The Divine Hunter Chapter 175

He's young. That was the first impression Roy left on Geralt. Witchers lived long lives, but all the living witchers were at least more than fifty years old, though most of them only looked like they were in their forties. They grew old slowly in that department, and that included Geralt as well.

However, Roy looked youthful. His dark gold eyes looked bright, and his skin was smooth. He still looked like a child in terms of his features. He was handsome, but he hadn't grown out of his kid phase yet. Geralt could see that Roy was fifteen or sixteen, at most.

And Geralt knew how violent the trial was. The potions every witcher had to drink would cause immense change in the body. This witcher isn't even a young adult. At most, he is just a teenager. Then Geralt noticed something else. The young witcher's ears were different from a human's. They had slightly pointed ends, and his hair wasn't fully black either. It was slightly brown.

“Half-elf? No. Part-elf. This child has elven blood in him. Is he from the Cat School?” As far as Geralt was concerned, most of the witchers in the Cat School whom he knew had elven blood, and most of them were sick in the head. Just because they were witchers didn't mean they were exactly friends.

Geralt tensed up, his muscles almost tearing his shirt apart. The dryad noticed Geralt's change, and she pointed her arrow at Roy.

“Praise the Law of Surprise.” The butterfly I sent out did not create a tornado. Roy grinned, and the genuine smile made Geralt and the dryad ease up a little.

“Geralt, miss dryad, allow me to introduce myself. I am Roy, a witcher from the Viper School.” Roy almost could not hold his excitement in. He took out the emblem of the Viper School and showed it to the man whom he admired—Geralt.

“You know me. Why did you enter this dangerous land?” Geralt was still tense. He could go into battle at any moment, though his instincts told him that Roy held no malice towards him.

“White Wolf, I have heard of your stories from bards all over the world. My mentor, Letho, has told me about all the schools and their current condition. He has mentioned you before as well.” Roy pointed at the emblem of the Wolf School hanging around Geralt's neck. And I have played as you before, he added quietly, and Roy looked at the White Wolf closely.

He was about six feet two (1.9 m), and just like any other witcher, was unkempt. He looked haggard, he didn't groom himself, his chainmail was old, and his long white hair was tied using nothing but a black hair band. His face was slightly long, his nose tall, his lips thick, his stubbles untrimmed, and his jawline hard.

Geralt's eyes told a story, but they were also cold. A scar traveled down from his left eyebrow and ended under his left eye. However, what interested Roy the most was Geralt's deadpan face. It was as if Geralt could not make any other expression. In my world, they call this the resting bitch face.

That reminded Roy of a rumor. The Trial of the Grasses was notorious for its unique side effects. Because of that, Letho lost all his hair, while Geralt lost all his melanin, and the nerves on his face stopped functioning. Because of that, he could not make any exaggerated expressions. Even a smile was difficult for him.

Roy scratched his nose and gave Geralt an apologetic look, much to the White Wolf's confusion. Man. No wonder he makes kids cry. That kind of look and the vibe he's radiating? Scary.

Roy cast Observe on Geralt.

'Geralt of Rivia

Age: Seventy-eight years old

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Gender: Male

Status: Wolf School witcher

HP: ?

Mana: 160

Strength: 20

Dexterity: ?

Constitution: ?

Perception: 19

Will: 6

Charisma: 6

Spirit: 16

Skills:

Witcher Signs…

Alchemy…

Meditation…

Wolf School Swordsmanship…

Witcher Senses…

Details: ?

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As Roy recalled, Geralt was no match for Letho in a one-on-one battle, and that was normal. The White Wolf was famous not because of his extraordinary skills, but his legendary tales and romantic history with plenty of women.

A six in Charisma? Then why did so many witches and women get so attracted to him? Roy was curious. Right. I have to get him to teach me some of his moves.

“It's natural you have heard of me,” Geralt remarked self-deprecatingly. “I am the Butcher of Blaviken. Everyone in these lands knows me.”

“That is not your fault.” Roy was about to explain something, but he heard the sound of footsteps coming from a tree. When it stopped, Roy looked up and noticed the girl who came out of the hole in the tree. “Child!”

“Roy!” Ciri was wearing a dirty jacket, and she leaped down from the tree, though Roy could see that she was still sobbing a little. The girl jumped at Roy, and he held her firmly before spinning her around.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. I-I was worried I might never see you again.”

Roy wiped the tear tracks off her cheeks, feeling amused. “Don't cry. You're smearing your face now. Look. The monster is dead, and you are safe.”

Ciri looked at the dismembered centipede and harrumphed. She buried her face in Roy's chest and muttered, “I am so exhausted. Let me sleep a little, Roy.”

Ciri had been running for a long time, and she was gripped by terror from being hunted. Now that the tension was relieved, she lay in Roy's arms and fell asleep.

“Wait. What is going on here?” Geralt, who had been ignored, asked, “Roy of the Viper School, that's not a dryad you're holding.”

“Go!” the yellow-haired dryad interrupted them again. “Yghern… scent… group… leave!”

Roy sighed. Well, guess I have to give this centipede up now. He was going to check and see if there were any useful mutagens he could loot.

They left the clearing and the hornbeam in case the ygherns came after them. The dryad led them to the center, and as they progressed, the trees started to thin out. They went through a small forest on sandy lands, a patch of land filled with bushes, then finally, they came to a fog-covered grassland. The temperature started to drop while they were there.

“Roy from the…”

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“Just Roy is enough. Cut it with the formalities.” Roy held the girl's thighs with one hand and allowed her to lean her head on his shoulders. Ciri was light, soft, and warm, just like an oversized doll.

“Very well then, Roy. Honestly, it has been decades since I saw a witcher your age, and not just in Kaer Morhen. I heard the other schools have stopped training new witchers for years. Our numbers are dwindling.” Geralt walked by his side.

“Well, sounds like I got lucky then.”

Geralt grunted. A moment of silence later, Geralt turned his sights on the girl. “This girl you're holding…” Her hair had pine needles and leaves on it, but she looked clean. There wasn't the stench of smoke or oil coming from her. Her hands that were on Roy's shoulder were dirty, but they were small, delicate, and were perfect. There were no scars at all.

She was wearing a white, black, and grey-colored jacket, so Geralt couldn't discern her status. However, her boots were made of cow leather, and that alone proved that she was no village girl. “She's a princess, isn't she? You and Frexinet's men came into the forest to look for her.”

Roy answered with a question. “You know Frexinet?”

“Yes,” Geralt said. “Back when he was a baron in Hamm, his lover cursed him to be a bird. I was in town back then, so I helped him out with it.”

“Geralt, you really are curses' worst enemy, but I can't tell you who she is. I'm sorry.” Roy kept it a secret for the time being and winked at Geralt. “You'll have to ask her yourself after she wakes up.”

“So what will you do next, Roy?”

“We're in their territory. It's not up to you or me to decide what I shall do next, right?”

“You can't leave now, that's for sure.”

Roy looked at the dryad who was taking them somewhere. “Where is she taking us?”

The dryad was young, slim, and beautiful. A stark contrast to her agile movements and aggressive behavior. There was impatience and a hint of fear on her tattooed face, as if she didn't want to talk to the humans behind her.

“The center of Brokilon and the real home of the dryads—Duén Canell.”

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. Everything is going as planned. “What should I call this dryad anyway?” He knew the dryad was named Braenn thanks to Observe, but if he called her name out of nowhere, she would probably shoot a hole through his head.

Geralt shook his head, and a hint of a smirk appeared on his deadpan face. He blinked at Roy. “If you want to know her name, you'll have to ask her yourself. You have elven blood in you. Just talk to her using Elder Speech.”

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Chapter end