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TWL Chapter 441: Foundations of a New Order
🕑 Added 2025-06-05 07:40:35 +0000 UTC“Now everyone is present.” Lann nodded in satisfaction and began laying out the next phase of the plan.
According to the initial proposal, the Witcher Order would be headquartered in Cintra, functioning as its administrative center. Even when not on missions, Witchers could live there if they wished.
Kaer Morhen and Kaer Seren would both be preserved as training bases. Their environments were ideal for cultivating apprentices. Furthermore, the Circle of Elements near Kaer Morhen and the Well of Magic beneath the Griffin School were naturally endowed training grounds.
Lann hoped to acquire more Witcher strongholds. However, the base of the Viper School was in Nilfgaardian territory, and the Cat School didn’t even have a castle—only a caravan fleet serving as a mobile camp.
Only the Bear School had a long-abandoned base left, which Lann planned to investigate with Gerd when time allowed.
New apprentices would begin with standardized physical and swordsmanship training at the two existing bases. Once they completed the three foundational trials—Choice, Dream, and Grasses—they would then be assigned to one of the schools based on their performance and aptitude, under the guidance of instructors. Finally, they would receive the Mountain Trial specific to their chosen school.
Upon passing all four trials, the apprentice would be awarded the Witcher medallion of that particular school.
This point was crucial. Each school’s uniqueness and specialization had to be preserved. In the past, choices were limited—just having a single 'Child of Surprise' was rare enough.
But now, Witchers could select students who best fit the characteristics of each school even before the Trial of Choice and train them accordingly. In the foreseeable future, the quality of new Witchers would rise dramatically.
Later, when Lann needed to mobilize different schools, he would also issue 'national commissions' based on each school’s specialty...
At this point, Lann glanced apologetically at Jerome.
Jerome gave a slight nod in return—his gaze full of encouragement and support.
Lann took a deep breath, rose to his feet, and drew everyone’s attention.
“Gentlemen, we are called the Witcher Order, but we are no religious sect. What we uphold is the belief of the first Witchers: to fight for those who cannot fight, and to protect civilians in a world plagued by monsters.”
"Now that the Order has been reestablished," Lann began, "we need a leader."
At those words, everyone in the room exchanged odd glances.
Did that really need to be said? Who was the reason they were all gathered here? And who had provided everything they now possessed?
Everyone already knew the answer.
Ah, was this just one of those noble or royal formalities?
The Witchers cast discreet glances at one another. They figured that, yes, appointing a leader probably should have some ceremony to it—so they went along with Lann’s lead.
Lann didn’t bother with the whole 'reluctantly nominated then reluctantly accepting' routine. None of the Witchers could rival him for the position—not even as a nominee.
So he spoke plainly and with complete transparency.
“However, I am not just a Witcher. I am a member of Cintra’s royal family—the future King of Cintra. If I were to become the leader of the Witcher Order, politics would inevitably seep into it. I know many of you would willingly give back to Cintra because of what I’ve done in the past—but if the Order wishes to uphold its ideals, to continue growing and spreading across the North and even beyond, then it must remain relatively independent.”
“That is exactly why I introduced the concept of national commissions.”
“You are all free to serve Cintra and support Cintra as individuals. But the Order itself must never become a vassal of Cintra.”
“Of course, any help Cintra provides to the Witchers must also be repaid.” Lann smiled as he noticed several Witchers on the verge of raising objections. “I want to integrate Witchers into Cintra’s armed forces—but that will inevitably conflict with your personal monster contracts.”
“It was the Manticore School in faraway Zerrikania that gave me inspiration. In their early days, they served as royal guards to the kingdom there.”
“So today, I formally announce my resignation from the Griffin School. As both a Witcher and a member of the Cintran royal family, I declare this: I will found a new Witcher School. Going forward, it will be this new school that engages with Cintra and the political interests of the North. And I will be its first Grandmaster—currently, its only member.”
“This new school shall be called… the School of the Lion!”
Jerome looked at his disciple with no trace of regret. His eyes were filled with pride.
Suddenly, everyone else noticed something: the medallion hanging from Lann’s chest had silently changed in design.
There, hanging proudly, was the image of a roaring lion with its head held high.
...
Although Cintra was still in the early stages of recovery, its capital's defensive system had already been fully established—as expected of a military powerhouse.
Not only were there regular patrol squads, but due to the current ruler, Duke Lannister, placing exceptional importance on magical forces, even anti-magic seals—structures typically found only in major cities like Novigrad—had been established throughout the city at great expense.
Although Cintra’s current seal network couldn't compare to the ones at Aretuza Academy, which had gone through nearly a century of iterative refinement, it was still enough to interfere with the spellcasting of any sorcerers arriving in Cintra—especially their teleportation magic.
Because of this, they could only arrive at predesignated teleportation points set up within the city.
…
With a deep rumble, a fiery red portal opened.
Before anyone had even emerged from it, a sweet and pleasant aroma drifted out first.
It was as if one had been transported into a valley full of blooming flowers. One of the soldiers guarding the magic array closed his eyes slightly, feeling as if he were floating in midair.
"Ahem."
A single sharp cough from House, the receiving officer, snapped the guards out of their trance.
He turned toward the nearby elf with clear disapproval in his eyes.
"Using the scent of alchemical herbs to induce hallucinations—clever. But if you don’t restrain it, I’ll consider it an act of aggression against Cintra."
House narrowed his eyes, now amber vertical slits. Combined with the killing aura he had yet to shed in recent days, he truly radiated pressure—enough to make Iorveth, the Scoia'tael leader, feel a surge of oppression.
"No one plays tricks on Cintra’s soldiers while standing on Cintran soil."
After Leo’s successful Witcher trial, Lann had taken the opportunity to expand his forces using the remaining mutagenic materials. Although other Schools had yet to begin training their new apprentices, Lann already had suitable candidates to bestow Witcher abilities upon.
His retinue.
Around House’s neck now hung a medallion bearing the image of a roaring lion.
A Witcher… Iorveth muttered internally. This guard has grown even more terrifying.
He could only offer a brief apology before quickly approaching the portal.
Soon after, a woman in a crimson dress stepped out from the shimmering gate.
She appeared to be in her twenties, but with sorcerers—especially elven ones—age was impossible to judge.
Unlike other female mages who often dressed to appear eccentric or striking, her attire was proper and dignified—more refined even than that of a noblewoman. Her red gown was neither loose nor tight, subtly revealing the delicate lines of her collarbones below a pale white neck, while guarding every contour of her shoulders and figure below with meticulous decorum.
Her dark golden hair was neatly gathered and twisted into two buns at either side of her head, crowned by a soft golden circlet shaped like leaf blades. It complemented her clear blue eyes perfectly.
She was proud, beautiful—perhaps too proud, too beautiful. She embodied every human stereotype of an elf, and bore every dream humanity had ever projected onto their kind.
She was the most beautiful woman in the world. A pure-blooded elf. The leader of the last remaining elves on the Continent. A High Sorceress—Francesca Findabair.
At the sight of their leader, Iorveth hurried to her side and whispered something quietly.
Francesca frowned slightly, casting her gaze around until it finally settled on House.
Iorveth continued speaking softly for some time. At last, Francesca gave a subtle nod.
Iorveth breathed a sigh of relief and turned to House again.
“Ser, please escort us to Duke Lannister.”
…
Lann knew that today’s meeting with Francesca might involve matters not yet suitable for public disclosure. So he had arranged it as a private audience for the time being.
Francesca seemed to share that sentiment.
The meeting was therefore set in the council chamber, and all guards were dismissed—only a few trusted aides were allowed to remain.
