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TWL Chapter 493: Beneath the Belleteyn Flames
🕑 Added 2025-07-15 19:49:33 +0000 UTCEach school of witchers would form their own apprentice teams; sorcerer trainees would be included as auxiliary members; and official witchers would serve as unified squad leaders. This new system completely dispelled the concerns Vesemir and the others had raised earlier.
Had this kind of unconventional structure been proposed by anyone else, the witchers might have had serious reservations. But since it was Lann who suggested it, no one voiced a single objection.
Kolgrim even had time to crack a joke. “I wonder which teams will get the female trainees—won’t that stir up trouble in the ranks?”
Lann shot him a look. “Would you rather we assign you the male students from Ban Ard?”
“No, thank you.”
“I knew it. You just want to take advantage of the situation.”
The 'trainees' from the sorcerer academies were not the same as the witcher apprentices, most of whom were barely into their teens. Sorcerer trainees had often spent ten, twenty, even more years studying in their academies—only appearing young thanks to magic.
In terms of actual age, more than a few of them were old enough to be the witcher apprentices’ grandmothers.
Incidentally, the male trainees in Cintra these days were typically younger. Aretuza had always been strict with its admissions and rigorous in its evaluations. In contrast, Ban Ard produced plenty of underqualified graduates—and quite a few dropouts.
Lann chuckled. “This batch of trainees was sent out in a rush for ‘stabilizing the Northern situation’ through field experience. Once they’ve grown, I plan to continue using this model—organizing trainee teams to be stationed across different national regions, completing one year of witcher contracts as their Trial of the Mountains assessment.”
The gathered witchers all nodded. “If this system proves effective, we’re fine with adopting it permanently.”
Lambert suddenly asked, “So how do the Northern kingdoms currently view witchers?”
While witchers were treated well in Cintra, most hadn’t ventured far beyond its borders in recent years. Still, everyone present had roamed the North at some point—and had all faced hostility in the past.
“I already discussed that with them back at the Cintra Conference,” Lann said calmly. “Witchers who operate outside Cintra do so as independent parties, without any political affiliation.”
“However, each kingdom is required to offer witchers the honors and accommodations befitting a ‘knight.’ If we encounter the kind of treatment we used to face, Cintra will intervene—and so will I. And those regions will be permanently excluded from receiving any witcher support in the future.”
“At first, some kings didn’t take it seriously,” Lann said with a faint smile. “But three years have passed since then…”
“Now, many of them are urging us to send witchers to their lands as soon as possible. Some have even started building Witcher Outposts in smaller towns—convinced that I’ve been deliberately keeping these trainees from being deployed.”
Vesemir shook his head. “They have no idea how difficult witcher training really is. It’s only been three years.”
Geralt smiled. “Still, these new trainees will have a much easier time than we did.”
“They may not be tempered by the same trials we endured,” Keldar added, looking up wistfully, “but isn’t that precisely why we’ve worked so hard to revive the schools and rebuild the Order?”
The witchers all smiled faintly.
They went over the proposal one more time—then passed it with unanimous approval.
They soon began handling the final training wrap-up, drafting plans, and organizing lists. Coordination with the sorcerers for the upcoming Trials of the Grasses and the Trial of Dreams also had to be arranged.
“By the way, Lann,” Letho suddenly asked, “how are those Griffin School apprentices you've been hiding coming along? They started trying to ride griffins last year, right? Are they able to fight in the air now?”
“‘Hiding’? Please.” Lann shook his head with a smile. “But yes, they did start training on griffin-back last year…”
Time passed quietly.
With business concluded, it was a rare chance for all the witchers to be gathered in one place—naturally, the conversation turned to personal updates.
They chatted about amusing incidents during training and the strange new monsters that had appeared due to the recent Conjunction of the Spheres.
Kiyan boasted about a new stage play in Novigrad based on his life. Lambert, of course, took things downhill with a crude retelling of Eskel’s fling with a succubus, which somehow segued into a rating of the latest entertainment venues opened in Cintra…
The jug of wine on the table was soon emptied.
Just as Kolgrim slapped his chest and called for Auckes and Serrit to help him haul over another barrel, a crisp knock-knock sounded from outside the meeting room.
The doors were flung open, and a slender yet strikingly confident figure stormed in like a whirlwind.
Ciri swept the room with a smile, greeting each of them one by one. But the smile quickly faded. By the time her gaze landed on Lann, her face had hardened into a glare.
Lambert gave a wicked grin and stood, clearly ready to say something—
“If you so much as utter the words ‘Your Majesty the Queen,’ I’ll have every tavern in Cintra ban you for life,” Ciri cut him off coldly.
Lambert’s smirk froze. He looked helplessly at Geralt.
The White Wolf simply raised both hands and gave a look that said, Don't look at me, I can't stop her either.
…
Hands on her hips, Ciri now stood tall—
She had grown taller than both Yennefer and Triss by nearly half a palm. Her limbs were lithe yet well-toned, with a grace sharpened by years of sword practice. She still refused to wear dresses, preferring tight-fitting leather armor that hugged her form. The old butler never failed to add tasteful embellishments, of course.
Life in the palace hadn't dulled her edge. Though she still trained diligently and occasionally participated in real combat, the caretakers and sorcerers fussed endlessly over her appearance, using every nourishing balm and magical skin treatment available. The skin left uncovered by her armor was now smooth and luminous like silk.
Whenever Yennefer or Enns looked at her, they seemed as satisfied as artists admiring a finished masterpiece.
She still wore the wolf medallion over her chest, and in private, she felt far more like a free-spirited young she-wolf than the dignified Lioness of Cintra.
Now, she was staring Lann down with those vivid green eyes, radiating a distinctly lupine intensity.
“Uhm… I…” Even Lann stammered. “Did I… miss something again?”
Ciri tilted her head, signaling him to check his notebook.
Lann flipped it open—
“Shit!” he blurted.
“Exactly.” Ciri’s expression was flat. “You were supposed to try on your wedding suit. An hour ago.”
...
May 1st, 1269 — a day of great significance for Cintra.
Every year on this day, the people celebrated the traditional Belleteyn Festival. On the evening of April 31st, fir logs were burned in great bonfires, and the young were encouraged to dance by the flames to improve their fortune and mark the ancient cycle of nature's renewal. The revelry would last until dawn the next day.
It also happened to be the birthday of Queen Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon of Cintra.
But this year, there was no wild celebration.
Instead, the people of Cintra were busy preparing for a brand new festivity, full of energy and anticipation.
After today, May 1st would take on a new meaning for all of Cintra.
“Nervous?” Eist asked, adjusting the clasp of Lann’s cloak, carefully straightening the little golden lion-shaped pin.
“It’s hard to say I’m not, dear uncle,” Lann replied, staring at his reflection, his face stiff with tension.
The young man in the mirror stood a full head taller than the King of the Isles beside him. His tall, upright frame filled out the red-and-black formal robes, muscles firm and sleek beneath the fabric—like a silent lion.
His shoulder-length golden hair had been neatly combed and tied back. The old butler first brought out a gold headband inlaid with red agate, tried it on him, then shook his head and muttered “too gaudy” before calling for his grandson Hardy to bring scented oil and incense instead.
The preparations were lively and bustling.
“Nerves are a good sign,” Eist nodded solemnly. “After all, starting today, you’ll be the King of Cintra.”
Lann glanced sideways at Eist’s reflection in the mirror, his eyes half-lidded. That earned a hearty laugh from the older man.
“All right, all right, I’ll stop teasing. It’s just that seeing you like this is rare.” The former King of Cintra shook his head, amused.
Lann drew in a deep breath. Eist’s humor had, in fact, helped him relax a little.
“You really won’t consider standing behind me during the vows?” Lann asked after a moment’s thought. “I’d like it if you were the one to hand me the bridal cloak.”
Eist smiled and shook his head. “Geralt will relish playing the elder’s role. And the bards—they prefer to sing of fates intertwined.”
Seeing Lann’s tension creep back into his expression, Eist sighed softly. “Besides, I’m King of Skellige now. It wouldn’t be proper for me to stand behind you on an occasion like this... Though truth be told, I’d rather bear witness from the crowd below.”
As he spoke, he gently touched the ring on his fourth finger—one he had never removed. The look in his eyes as he regarded Lann carried a quiet weight of sentiment.
The butlers and ceremonial officers continued their work with precision and order.
[Dong—dong—dong—dong—]
The first solemn strokes of the bell rang out from outside—eleven chimes in total. More and more people were gathering around the royal palace, their excitement so loud that Lann could hear it even from inside.
He knew—this was the moment.
Enns stepped aside, allowing Eist to give Lann one final inspection.
“Go now. My beloved and I will be watching you—blessing you both.”
