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TWL Chapter 467: Chaos Is the Only Ally
🕑 Added 2025-06-25 20:36:04 +0000 UTCPhilippa snapped her head around, the flood of words dying in her throat. “Tissaia, I don’t care what’s going on right now,” she screamed, “
Philippa snapped her head around, the flood of words dying in her throat.
“Tissaia, I don’t care what’s going on right now,” she screamed, “but unity within the Brotherhood matters more to me than anything!”
“Vilgefortz, the Wild Hunt is here! Francesca has betrayed us! Right now, we should be—”
Vilgefortz had regained his senses. Tissaia was still pleading with him, even as Philippa tried to pull her back.
His gaze swept over the hall—at the sorcerers who had fallen because of Philippa’s treachery, and the ones still hiding, whose betrayal had yet to be exposed.
A cold smile spread across his face.
“Fercart! Artaud! To me—now!”
The names struck like a thunderclap—members of the Supreme Council and the Brotherhood of Sorcerers!
The high-ranking mages who had hoped to keep their allegiance secret were now completely exposed. They hadn’t intended to reveal themselves under these conditions.
They shot Vilgefortz a venomous glare—but still, like snakes slithering through the shadows, they moved to join him.
In that moment, the magic between the three of them formed a bridge of pure energy.
And then—a massive portal opened before them.
A fully armed detachment of Black Sun sorcerers stepped through.
A blinding flash coalesced into a transparent sphere—aimed directly at the nearest Northern delegate.
...
Lann had been waiting for this very moment.
With a sharp shing, his longsword leapt from its sheath. Runes shimmered along the blade as it carved a brilliant arc through the air—cleaving a bolt of lightning clean in two.
Lann grabbed hold of a delegate who had collapsed to the floor in fear. Only now did he realize it was someone familiar—a subordinate of Queen Meve.
“Nilfgaardians are here! And they’ve brought their mage battalion!” Lann shouted at the top of his lungs.
Why would Nilfgaard show up? What exactly had Philippa been talking about? And what in the hells was that Wild Hunt they’d seen outside the window?
It was too much information for anyone to process at once. The various delegates from the Northern Kingdoms were stunned, confused, reeling.
Weren’t they here for a banquet? To sip wine, perhaps woo a sorceress, then attend a council meeting tomorrow?
No matter. Their ignorance of the night’s true purpose didn’t matter. Once Lann got them out of here alive, they would have plenty of time to understand just how dangerous this night had truly been.
Battle erupted.
Philippa stared at the advancing Nilfgaardian sorcerers, finally realizing the situation was spiraling completely out of control. She looked toward Lann for help—but then remembered: she had drugged both the White Wolf and the Lion of Cintra. The fact that either could still stand and swing a sword was already a testament to their resilience.
She raised one hand and shouted an incantation. With a hiss of sparks and a screeching crack, a volley of spiraling projectiles erupted from her palms—ripping through the marble floor and stone columns, spraying a thousand embers across the hall. The spirals struck like lances, skewering several Nilfgaardian soldiers at the front of the charge.
“Let the Wild Hunt in—open the way!” she shrieked at Tissaia, who was poised to unleash a spell over the sea.
“Nilfgaard wants to exterminate the Northern mages! I don’t know what madness has possessed Francesca, but there’s no way we can fight them both at once!”
“Let the Wild Hunt in! We need chaos if we’re going to survive!”
It was, in Lann’s opinion, the first truly sensible thing Philippa had said all night. He silently applauded her in his heart.
He raised his voice with a roar: “This is war! We need to rally our forces! Cintra’s guards are all in Gors Velen!”
“So are ours!” echoed several other representatives.
“Everyone, fall in behind me! I’ll get you out alive! I am Lannister of Cintra!”
The delegates scrambled to gather behind him. They had come as envoys, diplomats—not soldiers. And with the battle now clearly visible even to the untrained eye, they knew they couldn’t protect themselves.
Frost had begun to gather on the window ledges. Geralt blasted the main door open with a burst of Aard.
“Go—now! I stationed plenty of guards on Thanedd Island. They’ll escort you to Gors Velen!” Lann shouted, waving over a pre-arranged unit of Cintran guards. He motioned for Geralt to lead the evacuation.
“What about you, Duke Lannister?”
“Nilfgaard is here. The Brotherhood is fighting alone—I’m going back into the fray!”
They turned to him, eyes filled with admiration.
“Thank you for saving us. Our kingdoms will not forget your courage! Hold the line—we’ll be back soon!”
Silence finally settled around him. Lann cast one last glance at the doors behind him. Thunderous sounds echoed from within—death, frost, fire, and lightning spilling out in every direction.
With a sharp slap of his palm against the ground, emerald sparks flared to life all around him.
The glowing specks faded.
Witchers, sorcerers, druids, higher vampires, succubus—all revealed their forms.
With a thunderous boom, the heavy door behind them shook the hall as deafening clashes erupted—sorcerers had already begun fighting among themselves in the narrow banquet hall, even before the Wild Hunt had officially engaged them.
This castle wouldn’t hold much longer.
Several daring fighters in the group pricked up their ears at the noise beyond the door, eager to join the fray.
“Not yet. Everything is going according to plan,” Lann drew everyone’s attention back. “We proceed as scheduled.”
“My attendants are leading a unit to evacuate the magic apprentices from Aretuza. They’ll need an escort to cover them—just in case.” Lann nodded to several members of the Wolf School—Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir. “I’m counting on you.”
“Scattered throughout the area are various sorcerers. Some need to be rescued and brought into Cintra’s fold. Others may be hostile—they need to be eliminated. Triss and Yennefer have compiled a list. They’ll lead that operation.”
The two sorceresses nodded. Given the need for strength, they also took with them several elite witchers from the first tier, including Jerome and Keldar.
“As for the delegates from the other kingdoms, Geralt is watching over them alone. I’m worried he won’t be able to manage it all by himself. Regis, you’re fast—go help him. Ease the pressure.”
Lann turned to the higher vampire. “Those people matter. I’ll need their support to consolidate the North’s strength once this is over. That means building prestige.”
“But this battlefield is crucial too. We’ll need your strength here. Once you’re done, bring Geralt back immediately.”
Regis nodded, then spread his arms and transformed into a massive bat, vanishing into the night sky.
“As for the rest of you—our battlefield is in there.” Lann pointed to the door behind him.
Another boom. A huge crack split the wall. The witchers’ medallions on their chests vibrated so intensely they were nearly impossible to hold down.
“But before we engage, let them wear each other out. Once all sides are bloodied and broken, that’s when we move in and clean up.”
Lann gave the order. “Go!”
He took the lead, charging forward as angry shouts and agonized screams rang out behind him. Amid the chaos, a furious roar faintly echoed through the hall.
“Elder Blood!”
But that cry was swiftly smothered.
Lann suspected it was Vilgefortz’s doing.
...
The entire castle was trembling. It wouldn’t be long before this centuries-old structure collapsed under the onslaught of the sorcerers and the Wild Hunt.
But before that happened, there was still much of value inside.
“Our targets are the Academy’s vault, the stockpile of teaching apparatus, and every high sorcerer’s laboratory!” Lann shouted at the top of his lungs. “Magical tools, magical stones, even raw magical materials—if it looks valuable, take it all!”
The witchers broke into small groups of two or three, scattering through the castle.
While servants and guards fled in a panic, only the witchers dared to stay behind and ransack the place with impunity.
Lann’s eyes burned red with excitement. It had been a long time since he’d replenished his ability points by absorbing Sources of Magic.
The treasure seized from the Mirror Master still wasn’t exhausted—Cintra remained wealthy. But magical materials were always scarce on the market. Many of the things Lann needed were nearly impossible to buy, no matter how much coin he had. They were rare beyond price.
One of the main constraints on training more witchers for Cintra was this scarcity of materials. The stagnation of secondary mutations also stemmed from a lack of essential reagents.
Not just materials—Lann hadn’t even allowed himself to absorb any of the magic gems or precious metals they’d acquired. He’d smashed them all for Mousesack to use in alchemical rune research or weapon enhancements. Not a single one had been spared.
And now, right before them stood a vault passed down through generations of sorcerers—its masters too busy fighting above to even consider guarding it.
How could the witchers not be tempted?
Aard Sign!
A basement corridor blasted open. Five witchers poured in. With each room they passed through, one would stay behind. Moments later, urgent rummaging and the clatter of upturned furniture echoed from within.
Then came shouts—either joyful or frustrated.
“Lann! Take this bag—it's all good stuff!” Kolgrim shouted gleefully as he darted out of a ransacked chamber, tossing a disheveled crate across the corridor without even breaking stride before diving into another lab.
Lann looked even more exhilarated than Kolgrim. His reflexes sharp, he caught the heavy leather trunk mid-air and sent it directly into his Inventory. As the system screen lit up with line after line of item entries, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face.
Once a room was cleared, they immediately moved on to the next.
Chunks of rubble and shattered tiles rained from above, sharp explosions ringing out again and again. Lann had no idea how many floors had already collapsed above his head.
"Move, move, move!"
Lann couldn’t even control the volume of his own voice anymore.
Suddenly, he came to a sharp halt. Vague silhouettes flickered ahead—unexpected, especially under these circumstances. Who else would be crazy enough to still be inside the castle?
Were they here for the same reason as his own crew?
Once he got a good look at them, Lann couldn’t help but let out a cold chuckle.
