd, positioning themselves beside Roy, their gazes fixed on the noble hostages now surrounded.

A palpable chill ran through the sorcerers as the witchers' eyes swept over them, causing them to shiver uncontrollably.

Roy gave a subtle nod to his assembled comrades and continued, his voice carrying clearly. "Our brotherhood is not composed solely of sorcerers and witchers. All of you are learned individuals. Do you comprehend the true identities of the beings standing behind you?"

"Higher vampires?" Margarita ventured, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

A collective hush fell over the assembly, marked by the sound of sharp, ragged breaths. Higher vampires – creatures shrouded in mystery and renowned as the world's most formidable predators, the apex of the food chain. The brotherhood possessed only fragmented knowledge about these beings, as rare even as dragons. Each appearance had historically heralded devastation and loss. Most mages would never encounter one in their entire lifetimes, yet here they were, witnessing these powerful beings seemingly obeying the commands of a witcher. The situation was utterly beyond belief.

The witcher standing atop the table seemed to grow in stature with every passing moment. Tissaia clasped her hands tightly over her chest, her voice trembling as she spoke. "So, is this a matter of honor? Should we be thanking you for sparing our lives? Witcher, I granted you entry to this banquet as a special consideration due to Coral and Yen. Is this how you repay that courtesy? By capturing the brotherhood's members and humiliating us?" Her gaze shifted with evident concern towards Gerhart. "Your discourteous actions have caused the most formidable mage in the North to suffer a heart attack. His life is hanging by a thread. Marti, proceed with the treatment!"

The red-haired sorceress on the floor gritted her teeth, pressing her lightning-infused hands firmly onto the elderly mage's chest. Gerhart's body jolted, and he let out a groan, his eyes snapping open. Although his breathing remained shallow, he had at least survived the immediate crisis.

A wave of collective relief washed over the hall. Had Gerhart perished, the repercussions for the brotherhood would have been severe.

"Once again, my apologies. It was never my intention to cause you harm. I instructed Coral and Triss to make you aware of potential outcomes," Roy stated. "However, I must admit, a brief disruption is preferable to an all-out conflict that would claim numerous lives and devastate both Thanedd and the Northern brotherhood."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Philippa felt a distinct twitch in her eye.

"Do not feign ignorance, everyone. While this banquet may project an image of peace and merriment," Roy said, extending his fingers with knowing intent, "the reality is that deadly peril lurks beneath the surface, all stemming from someone's political discord. Tissaia, only individuals choosing neutrality, like yourself, are unaware of the true currents flowing underneath."

Tissaia appeared displeased. More than displeased, in fact. "This is the sorcerer brotherhood, not some royal court. Do not inject politics into this matter."

"Tissaia, you must confront the truth." Triss tossed her hair back and walked around her mentor. She met Roy's gaze, and the witcher gave a slight nod. "No one has revealed the truth to you until now, so allow me to elucidate everything. Once I am finished, you will comprehend the stance of the witcher brotherhood and the reasons behind our actions. All members of the sorcerer brotherhood present are divided into three distinct factions."

Triss's voice, though melodious and her appearance as charming as ever, carried an aura of commanding authority. All eyes were fixed upon her. "Firstly, the royal consultants for the Northern Realms: Philippa from Redania, Keira and myself from Temeria, Radcliffe from Aedirn, and Sabrina from Kaedwen. We align ourselves with the North and stand firmly against the South. Philippa is currently preparing to initiate an ambush at midnight tonight to apprehend all traitors."

The sorcerers engaged in conspiracy, concealed in the shadows, turned pale.

"Is that accurate?" Margarita directed a look of disbelief towards the consultant for Redanian royalty and Sigismund. "You intend to stage a coup today and detain your own colleagues?"

"Whose allegiance do you serve, Triss? Why would you divulge our plans to everyone? You have completely ruined everything!" Philippa exclaimed, her face flushed with rage. The potent mana surging around her caused the witchers' medallions to vibrate, but then the higher vampires fixed her with menacing glares. Philippa shivered, swallowing her angry words, feeling utterly mortified.

"I have not betrayed the brotherhood. Kindly permit me to conclude." Triss surveyed the room. Unfazed, she continued. "The second faction comprises those who maintain political neutrality. These are the magical scholars. Tissaia, Gerhart, Margarita, Marti, Dorregaray of Cidaris, Cadouin of Kovir..."

Those named offered nods, signifying their agreement with their neutral status.

"And the third faction. The traitors hidden amongst us." She fixed her gaze upon the stout man. "One of the five highest-ranking members of the brotherhood, Artaud Terranova."

"You insolent, preposterous wretch!" Artaud, brandishing his dimeritium shackles, roared at Triss.

Coen retaliated, his fist striking Artaud's nose with a sickening crunch. Blood erupted as the sorcerer's nose shattered, and he collapsed, screaming, contorted like a plump, cooked shrimp.

"Witchers, I implore you, refrain from tormenting my colleagues." Tissaia's face was etched with distress. "Otherwise, I shall ensure you face retribution, regardless of the cost." As the de facto administrator of Aretuza, she commanded formidable magical abilities. Her power was sufficient to overwhelm any aggressors, yet invoking it would inevitably result in the demise of all her colleagues.

"He is not innocent!" Philippa bellowed, convinced the witchers sided with her. "Redania's intelligence network has uncovered irrefutable evidence of Terranova's collaboration with the South. A comprehensive list of traitors is secreted within his chambers!"

The portly Sigismund offered a respectful bow to Tissaia from a distance. "If it pleases you, milady, I can procure the evidence and present it for your review."

Tissaia pursed her lips, averting her gaze. Artaud's complexion turned ashen, his strength visibly waning.

Triss proceeded. "The second traitor is Fercart, formerly a consultant for Foltest."

The dark-haired man adjacent to Artaud, also bound by shackles, trembled. He keenly felt the suspicious glances cast by his surrounding colleagues, an uncomfortable sensation prickling his skin. Humiliated and consumed by rage, he retorted, "Go to the abyss, you shameless harlot! Do not dare attempt to tarnish my name!"

"Silence! His Majesty Foltest and I are already cognizant of your despicable actions." Adda shook her head, her eyes blazing with cold fury. "The moment you abandoned your principles and accepted Emhyr's coin, you should have foreseen this outcome. Grimm, silence them. I have no desire to hear these traitors speak further. Their words are repulsive."

"As you command, Your Highness."

***

"And the third traitor also originates from within the brotherhood. The now deceased Vilgefortz."

"Impossible!" Tissaia bellowed. "Vilgefortz was the one who led the resistance against Nilfgaard at Sodden Hill! He would never conspire with the South!"

"You are correct!" Philippa interjected, her satisfaction growing with each panicked utterance from the neutral sorcerers. "Emhyr remembers that particular battle, which is why he resolved to eradicate all sorcerers from the chessboard. First, he approached Vilgefortz, the hero of that very battle. Then, he tempted him with promises of glory and power. Once the South launched their assault on the North, with the assistance of Fercart and Terranova, our hero would have seized control of Nilfgaard's newly acquired provinces."

"Vilgefortz's associate, Lydia, has now joined the witcher brotherhood. She is currently present in a Gors Velen inn, and I can summon her to corroborate our claims."

Tissaia remained silent, the captured sorcerers now regarding her with suspicion. The presence of two spies within the council of five was unsettling.

"Continue, Triss!" Philippa urged, her cheeks flushed with excitement. A wave of ecstatic pleasure coursed through her. She relished the humiliation of the self-righteous neutral sorcerers and the allies of the South, right before everyone's eyes.

"The fourth traitor is Francesca," Triss announced, turning to the elegant elven lady beside Roy, whose hair was styled in a braid. "Emhyr promised the elves their freedom and a homeland. That land is known as Dol Blathanna, and thus, Francesca betrayed the North."

"Then why has she not been apprehended?" Philippa inquired, refraining from a direct confrontation, as she was uncertain how the witchers would handle Francesca.

"I refuse to believe she is a traitor," Tissaia stated, looking expectantly at Francesca, hoping for a denial of the accusations.

Margarita, the weakened Gerhart, and all who sympathized with non-humans turned their gaze to Francesca, holding their breath. Francesca met the eyes of the witcher at the table and offered a bitter smile. Having aligned herself with him in this affair, she and her kind had no alternative remaining; they had nowhere else to turn.

Golden strands of hair brushed against her cheek. Francesca, the most beautiful woman in the world, the Daisy of the Valley, spoke in a melodious voice, revealing what Roy had instructed her to convey. "My kin, the Scoia'tael, are concealed in the cellar, poised to ambush and slay all Northern sorcerers in Garstang tomorrow, where a dimeritium barrier will be established. That is all I can disclose to you, humans."

Her voice was beautiful, but her words were chilling. Tissaia lowered her head, her hope extinguished. Gerhart clutched his chest, erupting into a violent cough, his face etched with disappointment. Francesca's confession deeply wounded the hearts of all who stood with non-humans.

"The irony is palpable. You convened this assembly to persuade the royal consultants to compel our kings to cease the oppression of non-humans, yet this elven traitor was plotting to assassinate her supposed allies."

Philippa smirked and addressed Roy and his companions. "Witchers, I offer my sincerest gratitude. Had your higher vampire allies not intervened, the outcome of this conflict would have remained uncertain."

In that instant, Philippa’s words jolted all the sorcerers from their dazed state. The hall was not only occupied by consultants and spies of the Northern Realms but also by traitors and Scoia'tael concealed among them, ready to strike. The North and South were on the brink of renewed war, with only the neutral parties remaining oblivious. Had the witchers not intervened and maintained order, a devastating conflict would have erupted, with catastrophic consequences.

Upon realizing the horrifying reality they had narrowly averted, the sorcerers concluded that their capture was not an entirely negative turn of events.

With Marti's assistance, Gerhart rose. A peculiar expression crossed his face as he inquired, "So, Roy, is preventing the coup on Thanedd the objective of your brotherhood?" Throughout his exceptionally long life, he had never encountered assistance delivered in such an unconventional manner. Despite Roy's irritating persistence, he felt compelled to express his gratitude to the witcher.

"Just a day's work," Roy nodded. "You should thank Triss, Coral, and Yennefer. If they had not been reluctant to witness your members slaughtering each other and Aretuza reduced to ruins, we would not have intervened. My brotherhood holds no vested interest in this matter."

"Do you not believe this approach was excessively severe? Could you not have handled it with greater subtlety?" Margarita inquired, patting her chest. The abrupt turn of events still left her reeling. "Could you not have discreetly informed us of the dangers so we could prepare?" She held the arm of Coral, her closest friend and Roy's lover. Mustering her courage, she added, "You are merely attempting to display your strength and protest against the sorcerers who have consistently acted with arrogance."

Roy offered a smile but remained silent. The disgraced sorcerers felt their anger surge, but their only recourse was to turn a furious shade of red.

"Headmistress, your fixation on magic has clearly addled your brain. Sorcerers value knowledge, status, or power above all else. Naturally, the witchers must display their strength to maintain order." Philippa burst into laughter, her gaze fixed on Roy with evident admiration. "I admire your methods, Roy. Direct and resolute. You eliminate problems at their root, ensuring events unfold precisely as you desire."

"Quite astute," Tissaia conceded, though her words lacked complete sincerity. "You have succeeded. I now grasp the precarious and intricate state of Thanedd. I understand your actions. Therefore, before any further harm is inflicted, can you release them all? By the authority of Thanedd's Headmistress, no one will hold you accountable. I give you my word."

"They will certainly reconsider any retaliatory actions," Gerhart stated, stroking his beard with a smile. He added, "Should they dare harm you, they will then face the daunting task of evading an army of elder vampires. Today's demonstration has been quite instructive, witnessing over a hundred elder vampires standing with us."

Roy remained silent, lost in thought. The sorcerers, too, held their tongues, apprehension evident as they wondered if Roy would reject Tissaia's plea.

"Wait, don't release them just yet. You neglected a group of individuals," Philippa interjected swiftly. "Detain Francesca, the Scoia'tael in the dungeons, and all remaining traitors. Sabrina, Radcliffe, Keira, myself, and Triss will see to their fate. Not a single one will survive."

Fercart and Terranova exchanged looks of horror. If the Northern Realms' consiglieri took them, their demise was certain.

"What is your plan? To tie them to a pyre?" Tissaia challenged, her voice rising. "They will face judgment from us. The internal matters of magical academia should remain free from political interference."

"These traitors have wounded me deeply, but their actions are not beyond redemption. They do not deserve death," Margarita stated, her gaze pleading towards Coral, who simply shook her head.

Coral wished to leave no potential threat alive that could endanger their brotherhood. Gerhart, an ally of the elves, offered no opinion, appearing weary of the ceaseless conflict.

"You intend for the brotherhood to handle them? What, will you imprison them for decades only for them to...?" Philippa scoffed bitterly. "And then these criminals will escape due to a minor lapse, flee to the South, and return seeking vengeance. They will bring ruin to Aretuza."

"Enough. Do not attempt to fracture the brotherhood's unity with baseless speculation," Tissaia declared, striking a pillar, her unbound hair obscuring her face. "Triss, you serve the Northern kings, and Fercart and Artaud are also loyal to their rulers. Their choice of the South was merely a consequence of ambition. The North and South are nothing more than political quagmires for the world of magical academia; they are identical. Fercart and Artaud are part of our community. They deserve a second chance."

A hush fell over the sorcerers as they contemplated Tissaia's words.

"My friends, I concur that magic knows no geographical boundaries," Sigismund suddenly announced, bowing to the assembled sorcerers, his eyes gleaming with a sense of justice. He then declared his long-held conviction, "However, let us not forget that sorcerers owe allegiance to their respective kingdoms. All of you are members of the Northern brotherhood. Every decision you make must prioritize the Northern Realms and its people, who stand on the precipice of war! Traitors must face severe consequences, or it will be unjust to our warriors who fight valiantly to protect their homelands!"

His powerful words resonated within the chamber. Sigismund paused, a troubled sigh escaping his lips. "Furthermore, at midnight, I received urgent intelligence indicating a significant Nilfgaardian force amassing along the borders of Lyria and Rivia. They are undoubtedly awaiting their collaborators within Thanedd to initiate the coup, providing the signal for the commencement of the second war. This is an act of utter malevolence. Do you still wish to debate the extent of mercy we should afford these traitors?"

A heavy silence descended upon the dimly lit hall. Fercart and Artaud lowered their heads, despair consuming them. Tissaia remained silent, while Gerhart let out a deep sigh. He then turned his attention towards those capable of making decis