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TWL Chapter 337: A Race Against Destruction
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 15:07:15 +0000 UTCSeeing Gabor remain silent and trembling, Lann shook his head, and an amber light flickered around him as he turned and ordered: "Geralt, take our men to the dam by Davor’s Pond. I suspect the Zigrin clan plans to blow it up, flooding the mines to kill the Fuchs clan while they harvest resources. Don’t engage in direct combat—just buy time. I have somewhere else I need to be first—"
"You were right, Your Grace," Gabor interrupted suddenly. "They do plan to destroy the dam."
The amber glow around Lann faded as he halted his teleportation spell. All eyes in the tent turned to Gabor.
"We've had spies watching the Fuchs clan. The chieftain knows that you flooded the Davor Abyss to trap the monsters inside. He intends to use the same tactic—annihilate the Fuchs clan, and then simulate a monstrous attack"
Gabor sighed yet again, his voice heavy with resignation. "Sharp as ever, Your Grace. What don't you know?"
"The fact that you’d say something like this is already a surprise to me." Lann’s suspicions were confirmed, meaning his next moves could be executed more efficiently. "Are you coming with me?"
Gabor nodded firmly—he was convinced. But then, to Lann’s surprise, he immediately shook his head and said: "There are still a lot of young dwarves in our clan who didn’t follow the chief. They’re good lads, but they don’t have a leader. Right now, they’re stuck at home, lost, and even being mocked as ‘cowards.’ I need to ask you to wait just a little longer—let me gather them. We’ll clean up the chief’s mess together. The Zigrin clan... isn’t supposed to be like this!"
Lann hadn’t expected that. If things played out well, he wouldn’t just leave Cintra with Fuchs’s support—he’d have the strength of the Zigrin clan as well.
"Alright," Lann nodded. "But we don’t have much time."
Like a cannonball, Gabor shot out of the tent. The dwarf called out from a distance, "With me rounding them up, they’ll move faster than a rolling Shaelmaar!"
Geralt finished checking his weapons and stepped out of the tent, taking a deep breath of the cold night air. "So, are we siding with Fuchs? Or rather, with Fuchs and a small faction of Zigrins against the rest of Zigrins?" Geralt asked. "How far are we taking this?"
He ran a hand over his sword hilt, his expression troubled. He knew that while their actions might earn Fuchs’s gratitude, Mahakam as a whole would never approve. If they drew their blades now, dealing with other clans in the future would become much harder.
"No." Lann shook his head. "Like I said from the beginning, we can’t take sides between Fuchs and Zigrin. It’s not about who’s right or wrong—we can only stand with the dwarves."
As he spoke, an amber glow spread across his body once more. "You lead the troops. Avoid direct conflict with either side—just stall for time. I have somewhere else I need to be."
"After all, this isn’t Cintra’s problem—it’s Mahakam’s."
...
Near Davor’s Pond, at the dam.
The night was dark and windy, with no stars in sight. The temperature had dropped as if winter had returned, despite it being early spring. Anyone standing still for too long would feel the cold seep into their bones within moments.
The channel carved by the Fuchs clan to divert water from Davor’s Pond had frozen over, covered in a thick layer of ice. The clan hadn’t even had time to smooth things over—their entire main force was still deep in the bottomless pit, racing against time.
That was when the Zigrin clan arrived at the dam.
The Zigrin chief tilted his head back, gazing up at the sight before him—a massive breach in the dam, now sealed by what looked like a towering glacier. He let out an appreciative sigh. "The Lion of Cintra... truly impressive. I’d love to share a drink of Mahakam ale with a man like that."
Dwarves, fully armed, moved in organized squads, unloading crates from the train. Their faces were grim as they carefully stacked their cargo beneath the frozen section of the dam.
The chief took a step back, chuckling. "Still, I have to thank him. After all, ice is much easier to blow up than a dam..."
The Zigrin clan had their own mines—not as vast as Davor’s Abyss had once been, but still substantial. Mining required explosives, and unlike the unlucky Fuchs clan, whose storage had been overrun by monsters, their stockpile was untouched.
Once the charges were set and the demolition team stationed, the Zigrin chieftain led the rest of his dwarves away from the dam.
However—
"Who’s there...? Damn it, it’s the Zigrin clan! And there’s so many of them!"
Not all members of the Fuchs clan were in Davor Abyss. Patrol squads and workers were stationed on the surface, guarding their camp and managing the materials being extracted. Their tents were spread across the area, and now, the alarm had been raised.
At that moment, seeing the stealthy movements of the Zigrin clan dwarves, the Fuchs clan dwarf immediately realized that it was a conspiracy. Without hesitation, he shouted for his comrades and turned to run.
His harsh, rugged voice carried far into the night, soon met by responding shouts—growing closer by the second.
"You hammer-brained fool, Fuchs! Your courage is smaller than a rat’s!" the Zigrin chieftain spat in frustration.
The plan had failed to go unnoticed—there was no point in holding back now.
"Fuchs’s main force is still trapped in the Davor Abyss. We continue as planned. As for these surface-dwellers…" The chieftain tightened his grip on his weapon. "Let them taste the fury Zigrin has been building up for centuries!"
Axes and war hammers clashed in the darkness, sparks bursting into the air. Mahakam had kept its borders closed for centuries, but battles were nothing new—dwarves had fought monsters, red dragons... but never before had such a large-scale war erupted between dwarves themselves.
The Zigrin warriors, greater in number and better prepared, easily overpowered the Fuchs patrols that rushed to defend their camp.
By the time Geralt arrived, the battle had already been raging for a while. More Fuchs dwarves emerged from the darkness, but they were being pushed back—corpses littered the ground, some belonging to Fuchs, others to Zigrin. Axes were buried in shields, war hammers dented armor.
Dwarves who had been enemies for centuries could only find peace in death.
"Geralt, sir?" a Cintran cavalryman asked in a low voice, awaiting orders.
Lann made it sound simple, but how the hell are we supposed to stop this? Geralt clenched his jaw. This had already turned into an all-out blood feud.
But Lann needs time. He needs time... And these dwarves—they’re meant to be the future soldiers of Cintra.
Taking a deep breath, Geralt reached into his alchemy satchel and pulled out a vial of Tawny Owl.
Without hesitation, he bit off the wax seal and downed the potion in one gulp. Under the pale moonlight, his already pallid face grew even more ghostly, and dark veins spread from his eyes.
Then, he patted the side of his horse.
Blackwind snorted, its amber eyes—so much like Geralt’s—flaring with excitement. Other than Lann, only two people had ever ridden Blackwind: one was Ciri, the other was Geralt.
This wasn’t their first time working together either. The last time had been in Brokilon Forest, when Lann, still mortal then, had fought against a griffin. Blackwind had carried a barely conscious Geralt to the battlefield just in time to save him.
"Blackwind, get me in there. I need an opening—but keep yourself safe."
The horse flicks its ears, lowering its body in preparation.
Geralt turned to the Cintran riders. "I’ll break them apart for a moment. When I do, move in and form a circle between them. Keep them separated for as long as possible. No killing—but don’t let yourselves get cut down either. Understood?"
The cavalrymen answered in unison.
The next second, the Witcher of the Wolf School charged into battle over a Griffin School warhorse.
Blackwind hit harder than any war chariot, but it was careful—not slamming into the dwarves directly but instead using its armored body to knock against their shields and armor. Even that was enough to send them flying.
They quickly reached the heart of the battlefield.
Geralt had already loosened his stirrups, crouching low over the saddle. As they neared the thickest part of the fight, he jumped—using Blackwind’s momentum to launch himself over the heads of the dwarves. Mid-air, he thrust his hand forward, releasing a burst of flames into the sky.
[Igni Sign!]
The firelight instantly caught everyone's attention. Aside from the most frenzied fighters locked in direct combat, many of the dwarves hesitated, glancing up at the sudden intrusion.
Geralt, however, did not slow down. He plunged straight into the melee.
He wasn’t Lann—diving into a battle like this was a real risk to his life. That was why his every movement had to be precise, seamless. As he landed, he rolled forward, slamming his hand against the ground again and again—each time, glowing purple runes spread outward.
[Yrden Sign!]
Geralt’s Yrden wasn’t as large as Lann’s, only capable of slowing four or five enemies at a time. But if one wasn't enough, he’d make up for it with numbers.
One by one, rings of magic spread across the battlefield. Nearly a hundred dwarves were caught in the purple glow, their raised axes and war hammers suddenly moving in sluggish slow motion.
Geralt raised his left hand, his body turning like a windmill in controlled, steady rotations. At the same time, his right hand reached into his satchel again, pulling out another vial of Tawny Owl.
His magic reserves were running dry, but as he swallowed the second dose, they surged back. The double dose made his pupils turn black as the abyss. He could hear his own pulse pounding like war drums in his veins.
The real fight starts now, he thought.
A hazy white glow began to gather in Geralt’s palm—far denser than the usual magic radiating from a Witcher’s Sign. At the same time, two dwarves standing before him were suddenly enveloped in the same glow.
[Axii Sign – Puppet!]
"Stand down!" Geralt roared.
The full moon shone overhead. And beneath it, the White Wolf howled.
