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TWL Chapter 342: When Monsters Aren’t the Worst Threat
🕑 Added 2025-03-26 20:02:50 +0000 UTCAs Lann was organizing his team, Rayla suddenly approached him.
After everything they’d been through, Lann’s combat skills had slowly surpassed Geralt’s in her eyes. She didn’t say it out loud, but her expression made it clear—her gaze now held admiration, her eyes practically sparkling.
Still, Rayla wasn’t much of a talker. As the only true outsider in this group, she hadn’t spoken much with Lann. But now, she had a thought—and she wasn’t going to let the moment slip away.
Lowering her voice, she said, "Duke Lannister, back when we Aedirnians were stationed beneath Mahakam with Queen Meve, we heard rumors about Scoia’tael activity in the area. Is it possible that…"
Kolgrim was an expert in handling monsters in the wild. Even if he couldn’t defeat them, he could always retreat unharmed. But if they had been ambushed by non-human forces, that was another story. Intelligent beings always knew how to deal with their own kind far better than any monster.
Lann once again sensed the marked locations of Kolgrim and Milva. He pondered for a moment.
“It’s a possibility we can’t rule out. If they really did run into the Scoia'tael, we'll need your expertise, Captain Rayla.”
“You can just call me Rayla!” The Aedirnian captain accepted the request with a pleased expression.
With that brief exchange, Lann wasted no more time. After the team finished resting, and with additional supplies from the anxious dwarven parents, they set out immediately.
With Milva in the group, Lann essentially had a built-in tracking system. Thanks to this, and with Gabor and Petrit—two dwarves deeply familiar with the surrounding terrain—guiding them, they soon found signs of human activity.
...
“A campfire.”
Geralt’s amber eyes glowed slightly as he scanned the area, searching for any lingering traces.
“It’s definitely Kolgrim, along with Milva and the soldiers,” he confirmed. “Aside from them, there are many unfamiliar scents—most likely dwarves, around fifty of them. They must have found the missing children.”
Lann looked back in the direction they had come from. “But we’re very close to the Hag’s Pit. Even considering that we’re on horseback while the dwarves are on foot, it shouldn’t take more than a day for them to return home.”
He focused on Milva’s location once more. “And yet, instead of heading straight back, they’re moving further away. Why?”
Lann had several theories, but since Milva was already nearby, there was no point in wasting time guessing. The best course of action was to keep moving and find out directly.
The team advanced in the direction Lann had sensed, the sound of hooves echoing through the valley, creating a rhythmic reverberation in the mountain pass.
Suddenly, Geralt, positioned at the rear of the formation, narrowed his eyes sharply. In an instant, he yanked his reins, his left hand instinctively forming a sign as he unleashed an Axii toward his left side, shouting: “Ambush!”
A massive insect burst out from beneath the snow and dirt—it was a Kikimore Worker
These mutated insects were similar to worker ants within their colonies, primarily responsible for hunting. They were cunning creatures, always targeting the tail end of a convoy. Unfortunately for this one, it had chosen to attack the wrong target.
Geralt, a seasoned witcher, reacted instantly. The Kikimore Worker was mid-pounce when it was struck by the Axii sign, freezing its body in mid-air like a puppet with its strings cut. It arced stiffly through the air before crashing into the ground.
In the next moment, a stream of fire engulfed the creature, setting its chitinous carapace ablaze. The excruciating pain snapped it out of its hypnotic state, but it no longer had the strength to launch another attack.
Geralt swiftly redirected his hand as more Kikimore Workers emerged from the ground. These insects never hunted alone. However, their numbers were limited—only six or seven in total. Against a cavalry unit led by two witchers and warriors experienced in monster combat, they stood no chance.
Lann didn’t even need to lift a finger. Geralt’s signs, combined with the cavalry’s archery, swiftly exterminated the insects.
Since there was no time for a field dissection, Lann waved his hand and stored the monster corpses in his inventory. The others were already used to this, but the new recruits couldn’t hide their astonishment.
Petrit suddenly sighed, but it wasn’t Lann’s ability that had caught his attention.
“In the past, the Ferenc Clan’s territory was never overrun by this many monsters. In fact, during the annual Great Cleansing, the Ferenc Clan would always assist other clans. This year, though, they couldn’t even handle their own problems, let alone send help. They even had to request aid from Mount Carbon.”
Lann asked. “Let me guess—because of the dragon?”
Petrit nodded.
This immediately caught Saskia’s attention. “Something’s wrong with the dragon this year?”
Petrit nodded again but then hesitated before shaking his head. “The Ferenc Clan’s home is close to the Red Dragon’s territory. If you climb the hills north of the Hag’s Pit, you’ll reach its lair. Traditionally, the Ferenc Clan offers tributes to the dragon. This keeps relations peaceful, and, in return, the dragon occasionally hunts down nearby monsters to ‘stay in shape.’”
“The Red Dragon would never allow too many monsters to roam near its lair. That’s why the Ferenc Clan has always been able to enjoy some peace… well, except for this year,” Gabor nodded in agreement with Petrit, shaking his head slightly.
After spending some time together, Gabor seemed to have come to terms with things and had even started talking to the Fuchs dwarves in the group. While they weren’t exactly close, they had begun developing a certain rhythm when discussing Mahakam’s customs—one speaking, the other adding to it.
Petrit still held some resentment toward Zigrin, but Gabor was an exception. After all, Gabor had once committed what many considered an act of 'betrayal' against his own clan just to stop Zigrin from slaughtering the Fuchs dwarves. Because of this, Petrit couldn’t bring himself to treat Gabor with the same cold attitude.
With Lann acting as a mediator, their relationship had gradually improved. This was a good start, especially since these two dwarves would eventually lead their respective clans in Cintra. A better relationship between them now meant a more harmonious coexistence between their clans in the future.
At that moment, Gabor was explaining something, occasionally glancing at Petrit, as if there was more to the story about the Red Dragon.
Then he realized the Fuchs dwarves had suddenly become distracted. And not just them—everyone except Gabor had their eyes fixed in the same direction.
Amidst the snow-covered Mahakam Mountains, a thick black column of smoke had begun to rise into the sky. It was the kind of smoke that came from burning buildings, not just trees catching fire. A fire this size wasn’t something small—it was big enough that if someone told them an entire village was burning, they would have believed it.
Petrit murmured, “I think there’s a black pine forest in that direction… Could lightning have struck it and started a wildfire?”
Lann, however, frowned. He had noticed something—the fire was coming from the exact location where Milva and Kolgrim’s markers were.
And what was worse… they had stopped moving.
“There hasn’t been a single storm lately, Petrit.”
Gabor shook his head, about to respond, when suddenly—A deafening roar shattered the silence.
"ROOOOAAAARRR—"
That wasn’t thunder. It was the bellow of a beast.
And in all of Mahakam, only one creature could unleash such a mighty cry.
The very creature Petrit had just been talking about—The Red Dragon, Keltullis!
"Keltullis?!" Petrit leaped to his feet. "Is it finally helping the Ferenc Clan clear out the monsters around their territory?"
Unlike the excited Petrit, Lann’s expression remained grim. He gazed toward the smoke and the source of the earth-shaking roar, his mind racing.
That was precisely where Milva and Kolgrim were.
Something was wrong.
“I don’t think it’s here just to clean up some monsters,” Geralt muttered, his tone heavy with concern. “That roar… it doesn’t feel right. Just like the last time we heard it near the foot of the Mahakam Mountains.”
The next second, Lann’s body shone with a bright emerald glow.
Without hesitation, he activated Teleport.
"I’ll go check on Kolgrim and Milva. Head straight toward the fire once I’m gone."
With that, he vanished into thin air, leaving the others behind.
Geralt was the first to react. “Move! Now!”
The Cintran knights and warriors immediately spurred their horses forward. The sound of galloping hooves roared through the valley like an oncoming storm.
Only Saskia’s expression was different.
From the moment she had heard the dragon’s roar, an uneasy feeling had taken root in her heart.
Lann’s vision gradually cleared. The dazzling light of his teleportation faded, and the scene before him sharpened.
The first thing he heard was the clash of weapons and the cries of battle.
Without hesitation, he activated Blink, his body once again enveloped in emerald light. The skill slowed everything around him, stretching time itself. Though his movements were also affected, his mind remained sharp.
It gave him just enough time to scan the battlefield and form a plan.
His Teleport had locked onto Milva’s position. Now, right in front of him, stood the startled female ranger, her eyes widening in surprise.
Not far from her, the Viper School witcher, Kolgrim, stood ready for battle. Behind them, Cintran soldiers were scattered chaotically. These highly trained men should have been able to form a defensive line, yet they were struggling to hold their ground.
Lann’s gaze swept over their allies.
Among them were dozens of dwarves—over a hundred, by his estimate. Some had beards, but their faces were youthful compared to Gabor’s. These younger dwarves had positioned themselves near the Cintran soldiers, some even retreating behind the cavalry for protection.
But there were others.
Dwarves who stood apart.
These dwarves were older, their weapons and armor far superior. They radiated battle-hardened experience.
And on their belts, they carried a very familiar ornament—Squirrel tails.
The Scoia’tael.
A pure unit of dwarven guerrillas, exactly as Rayla had warned. They had infiltrated Mahakam.
They maintained a careful distance from Lann’s group, their postures tense, as if on the verge of confrontation.
Not outright enemies.
But definitely not allies.
Lann hadn’t forgotten the real reason he had come here.
That raging fire.
That deafening roar.
And before he could even turn his head toward the source, he felt it—the heat, the wind, the sheer force of the oncoming flames.
There was no room to dodge.
His allies were right behind him.
Lann didn’t even bother turning his body. Instead, he simply flicked his wrist, extending a palm behind him.
The next moment, scorching flames clashed violently with an icy gust. Lann felt his mana plummet as the Red Dragon refused to yield.
The air where fire met frost twisted and churned, the sheer force warping space itself. The battlefield had been split into two extremes—searing heat and bone-chilling cold.
And then—
[BOOM!]
An explosion tore through the battlefield.
A massive shockwave surged outward, ending the battle between fire and ice.
Lann took the opportunity to cast Quen, shielding himself before the force sent him flying backward.
Midair, he reached out, grabbing Milva, pulling her with him to protect her from the blast.
The two of them crashed into the ranks of Cintran soldiers.
“Lord Lannister!”
His men shouted in relief, but Lann ignored them. Shaking off the impact, he leaped to his feet.
Lann fixed his gaze on the enemy, not looking away for even a second.
"What's the situation? Someone give me a quick rundown."
Amidst the chaos, Kolgrim nimbly hopped to Lann’s side and began explaining...
