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TWL Chapter 465: A Toast Before the Slaughter
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 00:25:46 +0000 UTCThe king continued using his free time to instruct his heir in statecraft. His son was clever, which was a rare blessing for a ruler. But su
The king continued using his free time to instruct his heir in statecraft. His son was clever, which was a rare blessing for a ruler.
But suddenly, he realized the lesson had to be cut short.
The carriage driver abruptly let go of the reins, seized his whip, and lashed it toward King Vizimir II. The whip was laced with sharp blades that easily slashed open the king’s arm and collarbone.
Blood sprayed through the air, horrifying the prince. The king cried out for help immediately, but there was no response. The normally swift and loyal guards were nowhere to be seen.
Where had they gone?
Vizimir II remembered—he had dispatched his most elite guards to assist Philippa.
Yet even so, the royal palace of Tretogor was not a place that could be infiltrated easily. Redania boasted the largest intelligence agency in the North, and its internal security was among the most formidable.
The wise king quickly connected the dots. His expression turned to fury.
But the situation left him no room to denounce the traitor Philippa aloud.
More enemies were approaching from nearby. Their weapons were stained with blood—it was clear they had already eliminated the nearby sentries.
Vizimir was old enough to be Foltest’s father. His body would not survive this assassination attempt. He realized that fact almost instantly.
“Run, Radovid! Run!” the king shouted, pushing his son away and lunging at the assassin. He caught a glimpse of sharp ears.
A half-elf.
“Run, Radovid! Run!” the king cried out again. “Always stay vigilant!”
The prince was clever. He quickly regained his composure. Seizing the chance his father had bought with his life, he dashed madly back toward the palace and soon encountered patrolling guards.
The blood-covered prince startled them. Alarmed, they drew their weapons and rushed in the direction of the king—only to find Vizimir II lying in a pool of blood.
Their faces turned deathly pale.
The officer in command barked orders at once. Using the trail of blood to track the assassins, he also called for reinforcements to converge immediately.
Radovid fell to his knees and finally began to weep.
He buried his head in his father’s chest and covered his own head with his father’s hand.
The blood smeared across it stained the prince’s hair a vivid crimson—like a crown.
He cried for a long time, so long that those who came after him could hardly believe it. For the people of the future would come to call him by another name, whispered behind closed doors—
Radovid V the Stonehearted.
...
Thanedd Isle, coastline.
Most of the regular guards had been pulled away to attend the banquet at the Palace of Thanedd, leaving numerous security gaps. With the help of insiders, a squad quickly found a suitable landing point.
[Thud.]
Ten soldiers hauled a wooden boat ashore, grunting as they set it down and began donning their armor.
They wore the insignia of the Crowned White Eagle—Redania’s royal guard—yet here they were, carrying out a covert special forces operation.
“Send the signal and wait for Advisor Philippa’s command. And remember our mission—For His Majesty!”
The commanding officer barked out orders in a low voice. After confirming the headcount, he led the unit in a low advance toward the Palace of Thanedd.
…
Inside the palace, Philippa Eilhart suddenly opened her eyes and let out a quiet laugh.
“Well?” asked the bald intelligence chief, fidgeting uncomfortably in his tight formal attire. “Is the operation going smoothly?”
“Perfectly,” Philippa replied softly. “In a moment, go and strike up a conversation with those two—and make sure they drink these.”
She gestured toward a short distance away, where the golden-haired lion and the ivory-haired wolf had drawn nearly all the attention at the banquet.
At that very moment, the grand doors of the hall opened once more. Five members of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art entered to reverent gazes from the gathered sorcerers.
There was Hen Gedymdeith, the eldest of the human mages; Tissaia de Vries, the most powerful of the human enchantresses; Francesca Findabair, the elven representative; the rising young prodigy Vilgefortz; and the seasoned veteran Artaud Terranova.
These five were regarded as the most powerful and esteemed mages of the current era.
Philippa pressed her lips together, eyes gleaming with hunger as she stared at their position. Then, with a few other sorcerers, she gracefully moved behind the members of the Chapter, forming the Council of the Sorcerers.
Alongside Philippa, who served in Redania, were Fercart of Temeria and three other royal advisors from the major Northern Kingdoms. Together with the five senior members of the Chapter, they formed the Brotherhood’s highest ten.
However, the Council of the Sorcerers still ranked one tier below the Chapter in prestige, so most greetings and admiration remained focused on the five distinguished mages who had entered first.
…
“What are you thinking about?” Geralt asked, noticing the faint smile at the corner of Lann’s lips.
Lann shook his head. In the original timeline, Yennefer had earned a seat on the Council of the Sorcerers thanks to her exceptional performance during the Battle of Sodden Hill, becoming one of the Brotherhood’s top ten mages.
But now, it seemed that because she had spent too much time in Cintra, that position had gone to someone else.
Still, knowing Yennefer, she probably wouldn’t have cared anyway.
“Nothing,” Lann replied with a soft smile, taking the wine glass from Dijkstra and lifting it to his lips—only for his expression to subtly change.
He glanced down at the wine, then across the hall to Philippa, and finally to the list of alchemy-related skills boosting his poison resistance on his status panel—along with the newly acquired Miasmal Body trait.
This sorceress was even bolder than he had expected.
Beside him, Geralt caught the slight shift in Lann’s expression and eyes and instantly understood what was going on.
But since his own body had undergone secondary mutation enhancements that boosted his toxin resistance, he said nothing. The two of them clinked glasses with Dijkstra and drained the wine in one gulp.
Dijkstra, satisfied, walked away. Not far off, Philippa—who had been watching them intently—also turned her gaze elsewhere.
Everyone believed the plan was proceeding smoothly.
…
Triss and Yennefer returned after making a round through the hall.
“Well?” Lann asked.
“We spoke with most of the mages, trying to gauge their views on Cintra,” Yennefer said, her tone amused. “Thanks to you, their impressions of us were quite favorable.”
“When things descend into chaos later, help me mark them. Make sure they don’t get hurt.” Lann gave a small nod.
“But, Lann…” Triss hesitated. “We heard something unexpected.”
She subtly gestured toward the Chapter of the Gift and the Art. There, a short and portly bald man was basking shamelessly in the attention of those around him.
“Artaud Terranova, a member of the Chapter,” Triss whispered. “A lot of mages started talking about witchers because of you and Geralt—and that’s when I found out… apparently, Terranova was involved in the incident at the Griffin School.”
“He and a group of lunatics caused the avalanche… just for the magical tomes hidden in Kaer Seren.”
Geralt froze for a moment—the White Wolf barely managed to contain his expression, only calming down thanks to Yennefer’s quiet reassurance.
But Lann, a Griffin himself, showed no reaction under Triss’s worried gaze. His eyes only grew colder, though the smile on his face remained perfectly intact.
“It’s fine… it’s fine. Just bring Master and Keldar over later.”
“He’s not mine to deal with.”
…
Philippa watched as Lann and Geralt drank the wine, a satisfied smile appearing on her lips.
The ten most accomplished mages of the Brotherhood raised their glasses in a collective toast, offering salutes to those around them.
Hen Gedymdeith, now advanced in age, had long since lost his fondness for banquets. After offering only a few simple words, he already seemed tired.
“Do you need help? I could escort you to rest,” said Vilgefortz with a well-timed smile. Clad in a knight’s tunic, he was as sincere and charming as ever—an image he had always cultivated.
But before he could support Hen Gedymdeith for even a few steps, Philippa gently laughed and stopped him. “We need you here, commander of the Battle of Sodden Hill. Without your presence, the representatives of the Northern Kingdoms might show us a little less fear.”
Vilgefortz frowned, and what came next only deepened his sense of unease.
“I’ll stay with him,” Francesca said.
Her gown—gray-green, laced with delicate embroidery—rustled softly as she walked.
The most beautiful woman in the world; even the sound of her voice brought serenity to those who heard it.
But she was an Aen Seidhe—a pure-blooded elder elf. Older even than Hen Gedymdeith. Someone with her pride… how could she possibly be concerned with his well-being?
Those nearby were visibly surprised. Even Hen Gedymdeith himself showed a look of being both flattered and bewildered.
Only Tissaia seemed genuinely pleased by the scene. She had always worked to ease internal tensions within the Brotherhood, and it was she who had originally advocated for the system of sending mages to serve as royal advisors throughout the Northern Kingdoms.
Tissaia watched the two disappear behind the closing doors. At this moment, she was the eldest, most respected, and most powerful sorceress present.
She was still the rector of Aretuza, and the banquet was rightfully hers to open.
[Clink, clink, clink—]
Tissaia tapped her silver knife against her wineglass three times, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored to gather today with brothers and sisters of the Brotherhood—and with esteemed representatives from across the Northern Kingdoms, who have traveled far to join us here on Thanedd Isle…”
…
Francesca hadn’t even touched Hen Gedymdeith. As she glanced back at the slowly closing doors, a cold smile crept across her face.
“Francesca, where are you going?”
The old mage called after the elf, but she gave no reply.
…
“In the eighth century, under the guidance of priests, druids, the reigning monarchs, and the leaders of the mages, we signed the Non-Aggression Pact in Novigrad and soon after founded the Brotherhood.”
Tissaia turned her gaze toward the gathered representatives of the Northern Kingdoms.
“After that, we promoted the integration of mages into royal courts across the continent, to provide kings and rulers with support in matters of magic…”
…
Dijkstra subtly scanned the guests at the banquet, tugging impatiently at the tight formal wear on his body.
He cast a glance toward the pitch-black window, then lowered his head and slipped away through the servants’ passage, vanishing from sight.
…
“In recent times, we could sense that the kings have developed certain misunderstandings toward us,” Tissaia said, raising her voice. “But I am pleased to say those unpleasant tensions will soon be behind us. Tomorrow’s council will revisit the cooperation between the Brotherhood and the Northern Kingdoms.”
She raised her wineglass high. “But until then, please enjoy the hospitality of Thanedd Isle. Let us fulfill our duties as humble hosts—Philippa? What are you doing?!”
…
The dark-haired royal advisor of Redania let out a cold laugh and swiftly began to chant an incantation.
Chaos energy surged through the banquet hall. Many sorcerers suddenly clutched their stomachs in agony. Realization dawned on their faces as they stared in disbelief at the wineglasses in their hands.
