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TWL Chapter 329: Blood, Fire, and Stone
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 02:07:10 +0000 UTCAs the flames reached their peak, they finally began to fade, having exhausted the flesh and inorganic matter they had clung to. Without additional magical reinforcement from the lion-eyed witcher, they could burn no further.
Geralt approached one of the Shaelmaars, extending his gloved left hand and pressing lightly against its outer shell. With a soft crack, the once-sturdy rock-like armor crumbled like charcoal between his fingers. He had no idea what exactly had burned away inside, but whatever it was, the fire had left nothing behind.
“What a waste,” Geralt muttered. Though he had lived comfortably in Cintra for some time, nearly a century of frugality was a hard habit to break. “Can’t even salvage alchemy materials from this mess.”
Lann shrugged. It was a waste—precious alchemical components weren’t easily replaced, not even with coin. But this time, there had been a bit of catharsis in it. Next time, he told himself, he should stick to Piercing Cold rather than Pyromaniac.
Geralt shook his head and stepped over the charred remains, making his way toward the drake. The beast had been reduced to something akin to a carbonized sculpture, its body twisted into a grotesque, agonizing posture. Its once-imposing scales had partially melted and fused with its flesh, leaving behind a horrifying, blackened husk.
Even in death, the drake exuded the presence of an apex predator. If anything, its gruesome demise only seemed to amplify its aura, stopping the nearby dwarves in their tracks as they hesitated to claim their spoils.
“A truly magnificent beast,” the White Wolf remarked. “No wonder they call them the closest kin to true dragons.”
“True dragons are far more beautiful,” Saskia interjected.
The young warrior, a recent addition to the party, had found little opportunity to fight. Aside from helping to repel the initial Shaelmaars attack, Lann had essentially stolen all the glory for himself.
“Oh?” Geralt’s expression remained unreadable as he turned his sharp gaze toward her, studying her from head to toe. His heightened senses and vast knowledge of the supernatural had already alerted him to something off about her. In fact, he was beginning to match her face with someone from his memories.
“Of course,” Saskia nodded. “True dragons are far more majestic… and much less stupid.”
…
Beyond the field of scorched corpses, Lann was attempting to negotiate with the two dwarven clans.
“Kuba, this is Duke Lannister of Cintra.”
Gabor, sensing that his kinsman was too intimidated to step forward—even in the face of Lann’s warm, sunshine-like smile—decided to take the lead and make introductions himself. After all, guiding and bridging gaps between people was part of his duty.
“And this is my cousin, Kuba Zigrin, Duke Lannister.”
The other dwarves were still shaken by Lann’s earlier display of power. Some even seemed to regard Gabor with newfound admiration, as if knowing someone like Lann was an achievement in itself.
“You said this Duke Lannister is a guest of the Elder in chief, didn’t you, Gabor?”
Before the Zigrins could respond, another group of dwarves—members of the opposing clan—stepped forward, leaning on one another for support as they pushed their way into the conversation.
The leader of this second group had a sharp, calculating look about him. Unlike the others, he had already begun to shake off the lingering fear and was thinking ahead.
“From what I’ve seen… this Duke Lannister is quite experienced in dealing with these creatures,” the dwarf mused, glancing toward Lann’s party. “And that warrior over there, he seems to be a witcher.”
He gestured toward the White Wolf. It was clear this dwarf had spent time among humans—he recognized Geralt’s cat-like amber eyes instantly. Lann’s own leonine gaze, however, was unusual enough that he hesitated to make any assumptions.
“It seems the Elder has heard our pleas and sent powerful reinforcements.”
“Greetings, Duke Lannister,” the dwarf leader said politely, inclining his head. “Thank you for your assistance. I am the foreman of this group, my name is—”
“Petrit Fuchs.” Gabor interrupted him.
Even before arriving, Gabor had picked up on the unspoken tension surrounding the Fuchs clan. Now, having witnessed how the Zigrins had deliberately ignored their distress during the battle, Lann could make an educated guess about their relationship.
There was bad blood between them. Deep bad blood.
And if his memory served him right, the conflict between these two clans would only escalate in the future, spiraling into something far more dangerous.
For now, the hatred hadn’t erupted into full-blown war, but the resentment was deeply ingrained. Even exchanging a few words seemed like a painful concession for both sides.
Lann sighed inwardly.
This wasn’t a battlefield of swords and magic. It was a battlefield of old grudges and tangled histories.
And that was a far trickier fight to win.
"Duke Lannister was here at the Elder in Chief’s request to assist us, and likewise, we must also assist him in return,” Gabor said sternly to Petrit, his face expressionless. "This is the Elder in Chief's letter."
As he spoke, Gabor handed over a rolled-up parchment, bound with fine thread and bearing the Elder's iron seal. Since the assistance given to Lann could not be openly discussed, he could not be allowed to interact freely with the various clans. The Elder had long arranged for Gabor to act as a bridge in these matters.
It was fortunate that the Elder in chief had written a letter; otherwise, Gabor wouldn't have bothered speaking to the Fuchs clan at all.
"This letter is only for your clan elder’s eyes, so don't even think about tampering with it," Gabor snorted. "Once he reads it, he will understand the Elder in Chief's intentions."
"I'm not like you Zigrins, always meddling with things you shouldn’t," Petrit shot back without hesitation.
He then caught the letter Gabor had tossed his way. Fortunately, the iron seal added enough weight for it to be thrown properly.
After finishing his exchange with Gabor, Petrit turned to Lann, his expression softening.
"Since Duke Lannister is here to aid us, then he is our friend and should be treated as an honored guest. Not to mention, he has just done us a great service..."
"Duke Lannister is my guest," Gabor interrupted once again. "He was brought here by the Zigrin clan. As for dealing with the monsters, we can discuss that tomorrow at a proper meeting."
"Does that arrangement suit you, Duke Lannister?"
It was natural for the two clans to compete for the support of their powerful ally, though their manner of doing so made it seem as if they were treating Lann like a commodity. Gabor knew Lann would likely favor the Zigrin clan due to their existing connections, but out of politeness, he still sought his opinion.
Lann glanced between the two clans before ultimately nodding in agreement with Gabor’s proposal. Petrit, though disappointed, did not argue.
Between Gabor, who had served as his guide, and Yarpen, now in his service, Lann naturally felt a stronger connection to the Zigrin clan.
Still, if things continued this way, it might just end up as Gabor suggested—when the time came to recruit heavy infantry, he would be forced to choose between the two clans.
Was there a way to satisfy both sides?
...
Though the Mahakam Mountains were covered in snow year-round, the region was rich in biodiversity. After leaving the nearby battlefield and its mining tunnels behind, the group passed a massive dam and a reservoir large enough to sustain the daily needs of an entire kingdom’s capital city.
Here, the river that once raged wildly seemed tamed, flowing smoothly and peacefully as it nurtured the dwarven clans living nearby. To Lann, the reservoir resembled an artificial lake, with its connected waterways forming a natural harbor. It was large enough for Skellige's Drakkars to dock here, perhaps up to a dozen at a time.
A natural mountain gorge of this scale was rare, and for an artificial reservoir, such a feat of engineering could only be attributed to the master craftsmanship of the dwarves.
"Impressive, isn't it? This is our pride—Davor's Pond!" Gabor laughed heartily before muttering under his breath, "Though the Fuchs clan did contribute a bit to its construction."
Lann suddenly found himself understanding the root of their feud—at least one of its causes.
Before long, they arrived at the Zigrin clan settlement. It was a small town built into the mountainside, its stone houses rugged and unyielding, almost as if they had been carved directly from the mountain itself. Living here felt less like residing in buildings and more like dwelling inside the mountain itself.
Due to the harsh climate and the season, a thin layer of ice covered the stone structures, making them look even more severe. It was a stark contrast to the typical imagery associated with dwarves—fire, forges, warmth.
But inside, the people were as loud and jovial as ever. Gabor was a source of pride for the Zigrin clan, and as soon as he returned, their chieftain stepped forward, arms wide in welcome, without needing to be summoned.
Upon seeing the Elder’s letter and learning of Lann’s identity—especially after hearing of his prowess in battle—the chieftain's laughter grew even louder.
