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TWL Chapter 430: Cintra’s New Order
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 00:47:44 +0000 UTCThe blue-capped merchant suddenly realized just how dangerous the three men before him looked. His face went pale.
Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves rumbled from the distance.
Gaetan and Aiden both drew their steel swords, scanning the road around them with practiced calm.
A unit of light cavalry was approaching fast.
The leader appeared to be a mid-ranking officer—black-haired, with a roaring lion's head engraved on the plate armor over his left breast.
They came to a halt not far from the caravan. The officer rode ahead alone.
“Pardon the interruption, and welcome to Cintra,” he said coolly. “We’re currently clearing monsters in the area to reopen a safe trade route.”
“This road you’re on, while the shortest to Cintra, hasn’t been opened to the public yet due to ongoing dangers—you should have been warned at the border checkpoint.”
“If you head west for about a kilometre, you’ll reach the main trade route. It’s patrolled with guard posts at regular intervals.”
The merchant, still sitting on the basilisk’s head, suddenly jumped up. “Sir! We killed a monster! We killed a monster!”
His shrill voice drew the officer’s attention for a moment, and he immediately began rambling about the effort and sacrifice it had taken to slay the basilisk, listing all the damages and losses they had suffered.
But the officer didn’t even glance at him.
Instead, his eyes turned to the three witchers.
Gaetan and Aiden eased their grip on their swords, but bent their knees slightly and continued scanning their surroundings.
The situation had shifted.
But that was fine.
Cat School witchers were good at adapting.
Still, what happened next caught both Gaetan and Aiden off guard.
They watched as the officer’s stern expression softened. He dismounted and approached Kiyan directly.
“Are you Lord Kiyan?” they heard him ask.
Kiyan, who had looked relaxed the entire time, blinked in surprise. “You know me?”
The officer nodded. “Back in Novigrad, I served in the duke’s personal guard. You and a few from the Viper School joined us back then and fought at our side. You stayed behind in Novigrad afterward, but the rest of us and the Viper masters continued north with the duke.”
His tone toward Kiyan was respectfully deferential.
“Ohhh—” Kiyan’s face lit up in recognition. He looked the officer over. “Now I remember! Didn’t expect to see you as an officer now… and doing our kind of work, no less!”
The black-haired officer pounded a fist against his left breastplate.
“We learned quite a bit about monster hunting while traveling with the Duke and your esteemed colleagues. Now’s the perfect time to put that knowledge to use. That’s why the Duke has stationed us in various regions to carry out monster-clearing operations. As you know, after a war, ghouls tend to show up—and once those small monsters appear, they attract predators higher up the food chain. Ordinary units don’t really know how to deal with them…”
As the officer casually reminisced with Kiyan, the two Cat School witchers behind him could only stare in disbelief.
Forget officers—even a lowly sentry at a gate had never treated witchers with anything resembling respect.
The blue-capped merchant swallowed hard, his face turning even paler.
The black-haired officer quickly sized up what had happened just moments ago.
Before everyone’s eyes, he stepped up to the merchant, and his expression once again turned cold.
“I believe you owe these three master witchers your sincere gratitude… and a generous payment. Don’t you agree?”
“Y-yes, of course, sir…”
“The standard rate for hiring a witcher to slay a basilisk is two hundred crowns,” said the officer, who had followed Lann across the Continent and knew the going rates well. “So for three witchers, that comes to six hundred crowns, correct?”
“Agh!” the merchant let out a shriek, but quickly lowered his voice. “Yes… yes, sir…”
In theory, all three witchers were supposed to split two hundred crowns total.
Kiyan raised his eyebrows smugly at Aiden and Gaetan.
“Didn’t I tell you Cintra’s different?”
“Look at that! You haven’t even met Lann yet, and you’ve already made a hefty sum of money!”
...
Kiyan tossed the heavy coin pouch in his hand with smug satisfaction.
Inside were not only the rewards for slaying the Basilisk, but also the advance payment for guarding the merchant caravan.
The blue-capped merchant’s face had gone completely pale.
On the other side—
The black-haired officer had set aside four horses, three of which were for the witchers.
The remaining one was for transporting the Basilisk’s corpse—spoils of battle for the witchers.
“A while ago, His Grace the Duke summoned all the witcher masters, apparently to discuss some internal matters among them. He specifically instructed us to send you into the capital as soon as we saw you,” the black-haired officer said. “Follow this road straight ahead and you’ll reach the capital quickly. You should have the Duke’s sigil on you—none of the checkpoints along the way will stop you.”
A spark of anticipation lit up Kiyan’s face.
Behind him, both Gaetan and Aiden were momentarily stunned—then their expressions turned to eager curiosity.
Given what Kiyan had previously told them about Lann, they could easily imagine that something major was brewing if all witchers were being called together.
But Kiyan quickly restrained his excitement and turned to the officer. “You might want to prepare one more horse.”
“Oh?”
The officer gave him a puzzled look as Kiyan gestured toward the caravan.
A figure stepped out—completely cloaked, head wrapped tightly under a hood.
Kiyan leaned in and spoke quietly to the black-haired officer. “He reached out to me through 'Cleaver' in Novigrad—you know, that guy’s got some credibility among nonhumans.”
“He’s an elf. A leader of the Scoia'tael. Calls himself ‘Iorveth.’ He has Lann’s sigil and says he got in touch with him during a gathering in Pontar.”
Kiyan asked, “I haven’t heard much about what happened after you left Novigrad... Did Lann really have dealings with the Scoia'tael?”
...
Iorveth, one of the Scoia'tael’s leaders, had once led an assassination attempt against the kings of the North during a summit.
But just as success was within reach, Lann intercepted them.
And it wasn’t just a simple interception—during their battle, Lann had managed to mark Iorveth with a Teleportation sigil.
He later appeared at the Scoia'tael’s stronghold, where he held a cordial conversation with them.
During that meeting, Lann revealed his identity as someone with Elder Blood. He critiqued and refined the Scoia'tael’s strategic approach, presenting a more hopeful vision for the future—and ultimately expressed a desire to reach out and negotiate with the elves backing the Scoia'tael.
This time, Iorveth had returned with instructions from deep within the Blue Mountains, representing the current elven leader—Francesca Findabair, the Valley Daisy—to initiate a second meeting with Lann.
However, Lann had not left Iorveth any means of contact, so he had no choice but to rely on connections among nonhumans in Novigrad. By coincidence, he ended up traveling with the three Cat School witchers to Cintra.
“Please remove your hood,” said the Cintran soldier posted outside the capital, snapping Iorveth back to the present.
Though he held Lann’s sigil, Iorveth still had to undergo a basic security check. This was Cintra’s strict protocol—personally established by Lann—to prevent infiltration by unexpected parties.
Iorveth frowned but had no choice. He pulled back his hood, revealing a pair of sharp, slender ears.
He was clearly uneasy. The Scoia'tael had always been in absolute opposition to humans, and now he was revealing his true identity at the gates of a human capital.
But to his surprise, the Cintran townsfolk passing by didn’t give him any strange looks—not even the usual contempt or unease typically reserved for elves, let alone hatred for the Scoia'tael.
He even heard a few admiring whispers about his handsome appearance.
“Thank you for your cooperation, and for your service to His Grace,” the guard said as he returned the lion-emblazoned sigil and gave a respectful salute.
Shortly afterward, a soldier was assigned to guide their group to the Cintran royal palace, where they were received by an elderly white-haired steward and led into a meeting room.
“Gentlemen, you may call me Enns,” the old steward introduced himself to the elf and the witchers.
The royal palace of Cintra still bore many signs of damage—clear evidence of having been plundered by the Nilfgaardians.
It hadn’t been long since the palace was reclaimed, and there hadn’t yet been time to restore it.
Still, everything was tidy and well-kept.
The steward stepped just outside the meeting room to make a report, then turned apologetically to Iorveth. “His Grace is currently in council. These three witcher masters are directly involved in the matter, so they may enter immediately. As for you, I’m afraid you’ll need to wait a little while.”
The meeting room doors opened. The three eager Cat School witchers didn’t hesitate in the slightest as they stepped in.
Iorveth, however, tensed slightly.
After all, he was a Scoia’tael commander now surrounded by heavily armed humans, deep within a human royal palace.
Nerves strung taut, he noticed several dwarves and halflings hurrying through the halls of the palace. The guards treated them with respectful gazes.
Then he heard a voice call out to him.
“Hey, Scoia’tael elf—you made it too?”
Iorveth flinched and turned to see Saskia beaming at him with a bright smile.
