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TWL Chapter 390: The Pact Behind Shadows
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 04:58:39 +0000 UTC“I didn’t travel all this way just to watch you two flirting, sorcerers!” Grey Owl snapped. “Or are you playing some kind of mage trick? Telepathy? Mental projection?”
Vilgefortz and his assistant Lydia both frowned.
“Watch your words, Grey Owl,” Vilgefortz said slowly. “You came here to ask me for help.”
“Helping me also means helping yourself. His Majesty promised you a governor’s seat that would catapult you to power. But if you can’t deliver what he wants, then all those decades of effort will have been for nothing. You’ll get nothing.”
Grey Owl glared at the sorcerer and his assistant, clearly unwilling to let go of their earlier display of affection. “What were you two talking about? Is that what held me up and wasted my time?”
“Do you have any idea how valuable my time is—or how urgent things are right now?”
Vilgefortz’s frown deepened. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, and an invisible pressure seemed to descend upon Grey Owl.
The Imperial coroner suddenly felt as if a giant, unseen hand had clenched his heart. A stabbing pain erupted in his skull, making him want to scream.
“My assistant and I were discussing an apprentice. Lannister discovered his magical potential, and by a twist of fate, he ended up training under me. Apparently, it was on Lannister’s personal recommendation.”
Watching Grey Owl struggle to breathe, Vilgefortz offered a smile and continued, “I thought he might be useful in our current operation, so I was discussing the matter with my assistant.”
“Hah… hah. Then bring him in,” Grey Owl gasped, forcing himself to steady his breath. He refused to show weakness in front of a mage. “If Lannister thinks that highly of the boy, he’s bound to be somewhat useful.”
Vilgefortz seemed to agree. He exchanged another glance with Lydia—this time, Grey Owl could tell they were definitely speaking via magic.
After a moment, the sorcerer sighed and gave a reluctant nod, as if he’d been persuaded. “Very well…”
Then he turned back to Grey Owl. “He’ll be of use—but not right now.”
That also meant the private conversation with Lydia was over. She quickly vanished from the room, giving Vilgefortz space to speak alone with his guest.
…
With only the two of them left, a heavy silence lingered in the air.
“You’ve betrayed your Emperor, Grey Owl,” Vilgefortz began, dropping a bombshell to open the real conversation. “You saw an opportunity—and didn’t hesitate to turn your back on him.”
This time, the sorcerer didn’t unleash any chaotic magical pressure, but Grey Owl’s heart was still pounding faster than before.
Relying on his training and composure as an elite operative, he forced a calm expression. “That accusation coming from you, sorcerer, carries weight—but unfortunately, it’s nothing more than a worthless, ridiculous joke…”
“I’m not accusing you, Grey Owl. I’m mocking you,” the sorcerer said coolly. “I’m mocking your naïveté and your incompetence.”
“Duke Ardal aep Dahy and Duke Joachim de Wett had their fragile pride wounded. They planned to marry off their daughters to the Emperor, dreaming that the next dynasty might carry their bloodline. But Emhyr casually crushed those hopes. Instead, he intends to marry Princess Cirilla of Cintra—shattering their ambitions to rewrite the course of history.”
“They’re not ready to launch a full-blown rebellion, but they can kill a girl trapped in chaos. The problem is, their pride keeps them from dirtying their noble hands. So now, with de Wett stationed in Cintra, he’s grown passive and sluggish.”
Vilgefortz smiled, as if he already had the whole game figured out. “So they hired someone else to do the dirty work—someone with too much ambition: Stefan Skellen.”
“Isn’t that right, Lord Skellen? You have no intention of carrying out the Emperor’s orders to capture the Little Lioness. On the contrary… you’ve gathered a crew of outlaws to kill her outright.”
As he spoke, the sorcerer waved his hand, and a shimmering veil appeared in the air before him.
On it were images of the northern expedition team, currently feasting and drinking in the grand hall.
“Let’s see… An elven scout with a military rank, two sadistic sergeants, a female thief from the intelligence branch, and a handful of murderers and thugs who defected from the North and even Skellige. I must say, your team is quite the collection.”
“I have to commend you—they’re all remarkably similar,” the sorcerer continued with a gentle smile. “Once a thug has killed more than five people, they all become the same. The same movements, the same gestures, the same tone of voice, mannerisms, clothing, and temperaments. And the same eyes—silent and cold, lifeless, yet calm like a snake. Even when committing monstrous atrocities, their expressions barely change.”
“You know what surprised me most?” he went on. “You even hired a psionic. Planning to have her suppress me, were you? People like you never truly understand real power.” Vilgefortz shook his head.
“But you did find a bounty hunter who’s killed three witchers—that was a surprise. Someone with skills like that is rarer than a sorcerer. Ha! Look at him—he really does love his vodka!”
Each word Vilgefortz spoke felt like a stone dropping into Grey Owl’s chest. By now, the weight had become a mountain crushing his heart.
Grey Owl’s hands started to tremble.
This sorcerer knew too much. More than he did—and he worked for the intelligence service.
He had no idea how Vilgefortz had learned all this—but he did know what he had to do next.
His hand drifted to his back, where a dagger forged of dimeritium lay hidden.
Vilgefortz let out a soft chuckle, as if he’d sensed something. He knew it was time to shift the conversation forward.
His tone lightened. “Relax, Grey Owl. I’m not saying all this to accuse you. You’re a smart man. Smart enough to realize that those ducal nobles never planned to keep their promises. Once you kill Cirilla, they’ll find a way to eliminate you, too.”
“Of course,” Grey Owl replied after a deep breath. “I’m too smart not to have noticed. So what then, Vilgefortz? You want me to betray them and side with you? Is that your pitch? I’m no weather vane on a tower.”
“Oh, I know,” Vilgefortz said. “You possess lofty ideals—far loftier than most coroners or intelligence agents. You’re a revolutionary.”
He laid out his offer. “You want to end this autocracy. Build that… what do you call it… constitutional monarchy utopia. That’s why you’ve allowed yourself to become a blade in the hands of nobles, isn’t it?”
“I can’t give you your new political system—but I can offer funding, logistics, and access to intelligence networks. I can turn you from a tool of schemers into a true partner. I can help you become Director of Imperial Intelligence, help you realize your ambitions—your lifelong dream. Can’t you see it?”
Grey Owl drew in a slow breath. “You really do know everything.”
His hand moved away from the dagger. “You want Cirilla too? Are you planning to capture her—or kill her?”
A satisfied smile crept across Vilgefortz’s face. He’d seen the subtle shift in Grey Owl’s posture.
“Yes, I want Cirilla—but only temporarily,” Vilgefortz said with a chuckle. “I just need her placenta. Once I’ve extracted that… the rest of her is yours. With a bit of luck, you can still report back to the Emperor. In chaotic times like these, a princess suffering an ‘accident’ isn’t so unusual, is it?”
“This way, you’ll still complete your political assignment and gain a powerful ally. You’ll rise from being a nobleman’s tool to the true architect of events. Isn’t that worth it?”
Her placenta…
Grey Owl inhaled again, deeply.
He had to admit—he had underestimated this sorcerer.
“I won’t even ask why you want to do this—it’s probably some bizarre magical experiment.”
Vilgefortz responded with a satisfied smile. “Let’s keep a little mystery between us.”
“So, according to you, all I have to do is carry on with my current duties—no changes—and once it’s done, I’ll walk away with a massive reward? Sounds like I’ve just won the lottery, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly. You just need to keep doing your job,” Vilgefortz nodded. “There’s only one tiny, harmless little step added to the process.”
“Then let’s return to our original topic—the reason I came here in the first place.”
Grey Owl shook his head lightly, as if none of the previous conversation had happened.
But deep down, he knew many things had already changed.
“I came to you for help—planning how to capture Princess Cirilla in Brokilon.” Grey Owl pulled an envelope from his belt. “This is a letter from the Emperor, prepared specifically for you.”
The sorcerer accepted it and quickly skimmed through the pages.
Much of it was information he already knew, like the Lion of Cintra’s victories in Lyria. But there were also parts that surprised him—such as the Emperor’s current military deployments.
“Hah… Clever. And decisive. So the Emperor plans to lure Lannister and his main force away like this? A lot of people are going to die.”
“That’s the downside of dictatorship. Which is why I want to—”
“Yes, yes,” Vilgefortz interrupted. “Very nice. With an army stationed around her, even I wouldn’t be able to break through and take Cirilla.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“I command a mercenary company—over a hundred strong. I can open a portal to send you and them directly to the outskirts of Brokilon. They’re an elite strike force.”
“That many people? From here all the way to northern Cintra? Even for a sorcerer, that’s…”
“I’m not just any sorcerer,” Vilgefortz said, shaking his head. “Like I told you—I’ll be a powerful ally.”
Grey Owl fought to keep his excitement in check. “But there are still risks. It’s not enough.”
“Of course.” To his surprise, Vilgefortz actually agreed with his caution. “A plan this intricate needs to be flawless.”
“I am that guarantee, Grey Owl. Have you heard of the Alzur’s Double Cross Conjuration?”
It was as if a massive hammer struck a giant bell in Grey Owl’s mind. His vision blurred with dizziness.
He didn’t know much about sorcerers—but the name 'Alzur' rang louder than thunder.
