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TWL Chapter 478: Too Late for Excuses
🕑 Added 2025-07-06 03:55:58 +0000 UTCWith the appearance of the three women, the candlelight atop the mountain grew more intense. At the same time, fervent and anxious prayers r
With the appearance of the three women, the candlelight atop the mountain grew more intense. At the same time, fervent and anxious prayers rose from the foot of the mountain. Listening closely, the voices carried the accent of the Temeria region, and the content seemed to be pleading for food and protection.
Faintly interwoven within the prayers were the cries of frightened, struggling children.
As the prayers and cries echoed upward, the scraps of cloth and leaves barely covering the women’s bodies scattered into the wind. The Wild Hunt commander, the one wielding the massive hammer and shield, also began to remove his armor. The four figures gradually twisted together into a single, writhing mass…
—Hm?
Lann's eyes narrowed. As he watched, something long-buried stirred within his memory. He could now guess where this dream scene was taking place.
Though the way it was being presented… left quite a bitter taste.
Before Lann could let the disdain show in his expression, he suddenly felt his consciousness lighten—his vision veiled as if by a thin gauze.
Everything before him turned to a blinding white. When his surroundings cleared once more, the mountain summit remained—but the Wild Hunt, the women, and the sounds of prayer were all gone.
A new scene unfolded before him.
Lann’s gaze grew solemn, for in this new vision, he saw himself.
It was him, wearing a crown. Beside him stood Ciri, her hair a pale, milky white. They stood hand in hand, eyes closed, concentrating with great effort on something unseen. Gradually, their bodies began to emit a bright, emerald green glow.
But what truly made Lann's expression shift wasn't the sight of himself and Ciri.
At their side bloomed a silver iris, and beside it stood a young oak sapling—with three distinct branches.
As Lann and Ciri activated their powers, both the flower and the tree lit up as well, radiating the same glow that only the Elder Blood could produce.
The light from the two of them, the flower, and the tree fused together into one—then surged skyward, tearing open a vast portal high in the air. From above, it began to descend and engulf everything within sight.
...
“Hsshh!” Lann gasped, bolting upright in bed as if jolted from a nightmare.
[Crack!]
With a sharp snap, the wooden knitting needle in Corinne’s hands suddenly shattered. The splinters sliced across her hand, leaving a thin cut. Her entire demeanor visibly deflated, and cold sweat streamed down her pale face.
“Duke Lannister?” Corinne ignored her injury and looked urgently at Lann, who was still panting heavily. “Are you all right?”
Lann quickly steadied his breath, pulling his consciousness and clarity back under control.
“I’m fine,” he said gently. “I managed to obtain the information I wanted from my dream.”
He looked at her with calm sincerity.
“Thank you very much for your help.”
Corinne let out a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to her chest, which was still heaving from tension.
“Please don’t say that. It’s my honor to be of service to you.”
Lann waved his hand.
“Let me be alone for a moment. I need to calm myself.”
He was still recalling the information from the dream.
This dream had unfolded in two distinct parts.
The first half was straightforward. It had provided exactly what he needed—a 'spatial node capable of linking to the world of Aen Ellen'.
Though it wasn’t the Swallow Tower from historical records, where Ciri had once stumbled upon such a portal by accident, it wasn’t far off from what he had expected either.
That mountaintop location would be easy to find—it was in Velen, a region of Temeria.
If memory served, that place was currently occupied by the three women who had just appeared in his dream, twisted together with the Wild Hunt.
They were the Crones known as the Ladies of the Wood—three sisters, monsters masquerading as forest deities, using faith to feed their gluttonous desires.
He had even recommended that King Foltest lead an expedition against them. He wondered how that effort was progressing.
If they hadn’t succeeded yet, perhaps he could lend Foltest a hand now.
The first half of the dream had been easy to interpret.
The second half, however, was far more intriguing.
From what he saw in the dream, he had apparently enlisted Ciri’s help to open a portal.
That, upon reflection, made sense. If he intended to launch an assault against the Aen Elle elves, he would need to bring an army.
But he clearly couldn’t sustain the mana cost of such a large-scale portal alone. He would need another bearer of Elder Blood to help channel the power of time and space.
The problem was… it wasn’t just him and Ciri wielding Elder Blood.
Lann took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down once again.
There were some things you couldn’t simply deny by avoiding them.
First of all, dreams carried intent.
The silver iris and the oak must be symbolic representations of real people in the waking world. But perhaps he had never seen them before—thus, unlike with Ciri, his mind had no concrete image to attach to them, and had to express them in this symbolic, ambiguous way.
At present, only he and Ciri were known to possess Elder Blood.
Any newly emerged bearer could only be a descendant of one of them.
Ciri was out of the question for now.
That left only him.
The silver iris was easy to guess. Temeria’s royal emblem was just that—a silver iris.
It was likely his child with Adda—a new inheritor of Elder Blood.
As for the oak…
...
“Duke Lannister?”
Dreamseer Corinne looked at Lann with concern as his expression shifted rapidly, worried that the Lion of Cintra might have suffered some mishap under her spell.
Lann exhaled deeply, organizing his thoughts and plans.
“I’m all right,” he said, shaking his head. “Corinne, have you ever met a Cat School witcher named Kiyan? He’s my representative in Novigrad—you may recall he invited you to Cintra some time ago.”
“Ah!” Corinne let out a startled gasp. “I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t know… I thought he was some kind of scammer…”
Lann gave a small shake of his head.
Even though Kiyan was bound to him as a retainer, that didn’t mean the witcher had become a mindless automaton. Being of the Cat School, his approach to things often lacked the finesse required for delicate tasks like this.
“I understand. Kiyan’s methods can be a little… unorthodox,” Lann said with a light chuckle. “That’s why I’d like to extend the invitation to you again. Lady Corinne, would you be willing to settle in Cintra?”
The outcome, naturally, required no elaboration.
Unlike witchers, Dreamseers weren’t rootless wanderers. Corinne had property and assets to manage. Lann handed her his personal seal, so that when she was ready, she could use the portal in Novigrad to travel directly to Cintra, where she would be properly accommodated.
As for Lann himself—he could no longer justify the delay.
After the battle on Thanedd Island, he had already confirmed it: he had a child, somewhere in Brokilon. And now, with the Wild Hunt severely weakened by his recent assault, the major threat had been neutralized. There were no more excuses. He had told himself there would be time—after the war, after the next step, after the next crisis.
But the truth was simpler, and far more human.
He had hesitated.
Not out of strategy, but out of fear. Because deep down, he was still the same transmigrant who had arrived in this world too young, too unready, never imagining that fatherhood would be part of his fate. He didn’t know what kind of parent he could—or should—be. He didn’t even know if his child was a boy or a girl.
And with dryads, things were more complicated still. He knew their ways. Women like Ellie didn’t form deep emotional attachments to men—least of all to the fathers of their children. Even familial bonds among dryads were shaped by a different logic. Detached. Functional. Foreign to human sensibilities.
But none of that changed the one thing that now burned clearly in his heart:
The child was his.
And it was time.
With firm resolve, Lann cast Teleport.
His destination: Brokilon City.
...
A glimmer of bright emerald light lit up the mayor’s office. Levin, who had been sorting paperwork with his secretary, froze.
He was all too familiar with that glow. Instantly, he stood up, bowed, and prepared himself.
As the light faded, it revealed a familiar, imposing figure.
Levin offered a heartfelt greeting.
“Your Grace!”
Despite his respectful tone, Levin couldn’t help the flicker of unease that crept into his thoughts. Why had the Duke arrived in Brokilon without any notice? Had he made some mistake he hadn’t even realized yet?
Lann waved a hand.
“I asked you to keep a close eye on the dryads’ activities, didn’t I? Have you gathered anything useful lately?”
Levin’s worries were instantly dispelled.
“Yes!” he answered without hesitation.
He strode quickly to a massive filing cabinet, yanked it open—and inside was a stack of documents taller than a man.
“My lord, these are all of them!”
From that alone, it was clear that Levin had taken his orders very seriously—meticulous, thorough, and tireless in execution.
Lann looked at the towering stack of files and rubbed his brow.
“Among these… is there anything about the younger generation of dryads? Specifically anything related to the sisters—Eithné and Ellie?”
“Yes. We do.” Levin answered seriously.
