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TWL Chapter 476: When Thrones Tremble
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 21:28:12 +0000 UTCLann let out a long breath. With this, the four major Northern kingdoms had, more or less, all been drawn into his camp. Temeria would becom
Lann let out a long breath. With this, the four major Northern kingdoms had, more or less, all been drawn into his camp.
Temeria would become the realm of his future child. Redania was being gradually overtaken by Chappelle, and Kaedwen falling under Saskia’s control was only a matter of time...
Looking at it that way, it was Aedirn—despite being an ally during the war between North and South—that now seemed the most distant?
He’d wait and see. If they chose to oppose him later, he’d simply have Saskia march south.
After all, Demavend was a tyrant. Raising a rebel army there would be no trouble at all.
As for the remaining states beyond the four major powers, only the United Kingdom of Lyria and Rivia was of any real note—and Queen Meve had long since become one of his own.
Lann thought for a moment, then asked, “After the representatives of each country returned home with the news from Thanedd Island, what’s the latest response?”
Enns adjusted his notebook again, his face breaking into an uncontrollable smile.
“The appearance of the Wild Hunt is too mythical—most people simply don’t believe it. And since you’ve deliberately suppressed that part of the story…”
“What everyone knows,” he continued smoothly, “is that the traitor Vilgefortz led southern mages in a surprise attack on the Brotherhood during the Thanedd Island summit—trying to massacre the Northern dignitaries gathered there. But in the end, it was you who stopped them. That’s the accepted truth.”
Enns recited it like a well-rehearsed tale: “The Thanedd Island Incident, the death of King Henselt, the assassination of Vizimir II—all three events have now been pinned squarely on Nilfgaard. Right now, panic is spreading through every Northern throne, and the call to resist Nilfgaard has reached a fever pitch!”
In the past, such a moment would typically unfold in one of two ways:
—Either one of the four great kings would issue a summons, calling the others to convene—just like the initial Northern Summit;
—Or the neutral Brotherhood of Sorcerers would take the initiative, leveraging their ties to royal courts to organize a new meeting.
But now, half of the four great kings were dead, and their authority in tatters.
The Brotherhood, meanwhile, had completely collapsed—and had only just been coaxed into Cintra by Lann, far from properly reestablished.
Even if they tried to call a summit now, it would be nearly impossible to bring everyone together again.
After all, Nilfgaard’s assassins could strike from anywhere, at any time.
In such a climate, the eyes of every kingdom—big or small—had turned toward one figure.
“Lann, what are you planning to do?” asked Mousesack, his expression full of anticipation, as if envisioning a grand spectacle.
Lann ran his fingers across the surface of the desk in front of him. Several letters lay scattered across it, each stamped with the seal of a different royal house—each word within earnest, urgent, and pleading.
Fingertips tapped lightly against the desk. Lann let out a deep sigh.
“Right now, every kingdom is gripped by fear,” he said. “Looking across the North, it seems that only Cintra still has the strength to shoulder this burden.”
His expression was solemn, his eyes filled with righteous resolve and concern for the realm.
Ciri couldn’t help letting out a quiet snort of laughter.
Lann cast a glance at the young girl. “And who do you think I’ve been working so hard for, Your Majesty?”
Then, with a sweep of his hand, he gave the order: “Enns, draft letters to the kings of every Northern realm in my name. We will condemn Nilfgaard in the strongest possible terms for their vile actions, and we will express our mourning for the fallen monarchs. At the same time, to protest Nilfgaard’s aggression, we must bare our blades!”
“In times like these, no kingdom, no duchy, no town or village in the North can stand aside. The strength of the North must be unified!”
“I will host a summit here in Cintra—we’ll take responsibility for the safety of all participants. This letter is to serve as a formal invitation.” Lann lifted his chin slightly. “I want every king of the Northern Realms to attend. Not a single one is to be absent.”
Enns’s face flushed with excitement. “As you will, young master.”
“However,” Lann added, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “Cintra’s location is... inconvenient.”
The earlier Four-King Summit had taken place in the Valley of Pontar, where the four realms intersected—saving time and ensuring security.
But Cintra lay at the southernmost edge of the North. Just reaching it would take considerable time. For older or ailing rulers, the journey itself might prove fatal.
“Go speak with Tissaia. Ask the sorcerers to handle message delivery—and later, have them assist in transporting the kings themselves.”
“As you command, young master.”
“Choose a suitable date, then have the scribes begin copying the letters.”
“You only need to dictate. There’s no need for you to write them out yourself,” Lann said, suddenly glancing at the old steward. “Don’t overwork yourself… You can afford to rest a little more now.”
Enns froze, surprised by the sincerity in Lann’s eyes.
After a long moment, he smiled softly. “As you wish, young master.”
…
Once everyone had left, Lann returned to his seat.
He didn’t reach for the stack of documents on the desk. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused—sensing something unseen.
Ciri propped her chin in her hand, watching him curiously.
She knew that Lann possessed several Elder Blood abilities she herself had yet to master—among them, one he called [Teleport].
This power allowed him to place a mark on another person’s body, enabling him to summon the marked individual to his side at any time—or, conversely, to teleport himself directly to them.
And according to Lann, during the events on Thanedd Island, he had successfully placed one such mark… on the leader of the Wild Hunt.
By now, that guy should have returned to his stronghold—shouldn't he?
A string of bright emerald glows flickered over Lann’s body.
Ciri stared at him, dazed, her face taut with tension. There was a faint shimmer in her eyes as well.
After quite a while, just as Lann exhaled and withdrew from his state of attuning to the mark, Ciri snapped out of her trance.
“Well? Lann, any results?”
Meeting her expectant gaze, Lann gave a nod—then slowly shook his head.
The nod was because he could still sense the [Teleport] mark on Eredin—it hadn’t vanished.
The shake of the head, however, meant that he had failed to pinpoint its exact location. He couldn’t even activate it himself.
This was a first.
And Lann had a fairly clear idea of what that meant—Eredin was no longer in this world.
The spatial energy contained within [Teleport] only worked on targets in the same world as Lann. To exert force across worlds, he would need something else—
Lann glanced at the system panel, at a power he had only activated once. On the Elder Blood interface, aside from [Blink] and [Teleport], there was a third skill: [Dimension Travel]
He had used this ability only twice—once actively, once passively—and neither attempt had ended well.
The first time was right after he had unlocked the Elder Blood. Countless other worlds had opened up before him, each one baring its fangs. If the Mirror Master hadn’t intervened, Lann would have been torn apart on the spot.
The second time had been a passive trigger, while Lann was within the Elemental Circle of Kaer Morhen. As he was resonating with the elemental forces there to strengthen his Signs, [Dimensional Travel] had activated, pulling him into the Elemental Planes. The outcome: he was immediately discovered by the rulers of the four elemental realms and nearly slain by those elemental spirits.
Once again, the Mirror Master had saved him.
Lann buried his face in his hands. Looking back on it all now, he felt like he owed the Mirror Master quite a few favors…
That guy was probably waiting out there in the beyond, biding his time until Lann was finally strong enough to stride freely between dimensions. Honestly… Lann wasn’t too eager to run into him again.
Back on track—although the first two uses of [Dimensional Travel] hadn’t exactly been pleasant, they did offer Lann some insight for overcoming his current dilemma.
The first time didn’t count. At the moment, Lann had barely reached the threshold of "invincible in this world," but he was still nowhere near capable of choosing his destination and stepping through dimensions at will.
The second time, though, was much more instructive: if he had been able to enter the Elemental Plane through the Elemental Circle before, then maybe… just maybe…
Could he now find a similar place on the Continent—somewhere linked to the Wild Hunt—that could lead him to the Land of the Aen Elle, where the Hunt resided?
This wasn’t an unfounded guess. Lann clearly remembered that in the original narrative, Ciri had once accidentally arrived in the Land of the Aen Elle through an uncontrolled activation of the Elder Blood—and had nearly been forced to bear a child for King Auberon.
Where exactly had Ciri been when that crossing occurred?
Lann fell into deep thought, trying hard to search his memory.
After a long moment, his eyes suddenly lit up.
“Enns!”
The old steward appeared before Lann in an instant at his call.
“Young Master?”
“Has the date for the Cintra Conference been confirmed? Roughly how long before the kings of each nation arrive?”
“In ten days, Young Master,” Enns replied with a gentle smile. “Would you like me to prepare a speech draft for you?”
Lann thought for a moment. “That won’t be necessary. I’m heading out for a while, though, so you’ll need to oversee the venue selection and setup.”
The old steward nodded. He was already used to Lann dashing off to all kinds of places. Still, he could tell that if Lann was going out now, it had to be something important. He didn’t complain—instead, a trace of concern arose in him.
“Where are you going?”
“Novigrad,” Lann answered.
