TitoVillar
patreon
TWL Chapter 338: A Whisper, A Command, A Massacre Avoided
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 15:07:52 +0000 UTCThe Wolf School Witchers had a wide array of combat techniques. Compared to other schools—except for the Griffin School—their use of Signs in battle was far more flexible.
But the Wolf School had another unique advantage: a legacy left behind by the most orthodox Witcher Order—the Circle of Elements.
The mages and alchemists of the Witcher Order had discovered natural sources of magical energy that could enhance a Witcher’s Signs. Lann had once used it to fully unlock all third-tier Sign abilities, though in doing so, his consciousness had briefly ascended to the Astral Elemental Plane, where he was nearly ambushed. Still, he had emerged unscathed and gained considerable power in return.
Of course, Lann was an exception. Normally, while the Circle of Elements wouldn’t boost a Wolf School Sign to the same raw power level as those of the Griffin School, it did grant them unique effects.
Take Lambert, for instance—his Axii Sign had an incredibly strong hypnotic effect. When he first left Kaer Morhen, he encountered two mercenaries. With a mere flick of his hand, he compelled one to kill his companion and then hang himself.
Geralt’s Axii had also been enhanced by the Circle of Elements, though not to the same extreme. His hypnotic effect wasn’t strong enough to force suicide, but he could implant simple commands into his targets’ minds.
More importantly, he could affect multiple enemies at once.
...
“Stand down!”
At Geralt’s roar, two dwarves—already enveloped in a dense aura of Aether—dropped their weapons without hesitation and turned to flee. As they retreated, they each tackled one of their comrades, sending them all tumbling to the ground in a cacophony of clanking armor and weapons.
One after another, Geralt unleashed the Axii Sign. His earlier display had already drawn the attention of every fighter on the battlefield. He didn’t even need to aim—each time he turned, another two dwarves were ensnared by his magic, their wills bent to his command.
In less than ten breaths, dozens of dwarves had succumbed to his influence, dragging twice as many comrades with them as they fled the center of the skirmish.
What had moments ago been a battlefield filled with deafening war cries had fallen into mysterious silence.
The hypnotized dwarves snapped out of their daze soon after, but the damage was done. Their momentary lapse had sown uncertainty and hesitation among their ranks.
Now, the two clans stood divided, with Geralt at the center, staring each other down from a cautious distance.
“That’s Geralt. He fought alongside us during the Great Cleansing. He saved many of our own,” a voice rose from the Zigrin side. “Kuba, are we really going to fight him?”
“Shut up,” Kuba snapped. “This isn’t something a handful of people can stop. We follow the chieftain’s orders.”
Similar murmurs spread among the Fuchs clan.
“That’s the White Wolf. He’s a warrior under Duke Lannister… and a Witcher,” one Fuchs dwarf whispered. “He’s not as powerful as the duke, is he? How the hell did he split the battlefield like that? What do we do now?”
“A warrior under the duke…” Fuchs’ acting commander mused. “Avoid injuring him if possible. Let’s hear what he has to say first.”
Whether it was due to past debts, or the sheer display of power Geralt had just unleashed, neither side dared to make the first move.
Geralt swayed slightly as Blackwind trotted to his side, the horse instinctively positioning itself to support him.
He was, after all, a Wolf, not a Griffin. Tawny Owl could only accelerate his mana recovery—it didn’t restore it outright. Having cast so many Signs in rapid succession, Geralt felt like a sun-dried sponge, completely wrung out.
He had single-handedly split the battlefield, his presence terrifying, his face like that of a vengeful specter. But he knew the truth—if even a single Drowner showed up right now, it could probably gut him where he stood. If the dwarves ignored their fear and rushed him all at once, his only option would be to have Blackwind carry him away.
The rumble of hooves echoed through the battlefield as dozens of Cintran cavalrymen rode in, forming a protective circle around Geralt. Though they weren’t many, they lowered their lances in unison, forming an ironclad defensive line at the heart of the conflict.
“Just put on a show,” Geralt muttered under his breath to the cavalry. “If things go south, we run. Our horses are faster. Dwarves won’t be able to keep up.”
A warrior in a lion-embossed helmet gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
“Geralt!” From the Fuchs clan’s side, a voice called out, thick with warning. “This isn’t your fight. I don’t want to harm you, but you need to leave! This is beyond your control!”
“Geralt!” a furious voice roared from the Zigrin side. “This fight isn’t stopping! Not even you can hold back the Zigrins!”
Geralt remained silent, trying to find the right words to buy as much time as possible.
But while he struggled, someone else had plenty to say.
Gabor arrived with the remaining Zigrin dwarves. There weren’t many of them—rushing here had left them unarmored, and the long journey had them gasping for breath.
But Gabor’s voice was as strong as ever. “Chief, stop this! This isn't how the real Zigrin clan should be!”
The arrival of Gabor’s group sent a ripple of unease through the dwarves standing by the Zigrin chieftain. Their hatred for the Fuchs clan had simmered for centuries, yet now their own kin stood in their way.
“Gabor, you traitor!” the Zigrin chief bellowed, practically stomping in rage. “I should never have let you stay in Mount Carbon for so long! You’d be better off dead in human lands than standing against your own people now!”
“No, Chief. I am Zigrin—we all are,” Gabor said firmly. “And because I am Zigrin, I can’t let what’s about to happen drag our clan into ruin.”
“We didn’t come here to spill our kin’s blood. But if you insist on going through with this, you’ll have to step over our corpses first. Maybe then, our blood will wake you from your madness.”
“Geralt! The young men I brought are under your command now!” Gabor shouted. “I’m taking a few men to Davor’s Pond—the dam is rigged to blow! If we don’t stop it now, it’ll be too late!”
Geralt nodded. The presence of these Zigrin dwarves had drained much of the fight from their clan, and he felt some relief.
But just as he opened his mouth to respond, a thunderous explosion rocked the battlefield.
[Boom!]
A fireball shot into the sky, its glow cutting through the darkness of night. Thick smoke billowed from the direction of the dam. Geralt’s eyes widened as distant screams—real or imagined—echoed in his mind.
“Davor’s Pond! Damn you, Zigrin!” a Fuchs dwarf shrieked. “The chief and the others are still in the mines—they’ll never escape the flood!”
“It’s too late,” the Zigrin chieftain threw back his head and laughed. “Did you really think we’d waste time hacking at you with axes and hammers? We never needed to! And while I wasn’t expecting so many of you outside the mines, dealing with you won’t be a problem, either. However…”
His laughter faded as he turned to Geralt. “What should I do with you, Witcher?”
“Tonight’s operation wasn’t meant to have witnesses.”
At his command, the Zigrin warriors hesitated. Many had fought alongside Geralt and the Cintrans just moments ago and were reluctant to raise their weapons against him. But those uninvolved in the earlier purge had no such doubts. They moved forward, forcing the hesitant ones to the back, their ranks forming an unyielding wall of battle-axes.
“If you don’t have the guts to fight humans, then take care of those traitors instead!” the chieftain barked.
Yet, as the Zigrin warriors advanced, Geralt suddenly went still. His expression calmed, his body relaxing completely against Blackwind’s flank.
“The Zigrin clan… I’m sorry,” he said, his voice steady. “You want to silence us, but your secret was exposed long before tonight. And the one who knows… is your own Elder in chief.”
In the Witcher’s eyes—darkened to abyssal black from the effects of his potions—a golden flash suddenly reflected.
It came from the direction of Davor’s Pond.
...
Davor’s Pond, The Dam
The dwarves who had just detonated the explosives crouched behind cover, cautiously peeking out to celebrate their success.
But in the next second, an unseen force sent them flying.
At first, they thought it was a delayed secondary explosion. But these were veteran miners—they wouldn’t have miscalculated the blast’s power.
Dazed, they turned toward the source of the shockwave—only to be hurled backward again.
Looking up, they finally saw it.
Not a secondary explosion.
But a knight, his cloak billowing like a war banner.
[Aard Sign—Aard Sweep!]
360 Degrees of Devastation—Without a Single kill.
A telekinetic shockwave was the perfect way to clear the battlefield without unnecessary bloodshed.
Before him, the dam had been blasted open. Though it wasn’t at full capacity like before, the raging waters still possessed a force no ordinary man could withstand.
Luckily, Lann was no ordinary man.
He threw his head back, downing a [Superior Tawny Owl] potion to extend his endurance. His powerful resistance to toxins kept his expression calm as he extended his left hand. A familiar sign once again descended upon Davor’s Pond.
[Aard Sign - Piercing Cold - Magic Burst!]
