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TWL Chapter 382: Fire in the Wind, Steel at Sea
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 20:54:20 +0000 UTCEight massive transport ships sailed across the sea, worn and weathered from the journey.
They were clearly aged vessels, not particularly fast. Fortunately, each had been outfitted with the sturdiest sails, and the gale winds happened to blow precisely in the direction they were headed, providing the ships with ample propulsion.
On the central flagship of the fleet, a middle-aged man in a sealskin jacket stood with arms outstretched. In front of him was a strange wooden staff rooted into the deck. His lips moved silently in incantation.
As the spell progressed, the wind intensified.
“We’re almost there,” said a bald man in armor aboard the leading transport. He gave a glance at the druid—who few dared to approach—before turning his gaze toward the coastline drawing steadily closer.
"Up ahead is the estuary of the Yaruga River. Once we sail in, it’ll be another day... no, maybe only half a day before we reach Cintra.”
“We’re finally close,” came a voice beside the bald officer, full of relief.
The speaker was a man with a filthy, tangled beard, also dressed in armor. Like the bald officer, his armor was worn and poorly maintained—typical of a mercenary who’d spent years on the move.
“Damn those Redanians! They shipped us here like livestock on freighters meant for cattle and sheep, dragging us to the frontlines just to die for someone else’s country!”
The bearded man grumbled bitterly, clearly disgruntled with their treatment.
“Oh, give it a rest. No matter how rough the ride, it’s better than rotting in a cell, Lorenzo Mora.” A voice chimed in—clear yet firm, with a husky edge. It belonged to a woman in an officer’s cuirass. “I’ve never ridden a faster ship in my life—ha, druidic magic vessels!”
“Julia’s right,” said the last of the armored officers, nodding in agreement. “No matter what, it beats prison.”
These four individuals were officers of the Free Company, dispatched from Kovir to support Cintra across a vast distance. The transport ships beneath and behind them carried three thousand Free Company soldiers.
All four had once been political prisoners, punished for backing the wrong faction during Kovir’s coup. Upon their release to aid Cintra, they were symbolically reinstated to their former ranks—colonels.
But everyone knew those ranks only held meaning within the Free Company, a unit entirely composed of criminals. None of them could return to Kovir. Their future now hinged entirely on how well Cintra would treat them.
The bald man who had spoken first was named Adam Pangratt, and the other three deferred to him as the leader.
“Yes, yes, anything’s better than prison,” muttered the bearded man—Lorenzo Molla, still grumbling. “But let me ask you all this: we used to be men of status, people of standing. Are you truly willing to be sent off to fight a war in some foreign land like this?”
“I can guarantee you—given our status, we’ll just be used as cannon fodder,” Lorenzo lowered his voice. “If you ask me, we should turn around now. With command over three thousand mercenaries, we could easily become one of the top mercenary forces in the North. And then we sell these eight ships to fund our startup...”
“That wouldn’t be nearly enough to pay three thousand men. They’d scatter the moment they smelled trouble. We’d be lucky to keep a few hundred,” retorted Julia Abatemarco, the only female officer. “I didn’t spend all those years in the military academy, fighting all those battles, just to become some filthy mercenary in the end.”
“Julia’s right,” echoed the last officer, Juan Gutierrez, once again siding with her.
“Ha! So what exactly are we chasing, then—honor?” Lorenzo sneered. “Don’t forget, we’ve already lost our titles. Our families disowned us. Even being allowed to command this mercenary unit is a kind of mercy. We finally regained our freedom—are you really planning to waste it on someone else’s battlefield?”
“But isn’t this our chance instead?” said the female officer Julia in a low, steady voice. “Before coming here, I did some research—Cintra’s current leader is Lannister, the knight from all those ballads. If we help him win the war to reclaim his kingdom, we might be able to start a new life here. And if merit is rewarded… perhaps even a title.”
“Poetry is for children. Never place your hopes in a ruler’s mercy—because rulers have none!” Lorenzo, the bearded man, shook his head with a sneer.
“Still, I think Julia has a point,” Juan chimed in again, backing her. “Lannister seems different. Even in prison, we heard stories about him...”
The three argued back and forth until all eyes turned to their commander, Adam.
The bald man stood still against the sea breeze, deep in thought.
“We can’t ignore Lorenzo’s concerns, but Julia’s words carry weight as well,” he finally said. “War is our opportunity—and Cintra might be too.”
“Cintra was already devastated by Nilfgaard—otherwise they wouldn’t have reached all the way out to Kovir for aid. Our Free Company could become a decisive force on this front. That alone could be our chance.”
“Lorenzo, keep your guard up. Watch how the Cintrans treat us. If things go south, we’ll pull out of their battlefield with the entire company.”
It was a remarkably clear-headed analysis, though not everyone seemed entirely satisfied with it. Julia hesitated as if wanting to speak, then held back.
Lorenzo, however, had no such restraint and resumed his grumbling: “Adam, a company can’t operate under two strategies at once. If you ask me, we should just—”
“Enemy attack!”
A sudden, low horn blast cut him off. Shrill cries rang out, drawing everyone's attention.
The four officers looked around in alarm, but no enemies were in sight—until the screeches came from above.
High in the sky, massive wings spread wide. The silhouettes looked like slender women with wings and claws.
“Harpies.”
All four officers frowned in unison.
Kovir was a mountainous land, home to many harpy nests. These creatures also nested near coastal regions, so it wasn’t too surprising to see them here.
“But haven’t we encountered way too many monsters on this trip? How many waves is this now? I’ve seen more drowners and hags on this journey than I did in the past few decades,” Julia grumbled—but there was little fear in her voice.
“Could it be that while we humans are at war, the monsters are fighting something too?”
No one responded to Julia’s wild speculation. Instead, everyone began calmly preparing for battle.
The harpies had likely mistaken the convoy for a group of unguarded merchant ships. But these vessels carried three thousand soldiers—not something a mere flock of monsters could handle.
“Sound the horn—tell the archers to get ready. There are a lot of them, so we’ll waste quite a few arrows...”
Once again, the officer’s orders were cut short as the horn sounded—but it wasn’t the ready signal he’d called for. It was another alarm.
“Awoooo—!”
Everyone looked around again—and this time, they spotted the threat out at sea.
Three small, black-painted ships were cutting through the waves toward them. Narrow hulls, sharply pointed bows—each looked like it could hold just a few dozen men.
But that was precisely what made them so fast. Despite sailing against the wind, they were keeping pace with the transport fleet—enhanced by druid magic no less.
The officers’ expressions changed dramatically. They recognized the design of the ships and cried out in unison: “Skellige raiders?!”
Their shock was justified. These were unmistakably warships. If they truly were from Skellige, then even with three thousand mercenaries aboard, their transport ships wouldn’t offer much security in open waters.
After all, the legendary 'three hundred Skellige pirates repelling two thousand Nilfgaardians' was a required case study in every major military academy.
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind howled around the four officers. A fiery red portal flared open beside them, and the druid who had been casting spells on the flagship stepped through.
There wasn’t a trace of tension on his face—in fact, he was smiling. “I’m from Skellige, remember? They’re our own people.”
Only then did the four officers relax. People from the Northern Kingdoms had an instinctive wariness toward Skellige pirates. For the Kovirans—who had little contact with Nilfgaard—it was the islanders’ reputation that loomed larger in their minds.
At that moment, the harpies in the sky, perhaps perceiving the smaller, isolated warships as easier prey than the transport vessels, shifted their focus and began flying toward them.
They swooped lower and lower, until they dived down, aiming to ambush the sailors on deck.
It was a mistake.
Just as the Free Company’s officers were about to ask the druid whether he needed help, they saw a figure appear on the deck of the warship—a lone man rising to meet the airborne monsters.
He didn’t draw a sword, yet with every motion of his hand, a strange shockwave burst forth. Each blast sent multiple harpies crashing down from the sky, as if struck by an invisible force.
If they hit the deck, they were quickly finished off. If they fell into the sea, their wings—unlike those of sirens—would become waterlogged, grounding them temporarily and leaving them vulnerable to the sailors’ harpoons.
In just a few breaths, half the harpies were already dead.
The remaining creatures scattered in a panic, but the man on the deck wasn’t done. He reached behind him and drew a finely crafted hand crossbow, using practiced movements to continue picking off the fleeing monsters.
[Thwip! Thwip!]
He reloaded with swift efficiency, maintaining a rapid firing rhythm.
Piercing screams filled the air around the warship, their shrill pitch stabbing into the ears of every Free Company soldier.
At last, only three or four harpies remained, flapping desperately as they fled. The four officers of the Free Company stood in stunned silence, unable to believe what they’d just witnessed.
Harpies in those numbers would normally require a hundred archers for a clean and casualty-free repulsion. Yet that warship had been defended by a single man and a handful of sailors.
