The Witcher: Lord of the Empire

At this point, the tower beneath Duke de Wett's feet had ironically become the calmest place in the entire fortress.

Vaguely, Duke de Wett began to sense that Lannister didn't intend to take his life.

[BOOM!]

A column of fire roared past the tower beneath Duke de Wett's feet, slamming into an adjacent archer tower.

Flames seeped into the structure through its windows and every crack. Then, with a thunderous explosion, the entire tower was blown to pieces.

"My lord, we—we might need to retreat!"

The adjutant tackled Duke de Wett to the ground, shielding him from the bricks and stones raining down from above, then anxiously urged him to retreat.

"Retreat? In this situation?"

Duke de Wett jumped to his feet and furiously pointed toward the distant Cintran cavalry and the dragons overhead—then back at his own infantry, which had all but collapsed into a routed mess.

"You want us to leave the fortress and retreat into the open under these conditions?"

The adjutant, eyes bloodshot and panting heavily, said nothing.

After shouting at him for a moment, Duke de Wett quickly calmed down and muttered dejectedly, "…We should retreat after all."

[BOOM!]

Another blast shook the fortress. The southern wall completely crumbled, revealing a massive gap—as if deliberately offering Duke de Wett a way out.

Looking around, more than one-fifth of Fort Ortagor's structures had already collapsed. What was once a bastion of protection had now become a deathtrap—trapping the Nilfgaardian soldiers inside and leaving them with no shelter from the dragonfire pouring from above. Even the elite Black Army had been decimated.

Ironically, it was the formations stationed outside the fortress that still retained most of their combat strength.

"A few hundred… or even just a few dozen men could slay a dragon—and yet when used like this on the battlefield, they can produce results like this...?"

Duke de Wett muttered to himself, gazing toward Lann in the distance.

By now, the guerrilla squads had regrouped around him. The sorceresses had opened another portal to aid in evacuation, and Duke de Wett could only watch helplessly as these people moved freely in and out of his fortress as if no one were there to stop them.

[BOOM!]

Another column of fire rained down. From Duke de Wett's perspective, the blaze lit up the backdrop behind Lann, as though drawing the curtain on an operation that would soon shake the entire continent.

Right then, he noticed Lannister glance in his direction—and smiled.

In the next instant, the Lion of Cintra and the remaining Witchers vanished in a flash of emerald light.

"My lord!" came the adjutant's voice again, urging him forward.

The dragons still roared, Nilfgaardians still screamed, and the surroundings resembled nothing short of the apocalypse.

Duke de Wett gritted his teeth and issued the order harshly: "Gather the royal guard—we're retreating!"

The last of the cavalry in the city mounted quickly and lightly, escorting the commander of the Western Army through the gap blasted open by the dragons. As expected, the path was smooth. Despite the enormous commotion, the dragons overhead paid them no attention.

However, the moment Duke de Wett tried to rally the remaining troops and bring more soldiers with him, dragonfire came crashing down from the sky—instantly reducing those Nilfgaardians who had dared hope for a sliver of survival to scorched husks.

By the time Duke de Wett escaped Fort Ortagor, he had barely a hundred horsemen left at his side.

On the other side of the fortress, the clash of battle shook the heavens.

The dragons no longer cared about the ruined fortress and had begun rampaging through the infantry formations outside. After the enemy phalanx collapsed, the Cintran cavalry charged in without hesitation—shifting from direct engagement to full pursuit almost instantly.

"My lord, should we go back and—"

"No. Leave them. Let them cover our retreat."

Duke de Wett bit down hard. "They can only stay behind."

The commander of the Western Army took one last glance back at his forces.

"The Lannister that Cintra speaks of like a legend… actually exists."

"The Western Army… is finished."

...

Half a day later.

Inside Fort Ortagor, Lann sat in the study of the only building untouched by dragonfire—the very room Duke de Wett had previously occupied.

[Respected Mentor,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It has been quite some time since my last greeting, and I must apologize for the delay. The situation in the North has been dire—Nilfgaard has been eyeing us greedily, and I've been forced to travel constantly in search of trustworthy allies, leaving little time to seek your wisdom.

Fortunately, things have finally taken a turn for the better. At this point, I've nearly driven out all the enemies entrenched in Cintra, and the path to restoration lies ahead.

Once matters settle down, we can finally move forward with the rebuilding of the Witcher Order...]

He was using the Griffin School's Contact Notebook to write to Jerome, who was currently in Kaer Seren.

Since Jerome had already promised to lend his aid in critical moments—and the other Griffin master, Keldar, had even traveled north with Mousesack to seek help from the Kingdom of Kovir—Lann no longer bothered with veiled hints or subtle requests to urge his mentor out of seclusion.

The letter he was writing now was more of a casual update—a way to stay connected and show care for an old man left behind in an empty keep.

Of course, it wouldn't be wrong to say Lann secretly hoped to turn that 'help in critical moments' into something more long-term—ideally convincing both Griffin masters to take up permanent residence in Cintra.

[Creak—]

Before he could finish the letter, the study door was suddenly flung open.

Lann raised an eyebrow.

In all of Cintra, there was only one person who would knowingly barge into his room without knocking—and who could do so without the guards even announcing their presence.

Sure enough, a clear and familiar voice followed immediately: "Lann!"

Looking up, he saw Ciri rushing into the room in a set of white armor remarkably similar to what Calanthe once wore. She ran straight into his arms and then peeked curiously at the notebook spread out on his desk.

"So this is the magical tool your Griffin School uses to stay in contact? Can I take a look?"

The Surprise Girl from the School of the Wolf asked with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Do I even have the right to say no?"

Lann chuckled as he gently patted her head, then asked, puzzled, "What are you doing here? You should be staying put in Brokilon. This is still a warfront."

"It's not the front lines anymore," Ciri said, eyes bright and brimming with emotion. "This is home again!"

Hearing that, Lann's smile deepened.

"I'll give you that, Your Highness."

His right hand moved instinctively, ruffling her silvery hair. "But how did you get here?"

A voice answered from outside the room: "It was me."

The old advisor Mousesack stepped through the doorway, followed by Marshal Vissegerd.

"Even before I set out, Ciri kept pleading with me nonstop," the druid said, unable to suppress his smile at the sight of the two. "And now that Fort Ortagor has been retaken, and the Western Army defeated, I figured it was time we sent a message to the warriors of Cintra."

At that, Mousesack drew a deep breath, and Marshal Vissegerd, standing behind him, flushed slightly.

"Cintra can now truly be considered restored," Mousesack declared. "And in such a moment, having both the Princess and the Duke appear before the troops—to offer words and reward them—will be something worthy of the history books."

And he was right. With this campaign, Lann and his allies had essentially achieved their strategic goals in Cintra.

If not for the need to leave a route open for a future ambush against the Central Army, they could have already launched a full-scale reclamation across the entire region.

And they'd likely succeed—soon.

"You're right." Lann was convinced. "It's been two years since the Nilfgaardians first invaded. Everyone's been waiting for this…"

"Once the cleanup of Fort Ortagor is complete, gather all the warriors. At a time like this, with a major milestone achieved, they truly deserve to be rewarded."

"But we still have a final, decisive battle ahead. The soldiers can't afford to let their guard down," Lann reminded them. "I'll need your help keeping things in check, Marshal."

"Don't worry, Lann."

The fire in the Marshal's eyes showed no sign of dimming, despite his graying beard and hair. "Morale is higher than ever—after all, we just reclaimed Fort Ortagor."

"This is the last stretch before dawn. Even if the next battle costs every one of us our lives, no one will utter a word of complaint."

These weren't words spoken on behalf of the soldiers—they came from the Marshal's heart.

Lann's expression turned solemn.

"I have no intention of letting everyone fall in that final battle," he said with gravity. "All of my efforts—finding allies, strengthening myself, those dragons flying overhead, and even the giants who have yet to appear—have all been for one purpose: to help as many of our people survive as possible, so that together, we can witness the day the Three Lions banner is raised once more over Cintra's capital."

He paused, then smiled.

"Besides, I'm going to need all of you to help rebuild Cintra afterward. If everyone's gone, who am I supposed to rely on?"

The room immediately lightened with a warm atmosphere.

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