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TWL Chapter 367: Between Tactics and Madness
🕑 Added 2025-04-23 20:15:32 +0000 UTC“First, I want to reach a mutual understanding with Her Majesty Meve—” Lann paused, then deliberately added, “—and Demavend.”
“I want to be clear that, at this stage, we cannot completely destroy this Nilfgaardian force. What we can do is break them or at least drive them back.” Lann’s gaze shifted between Meve and Demavend. “What we need is to stabilize the situation—to a point where we can hold on and keep going—so that we can prepare for the final, decisive battle.”
“That means I will not commit all of my forces to the battlefield right now. This isn’t about shirking responsibility—you both know full well the deep and bloody enmity between Cintra and Nilfgaard. But now simply isn’t the moment we planned for.”
“On that point—can we reach an agreement?”
Lann had long since developed a detailed war plan against Nilfgaard, aiming to achieve victory at the lowest possible cost. War itself was not his goal. The true purpose was the restoration of Cintra. If he were to win a battle but lose the strength to rebuild his homeland, what meaning would that victory have?
So yes, Nilfgaard’s surprise assault on the eastern North had caught them off guard—but that didn’t mean Lann would allow himself to be led by the nose. The enemy might play their hand, but Cintra’s strategy would not be derailed.
Demavend gave a cold snort. “And do you think it’s so easy to just drive off the Nilfgaardians? Lannister, among all of us, you know the strength of the Black Army better than anyone. I can’t help but think you’re evading responsibility. Or do you plan to sacrifice Meve’s kingdom to lure them away, just to safeguard your precious Cintra?”
The king’s tone now carried more than anger—it carried reluctant respect for Nilfgaard’s soldiers. He had been shaken. In the recent battles, Aedirn and the armies of the united kingdoms had collapsed almost instantly against the forces of the Black Sun Empire. Demavend could no longer afford to underestimate them.
If nothing else, this at least proved one of Demavend’s rare strengths: he could acknowledge the power of his enemies. For all his flaws, his military understanding and sense of reality were still worth some credit.
Lann couldn’t even be bothered to respond to Demavend’s biting sarcasm. He simply bent down, picked up the map from the ground, and began studying the positions marked for both friendly and enemy forces.
“If Aedirn is willing to commit troops, then the United Kingdom of Lyria and Rivia can still support a counteroffensive—a large-scale battle in a localized theater.” Lann pointed to a spot on the map.
“In the several engagements we’ve had with Nilfgaard, I believe both of you would agree that—on an individual level—Northern soldiers are inferior to their Southern counterparts. On the surface, a head-on clash like this would just be a slaughter.”
“But if… and I mean if—at that critical moment, their commander were to suddenly drop dead—would we stand a chance?”
To deprive the enemy of its leader amid a clash of tens of thousands?
Demavend’s hand froze mid-sip. He stared in silence for a moment. “Lannister, are you suggesting an assassination?”
Meve shook her head. “Let’s not even mention how we’d pinpoint the enemy commander’s exact location—we’re talking about a camp of tens of thousands. Even if we did get reliable intel, no assassin could possibly break through that.”
“Unless… you already have someone in mind?”
Behind Lann, Kolgrim grimaced. A bad feeling welled up inside him.
The Viper School witcher took two steps forward and stood beside Lann, lowering his voice: “Lann, this kind of job—an assassination—takes meticulous preparation. You need time, intelligence, and scouting. Especially in a situation like this, targeting a general heavily guarded at the heart of an army... it’s suicide.”
If he weren’t so close to Lann—and hadn’t known his personality so well—Kolgrim might’ve thought he was about to be sent on a death mission.
Lann glanced at him, slightly amused, realizing his words had been misunderstood.
He gave Kolgrim a reassuring pat on the shoulder, silently signaling him to relax. Then he turned to face Demavend and Meve.
Under their surprised and puzzled gazes, he pointed to himself.
“Not an assassination. This is going to happen on the front lines.” Lann smiled.
“I’ll carry it out myself. Of course, I’ll also need the two of you to coordinate with me—to make sure we get the maximum effect from this tactic.”
...
Among normal humans, someone who can take on ten foes alone is already considered a legendary hero sung of in epic tales. As for the non-normal, the superhumans—Druid masters tend to stay hidden in the forests of Skellige or wander the land, elite sorcerers sit in their courts too proud to set foot on a battlefield, and priests have powers that are hit-or-miss at best. Even among those, they can only show off in battles with hundreds or thousands—facing an army of ten thousand, they’d be forced to open a portal and flee on the spot.
Otherwise, it’s mutual destruction. No one can guarantee this battlefield won’t become their grave.
That’s the upper limit of supernatural ability in this age. Humans rule the Continent. Kings are mortals. Sorcerers are only advisors with no real authority.
With these two factors combined, it’s no surprise that, faced with the pressing advance of Nilfgaard’s army, both Queen Meve and Demavend are thinking in terms of 'how to kill as many enemy soldiers as possible to force a collapse'—not 'how to use clever tactics to shatter enemy morale'.
But now, Lann has proposed just such a tactic. It’s quite reckless.
That said, judging by their reactions, they clearly don’t support him.
“Lann, you…” Queen Meve hesitated. “I know you can fight ten men at once—I’ve even seen it with my own eyes—but this is different…”
Even Demavend’s tone softened. “Lannister… perhaps I pushed you too far. With your status, there’s no need for you to say such things. Maybe we can think of another way…”
Demavend did hope Cintra would contribute to the war effort—but not by throwing away their lives. At this stage, the North absolutely couldn’t afford to lose the Lion of Cintra!
Queen Meve was already shooting glances at the witchers and attendants behind Lann: Do you hear what your duke is saying?! He wants to lead his personal guard—maybe not even bring them at all—and charge from the center of his own army straight into the enemy’s center! What kind of military expert says something like that?
Where are Cintra’s advisors? Someone stop your duke already!
As Queen Meve watched anxiously, Geralt, Kolgrim, and Coën exchanged glances and shrugged. Milva and House shared a look and sighed. Saskia observed their reactions, her face lighting up with excitement and anticipation. As for the other Cintran attendants and guards, they stared straight ahead, completely unfazed—they were used to it.
Queen Meve was utterly dumbfounded.
Lann chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t have proposed this plan if I weren’t confident in it. Besides, like I said earlier…”
He looked at the visibly unsettled Meve and Demavend. “I’ll need your cooperation.”
...
On the other hand, the Nilfgaard Army had surrounded the capital of Lyria.
“If we take this ‘Lyria,’ then Lyria as a whole is ours… By the Sun, we’ve already fallen far behind schedule!”
On a sleek black steed, Ardal aep Dahy gazed out at his soldiers throwing themselves at Lyria’s defenses, wave after wave. But rather than feeling satisfied, he barked out sharp orders for his aides to relay: Accelerate the attack.
Despite being on the battlefield, the Nilfgaardian duke was dressed in almost regal splendor. He wore a ceremonial officer’s uniform, noble in style, adorned with the blue fox and Black Sun insignias. Beneath it, only leather armor—no plate. Not due to any tactical consideration, but simply because he couldn’t move properly while wearing full plate.
Ardal was a veteran minister who had served through three imperial reigns in Nilfgaard. The young Emhyr’s rise to the throne had benefited greatly from his behind-the-scenes support. Yet Emhyr, ever the control-obsessed emperor, remained wary of his long-serving ministers, so he posted Ardal to the front lines. Now, Ardal was commander of the Eastern Army Group.
For this reason, Ardal bore some resentment toward the emperor—and truth be told, he had long since grown weary of the Empire’s endless wars.
What Ardal didn’t yet realize was just how suited he was for this role. He saw himself as a court schemer, adept in politics. But in the original course of history, after Nilfgaard signed a peace treaty with the North and spent three and a half years regrouping, Ardal’s Eastern Army Group went on to capture Lyria in just four days, followed by a swift conquest of Rivia. Once Queen Meve retreated north to seek aid from Aedirn, Ardal struck again—piercing through Aedirn’s forces in four days and capturing the capital, Vengerberg, before relentlessly pursuing the fleeing Demavend and Meve.
It was a blitz so brutal that Demavend was forced to seek political asylum in Temeria, mournfully declaring, “The army I spent my whole life building was shattered within two weeks.”
But now, with no chance for Nilfgaard to rest between wars, and with Aedirn closely allied with Queen Meve, Ardal’s Eastern Army Group had already encountered significant resistance in the early phase of the conflict. While still making swift gains, their momentum was far less dazzling than in the original history.
