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TWL Chapter 472: From Prey to Predator
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 19:25:55 +0000 UTC“Francesca is dead. The Aen Seidhe need a new leader.” Eredin swallowed hard. “My Red Riders… they were completely wiped out. I’m the only o
“Francesca is dead. The Aen Seidhe need a new leader.”
Eredin swallowed hard. “My Red Riders… they were completely wiped out. I’m the only one who made it back.”
“The Child of the Elder Blood… the blood in his veins has awakened to a terrifying extent. He’s just a human—but he did it…”
It wasn’t just Avallac'h—behind him, the elven knights had started to stir restlessly at Eredin’s words. The sage immediately sensed the danger: the leader of the Wild Hunt had lost his composure.
So Avallac'h cut him off at once. A shimmer of magical light condensed and flashed—and in the next instant, he had teleported from his saddle to Eredin’s side.
“You shouldn’t speak of this here. The soldiers mustn’t hear such news… I’ll take you to the Auberon King immediately. You still have a moment to revise your battle report.”
With a sharp whistle from the elven sage, a knight dismounted at once to help Eredin remove his armor and examine his injuries. Once they confirmed there was no imminent danger, Eredin was helped onto a horse and rushed toward the palace.
Throughout the entire process, Eredin remained dazed—his mind replaying the battle he had just endured.
The fear he had barely managed to suppress surged back again—an emotion he hadn’t felt in centuries.
Suddenly, he shivered once more, involuntarily, as the image returned—that sword stroke cleaving through everything in its path. Francesca’s barrier had shattered like glass, and she died right before his eyes.
And yet, in the depths of his thoughts, Eredin couldn’t shake the feeling that the one called Lannister, the Child of the Elder Blood, had held back.
Because after killing Francesca, he hadn’t pressed the attack. Instead, he had spoken a single sentence to him.
“Aen Elle, go home and tell your King Auberon to be ready.”
Eredin still remembered those dark golden, lion-like eyes.
“The age of tracking and hunting the Elder Blood is over. From this day on, it’s the Elder Blood that will hunt you.”
What did that mean?
Eredin reached for his chest suddenly. The bandaged wound there throbbed faintly with pain.
But he didn’t know. The knight who had treated him didn’t know. Not even the elven sage Avallac'h knew:
—deep within that wound, a mark had been etched that no one had detected.
A faint emerald glow flickered once... then went still, falling into slumber.
...
With the Wild Hunt broken, the Aen Elle elves would not pose a problem for Lann—at least not for a long while.
But the aftermath on Thanedd Island would linger for quite some time.
Leaving aside the complete collapse of Aretuza Palace due to the three-sided battle, nearly all the other buildings on the island had also suffered devastating destruction.
Part of it came from the shockwaves of Lann’s magic. But there were other causes as well: the Nilfgaardian mages fleeing in chaos during the battle, and the scattered Wild Hunt riders Eredin had arrogantly dispatched at the outset.
Though the bulk of the Hunt had been obliterated at Aretuza Palace, nearly all the mages capable of fighting had been gathered there—intentionally or otherwise—leaving the rest of the island vulnerable. The dispersed units still managed to wreak havoc across Thanedd.
Relief forces from the various diplomatic missions arrived far too late. Fortunately, the troops from Cintra had acted swiftly, rescuing nearly all the students from the magic academy, preventing the situation from spiraling completely out of control.
Many owed their lives to that intervention—and they would remember Cintra with deep gratitude.
Still, no matter how one looked at it, the headquarters was gone. The organization had been shattered. The Brotherhood of Sorcerers on Thanedd was, for all intents and purposes, history.
Among the delegates from the Northern Kingdoms, more than a few caught the scent of something strange amid the ruins—an opportunity, perhaps.
But they were only representatives attending a summit—without any real power to make decisions.
By contrast, Duke Lannister of Cintra acted immediately. He decisively offered the Brotherhood his full support, providing a safe haven to the surviving mages and academy students.
At the same time, he launched urgent talks with Temeria, arranging for the relocation of refugees.
By the time each letter was sent home and opened by the rulers of the Northern Kingdoms, the outcome had already been sealed.
...
“…So this is the grand scheme Lann has been plotting all this time? Impressive…”
Kolgrim lifted the cup in his hand and took a sip. But the liquid inside was crystal clear—just water.
“Geralt, Coën… all of them took part in such a grand battle, while the three of us—out of the entire witcher order—are stuck here, waiting for some chance to get involved.”
Kolgrim glanced at Serrit and Auckes, and sighed heavily under the helpless gazes of his two fellow School of the Viper witchers.
“Our mission still seems a long way off.”
All three raised their cups, now filled with water, and drank together.
It wasn’t that they didn’t enjoy alcohol—but they needed to stay clear-headed at all times.
In front of the three vipers was a simple dining table, with soft grass beneath their feet. Around them bloomed vibrant flowers and plants—it looked like they were in the middle of a vast garden. Behind them stood a massive estate, with a fountain spinning in the center of the main path.
And yet… not a single butterfly or bee fluttered through the garden. There was no scent of flowers in the air—not even a trace of wind disturbed this land.
It was as if this place had been completely forgotten by the world itself.
But none of the vipers paid attention to such things. They continued sipping water, their eyes fixed intently on an easel just three steps away.
On the easel stretched a canvas, its colors forming distinct human figures—so vivid they almost seemed sentient, moving on their own.
There were even faint voices emerging from it—phrases like “By order of His Majesty Henselt…” echoed softly in the air.
The three witchers of the Viper School were waiting for the right moment.
Suddenly, the image on the canvas rippled, like the surface of a pond struck by a stone.
Kolgrim shot to his feet. Bright emerald flames erupted across the canvas—then coalesced into the figure of a tall, muscular, bald man.
[Thud—]
Letho landed squarely on the grass. Lifting his head, he met the stunned joy on his schoolmates’ faces with a look of weary resignation.
“Letho? What are you doing here?” Kolgrim blurted out in disbelief.
Serrit and Auckes rushed forward, circling Letho and inspecting the new set of armor he wore.
“You’ve completed your second mutation? Is this the powerful armor Lann mentioned? Can you fight a dragon head-on alone now?”
“Iris dropped by now and then these days,” one of them added. “She told us what you and Lann did on Thanedd Island—it was incredible!”
The three vipers were clearly bursting from bottled-up excitement, and Letho could only rub his forehead in mild exasperation.
Ever since the Witcher Order had been established, life had become far less grim and oppressive. Surrounded by more people and real communication, the once cold, assassin-like witchers had gradually shed the bitter shadows of their school’s destruction.
Each of them had started showing far more… colorful personalities.
Probably caught it from those Cat School witchers, Letho thought with a sigh.
“You’ve wasted too much time and still haven’t finished the job.”
Letho shook his head. “As it happens, things on Lann’s end are wrapped up, so I’ve come to help. So—tell me, what kind of trouble are you in?”
“Well, we’re supposed to assassinate a king this time,” Kolgrim said with a shrug.
“And since the witchers’ name is making waves across the North these days, we can’t use anything that links back to our schools. We have to avoid giving anyone a reason to associate us with Lann.”
Serrit chimed in from the side, “Which has slowed us down a lot.”
Auckes raised his hands helplessly. “Still, compared to our old assignments, our progress has been faster than usual.”
Letho rubbed his brow. He wasn’t used to this kind of back-and-forth banter.
“So, how far along are you?”
That was enough to light a fire under Kolgrim.
“Letho, you wouldn’t believe how brilliant it is using Iris’s painting for surveillance. The feeling…”
He smacked his lips.
“There’s none of the old tension or misery of gathering intel while hiding in some gutter. We just sit here and watch the royal palace unfold like a stage play. The royal palace, Letho!”
“And at night we can take turns resting in the manor—no more huddling in chimneys or under haystacks…”
Letho could feel a headache brewing. “Stick to the point.”
“The people of Kaedwen hung the painting we’re using in the main hall. Over the past few nights, we’ve mapped out the guard rotations and drawn up the palace’s defense layout. We even got hold of King Henselt’s schedule for the coming days.”
“The only problem is that the painting’s in the hall, which makes it tough to find the right moment to strike. We can’t afford to blow Iris’s secret just for one attempt. Our thought was—once the news from Thanedd reaches here in a few days, the palace will be in chaos. That might give us an opening…”
Letho nodded steadily as Kolgrim explained.
Then he offered something none of them had expected.
“We can strike tonight. Go straight for the kill.”
The three Viper witchers froze.
“If you’ve already mapped out the palace, all we need is to confirm where Henselt’s bedchamber is tonight.”
Letho’s finger traced the route in the air.
“Once you step out of the painting, split up and hide. Then, set fires in three different locations across the palace to draw the guards away.”
“Once it’s done, avoid any further combat and return through the painting immediately.”
“And you? Don’t tell me you’re planning to…”
Letho nodded.
“I’ll go after Henselt myself. For Lann—I’ll take his head.”
Kolgrim jumped to his feet.
“Henselt may be insane, but when it comes to his safety, he’s obsessively cautious! We’ve mapped out the entire palace layout—when he’s asleep, there are at least four patrol squads rotating near his chamber!”
“Even if we stir up chaos in the palace, they’ll only send one squad to investigate. The core group—at least twenty men—never leaves his side!”
“Then I’ll deal with those twenty myself,” Letho said, firm and unflinching.
The three Vipers stared, taken aback by Letho’s absolute confidence.
They looked at him—the towering, bald juggernaut of a man. Even in his new armor, his thick arms were bare, muscles knotted with barely restrained power.
Kolgrim stared at their unusually aggressive school leader and suddenly blurted out the thought on his mind.
“Letho… how strong has that second mutation made you?”
“Without using Signs or poisons, taking on an entire palace guard is… a bit tricky,” Letho said modestly.
“That’s why I need you three to create a proper distraction.”
“And you plan to charge headfirst through a formation of at least twenty fully armed royal guards, knights—and maybe even mages—break into Henselt’s bedchamber, and kill him?”
Kolgrim was incredulous.
“I thought we were here to assassinate a king—not to stage a public execution! We’re supposed to keep our identities secret!”
“As long as I don’t use Signs,” Letho replied matter-of-factly, “no one will be able to tell a witcher was responsible just by examining the aftermath.”
“And as for any witnesses who might recognize my build… well, we’ll just have to make sure they’re all ‘assassinated’ too. Won’t we?”
