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TWL Chapter 370: Frost and Fire on the Battlefield
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 23:08:06 +0000 UTC"Charge!!"
Rayla took the lead, feeling as though she had never experienced such a smooth charge before.
The heavy cavalry of Nilfgaard, under Duke Lannister’s relentless assault, had long since fallen out of formation. Armored warhorses collided and toppled over each other, with most of their momentum dissipated. In stark contrast, Rayla and her allies had built up their strength to its peak.
Although this was a cavalry clash, at this moment, Rayla felt the exhilarating joy of mowing down enemies like grass! Sure, the grass was a little prickly, but it hardly mattered.
With a squelch, Rayla's face was splattered with blood. When she lifted her head again, the battlefield seemed to clear before her eyes—there were no more charging cavalry ahead.
Somehow, this cobbled-together cavalry unit of two nations had managed to break through the Nilfgaardian Ard Feainn Division!
No—that wasn’t entirely accurate. There were still enemies in sight, but...
It was as if the god of frost had descended, bringing the dead of winter from Mahakam straight onto the battlefield. Rising slowly from a kneeling posture, Duke Lannister stood at the center of a spreading circle of thick ice that coated the ground around him. One could still see the legs of horses frozen into sculptures.
Yes—only the legs. The horses' bodies, and the soldiers atop them, had been frozen solid before being shredded into icy fragments by a savage windstorm. Shards of ice now whirled across the air and ground, still tossed about by the lingering gale.
Further out, a few fortunate Black Cavalry had merely been blown off their horses by the storm. But before they could recover, a roaring black beast of a horse galloped toward them, trampling over the survivors and sending them to join their fallen comrades.
The icy surface, which would normally cause ordinary warhorses to slip, posed no obstacle for Blackwind. With every step, the horse drove its hooves deep into the ice, maintaining perfect traction. The beast trotted up beside Lann, snorted loudly, and seemed to say—That was fun!
More allied cavalry surged forward. They hardly needed to swing their weapons anymore; the sheer force of the horses’ hooves was enough to crush the remaining enemy soldiers. As Rayla scanned the battlefield, an overwhelming sense of unreality struck her.
Weren’t they supposed to be acting as a harassment force—or even bait?
How had they managed to nearly annihilate the Ard Feainn Division in the very first cavalry clash?
Watching Duke Lannister mount his horse once again, Rayla felt dizzy with admiration.
If only—if only he were from Aedirn—then they could fight side by side forever.
Or maybe she could go to Cintra... No. She was fighting for her homeland.
—Wait.
Rayla suddenly remembered: She was actually from Lyria, merely serving in Aedirn’s army?
...
"By the Sun above..."
Ardal heard his adjutant mutter under his breath.
It wasn't just the adjutant; even Duke aep Dahy himself found his movements stiffening.
Peering through his telescope toward the battlefield, he could see only two surging tides clashing—and then, at the collision point, an explosion of blinding flashes.
Moments later, the silver sun banner, which had been flying proudly at the rear of the formation, collapsed as if it were nothing more than a stalk of dry straw. The heavy cavalry division that the Eastern Army Group had painstakingly transferred from Lower Sodden was now being shattered like mud figures by the enemy’s flood.
Just a few days ago, Duke aep Dahy had watched a similar scene unfold before him—but back then, it was the armies of Aedirn and Lyria that had been routed. The memory had left him flushed with delight.
Now, no matter how bold the soldiers around him were, none dared to even describe Duke aep Dahy’s current expression.
"Damn it!"
With a vicious snarl, Duke aep Dahy hurled his exquisitely crafted telescope to the ground and stomped on it, as though trampling that monstrous cavalry beneath his feet.
"That was the Ard Feainn Division!" he roared, unable to maintain even the slightest trace of aristocratic composure. "It's Lannister! It has to be him—the last lion of Cintra!"
"The first—and greatest—obstacle Nilfgaard has encountered since marching north! I don't know how he did it, but it has to be him. It could only be him..."
Duke aep Dahy’s eyes flickered darkly as he muttered under his breath.
Several men clad in leather armor and robes gathered around him at that moment.
Their outfits clashed starkly with the Black soldiers around them—not just because they wore less armor, but also because the weapons they carried were merely daggers, hardly suited for the brutality of frontline combat.
Leading this odd group was a bald man draped in a gold-embroidered, indigo cloak.
"We were quite far away, so I couldn't sense any surge of Chaos energy. But I saw fire and cold winds—that seems to be magic at work, Duke aep Dahy..."
"So what?" Duke aep Dahy replied sharply. "What are you trying to say, Albrich?"
The sorcerer named Albrich immediately fell silent.
Sorcerers might be able to exert significant influence on the battlefield—but never in this manner.
Still, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Mind your tone, Duke aep Dahy. Don’t forget who made it possible for you to cross the Yaruga River safely."
Clearly, the Eastern Army’s commander did not get along well with his sorcerers. But that was no surprise; whether in the North or South, nobles tended to harbor resentment toward mages—except, perhaps, when noblemen were dealing with female sorceresses.
"Do you expect soldiers to be rewarded every time they swing their swords?" Duke aep Dahy sneered, his tone growing even ruder.
The comparison made Albrich’s face darken. Suppressing his anger, he said, "I must remind you, Duke aep Dahy, that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The lion has strayed from the pride. Capture him, and we could seize the young lion cub, Cirilla, as well. His Imperial Majesty has urged us repeatedly—"
"I don't need you to remind me!" Ardal snapped, cutting him off. "But I’m not after Lannister because of your secretive little missions!"
Turning away from Albrich without another glance, Duke aep Dahy added coldly, "The Lion of Cintra seems to have learned a fair few tricks from the mages too. How disgraceful for a royal. It’s about time he learned what real war is..."
Then he shouted at a nearby herald: "Raise every single one of our banners! Meve is nothing compared to the importance of capturing Lannister! Once we take him, we’ll never have to worry about that damned Yaruga River again when we march north! De Wett’s fool of a Western Group spent forever failing to conquer Cintra—let the Eastern Front show them how it’s done!"
The soldiers of the Eastern Army had already been standing ready. Now, as the horns sounded more urgently, a massive banner depicting a black sun and a blue fox was unfurled at the center of the formation, snapping fiercely in the wind.
"Lannister, Lannister... What a perfect opportunity."
Ardal’s eyes gleamed with a feverish light.
"Does he really think himself blessed by the Three Lions’ banners? The lion fights against the Black Sun using wind and fire—ha!"
His gaze locked onto the distant Cintran standard.
"Damn it, why won’t he just come a little closer?!"
...
Not far from the battlefield, atop a small hill—
The Cintrans were gathered there: soldiers, squires, and witchers alike.
They hadn't accompanied Lann into the "bait" maneuver because he had entrusted them with a different mission.
At the center of the Cintran formation stood a bald man, unfamiliar to them, positioned at the highest and clearest point of the hill—eyes closed in silent meditation.
He was Radcliffe, the royal advisor and sorcerer from Aedirn.
Lann’s decapitation strike required a sorcerer to open a portal. Since Queen Meve’s forces lacked a sorcerer in service, the responsibility fell to Aedirn.
After Yennefer of Vengerberg’s departure, Radcliffe had been assigned by the Brotherhood of Sorcerers to provide magical support to Aedirn.
This was not his first time on the battlefield.
He had once fought at the Battle of Sodden Hill—and survived.
When he heard Lann’s plan, Radcliffe had readily agreed.
Due to the casting range limitations, the Cintrans needed to find a location closer to both the Nilfgaardians and Lann.
Thus, Radcliffe requested permission to leave Aedirn’s main camp in search of a suitable hilltop—and politely refused the royal escort King Demavend had assigned, insisting instead that the Cintrans accompany him.
Lann had no particular reaction to sending his own people to accompany the sorcerer.
In fact, that had been his initial thought as well—after all, such a critical position absolutely needed someone he trusted to keep watch.
At that moment, three witchers had already consumed their potions, their pupils contracting sharply as they stared toward the frontlines.
The remaining soldiers and squires stood alert, guarding against any potential threats—after all, the fighting wasn’t far away, and who knew if a squad of Black Army scouts might suddenly appear?
