"Your Majesty, Redania possesses the finest intelligence network in the North," the spymaster immediately declared.
"So, this report is true?" the king asked coolly. "The first part doesn't surprise me—Henselt doing something reckless is expected. The middle section raises some concerns—if even Demavend and Meve together couldn't hold them off, perhaps we really ought to take Nilfgaard more seriously."
"But this last portion—Lannister running around wherever he pleases? Taking out the commanders of entire units so easily? And two dragons? You're telling me this report is still credible?"
Truth be told, Dijkstra himself had wrestled with this for a long time before finally presenting the report to the king.
"Count Dijkstra," Prince Radovid snapped, "don't you think you owe us a proper explanation?"
Sweat began to bead on Dijkstra's forehead.
Fortunately, Vizimir II soon shifted his gaze. "Philippa, my advisor. Since this intelligence is so… 'magical,' I'd like your opinion on it."
The sorceress had already composed herself by now.
"Your Majesty, we all know about Duke Lannister's… peculiar nature. Because of it, he's taken a liking to forming ties with unique groups—witchers, druids, and the like. He has a pact with the dryads of Brokilon, and even Temeria's court advisor Triss Merigold is under his banner."
Philippa was doing her best to downplay Lann's threat in Vizimir II's eyes.
She paused briefly, seemingly organizing the thoughts in her head.
"There have always been rumors that the druids of Skellige can command wyverns. That may explain the two dragons mentioned in the report. As for Lannister's battlefield accomplishments—he must have been aided by those druids and sorcerers. It's just that he always appears to act alone, so everyone assumes the victories are his alone."
"So you're suggesting he's concealing the presence of his magical forces," Vizimir II said with a chuckle, "to increase Nilfgaard's fear of him? And at the same time, he can take more credit for the feats and shape his own legend in Cintra—write an epic of the North with himself at the center?"
"There's no better explanation," Philippa replied, bowing her head.
"Despicable!" Radovid sneered. "Using sorcerers and druids in battle, and then stealing their glory!"
The king frowned and finally raised a hand, signaling his son to be silent.
He leaned closer to the hearth.
"Philippa, if it were you—or any sorcerer you know—could you replicate Lannister's accomplishments?"
This time, Philippa answered without a moment of hesitation.
"I could not. Nor could any known member of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers."
But she added, "However, Your Majesty, I can ensure that such a situation never occurs within Redania."
Her finger moved to the report, landing on the entry for February 26th:
"Duke Lannister attempts to assassinate Marshal Menno. Multiple Nilfgaardian mages appeared at the scene."
In the subsequent report entries, Marshal Menno was still present—indicating the assassination attempt had failed due to the intervention of Nilfgaard's magic units.
Vizimir II fell silent for a moment.
"Dijkstra. I've heard rumors that Nilfgaardian agents often approach dropouts near Ban Ard Magic Academy, recruiting them into their own intelligence network. And the Kaedweni just turn a blind eye?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then perhaps… it's time we begin as well."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And Philippa," the king continued, "deliver my orders—have the eastern border forces teach Kaedwen a lesson. If Henselt dares ignore our warnings, he must pay the price."
"We'll need to free up Demavend's forces to face Nilfgaard properly."
The word 'war' made Prince Radovid's eyes gleam with excitement.
"Your will, Your Majesty," the sorceress replied with a graceful courtly bow.
"As for Cintra…" Vizimir II mused aloud.
"Forget it—for now. Whatever happens next can wait until Nilfgaard is driven out. After all, they're just a handful now."
The conversation should have ended there. Vizimir II was starting to feel tired.
But then he caught sight of his son's face—beaming with excitement.
His prince seemed to have an unusual fondness for war… and troubling rumors had already begun to circulate through the court.
That gave Vizimir pause.
"Philippa, I'll need you to pay closer attention to Radovid's education," he said quietly. "I have a feeling… the times are changing."
Radovid froze.
His excitement drained like cooling steel.
"It would be my honor, Your Majesty," Philippa replied, a meaningful smile spreading across her face.
She lowered her head again under the pretext of a courtly bow, hiding the glint in her eyes—
The hungry gleam of an owl that had just spotted its prey.
"And Dijkstra."
Vizimir turned to his spymaster again.
"Some time ago I asked you to reach out to Foltest and discuss a marriage alliance. Has he responded yet? I remember… his daughter's name was Adda, wasn't it?"
Dijkstra hesitated, wearing a look that said he was struggling for words.
"Your Majesty…"
...
Temeria — Vizima.
Unlike Redania, which separated Novigrad as a distinct trade city, Vizima was both Temeria's capital and one of the largest port cities in the North.
Its docks bustled with merchants year-round, creating an atmosphere of remarkable freedom—and with it came a constant stream of rumors and whispered gossip that no guard could ever suppress.
Naturally, royal affairs remained the people's favorite topic—especially in Temeria, where scandalous rumors seemed to flourish like weeds.
And in such an environment, Princess Adda was always at the center of attention.
After all, her own life was legendary enough.
She had once been cursed by court mages into becoming a striga, only to be saved by none other than the famous witcher known as the White Wolf.
Ever since, a wildness had clung to her like a second skin.
She was bold, loud, and unrestrained—at one point even rumored to have mingled with underground gangs in the city.
Fortunately for the people of Vizima, King Foltest was a man of loose morals and easygoing temperament.
Otherwise, half the city might have found themselves in prison.
But over the past few months, the people of Vizima had noticed something strange—
Princess Adda had not been seen in a long time.
And now… a scandalous new rumor had begun to seep from the halls of the palace—
Princess Adda… was pregnant.
Unmarried.
…
Keira and Fercart walked through the royal castle, passing beneath wide stone archways, colored stained-glass windows, and vaulted ceilings until they reached the door to the king's executive suite.
They had been summoned by the king. A royal steward had already announced their arrival—and now the door opened.
They hadn't even stepped inside when a furious roar burst from within:
"LANNISTER!"
Keira exchanged a glance with her companion and shrank her neck slightly.
The king had been easily angered of late—especially whenever the topic touched on Duke Lannister of Cintra.
And unfortunately, the Lion had been incredibly active in the North lately.
Every piece of intelligence sent to the palace somehow involved him.
Frustrated agents had even considered removing mentions of the 'Lion of Cintra' from their reports—
Only to discover that without him, there was hardly anything worth reporting at all.
Which only fueled the king's rage further.
King Foltest, his face livid, hurled a war report at his sorcerous advisor.
It documented Lann's latest military activity in the North.
Keira and Fercart lacked Philippa's composure.
Their expressions turned blank the instant they read the report.
"It's magic—it must be magic! That bastard Lannister loves that sort of thing!" Foltest bellowed.
"And Merigold! He lured Merigold away! The results in this report—Triss must've played a role!"
"Keira, Fercart! You've both worked with Merigold before. Tell me—could either of you do what's described in this report?"
Even Fercart, now counted among the top ten mages of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, could only shake his head.
Their answer was the same as Philippa's had been.
King Foltest slumped heavily back onto the sofa, struggling to banish the image of a certain golden-haired man from his thoughts.
He had begun to worry about his daughter.
"Keira, you've been looking after Adda all this time. How is she doing lately?"
Keira Metz carefully chose her words.
"Her Highness the Princess… is in excellent health. But she still holds firmly to her earlier views."
"She still wants me to send troops to support Cintra?"
"Yes." Keira bowed her head.
As expected, the king—who had just calmed down—immediately leapt up again in fury.
"This is Lannister's scheme! Shameless revenge! He's disgraced the name of Calanthe! And now he wants to force my hand with this kind of manipulation?!
Damn that Lannister! Filthy witcher!"
"No, wait—it's all a lie! He's not even a real witcher!!"
"Everyone in the North has been deceived by him!!!"
Who could have predicted this turn of events?
Not long ago, Foltest had been planning to marry his illegitimate son to the Princess of Cintra—
And now everything had turned into a complete mess.
Fercart glanced left and right, then cleared his throat.
"Your Majesty, from a political standpoint, this situation… might not be such a bad thing. It could even help us accomplish several strategic—"
"Get out!"
Indeed, mages really did lack social tact.
After throwing his two advisors out, Foltest stood there panting for a while.
He remained silent for a long time, lost in thought.
Eventually, the King of Temeria gave an order to his royal steward.
"Has Roche returned to Vizima?"
"He arrived yesterday, Your Majesty. He's just completed the last assignment you gave him."
"Bring him to me."
Soon, a man like iron itself entered the chamber.
He wore a blue cotton-leather gambeson with staggered stripes down the sleeves, and carried a brown headscarf under one arm. His expression was firm and unyielding.
"Your Majesty."
The iron man knelt before his king.
"Roche, you are one of the most trusted men in my service," the king began.
"I want you to summon every member of the Blue Stripes still in the field. I need that special unit to serve as my personal guard for the foreseeable future."
Roche's face grew serious at once.
"Your Majesty—are you expecting assassins?"
"No." Foltest clenched his teeth.
"I'm leading the army south. Personally."
Roche hesitated for a moment, then carefully asked, "Are we… taking action against Cintra?"
Anyone hearing that command—especially given the king's recent temper—would have thought the same.
"No," Foltest growled, nearly grinding his teeth to dust.
He took a deep breath, then spoke in a voice laced with bitter reluctance: "Our target is the Nilfgaardians."
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