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TWL Chapter 437: Between Fireworks and Schemes
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 20:39:49 +0000 UTCLann contemplated in silence for a moment. “So, if everything goes smoothly, you’ll eliminate a Southern infiltrator and gain unprecedented prestige—and you’ll also rise to become the leader of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.”
“And the representatives from every kingdom who witness all this on Thanedd Island will come to respect you. You’ll gain political recognition across the entire North.”
“When everything is done, Redania will once again be left without a ruler, and Radovid will ascend to the throne. But since the prince is still a child, you will serve as regent—becoming the true wielder of power in Redania.”
What an intricate, interlocking scheme.
Philippa was planning to win three times in one move.
“That’s right.” Seeing her plan laid out so perfectly, Philippa gave Lann a look of admiration. “And the North’s hostility toward Nilfgaard will reach an all-time high, uniting them together—after all, one of the Four Great Kings will have been slain.”
“From that point on, one of the North’s largest kingdoms will fall into the hands of the mages. If your Cintra joins us at that moment, there will be no force left in the North capable of opposing us!”
A gust of wind blew in through the open window, lifting the hem of Philippa’s dress.
In that instant, a surge of overwhelming presence burst from the sorceress’s body.
Lann lowered his head, falling silent once again.
In a way, it was indeed a brilliant plan.
Though it lacked many specifics.
But that was a good thing for Lann.
He had always been waiting for exactly this kind of opportunity—and now, it had appeared.
The more gaps in the plan, the better. That meant he could fill them with pieces of his own.
Still, before agreeing, he decided to prod a bit: “You’re telling me your entire plan so openly—aren’t you afraid I’ll report it to Vizimir? His son is still sleeping in my castle, you know.”
Philippa wore that confident look again, having seen right through Lann’s outward restraint. “You have no reason to refuse me.”
“As I said, you—being both a witcher and a mage—will never be truly accepted among the kings of the North. Cintra will constantly be targeted.”
“The desire for Ciri is only the beginning, and you’re already furious about it.” Philippa smiled. “The way you kicked Radovid out of the council chamber earlier today—I’m still savoring that moment.”
“Support me, and you’ll gain a true ally. Redania will become your leverage. And there will be more allies like this in the future.”
“With your strategic vision, I don’t believe for a second that you don’t see the benefits.”
Philippa reiterated her confidence: “You have no reason to refuse me. I know you’ve held a grudge over what happened in Oxenfurt, but by now, you should realize how lucky that event actually was for you.”
“A brighter future is waiting for us.”
Once again, Lann’s powerful expression control kicked in, forcibly correcting the twitch in the corner of his mouth.
All he gave Philippa was a long, drawn-out sigh.
“…It does seem that way.”
...
“Your Grace?”
Hearing his liege call, House pushed open the door and stepped in.
The squire, with his lion-head silver sword at his hip, carried an almost obsessive commitment to protecting Lann.
Even after being reassigned to internal duties under the old steward all day, he still insisted on standing guard for hours into the night.
Almost like an addiction.
But this time, he was a little puzzled as to why the duke had summoned him.
Inside the chamber, the windows were wide open. The night breeze swept through, stirring the sheer curtains.
Half of the duke’s body was submerged in the bath, his chiseled muscles exposed, and those dark-gold lion eyes staring contemplatively into the night.
What… did His Grace want him to help bathe and dress?
Wasn’t that usually Milva’s job?
“House.” Lann’s voice broke through his squire’s wild train of thought.
“I heard you ran into the Redanian delegation earlier today—and that you weren’t exactly polite to their royal advisor, Philippa?”
The squire quickly bowed his head to apologize.
Back in Oxenfurt, for the sake of her so-called 'grand cause'—and to intimidate the still-growing Elder Blood—Philippa had drugged Lann’s entire escort while he was visiting Vizimir II.
As a result, House and the rest of the guards lost all mobility. Not only were they unable to protect Lann, they nearly became a burden instead.
At the time, Philippa’s power far exceeded Lann’s, and Cintra needed Redania’s cooperation. There was no way to make a public scandal out of it.
So Lann had swallowed the insult.
House couldn’t forget—not then, not now.
So when he saw Philippa again today, he couldn’t help but lose control.
But Redania was currently visiting Cintra. Their leader hadn’t made an official statement yet, and for a bodyguard to show hostility toward a major diplomatic delegation ahead of any formal response—House had clearly overstepped his role.
“She was just here,” Lann said, pointing out the window. “That sorceress snuck into my room again.”
House’s hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his lion-headed longsword.
“I’m not blaming you for failing in your duty,” Lann said. “Her infiltration skills are unmatched on the Continent—there’s nowhere that can truly keep her out.”
“I’m just letting you know, House... you’ll soon have a chance to make up for your past failure.”
“Learn how to use dimeritium more effectively. Keep honing your sword. In the near future, you may need to go up against multiple mages—including Philippa.”
Lann rose from the bath and wrapped a towel around his waist, then walked out onto the balcony.
He gazed out into the night, thick and endless.
“You need to grow stronger, House. You were one of my earliest squires. I still remember the moment you accepted Sword from my hands like it was yesterday.”
“I have high hopes for you.”
With a loud thud, House dropped to one knee. His face flushed bright red with emotion.
He raised his voice in a solemn oath, swearing he would never betray the lion’s trust.
The volume made Lann’s head ache a little—House always had a knack for getting way too fired up at times like this.
“Alright, alright… just light the lamps for me, then tidy up my desk. I need to write a few things down, make some plans.”
Lann rolled his neck with a sigh. “Looks like things are about to get busy again.”
...
The bells of Cintra rang out across the city.
Their sound passed over the highest towers of the Cintran capital, across the fortified walls of the royal palace, and reached even the narrowest and most remote alleyways.
Fireworks whistled into the sky, and firecrackers burst in succession. The crowd cheered and shouted, tossing their hats into the air, waving handkerchiefs, scarves, and flags.
The celebration had begun.
Every Cintran poured into the streets, their eager eyes fixed on the castle at the heart of the capital, watching as a regiment of iron-blooded cavalry emerged from within.
At the head rode Marshal Vissegerd, and behind him followed knights with solemn expressions. Each bore a breastplate etched with a roaring lion’s head, raised high and glinting in the sunlight.
“Marshal Vissegerd!”
“Glory to Cintra!”
“Long live the Lion!!”
The knights advanced down the main thoroughfare in tight formation, four to a row. Their mounts’ coats gleamed as they marched in perfect unison.
Like their riders, the steeds were calm and proud, unfazed by the cheers and shouts of the crowd. Even as flowers flew toward them, they merely gave the faintest shake of their heads.
They were all true veterans of the battlefield—riders and horses alike.
When they were just a hundred paces from the square, two more columns surged forward from the other ends of the capital, converging like merging tides.
The Mahakam Heavy Infantry Regiment, and the Free Company of Kovir… or rather, the Cintra Regiment, as they were now called.
Following the war’s victory, Lann had granted Cintran citizenship to the surviving members of the Free Company and promised to properly reintegrate the returning soldiers into society as heroes of the war.
Though they would eventually be disbanded and absorbed into Cintra’s military structure, Lann had granted them the honor of parading in formation one last time—to receive the cheers of the people.
“Unyielding Dwarves! Iron Wall of Cintra!”
“The Free Company!”
“Ohhh—!”
Zoltan, Gabor, and Petrit all puffed out their chests, and together moved closer to Yarpen, whose head was wrapped in thick bandages—keeping the stubborn man from collapsing in excitement and tearing open his wounds.
Julia, known as 'Pretty Kitty', quietly wiped away a tear and caught a bouquet of carnations flung from the crowd. Their company had gathered for this war… and had sacrificed too much because of it.
Only now did she feel a real, tangible sense of recognition. In Kovir, mercenaries were paid—but never celebrated.
The final unit to arrive was the reinforcements from Skellige. Yet it wasn’t Eist who led them, but rather Crach the 'Sea Boar'.
Once King of Cintra, Eist had no desire to steal the spotlight on a day like this. He sat in the stands alongside the other foreign guests, his gaze gentle as he looked toward the square with the same reverence as everyone else.
The Cintran Home Army, Mahakam Volunteers, Free Company, and Skellige reinforcements converged from four directions to form four grand phalanxes in the square.
At its center stood two thrones.
…
Once again, the bells of Cintra tolled.
A brilliant emerald-green light flared at the heart of the square, causing the crowd’s cheers to pause in collective awe.
A colossal, ancient figure appeared—its body meticulously cleaned and adorned, radiating the majesty of a statue.
Standing on each of his shoulders was a figure.
The giant dropped to one knee and slowly extended both arms, his sinewy muscles forming a marble-like staircase between his shoulders and the ground.
Duke Lannister and Princess Ciri descended step by step.
The crowd erupted once more—this time even more wildly than before, with a roar so fierce it seemed it might scatter the clouds overhead.
Flowers rained down once again, carpeting the ground beneath horses’ hooves and the giant’s feet.
“Long live Duke Lannister! Long live the Lion!!”
“Long live Princess Ciri! Long live the Lioness!!”
The celebration reached its unprecedented climax.
