Read Daily Updated Light Novel, Web Novel, Chinese Novel, Japanese And Korean Novel Online.
The Divine Hunter (Web Novel) - Chapter 536: Three Questions
Chapter 536: Three Questions
This chapter is updated by NovelFree.ml
[TL: Asuka][PR: Ash]
The sacred falcon circled overhead, letting out a screech. The priestesses stood outside the main hall, fourteen of them on their knees, their hands in prayers. Their eyes were closed, and they muttered Freya’s name under their breaths as if they were doing their daily prayers.
They were, however, shivering from the sounds of howls and grunts, and metal cutting into flesh coming from the main hall. Sigrdrifa, the most senior and calmest of them all, looked into the great hall, and she was met with the sights of fire, swords, and blood.
A golden silhouette was dancing through the pirates like a beast charging around at high speed. Like a war machine, the silhouette stirred up a storm of blood and flesh, its blade cutting through the pirates’ weapons, armors, and bodies like they were nothing.
He was but a single man, and yet he fought like an army. There was an eerie element to the silhouette, however. A crimson tentacle was coiled behind him, pouncing at the enemies like a boa constrictor every time the silhouette swung its blade.
The pirates who were attacked would stand petrified, their necks craned for the witcher to cut.
Moments later, the sounds of battle quieted down. The ground was filled with flesh and blood, the air tinged red. Only two remained in the hall.
Lying before the statue of Freya was Morkvarg. His face was tense, his eyes darting around. He couldn’t summon an ounce of strength, and it took his all just to hold his sword and shield tight. “W-Who are ya?”
Moments ago, his crew members were all alive and happily plundering this temple with him. All his lads that had gone through so many battles with him now lay dead on the ground, their corpses mangled. Morkvarg had never seen someone who could fight like that. This man was like a nightmare incarnate. Fear grasped his heart tightly. He knew he could never win this battle.
There was a crimson tentacle behind the witcher. Every time it swung, Morkvarg swore it was singing an elegy, and it stirred up the memories he had hidden deep in the recesses of his mind. Every time it sang, Morkvarg’s mind would be filled with horrific hallucinations. The corpses of his past victims would crawl out of their graves, grabbing his feet with their bloody hands as they tried to drag him into hell with them.
Morkvarg hung his head low, his arrogance and contempt replaced by fear.
“Who am I? The emissary of the goddess you just contemptibly insulted. You wanted to cut me up, didn’t you?” The witcher motioned at the pirate to move. He mocked, “Well, come on. Don’t disappoint me, blasphemer of Freya. You aren’t afraid of a mere sword wielding mortal, are you? Don’t tell me you’re just craven bastards who only take on the weak? You guys were happy as a lark when you went around tormenting the clergywomen.”
The witcher tossed a blade to Morkvarg.
“‘Tis w-was a joke.” Morkvarg gritted his teeth and tossed his weapon away, and he forced a smile, but it was an ugly smile. “We won’t ever fight people like you, sir.”
Morkvarg took a step back and cleared his throat. “‘Twas just a warmup to see how you could fight.”
“And?”
Morkvarg peered at the witcher’s face, trying to see if he was enraged.
“An’ ye be stronger than I expected. Yer worthy enough to join me crew. Me right-hand man on Terror! If ye join us, me crew’s bound to be more fearsome. If we work together, we can take over Skellige… No, the northern seas… No! Even the seas of Nilgaards! But what can Freya give ya?”
Taking the witcher’s silence as agreement, Morkvarg continued. “You saw it with yer own eyes. Can’t even take down a dozen pirates like us, an’ she calls ‘erself a goddess? She can’t give ye anything!”
Morkvarg put on a big smile and extended his hand to the witcher. “If ya work with me, I’ll give ya all the loot we got today, and tomorrow, the whole world will know yer name.”
The witcher smirked. There was disdain in his eyes.
“An’ I can give ye more!” Morkvarg quickly raised the ante. “I run a moneylendin’ business in Novigrad and Lan Exeter. I’ll give that business to ye if ye work with me. Ye be makin’ more money than ye can spend your whole life! A-An’ I can give ye Brisingamen!” He whipped out the beautiful diamond. “This thing be priceless.”
“Ah, the greatest pirate of all isles indeed. Trying to buy me out? Sorry, but I’m not a sellout. If I want anything, I’ll work for it.”
Roy swung his blade and drew a circle on the ground with the blood he flicked off. “Now tell me how many men you have left, and where’s your ship? You’re the greatest pirate of Skellige. Don’t tell me you only have a crew of thirty?”
Morkvarg’s eyes darted around, but he answered honestly, “I only took less than one-fifth of me forces in case Dona an Cinda found me out. Me other ships are docked at the north. I can take ya there right away. Spare me, an’ I’ll tell me crew that yer the new cap’n. I can be yer right-hand man. What do ya say, new cap’n?”
Roy tilted his head like he was listening. “Tempting, but sorry. The goddess has chosen not to forgive you.”
Morkvarg saw something blur, and then a Sign glowed in the air. He stood petrified, staring at the air.
Roy took Brisingamen from him. “Come in, everyone.”
Sigrdrifa, who’d been peeping, led her sisters into the hall. When they saw the carnage left by the witcher, their eyes went wide, but there was delight in their eyes. Delight that they and their sisters were avenged.
“W-Who are you, sir? Are you a believer of the goddess? Why did you help us?”
“You may regard me as an emissary of Freya, here on orders to execute the sinners.” Roy sheathed his blade and pushed the statue back up, embedding the diamond back into its groove.
“The captain of the pirates is temporarily incapacitated. You may do what you wish to him, but his sin is heavy. Do not grant him a quick death.”
“What about you, sir?”
Some of the girls carefully picked up the bloody weapons lying around, clumsily surrounding the pirate. Some grabbed a stretch of thick rope and started tying Morkvarg’s limbs up.
“Me? I’m going to cut off this evil at its roots.” And the witcher strode out of the main hall.
The clergywomen saw him off with respect and gratitude in their eyes. The witcher’s cloak billowed in the air.
The illusion of a black dragon appeared behind him, and as the witcher tensed up, the dragon flapped its wings, its scales undulating. The howling winds blew over the pirates’ clothes, and the dragon dug its talons into the deck, boring holes in it. It opened its snout and roared into the air.
Symphony of the Sword—Dragon!
A black silhouette charged across the ship. The witcher had turned into the dragon, traversing twenty yards in the blink of an eye. The dragon’s claws bore holes through the deck, and the head broke the mast in two, the broken part falling into the seas along with the sails. The dragon’s wings smashed the bones of all who dared stand in its path.
The witcher stopped at the stern, and the dragon disappeared, but there was barely anyone left alive on the ship. He leapt off the drakkar and held Aerondight high up in the air. Pointing his attention at the drakker, he swung the blade down, and a crimson crescent moon charged straight ahead, lighting up the night.
The energy slash tore through the hull, keel, gunwale, and ribs. Cleaved in two, the broken ship allowed the freezing seawater to fill it up, and it slowly sank into the seas.
The witcher stood upon the surface of the sea, seeing the drakkars sink into their watery graves.
Leviathan, who had torn apart its toy, happily swam to its master, growling at the pirates swimming to the shore.
“They have witnessed the fury of Freya. There is no need to pursue them. Dona an Cinda’s troops shall await them on the isle. Now hide in a cave and wait for my further instructions.”
***
When Roy came back to the temple, he was met with a hundred armed soldiers surrounding it. Their blades and shields had the emblem of Clan Heymaey on them. These were the reinforcements of the isle’s lord.
Sigrdrifa was talking to what seemed to be the leader of these soldiers. She looked solemn, and a film of sweat glistened her forehead. The tied-up and beaten Morkvarg lay beneath their feet.
When the priestess noticed the witcher, she happily came to welcome him. “Y-You’re back, sir.” There was reverence in her voice, and she was staring at him like he was a true emissary. “If it were not for you, the temple would’ve been defiled, and me and my sisters would’ve died.”
“Freya summoned me here to cleanse this place of filth. Thank her.” Roy shook his head, stopping her from talking. “We shall talk later. I need to report this to Freya.”
“You wish to communicate with the goddess? M-May I spectate?” The priestess trembled, and she went red with excitement.
“Yes.”
Sigrdrifa whispered something to the leader and led him through the curious soldiers, and they entered the temple.
Roy looked around and realized that the corpses around the grounds and houses had been cleared away, but the deceased priestesses were covered in a white cloth, laid out in the center of the grounds. Everyone was mourning them, praying for their souls.
The surviving priestesses had changed into new sets of robes. Noticing the emissary’s return, they stared at him with curiosity and respect. Some of the teenage priestesses were sizing up the tall, cloaked witcher.
They whispered among themselves, talking about ‘the emissary of Freya.’
Roy shook his head and entered the main hall. The marks of Morkvarg’s invasion remained. The burned furniture, books, and ornaments were not repaired yet, but the statue of the goddess and her sacred beasts were erected once more.
Roy approached the statue of Freya, and he felt the space around him change subtly. A blanket of fog swirled around him.
“Do not resist,” a woman’s voice majestically said.
Roy obliged. Everything around him was leaving him, including the priestess behind him. The witcher was taken into a strange world. Beautiful colors found on oil paintings swam around him like waterfalls, warm golden light swirling within it.
“Roy.”
The witcher turned around, but there was nothing to be found.
“Witcher, the child of the Elder Blood, you have rescued my believers and prevented further humiliation on me. I shall answer what doubts you might have,” the voice said. It was right in front of Roy, and every sound it made was filled with the power of this world’s rules.
The light of an aurora shone in the air, changing ever so often. Liquid golden eyes appeared behind the mystical lights. They were the same eyes Roy saw in the temple of Melitele. He saw the silhouette of a woman with a slightly lighter shade of gold standing within, nodding at him.
He couldn’t see her face, but her golden eyes were filled with wisdom and love as vast as an ocean. The silhouette alternated between the shape of a nubile girl, a pregnant woman, and a hunched crone.
Roy didn’t use Observe on her. He had not the courage to. Instead, he slowly stepped forth. “M-Might you be the goddess?” Roy tried his best to stay calm and look peaceful. “The goddess of fertility, love, beauty and harvest? The guardian spirit of seers and clairvoyants?”
“That is what my believers call me, but now…” She shook her head. “Now I am just Freya.”
“I thought I was in the temple. Where am I now?”
“This is my domain. Think of it as a place somewhere above the skies. It is rare to see humans with souls of your level of strength. Most people, my priestess included, only see this place as a vague dream. They can’t see or remember anything of this domain. To them, my voice is but a whisper in their dreams. But right now, you are not communicating with me through any language or sounds. We are communicating through our souls,” Freya said gently. There was encouragement in her voice.
“That’s… cool. Great Freya, may I ask you a question? Why didn’t you drag the pirates and their captain into this realm, then?”
“Those arrogant fools are not worthy of this privilege, and they would have resisted my call.”
Roy thought he noticed disdain creeping up the silhouette’s face.
“Now, child of the Elder Blood.”
“Just call me Roy,” the witcher said.
“You should know why I summoned you, Roy. Time is of the essence, so I shall cut to the chase. As thanks for your assistance, I shall answer three of your questions. Use them wisely. You only have three chances,” said the goddess, her voice ethereal.
Roy was delighted. That was exactly what he had in mind, and he mused over what question he should ask.
