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TWL Chapter 384: The Emperor’s Flame
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 19:55:36 +0000 UTCWith a sharp clang, House moved faster than anyone had expected. In the blink of an eye, he was right in front of Lorenzo.
Lorenzo felt as though a hammer had slammed into the sheath of his sword. His raised arms were wrenched backward with no resistance, and the force drove them hard against his own chest.
In that instant, it felt like his entire chest cavity and the organs within had taken a direct hit. Pain exploded through his torso, causing his upper body to lurch forward uncontrollably, leaving him completely unable to continue resisting.
House, seeing the opponent’s head practically delivered to him, didn’t hesitate. He brought up his elbow and reversed the grip on his sword, slamming the pommel into the side of Lorenzo’s face. Lorenzo spun from the blow and crashed to the ground, spitting out a stream of broken teeth and blood.
“You’ll keep your opinions to yourself now,” House said coldly.
The room fell silent.
The remaining three officers of the Free Company looked at House, a mix of shock and unease in their eyes.
They varied in their strategic command skills, but in terms of raw combat ability, they were all roughly on par. Yet this unremarkable man—not even a knight, just a bodyguard—had utterly overwhelmed Lorenzo with ease?
And this wasn’t some sneak attack. They had all been on guard the moment House’s hand touched his sword hilt!
Lann remained quietly focused on the documents in front of him, seemingly indifferent to the entire event.
With him showing no reaction, no one else dared say a word. Only Lorenzo lay groaning in pain on the floor.
Suddenly, a burst of noise erupted from outside the window, shattering the silence in the room. This time, alongside curses in various dialects, screams of pain were mixed in.
The sounds grew louder—especially the screams.
Lann furrowed his brow and stepped out onto the balcony. With the doors wide open, the noise outside became much clearer.
The three remaining Free Company officers exchanged glances, and at Lann’s signal, followed him out with curiosity. What they saw was something they would never forget—
They had expected to see the mercenaries they’d brought clashing with Cintran soldiers and were already trying to figure out how they would explain it to Duke Lannister. But in reality, nearly all the Cintran troops—and even most of the Kovirans—had backed far away from the scene.
Only two figures remained in the fray. One was a man built like a bear: the witcher, Gerd.
He had charged alone into the midst of more than a dozen men. Everyone was exercising restraint, keeping their hands off their weapons, so the blows came down like pounding rain. But Gerd responded with attacks that surged like crashing waves, shrugging off the punches and kicks as he easily flattened the entire squad.
One man had taken down an entire team. This man didn’t just look like a bear in size and presence—he had a bear’s strength.
The three Free Company officers stared in disbelief as Gerd, still full of fight after plowing through the first squad, began scanning for his next target.
And just when they thought they had seen it all, the scene on the other side took a turn for the surreal: a giant bear over three meters long was rampaging through a group of still-resisting Kovirans. The bear had somehow retracted its claws and teeth, and instead of mauling them, was swatting the mercenaries away like children—with paws bigger than a human head.
That bear and the people nearby were the main source of the pained screams they had heard earlier.
“Duke Lannister!” Julia cried out, stunned. “That’s, that’s—”
“That’s the captain of the naval guerrilla unit, and his second-in-command,” Lann replied calmly, looking at the flustered little kitten of a girl. “They’ll be your commanding officers once you’re assigned to their unit.”
Before long, every Kovirian mercenary involved in the brawl had been knocked to the ground. The remaining mercenaries stood frozen, glancing uneasily at one another.
Gerd rolled his neck casually, unconcerned about the large bruises blooming across his arms. Meanwhile, the massive bear ambled up beside him. Before the stunned eyes of the three officers, a series of cracking sounds erupted like popcorn as the bear’s bones shifted and snapped. Its body shrank, fur receded—and it transformed back into the young man they had seen before.
The three officers stood dumbfounded, mouths agape, unable to speak.
House walked slowly to Lann’s side and spoke quietly, “A number of Free Company soldiers just tried to desert. Gerd caught them and executed most of them on the spot. Then a misunderstanding broke out between him and some of the other mercenaries, which led to the fight.”
Given that the Free Company was made up of recently released convicts, such incidents weren’t surprising. In fact, it was more surprising that only a few had tried to run.
Lann nodded. “So the misunderstanding’s been cleared up now.”
Adam nodded blankly in response.
“You said most of the deserters were executed on the spot. So that means some are still alive, yes?”
“Yes, milord.”
Lann turned to Adam. “Hand over all the deserters to me. They’ll be executed publicly. As for those who took part in the brawl, they’re yours. I expect results I’ll be satisfied with. Can you manage that?”
Adam no longer dared to meet Lann’s eyes. “Your orders will be carried out.”
“Once you return, begin breaking up the company. I’ll have the three guerrilla commanders—including Gerd—come by to select their personnel. Each of you will join one of their units. And it looks like Colonel Lorenzo will need time to recover from his injuries, so the split works out evenly.”
Adam bowed his head even lower. “We will comply with all your orders.”
...
[Boom!]
With a thunderous noise, a crimson portal burst open.
A female sorceress stepped out. Her short, stylish haircut gave her a distinct flair, and she wore a lavish, low-cut court gown. Like all sorceresses, she displayed her allure with unrestrained confidence.
But despite her radiant figure, her expression was markedly dim and weary.
It was clear that life hadn’t been kind to her lately.
Fringilla Vigo sighed and looked around. The soldiers stationed to guard the long-range teleportation circle all instinctively lowered their heads upon seeing her, though their eyes betrayed a subtle, lingering gaze on her body. Beyond them stretched an endless military encampment, black sun banners fluttering in every direction. If one were to climb higher, the Yaruga River could even be seen in the distance.
“Lady Vigo.” A long-waiting officer stepped forward. “Please, come with me. His Majesty has been waiting.”
Unlike the soldiers, this officer’s eyes held not a trace of respect for her magical power—only veiled contempt.
Fringilla disliked that look. He was just a mid-ranking officer—what right did he have to look at a sorceress like her with such disdain? Especially one whose power was enough to serve as a royal advisor in the North?
But Fringilla knew this was the Nilfgaardian military camp—not the North. So she swallowed her pride and followed the officer in long strides toward the Emperor’s study.
She seemed to have arrived late. Others were already present.
As she glanced around the room, Fringilla was startled to see that everyone else present was a sorcerer or sorceress of equal or greater power.
There was a white-haired elder: Xarthisius. Among all Nilfgaardian mages, he held the highest esteem and was one of the most powerful—especially in astrology and prophetic magic. Fringilla knew that back during the usurper’s era, Xarthisius had helped then-Prince Emhyr lift a curse placed upon him, earning great rewards and the emperor’s deep favor.
Next was a man with a shaved head: Vanhemar. He specialized in fire magic, which northern sorcerers often considered a forbidden art. Fire was the most violent of forces, and the fact that Vanhemar could wield it so precisely spoke volumes about his mastery over chaos energy. Fringilla believed his magical power rivaled her own.
Lastly, a sorceress wearing a red headscarf with a black cat perched on her shoulder: Assire var Anahid. She hailed from the empire’s southernmost provinces—a 'true citizen of Nilfgaard'.
She didn’t seem to be in a good mood. Fringilla knew why—her grandniece’s son, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, had been killed in Cintra by the Lion, Lann, while pursuing Princess Ciri. Assire had taken it to heart and hadn’t let it go since.
Seeing so many powerful mages gathered at once left Fringilla deeply surprised. Aside from Xarthisius, who had long accompanied Emperor Emhyr, the others, like herself, each led their own mage battalions in the Northern and Southern fronts of the war.
And the only one with the authority to summon so many mages at once was none other than the man at the center of attention—Emperor Emhyr var Emreis of the Nilfgaardian Empire.
“Albrich is dead.”
Before Fringilla could even bow, the emperor spoke first, his deep voice delivering the news. The words shocked her again.
Albrich had also been a leader of one of the mage battalions.
A steward then stepped forward and handed Fringilla a dossier, along with a sealed letter. The more she read, the more horrified she became—until she could hardly believe what her eyes were telling her.
“Duke aep Dahy... has been captured? And the Eastern Group... was completely routed?”
The emperor, still facing away from her, gave a slight nod, neither confirming nor denying.
“My mages, study this report carefully. Tell me—what do you see in it?”
Assire, who had lost her grandniece’s son, was old enough to be the emperor’s grandmother. But as with most sorceresses, she maintained her appearance well—looking more like an elegant noblewoman in her twenties than someone of advanced age.
Her eyes locked onto a name she couldn’t avoid on the report. She took a deep breath. “They describe Lannister as though he were some divine warrior descended from the heavens—wielding fire and frost, with mastery over teleportation…”
“But as far as I know,” said Vanhemar, the fire mage, “Lannister is just a witcher. If witchers were really that powerful, we wouldn’t have dealt with the School of the Viper so easily back in Gorthur Gvaed.”
Fringilla finally cleared her thoughts. She knew Lannister was far more than just a witcher. Her emotions stirred, but now was not the time to show it.
Suppressing the storm inside her, she spoke calmly: “It’s said that Lannister received the help of two royal advisor-level sorceresses—Yennefer of Vengerberg and Triss of Maribor. Cintra itself also has a druid of master rank serving as an advisor. If they coordinated their efforts…”
“So that’s your conclusion?” Emperor Emhyr turned around, cutting her off. “That Lannister only achieved such miraculous results because of magic?”
At that moment, all the mages instinctively lowered their heads.
Emhyr var Emreis was, by all accounts, just an ordinary human—and younger than many of the sorcerers present. Yet the sheer force of his presence made them feel as though they were gazing directly into the sun.
For a long while, no one dared speak. Then the emperor issued his command.
“I want all of you at the front line. Take your mage battalions.”
“To Cintra and Upper Sodden, Your Majesty? To protect Duke de Wett and Marshal Menno—to prevent another assassination attempt?”
“No,” Fringilla heard the emperor’s cold voice reply. “Only to Upper Sodden.”
“You will go there and place yourselves under Marshal Menno’s command.”
