The Divine Hunter

Reaper Scans

Chapter 27: Refusal

[TL: Asuka]

[PR: Ash]

Letho looked exhausted, his body covered with minor cuts. “The hym is dead.” He showed his hand to the dwarf, revealing a handful of grey powder that emanated a faint, unpleasant smell. When Roy recognized the familiar scent coming from the powder, he smiled. I knew it, he thought.

“Thank you, Letho!” Seville took the handful of powder and squeezed it, venting his fear out on it. Tears welled up in his eyes as he could finally be at ease now. Letho was far stronger than he’d thought, and a chill ran down his spine when he recalled how intense the battle had been. But it worked out for the best. The monster that has haunted me for months is dead. I’m a free dwarf.

He tossed the ashes into the air and took out a note from his pocket. “This is your reward.” He handed it to Letho with gratitude. “You can exchange these for crowns in any Vivaldi, Giancardi, or Cianfanelli Bank.”

Letho glanced at the amount written on the note before pocketing it. He knew where the dwarven banks were; they had branches in almost every city.

“Witcher, Roy. Us dwarves have always supported the rebels from the shadows. It’s to balance the forces in Aldersberg. Civilians and merchants alike can profit from it. If anyone were to find out that Vernon Ryan, the leader of the revolutionists, died in my wine cellar, the Mahakaman dwarves would be seen as the baron’s forces. The balance will be broken. That’s why you must keep this a secret.”

“Of course,” Letho answered. “I will not tarnish the name of the Viper School.”

“You have my word too,” Roy chimed in.

Then Seville gave them a deep bow. “I shall remember what you did for me today. From now on, you’ll be my honored guests. My door is open for you anytime. But let’s put formalities aside. It’s getting late, so why don’t I treat you to lunch?”

“Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Seville, but this is just business. Since you’ve paid us, you owe us nothing anymore.” Letho hadn’t taken the compliment. “Though, we wouldn’t mind a meal.”

***

Seville left them for a while after they’d returned to the great hall. Roy looked at Letho curiously, as if surprised Letho would lie. Letho didn’t do anything at first, but he was angered when Roy wouldn’t take his eyes off him. 

“Is there really a demon in the cellar?” Roy whispered.

Letho’s reply was a look of surprise. “What do you think?”

“Those weren’t the remains of a hym. They were wyvern feces, weren’t they? I’d smelled that for nights. That must’ve been what that was.” Roy was fairly certain that the ‘ashes of the hym’ Letho gave Seville was the same thing he used to chase wild animals away when they were camping in the wilds — wyvern feces.

“Since he wants to get rid of a demon, I created one for him and ‘killed’ it. Gives him peace of mind, and I hold up my end of the deal. He’ll never be at peace if we never ‘kill’ the demon.” Letho paused. “You’ll get it when you’re older. Sometimes, the darkness within someone’s heart is more terrifying than the monsters we hunt. Now that we’ve completed the request, Seville can at least sleep well.” Letho looked up at the illuminated ceiling as he lamented the dwarf’s experience.

Can Seville really sleep after we got rid of that imaginary hym for him? Roy had his misgivings. But Letho’s the experienced one here. He has better judgment than I do. “I have another question. How did you make that hym shadow? I was almost fooled.”

After hearing the question, Letho extended his hands out quietly, his calloused fingers entwining together, and they danced like a butterfly before the candlelight. 

“Letho, you can start a career at the theater whenever you retire from being a witcher.”

***

Seville, Letho, and Roy were having lunch in the great hall. After the threat had been eliminated, Seville finally became more talkative, though he only spoke of his experience in Mahakam and the interesting things there.

The dwarves’ homeland stayed neutral no matter how serious the Northern Wars became. Because of that, they managed to survive for a long period of time.

No matter if it was Aedirn in the east, Temeria in the north, or Nilfgaard in the south, none managed to conquer the Mahakaman dwarves. Aside from wine, Mahakam had their ore. More than half of the ore, foundries, and forges were in Mahakam. They had countless master blacksmiths who produced the best steel and weapons in the north.

Any nation who would dare challenge the autonomy of the dwarves would incur their wrath. That nation would never get any weapons or equipment from Mahakam. That fact alone ensured their prosperity. On a side note, dwarves couldn’t reproduce as fast as humans did, and they would only mature at fifty-five. Since they weren’t enough to conquer, they were fine living in Mahakam.

Dwarves had the best lives amongst non-human races, at least in that era. However, there were also those who’d left their homeland or joined the underground group of Scoia’tael. They’d gotten involved in robberies or worked as bankers, traders, or blacksmiths in human settlements. Even though their own brethren looked down on them, their talents at least provided a good life for them. There was a hint of pride and envy in Seville’s voice at that point. As the dealer for wine, he had far less clout than weapon or ore dealers.

Seville hadn’t stopped talking once he’d gotten into the mood. He would occasionally ask Letho about his life and praise him in an attempt to leave a good impression. It was a good lunch.

“I point my weapons at my enemies, but I toast my friends. Have another drink with me, my friends.” After their meal, Seville came up to them and pretended to hesitate. “I have one other request.”

“You can’t be thinking about us disposing of that corpse for you, can you?” Roy said jokingly. 

But Seville’s eyes lit up. “I expected nothing less from Letho’s assistant. That is what I have in mind.”

What? Dispose of the rebel leader’s corpse? Roy shook his head incessantly without even thinking. Just because we shared a meal doesn’t mean we have to risk our lives for you. 

“I heard that the revolutionists are going to have a protest march this afternoon. They’re going to force the baron to release the guy who died in your barrel,” Roy said. Doing this at this point is suicide.

Seville didn’t give up. He looked at Letho pleadingly, but Letho shrugged after just one moment. “Sorry, but that isn’t what we witchers are great at. Can’t make that money, I’m afraid. You can ask someone else for that. Besides, you’re powerful enough to find a way to get rid of the corpse. We won’t be interfering.”

Seville caressed his beard, looking vexed. “Even though the baron’s army has searched my residence, they might come again. Honestly, the baron’s listed me as someone to be kept under surveillance. His eyes will be on me the moment I leave my residence, and I don’t want anyone else to find out about this secret. I can’t trust anyone but you two.”

“If it’s really that hard, why don’t you just find a spot to burn the corpse?” Roy suggested.

Seville shook his head. “He died because of my oversight. If I defile my friend’s remains, I’ll never find peace. I want to make it up to him by giving him back to the revolutionists. But you can’t let them know I’m related to this.”

“No,” Letho said, refusing him firmly. Sending their leader’s body back to them isn’t an act of charity; it’s an insult. Even if we ignore the dangers along the way, and the revolutionists who can show up whenever they want, how are we supposed to get away once we make the delivery? 

The dwarf stared down in humility, then looked at them expectantly. His gaze sent a chill down Roy’s spine, but Roy brainstormed and came up with a plan.

“Let me think about it. How big is the barrel that contains the corpse?”

Seville told Roy the measurements. He’d known his wine cellar for decades. Seville knew every barrel’s measurement by heart. “Do you have any ideas, Roy?” Even Letho can’t find a way around it. Can this plain, young man do it?

Roy pondered about it in silence. Thanks to his knowledge of maths from his past life, he managed to calculate the barrel’s size. It could fit in his inventory space, albeit barely. However, he wasn’t sure if it was fine to intervene, so he glanced at Letho, and the witcher shook his head. 

“Sorry, Mr. Seville. I can’t do it.”

Seville was crestfallen. “Very well, then. I won’t impose myself further. But if you have a change of heart, you’re welcome here anytime. If you can help me with this matter, you shall be my sworn friends for life.”

***

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