The Divine Hunter
chapter-58

“Put your back into it. Yeah, that’s the spot.”

Roy sat in the bath, getting massaged gently by the stuttering dwarf, Barney.

Barney was smiling sycophantically as he massaged Roy. “H-how does t-that feel now?”

“Not bad. You can probably start a career as a professional masseur here.”

“W-what about my d-debt then?”

“Later. You’re not going to run away from it.”

Barney wiped his sweat off. Never in his life had he seen someone play Gwent like Roy had. The boy would always come up with the most surprising tactics every time, catching his opponent off guard. Even Dave, one of the top ten players in Mount Carbon, lost ten rounds, giving Roy the first win.

Barney didn’t believe that was happening, and he wanted to take revenge. But he was too stupid to play, and after his continuous losses, Barney had racked up a debt that amounted to thirty crowns. That was his salary for the whole month.

Reagan was in the bath beside Barney, and he shivered after overhearing the conversation, feeling insulted. “Don’t look down on us, boy. Barney’s not a deadbeat. We might be a grumpy bunch, but we have something humans don’t — hot looks, manliness, loyalty, and integrity! Okay, that’s technically four things, but that’s not the point! Point is, anyone who tries to be a deadbeat will live their lives in shame!”

Roy nodded in approval. He’d heard of the Mahakaman dwarves’ loyalty. Even though they loved their crowns, they wouldn’t abandon their friends, and they held their promises. Zoltan Chivay was a prime example of how a dwarf would risk his life for his friends. And thanks to their integrity, dwarves ran a lot of good businesses. Cianfanelli, Giancardi, and Vivaldi were the top dwarven families in the banking world. All the biggest cities like Vizima, Beauclair, Vengerberg, Novigrad, Dragon Mountains, and even Blue Mountain, had their banks. They had business in almost every city in the north.

It was because of that Roy went along with the rules. If his opponents were either human or elf, he’d be denied his winnings in the same circumstances.

“You won the first match, Roy. Do you have the guts to continue this in the archery range?”

“Is that a challenge I hear? I accept it. It’s still early anyway.” Roy had always wanted to see a dwarven crossbowman in action. They changed into their clothes, but before they left, Roy stopped Barney. “Barney, I can waive this debt if you do me a favor.”

“I-I’ll do it!” Barney was obviously excited about the opportunity. Thirty crowns was a big amount for him.

“Stay here and tell everyone who comes to go to the archery range. Remember this.”

Barney wondered why Roy would make that request, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he agreed to it readily.

***

They went out of the bathhouse, walked across the plaza, and journeyed to the range behind the main fortress. Suddenly, Roy had a feeling he was being watched, and he frowned. But when he looked behind him, nobody was there.

It was already morning, and dwarves were already going about their business. The males were wearing thick, dirty coats and holding their mining implements as they went to the mine outside. The females were holding gigantic containers on their heads, going to and from the marketplace in the plaza’s corner.

Not every dwarf had a long beard. Most of the males were bushy, and less than twenty percent of the females were as hairy as the males. Some looked decent, but they were still stout nonetheless. Not my type.

“Reagan, if I’m right, working in the mountains isn’t very lucrative, is it?” He thought all the dwarves would be filthy rich, since they had a treasure trove beneath their feet, but the Gwent matches told him otherwise.

“Exactly,” Reagan answered without fear. “Most dwarves only make around sixty crowns a month. Wine and gear maintenance takes a cut, and we’re left with not much money to spend.”

“What about the dwellings? Are they expensive?” Roy cast his gaze to the caves. “How long do you have to save up for one?”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” Reagan replied proudly. “We don’t have to spend a crown on our caves. The elders give every adult dwarf a cave free of charge, but it’ll be taken back if the owner leaves the mountain without permission.”

Roy was envious of it. The elders go to great lengths to preserve the population, huh? “Are there many dwarves who try to make a living in the outside world then?”

“No, but there are some who do it every year.”

Eventually, they arrived at the fighting plaza. It was a fenced space, albeit a gigantic one, and it was divided into a few parts. At the end of the plaza was the archery range, and there were targets carved into humanoid shapes. There was also a weapons training center filled with racks of weapons, as well as a fenced ring used for close combat matches.

There were twenty dwarves occupying a certain training center, engaging themselves in their daily practice. They were wearing padded armor and swung their weapons as per the instructor’s order. The dwarves might’ve been stout, but they swung the two-handed weapons like they were feathers, and Roy could see that the strength was not to be underestimated. They were like moving fortresses, for their armor could block any arrows, and the heavy weapons turned their weakness into a strength. If they were to engage in close quarter combat, Roy would lose in a matter of seconds. His combat abilities were shit.

Roy didn’t have many things to rely on in combat. His best bet was long-range shooting with his crossbow, but even though his accuracy was bolstered by Perception, his shots weren’t powerful enough, and that was including Massacre and Crossbow Mastery’s increased damage.

If he shot anywhere else aside from his enemy’s face, the damage he dealt would be negligible. His effective range was also a weakness. In most cases, he could make perfect shots within a one hundred-feet range, but if his enemy was outside that range, the wind would affect his shot too much.

He needed training, and Reagan, whose Crossbow Mastery was Level 5, was the perfect example to learn from. The targets in the archery range were placed at different distances. Once everyone had come in, Reagan raised his hand to feel the air for a moment.

This guy checks the wind’s speed and direction with the hairs on his hand?

“Archery’s best done on breezy days, or one without wind. Come, my friend. Show me what you got. I want to see if your archery skills are as great as a witcher’s sword fighting.”

Reagan borrowed two identical crossbows and tossed one to Roy, while he held the other one.

“You’re young, and your hands aren’t that calloused. I can see it hasn’t been long since you’ve started training. There’ll be no time limit, then.” Reagan puffed out his chest confidently. “We’ll start with the target thirty feet away, and then you’ll move to the right for the next one, but the distance will increase. We get ten shots each, and the one who manages to land the most shots wins. Deal?”

Roy hesitated, and he nodded. “I’ll go first.”

“Do as you wish.”

The crossbow and bolts Reagan handed him were made to dwarven standards. The bow was four feet long, a lot bigger than Roy’s Gabriel, and it was heavier too. The crossbow was made of pine wood, and it was a deep brown due to repeated usage. The draw weight was sixty pounds, making it slightly difficult for Roy to reload the crossbow.

Roy started with the target thirty feet away. He held the crossbow with his left hand, his right index finger docked on the trigger, and he took a standing stance. Roy took a deep breath, then raised his crossbow, aiming at the target using his right eye. Then he heaved a sigh, and in that split second, the crossbow had just been lowered to eye level, and he fired his shot.

The bolt pierced through the air and slammed into the target thirty feet away, embedding itself deeply into the bullseye thanks to the crossbow’s strength. Reagan didn’t look surprised, while Roy heaved a sigh. He swung his slightly numb arm and prepared for the second shot. After that, he kept on shooting, and he hit the bullseye for the sixty-feet, ninety-feet, and the hundred-and-twenty-feet target.

The continuous shooting was taking a toll on Roy’s forearm and legs. Since the crossbow was much heavier than the one he normally practiced with, he wasn’t used to it. He never had a chance to compete with someone during his training, and when he finally got the chance, his opponent was Reagan. That had lit the flames within him, but the next few shots had doused it out.

He was slightly off-target for the one hundred-fifty-feet target, and more so for the following one. The next one was even worse, and he was almost out at the eighth target. He missed the shot for the ninth target, and the same thing happened for the tenth. Sweat was trickling down his cheek when he was done, and he looked despondent because of his missed shots.

“Alright, that’s it. Your accuracy isn’t bad, and your pose is standard. You’ve received some formal training, but it hasn’t been for too long. I have some advice for you.”

“Just what I wanted.”

Reagan seemed to change into another dwarf when he held the crossbow. He hunched his back slightly and squatted a bit, his gaze sharp. He quickly took out a light bolt from his quiver and loaded his crossbow, and then he fired his shot. His movements were swift and clean, without a single unnecessary move in between.

Roy kept quiet since he realized Reagan was at least twice as fast as him during the reload. Reagan’s standing position looked similar to Roy’s but upon closer inspection, there were a few differences.

Pay attention to the crossbow. Reagan leaned forward and aimed. Roy took a step back to observe the dwarf and the crossbow.

Three quarters. The crossbow was positioned between the dwarf’s collarbone and neck, around the three quarter mark of his body. That was different from Roy’s positioning, and Reagan adjusted his stance to one that fit better with his style. Roy couldn’t make those adjustments at his level.

Reagan was fast and stable, and he easily fired three shots that hit the bullseye. “Do you have your own crossbow?”

“I do.”

“I don’t see it on you,” he grumbled before pulling the trigger and hitting the bullseye of the two-hundred-ten-feet target. “A good crossbowman keeps his crossbow at his side at all times, even when he’s eating or sleeping.” A bit of tenderness welled up in his eyes, as if he were reminded of his lover, but even so, that didn’t affect his shot. “You have to build up rapport with it, knowing its every nook and cranny. You need to know every inch of it even with your eyes closed. The more you know, the faster you can be in battle.”

Reagan was almost whispering, and he kept on shooting with incredible speed. Roy almost couldn’t see him aiming, and Reagan had already shot all the shots. All of them hit the bullseye, making Reagan the undisputed winner.

Roy had no arguments about that. Reagan’s Perception was on the same level as his, so Reagan couldn’t see the targets clearer, but his control over the crossbow was vastly superior.

“You have to take care of your crossbow like it’s your arm. A good weapon is a crossbowman’s most important thing. Take good care of it.” Reagan took a bottle of grease and rubbed the contents on every inch of the crossbow.

“In most cases, a Mahakaman crossbow can last you a few years, but there’s one condition. You must keep up its maintenance for every hundred shots you fire. Don’t misfire or take too long to reload. It’ll cause unnecessary damage and shorten its lifespan. If you don’t maintain it, it’ll cost you your life if it breaks on the battlefield.”

Roy took that advice to heart. No wonder Letho does that to his weapons after every battle. I didn’t pay any attention to it before, but now I will. Reagan’s advice benefited him a lot. If Crossbow Mastery had an EXP bar, Roy could probably level it up a lot after listening to Reagan.

Roy was reminded of the fact that he never maintained his own crossbow, so he asked for a bottle of maintenance oil from Reagan.

“And now we’re even.” Reagan laughed, his depression from the Gwent loss erased. “I can’t wait for the wine battle. Elder Brovar said you can have all you can drink, yes?”

Roy nodded in amusement. Ah, so he’s going for the free booze.

Drew and Dave huddled closer, almost drooling, for wine was one of the things they loved the most.

“Why don’t we hold the third match tomorrow morning? We have to stand sentry from noon to dawn.”

Roy agreed readily. “Sure. Meet up at the bathhouse.” He thought it was a bargain to make some friends with free wine.

“Magnificent! I’m starting to like you, boy! Don’t forget to maintain my ‘baby’ when you go back. I’ll kick your arse if you scratch it! Alright, boys! Let’s get back to the bathhouse to get that dumbass, Barney.”