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TWL Chapter 343: A Deal, A Standoff, A Dragon
🕑 Added 2025-03-27 20:29:25 +0000 UTCAfter splitting into three groups, Kolgrim and Milva had been the first to reach the Ferenc Clan. With the Elder in Chief’s letter in hand, negotiations with Vavrinek Ferenc had gone relatively smoothly.
They soon joined the dwarves in their large-scale 'cleansing', using their monster-hunting expertise to help the Ferenc Clan wipe out one monster nest after another.
If things had gone as planned, Kolgrim and Milva would have helped the dwarves clear the area around the Hag's Pit and been ready to discuss compensation and future support by the time Lann and the others arrived.
But everything changed when a group of wandering dwarves began returning home.
A number of young dwarves who had been away for years still hadn’t made it back. At the request of worried Ferenc parents, Kolgrim and the others headed to the mountain’s foothills to investigate. With his heightened witcher senses, he quickly picked up their trail.
But when they found the young dwarves, they weren’t alone.
The Scoia'tael was with them.
As a guerrilla force fighting against human rule, the Scoia'tael were always in need of recruits. Though racial tensions in the North weren’t as severe as in Lann’s memories of the future, they were still growing. Many non-humans living in human society preferred to keep their heads down and survive quietly. But those who had suffered abuse and discrimination were more easily drawn to the Scoia'tael’s cause.
And the wandering dwarves were perfect targets. Most of them had left human society precisely because they had been mistreated. Naturally, they harbored resentment—if not outright hatred—toward humans, making them prime candidates for recruitment.
To capitalize on this, the Scoia'tael had sent numerous dwarven operatives into Mahakam, positioning them along key routes back to their respective clans. Their mission: intercept the returning dwarves and convince them to join before they could fully reintegrate into their old lives.
Kolgrim and his group arrived just as the Scoia'tael made contact with the young Ferenc dwarves. If not for the fact that the recruits hadn’t yet chosen a side, the Scoia'tael would have already clashed with Cintra’s forces.
One side wanted to bring their people home. The other wanted to strengthen their army and fight back against human oppression. The young dwarves themselves were torn between the two.
And so, the two groups remained locked in a tense standoff at the base of the mountain, neither willing to back down. Days passed with repeated confrontations between Kolgrim’s group and the Scoia'tael, though neither side made a decisive move.
Throughout all this, both the Scoia'tael and Cintra’s forces were constantly harassed by roaming monsters. They managed to hold their ground—barely.
Then, without warning—The Red Dragon descended from the sky.
…
The story was long, but Kolgrim spoke quickly and concisely, summing up the situation in just a few moments.
“So the immediate priority is dealing with this dragon,” Lann concluded. “But we can’t afford to ignore the Scoia'tael either.”
Kolgrim nodded firmly.
By now, the dragon had regained its composure.
In their brief exchange, Lann had clearly been at a disadvantage. The earlier shockwave had affected him far more than it had the dragon. The sheer difference in mass meant that while Lann had been sent flying in his rushed counterattack, the enormous beast had merely shaken its head, as if brushing off a strong gust of wind.
Not only was it unharmed—it was eager for another round.
The Red Dragon was convinced that if not for the explosion caused by the clash of extreme heat and cold, its flames would have overpowered Lann’s icy counterattack.
Lann took a deep breath. There was no question now—this dragon was his enemy.
The red dragon crouched, its body like a living fortress. Its massive, golden, slit-pupiled eyes locked onto Lann. Despite its centuries of life, it had never seen a human wield power like this. The speed of his spellcasting rivaled that of the greatest sorcerers—yet he hadn’t used a portal like a mage.
And he certainly wasn’t dressed like one.
Instead, he looked like a—
"Witcher."
The word echoed through the air like the tolling of a great bell, each syllable vibrating deep in the chest, sending an involuntary shudder through the body. And the voice—deep, resounding, almost unnatural—came from the dragon’s own throat.
Lann didn’t flinch. Without hesitation, he drew the Lady of the Lake’s Sword, his voice steady and sharp as the blade itself.
“Red Dragon.”
...
Generally speaking, dragons can be roughly categorized into four types based on their color: red, green, black, and white.
Among them, red dragons possess the hottest flames, capable of melting steel and stone. They are also the largest, with an average body length of fifteen meters.
The red dragon before them—Keltullis—was an outstanding specimen of its kind. Its size exceeded the average red dragon by nearly a quarter, and its head alone was as long as two dwarves stacked together. A dense array of bony, horn-like protrusions extended from the center of its brow to the back of its head, resembling a crown.
This was the monstrous being that had battled the dwarves of Mahakam for centuries, ultimately forcing them into a peace treaty. A true apex predator of the continent.
"Everyone, scatter! This isn't a fight you can take part in." Without looking back, Lann commanded, "Kolgrim, that includes you. Fall back and keep an eye on the others."
The viper school witcher opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words.
If this were a planned dragon hunt, Kolgrim could have come up with at least ten effective dragon poisons and more than twenty ways to administer them. But a direct confrontation with a dragon of this size? That was way beyond what a viper school witcher was equipped to handle.
The dragon's claws could easily tear through his Quen sign and the armor beneath it. Its fiery breath could engulf everything within ten meters, even if he managed to dodge. And running? No way two legs could outrun two wings.
With no fellow witchers around to watch his back, he realized he'd be more of a liability than a help to Lann. Gritting his teeth, Kolgrim shot one last, reluctant glance at the red dragon before grabbing Milva and retreating.
"Get back! Trust Lann and don’t distract him!" he shouted at the Cintran soldiers and the dwarves.
"You too! If you can’t help, then stay out of the way! Move!" His next shout was directed at the Scoia’tael dwarves.
Of course, these infiltrators from Mahakam had already bolted the moment Keltullis locked onto Lann—faster than snow hares. Kolgrim simply hadn’t noticed.
Now, they were hurling insults back at him.
"That’s Keltullis! She’s going to teach you humans some respect for Mahakam!"
"Abandoning your comrade to face a monster alone? Humans will always be humans. Even witchers are no different!"
...
Truth be told, even Lann could feel how outmatched he was against the red dragon.
His frost-based Aard sign was still within the realm of 'natural winds', while the heat of dragon fire had long surpassed all earthly flames.
To put it in perspective, Keltullis' fire was on par with Geralt’s Igni at its highest level—capable of melting stone into lava.
The cold imbued within Piercing Cold was nowhere near enough to counteract that kind of heat. Lann had been holding his own purely through sheer magical power. But if this dragged on, the red dragon—whose fire-breathing was as effortless as exhaling—might actually wear him down.
He had already considered ordering the others to flee while he stayed behind to buy time. Fortunately, the explosion had come at just the right moment.
This was a quick test of his own strength. Even though Lann’s power was growing at a ridiculous rate, he was still only capable of exchanging a few direct blows with top-tier creatures. A prolonged fight was out of the question.
But Lann’s true strength was never just about himself.
With narrowed eyes, he kept the dragon locked in his sights while simultaneously splitting a fraction of his focus elsewhere. He confirmed that a certain Teleport marker, originally placed in Skellige, had finally crossed the vast distance to the mainland—his magic was now strong enough to summon its bearer into the fight.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
With a powerful whoosh, a violent storm swept toward Lann as the red dragon beat its massive wings, sending snowflakes swirling into the air. Declaring its aerial dominance, Keltullis roared down at the Lion-Eyed Witcher.
At that moment, an intense amber glow erupted from Lann’s body. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from the dragon’s sight. By the time Keltullis sensed something amiss and looked up, a brilliant golden light flashed above its head.
Lann had appeared midair, body bent in a tight arc, descending toward the dragon.
The runed longsword in his grasp shimmered with a radiant glow. Having lived for over a thousand years, Keltullis knew all too well the legend of the Lady of the Lake’s Sword. She knew this weapon could actually wound her.
But what truly made her pupils contract in shock wasn’t the sword’s glow—it was the massive, blinding light behind the knight, as dazzling as the sun itself.
