TitoVillar
patreon
TWL Chapter 463: The Banquet Before the Storm
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 20:21:44 +0000 UTCThe grand central hall of Aretuza Palace was constructed in a T-shape. The longer vertical section featured tall, narrow windows that nearly
The grand central hall of Aretuza Palace was constructed in a T-shape. The longer vertical section featured tall, narrow windows that nearly reached the tops of the columns supporting the ceiling.
The ceiling here was vaulted and high, with each window set with stained glass. Though a breeze drifted through the hall, the candle flames remained perfectly still. As Lann walked slowly forward, he could clearly feel the vibration of the lionhead medallion—each candle had clearly been enchanted.
In Aretuza, magic was even more common than Gwent in a tavern.
The Brotherhood of Sorcerers had a longstanding tradition of hosting banquets, and the more important the upcoming conference, the more lavish the feast preceding it.
And this time, with delegates from across the entire North to be received, not even all the servants of Thanedd Island were enough. The Brotherhood had even called in cooks and maids from Gors Velen to help.
Triss had changed into a low-cut, emerald green evening gown. Under the candlelight, the fabric shimmered with the flowing light of a forest. Gold embroidery lined the edges of the dress, a necklace of gilded leaves hung from her collarbone, and a headband adorned with flecks of gold and small gems crowned her brow.
Such a display of opulence would have easily felt excessive—but thanks to the harmonious palette and Triss’s unique presence, the ensemble radiated elegance instead. Her flame-like hair spilled down her back, slightly covering the exposed skin, and for a moment, Lann couldn’t help but imagine those red locks setting the dress ablaze.
“I heard from one of Cintra’s tailors that you sketched the design for this dress yourself?” Triss asked with a modest smile, noting how Lann’s gaze lingered on her. “Now I believe those Oxenfurt scholars truly did come to Cintra because they were drawn by your intellect.”
“I still have many qualities waiting for you to discover,” Lann replied with a smirk, offering his arm.
“So then, may the gentleman before me have the honor of escorting Lady Triss to the banquet tonight?”
With a soft laugh, a slender arm looped gracefully around his.
The surrounding walls of the hall were adorned with tapestries, garlands, and pennant banners, which occasionally fluttered in the cold breeze. Long banquet tables lined the walls, beneath the swaying decorations. Exquisite tableware rested atop even finer cloths, accompanied by ornate floral arrangements and dazzling ice sculptures.
Lann and Triss stepped into the hall, which already held more than a hundred guests.
The appearance of the Lion of Cintra and the sorceress instantly drew everyone’s attention.
…
“The Lion of Cintra really came in person? I thought it was just a rumor…”
“I’ve always wanted to see him for myself. Never thought he’d be even more handsome than the ballads say… Is it really possible for a face that striking to be completely untouched by magic?”
“Look next to him—that’s Merigold. I heard she’s been close to the Lion for quite some time… lucky girl!”
“Lucky? Hmph. Or maybe not…”
…
Compared to the foreign dignitaries discreetly whispering behind cupped hands, the sorceresses made no attempt to hide their chatter.
They were far more uninhibited than the young ladies and noblewomen vying for Lann’s attention. Before long, several sorceresses began swaying their hips as they sauntered toward him.
But just as quickly, they turned on each other, seemingly competing to determine who was the 'strongest' among them, in order to claim the honor of getting close to the Lion.
Before Lann could laugh aloud, he felt the grip on his arm tighten suddenly—intensely, possessively.
Ah. That familiar feeling.
From not far off, the sorceresses clicked their tongues in unison, their skirmish intensifying.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Lann lowered his head and looked at Triss, who maintained a graceful, warm smile.
The red-haired sorceress continued to politely greet acquaintances nearby, but Lann was quite certain that if not for the social setting, the temperature around them would have already soared high enough to ignite a fire.
His thoughts sparked briefly, then settled into the most appropriate strategy.
With a cordial smile fit for the occasion, Lann’s voice was soft—yet his words carried a cold edge.
“Any old rivals of yours in that crowd? If things get messy later, should I sneak over and put a few holes in them?”
“Hm?”
“Remember our plan—dismantle the Brotherhood, bring sorcerers into Cintra. So those with the stature to rally independent mages must be won over immediately. And anyone likely to oppose us—those capable of stirring up the others—needs to be dealt with just as swiftly.”
He tapped Triss’s delicate shoulder, gesturing slightly toward the gathered sorceresses. “Like them, for instance.”
“That’s all you’re thinking about?” she asked, her voice holding a hint of delight.
“What else?” Lann’s expression was entirely serious. “The bigger picture always comes first.”
Triss was no naïve girl—she understood Lann perfectly.
With his ambition, there was no doubt the threat in his words was real.
But for any man… it was never just entirely real.
But Triss was clearly pleased with Lann’s response.
As a result, the grip on his arm tightened even more, and now all he could smell was jasmine and orange blossom.
“By the way,” Lann said with complete seriousness, “I really like your new perfume.”
Triss covered her mouth and chuckled. “Yennefer helped me choose it… Look, there they are!”
Not far away, the raven-haired sorceress, with her voluminous black curls, was walking arm in arm with a rather uncomfortable witcher with silver-gray hair. Like a swan, she extended her pale neck and held her chin high, deliberately steering Geralt into the crowd’s gaze with a provocative air.
With Lann’s keen eyesight, he could see the wolf-head medallion on Geralt’s chest vibrating constantly. Clearly, the surrounding sorceresses weren’t just curious about Yennefer’s new 'pup'—some of them were even probing him with mind-reading spells.
“Classic Yennefer,” Triss remarked with a hint of admiration. “But the others around her are being downright rude—should we go rescue Geralt?”
The answer was obvious. Lann immediately led Triss toward Geralt with a brisk pace, which in turn drew the entire banquet hall’s attention squarely in their direction. Now it wasn’t just the sorceresses who were curious about the White Wolf.
The good news was that now that the Lion had entered the scene, even the boldest sorceresses wouldn’t dare keep reading Geralt’s mind. Lann could clearly sense the relief in Geralt’s posture.
Lann gave the White Wolf a once-over. There was a noticeable intensity about him—stronger than before. He was dressed in a sharp-fitting black suit that framed his powerful, muscular build to perfection.
“Yennefer insisted I wear this,” Geralt explained helplessly, catching the amused look in Lann’s eyes.
But that wasn’t the main point.
What mattered was what Geralt’s presence here signified—the second mutation was complete.
Triss and Yennefer exchanged delighted laughter and hugged, then stepped aside to give the men some space. Lann and Geralt each took a glass of wine and began talking casually, utterly unfazed by the curious eyes surrounding them.
“How do you feel?”
“Better than ever,” Geralt replied, clinking his glass against Lann’s. “It’s like I’ve been given a whole new body. Strength, speed, reflexes—they’ve all exploded. I could crush both Eskel and Lambert with one hand now.”
“But more importantly—look.”
He raised his hand, and a ripple of invisible force pulsed through it.
The lion medallion and the wolf medallion both began to tremble in response.
Witcher medallions did not react to signs, nor to the usual powers of a witcher.
What surged in Geralt’s hand now—was the pure, primal energy of chaos. The power of true magic.
“I’m a Source again,” Geralt said softly.
…
Geralt’s mother was a druid named Visenna, and his father was a warrior of near-legendary prowess, Korin. The child born of their union, Geralt, possessed an extraordinary innate talent from the moment he came into the world.
In theory, Geralt should have grown into a powerful mage—perhaps one as formidable as Vilgefortz.
But fate had other plans. Before Geralt was born, his father died protecting the woman he loved. In his final moments, he glimpsed a vision of Geralt as an adult, fighting monsters as a witcher.
Visenna took this as a sign of destiny. Convinced her child was fated to become a witcher, she sent him to Kaer Morhen after birth.
As the son of both a warrior and a druid, Geralt was immediately identified by the mages of Kaer Morhen as a natural Source. His strength and capacity to learn quickly made him stand out among his peers. His mutation process went exceptionally smoothly, and he was even subjected to additional experiments. His signature milk-white hair was a result of these extra trials.
Unfortunately, those very mutations ultimately destroyed his gift as a Source. Though he surpassed most witchers in mastering the Signs, and never had to fear his Source powers backfiring or going berserk within his body, he had lost the ability to cast magic freely.
But now—just like Jerome—Geralt’s innate gift had finally been reawakened through the second mutation.
And with the addition of restored Source powers, Geralt’s strength had undergone an explosive surge, placing him solidly among the top tier of the witcher brotherhood’s fighting force. With enough time to study and adjust, he would undoubtedly become the third greatest combatant—just behind Lann and Jerome.
