The Divine Hunter

It was later recorded in the book that he came from the overgrown fortress in the north, with white hair, two swords on his back, and a heavy horse on his back. Into the Brock Leon Forest—

At noon, the witcher stopped somewhere in the forest. He squatted down, and his calloused index finger and thumb rubbed the fresh blood on the grass. His nose could distinguish the composition of the blood, and his dark cat eyes chased after him. Blood, and soon, he found the first body.

The corpse looked very young, but a man in his twenties, lying on his back with his feet apart, his stiff and frightened face before his death froze for a long time.

But the witcher understood that the man died on the spot, and before he died, there was no time for pain, and the crude arrow passed through his eye socket and poured into his brain.

The witcher gently closed his glaring eyes and stood up. The man's developed muscles and calluses on his hands prove that he has experienced systematic equipment training before his death, and this is not an ordinary person.

"Poachers, or hunters who receive Evel's bounty?" King Evel of Verdon has always regarded Brock Leon's dryad as a thorn in his eyes and a thorn in his flesh, and for a long time has been secretly offering a bounty for the dryad's head.

Because humans want to steal the trees of Brock Leon, the dryads are the home to survive.

He came to a distance of about six steps behind the corpse, and an oblique arrow was inserted into the ground. From the depth of the arrow into the soil and the angle of the inclination, he could almost judge which tree the dryad was hiding on and shot the cold arrow.

"With the dryad's archery, this arrow was deliberately shot misaligned—warning."

"The tree spirits who shoot arrows are not experienced enough to give people a warning in advance."

The witcher recalled that a few decades ago, the dryads were not so ruthless. Will they warn humans three or four times in a row when they break into the forest?

But today...

He shook his head and moved on along the messy footprints stained with blood. He could ignore the corpses, but he couldn't leave the living alone, thinking that he might be able to catch up with this group of people and let them get out of the forest and escape. Fate is uncertain?

Although he never admits it, he is such a person, his heart doesn't match his indifferent appearance, a little indecisive, with a contradictory charm.

However, he soon realized that he was wrong. He found the second, third, and even the fourth corpse. The ground around the three corpses was trampled. I struggled for a long time before I died,

it's painful.

Suddenly, his ears moved, and he heard a tiny moan/groan!

He quickly lifted a pile of juniper branches and found the buried hole.

Taking advantage of the sunlight, I saw a sturdy man lying in the hole, wearing a deerskin tunic, leather pants, and a delicate mustache, but at this time he was covered in mud, plant debris, blood, and his face was pale. very bad condition.

The injured man felt movement and opened his eyes with difficulty.

"Geralt?!" He groaned slightly, his bloodshot pupils showing doubts, "Damn it! I have returned to the arms of the goddess? Why is there an illusion?"

"Fishnette, you didn't dream." Geralt shook his head. "The lesson of becoming a cormorant hasn't taught you awe, so dare you to break into Brock Leon?"

"Are you real? God!" The man howled in pain, but his face was filled with anger, "Geralt, help me, save her!"

"Save who?"

"Princess... uh... ah..." Freixette coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Don't worry about the princess, man! Take care of yourself first!"

The witcher cursed and jumped out of the hole. He wanted to find two small poplars, make a stretcher, and drag the man away.

Whoosh!

Just two steps away, an eagle-feather arrow shot into the tree trunk at the height of his head. He rolled against the ground with lightning and flint, swish, and three arrows shot from three other angles.

Shot to his previous position, almost piercing him.

"Four dryads?"

The witcher's heart skipped a beat, no matter who it was, surrounded by four hundred-step piercing marksmen, it was impossible to escape. He heard the faint sound of the bowstring rubbing again, and immediately shouted loudly,

"Ceadmil! Va an Esina meath e Doon Canal! Essea Gwenblade!"

There was an obscure reply from there.

He survived, slowly raising his ready hands.

This time he was ordered to come for peace, not battle, and repeated, "meath Esina! Essea Gwenblade."

"vort!"

Hearing this crisp voice, the witcher heaved a sigh of relief, unfastened his sword belt, and let it fall to the ground.

Then, with the slight footsteps of a civet cat, a figure emerged from behind the tall fir trees.

She is petite and slender, wearing clothes made of natural bark and leaves, and if you don't pay attention, you will definitely confuse her with plants.

She wore a black turban on her forehead, tied her olive-green hair behind her head, and painted stripes with walnut juice on her face, so she could only get an overview of her beautiful features.

She was the only one who came out, and the other three dryads, still hiding somewhere, aimed at the witcher's heart.

"T'en thesesse in meath aep Esina llev?" she asked in an unusually beautiful voice, taking six steps closer to the witcher.

"Ess 'Gwynblade," the witcher stammered, "Ae... . . . can you speak Common? I don't know the Bloklan dialect very well."

"Gwenblade, white wolf, witcher?" At this moment, another dryad with brick red hair came out and said to the witcher.

"Yes, I used to live in Brock Leon, in Doon Canal. Lady Esina knew me, and this time I came with the kindness of King Brugg to find a lady to discuss something important. ' Geralt's expression and tone were as gentle as possible, although the dead man's face could not be too exaggerated.

The olive-haired Dryad glanced at the latter, who nodded at her, and the dryad's gaze at the witcher was no longer so sharp and murderous.

Seeing that the situation had stabilized, the witcher said, "There is a wounded man in the burrow over there. If no one saves him, he will die."

"Thaess aep!"

The third and fourth tree spirits also came out, raised their bows and arrows, and the tips of the arrows were about to stab him in the face.

"You want him to choke on his own blood?" the witcher raised his voice, staring at the brick-red-haired dryad with a look that wasn't too much. He knew he was giving orders.

"I promise you! The man in the burrow, and the guy you shot just now, are neither bounty hunters nor poachers. They entered Brock Leon to find someone!"

"Shut up!" the eldest dryad shouted in Common, then pointed at the honey-colored compatriot. "She'll take you to see Lady Esena."

"The injured man?" the witcher asked reluctantly, unable to just ignore his friend.

"Don't worry about it," she replied, glancing between the other olive-haired dryad and the burrow.

"Go, follow her to see Ms. Esina."

...

Geralt followed the honey-colored dryad to the center of Brock Leon, Doon Canal. Although he noticed the hidden eyes of the brick-red dryad, he was not sure whether the other party could save him. Freixette.

I can only pray for the old man from the bottom of my heart.

The two made their way through a glade, misty valleys, and withered and ruined woods.

The honey-haired dryad stopped again and looked around. Geralt took the opportunity to sit on a fallen branch and rest for a while, thinking about the princess.

Suddenly, he heard a strange scream, short, harsh, terrifying.

The dryad immediately fell to one knee and drew two arrows from his quiver, one bit between his teeth, the other pulled the string and aimed the arrow at the bushes.

The witcher's five fingers nimbly sketched a seal of Quinn, and he strode across the bushes and came to a clearing under a big tree.

In the center of the clearing, there was a strange creature, curling up and making a baby-like cry towards the top of the tree.

It has a dark brown body, a long, arthropod trunk the size of an arm, and yellow legs with barbs all over its sides.

This is a big centipede.

Its tentacles roamed nimbly under the big tree, and its body curled up into an S shape, preparing to charge up before hunting.

"Yugon!"

The dryad came silently behind the witcher,

"There's something on the hornbeam that attracts it!"

"Hunting...don't...leave." She lowered her voice and said in broken common language. "Don't mess with...Yugorn..."

Geralt hesitated, and a strong premonition surged in his heart that if he left now, he would miss something extremely important.

His dark cat pupils stared at Hornbeam, his expression froze,

"Wait, there's a hole in the tree, there's... someone!"

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Just as the two of them stood still, several clusters of blood flowers burst out from the giant centipede!

Immediately afterwards, a figure in a cloak jumped out of the bushes - he rushed to Yugoen's side in a ghostly figure and turned around.

The sunlight reflected a dark red blade, and as he flexibly rose and fell, the blade drew a few afterimages in mid-air, breaking the hard chitinous carapace on Yugoen's body.

Emerald blood slid to the ground.

Yugoen let out a harsh sob, and instantly spread out countless pairs of oars-like legs, and his lower body twitched suddenly!

With a crisp sound of "Boom", the pale yellow light on the cloaked man's body shattered, and he immediately rolled against the ground, avoiding the bite. At the moment of getting up, the blade of the sword was lifted up, and the gray abdominal carapace was cut open.

Slurry splashes.

Yugoen was completely enraged, and he no longer cared about the prey behind him.

Once, twice, three times, the air was pumped with a "crackling" sound, and the cloaked man dodged in confusion.

The fourth time, it suddenly screamed.

The scorching fire came from behind, blisters popped from its jet-black carapace, and it turned around angrily—a clump of white hair was blown away by the strong wind, and the second witcher, who participated in the battle at an unknown time, outlined a blue triangle with his left hand. , push forward!

"Bang!" The air exploded, and Yugen was pushed out of balance.

"Shh!"

The dark red blade slashed into the middle of its body, where the fragile carapace joined.

"puff!"

The white-haired witcher stabbed with a precise sword into its hideous mouthparts.

The next moment, it was fixed in place, and countless blood-colored tentacles were reflected in its pupils.

The dark red blade slanted upward like a lightning bolt—a head was thrown high and landed.

"Kill Yugon, experience +120, witcher LV5 (3080/2500)."

Although already dead, the giant centipede's mouthparts are still opening and closing, and the densely packed legs and feet on the half-corpse are squirming wildly, which is extremely terrifying.

Suddenly, a gust of breeze blew past, blowing away the faint bloody smell in the air.

The white-haired witcher waved his hand to shake off the green blood on his sword, and his dark cat pupils swept across.

The man in the cloak lifted his hood and smiled brightly, revealing a too young face with dark golden pupils.

"Hey, Geralt, great collaboration!"