Lann spread out the full map of the Northern Realms before him. Beside it lay an unfinished document and his personal notebook.
Plans had changed.
If his original intent had only been to use Philippa's scheming against her and ignite conflict at Aretuza, then the forces he had on hand would have been sufficient.
But now that Francesca intended to turn the tables on him, and he, in turn, had to counter-scheme both Francesca and the Wild Hunt, his current forces were beginning to seem a little stretched.
After all, the Wild Hunt could harness the power of the White Frost, and now they had unexpectedly gained the elite elven forces from the Blue Mountain headquarters as well.
Lann quickly tallied up the forces involved in the grand play unfolding on Thanedd Island:
There were the Northern delegates who had come with genuine intent to hold a diplomatic summit;
the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, acting as hosts;
Philippa and Redania's Royal Guard, poised to seize the opportunity for disruption;
Cintra, hoping to profit from the ensuing chaos;
and finally, the elves planning to quietly flip the table altogether.
A total of five major factions.
A true free-for-all.
And this was just what was happening on Thanedd Island. That's not even counting Philippa's plan to use the occasion to launch a coup in Redania, nor Lann's own scheme to stage a surprise strike in Kaedwen.
After some thought, Lann decided not to change his original plan of sending the Scoia'tael to Kaedwen. If Francesca wanted to use those troops to deceive him, then he would simply exploit Iorveth's standing within the Scoia'tael to co-opt the whole operation—turning those troops into a fighting force for Cintra.
However, if the elves really planned to launch a direct assault on Thanedd Island, then those Scoia'tael alone wouldn't be enough—they were originally troops Francesca had intended to discard.
So Lann resolved to dispatch Saskia and several School of the Viper witchers to Kaedwen.
In the original timeline, the Dragoness had united various races as a rebel leader—so she was much more than just a high-tier warrior. Lann believed she could rally more forces in the birthplace of the Scoia'tael and deliver some pleasant surprises.
As for the Viper School... well, those who knew, knew.
That crew had come dangerously close to turning 'Witcher' into a full-time job of "King-Slayer" in the original lore.
Still, Lann considered it carefully and decided to send only Kolgrim, Auckes, and Serrit to Kaedwen.
Letho he would bring personally to Thanedd Island. After all, that would be the real battlefield—and a brute like him couldn't be spared.
That took care of the Kaedwen front.
As for Redania, Lann figured Philippa didn't need much interference from him there.
And as for the most important theater—Thanedd Island…
Lann pondered for a moment. If he recalled correctly, Thanedd Island was technically within the territory of Temeria.
Conveniently, he had some personal business to tend to in Temeria anyway—so he could take a slight detour on his way to Thanedd and pay a visit. If the meeting went well, they might even travel together.
Shame the diplomatic envoys had already gone home; otherwise, he could've arranged something directly with Keira Metz.
Finishing a diplomatic missive in swift, forceful strokes, Lann stamped it with his seal, then called House in to hand it off to the courier—intending to test Temeria's stance.
Were there any other ways to quickly bolster his own strength?
Lann tapped his forehead in thought.
Perhaps something could still be arranged in Novigrad. As the heart of the North, the city still had plenty of top-tier powerhouses. He made a mental note to ask Kiyan if anything promising had turned up on that front.
As for the Eternal Fire—under Chappelle's control—it could be leveraged to seize even greater authority once Philippa's assassination succeeded.
And on the direct battlefield… Mousesack's second round of mutations and various experiments—who knew how they were progressing? Lann figured he'd better stop by and check on that soon.
Wait a minute.
Lann suddenly remembered—he still had one more card to play.
...
Kaer Seren, headquarters of the School of the Griffin.
Underground laboratory.
Though it was called an underground lab, due to the nature of biological experimentation, the area contained a number of cell-like chambers—ones that resembled prison blocks.
Compared to the dungeons beneath Cintra's capital, these chambers were even more secure in terms of confinement—far better suited for holding truly dangerous criminals and terrorists.
Such as Leo Bonhart, the bounty hunter whom Mousesack had already classified as ideal material for witcher experimentation.
And then there was—
Lann gazed at the sorcerer before him, mentally broken and physically drained, and said coldly: "Enjoying yourself, Vilgefortz?"
The sound of the iron door opening, followed by approaching footsteps, made Vilgefortz shudder slightly. The beam of light entering the cell forced him to shrink back involuntarily.
He looked wretched.
A massive scar—torn across his face by Regis—ran diagonally over his features. Though it had been treated, it still left behind a fresh, gruesome wound, twisted and inflamed like a centipede crawling across his skin.
His complexion was ashen; his spirit hollowed out. During this time, Mousesack had subjected him to a variety of alchemical brews to erode his consciousness—and had already extracted a trove of valuable intelligence and secrets from him.
Those very truths had reignited Mousesack's fury. If it weren't for the fear of accidentally killing Vilgefortz too soon, the old druid might've already turned him into a test subject for human experimentation.
"Elder... Blood?"
Once his eyes had finally adjusted to the light, Vilgefortz murmured the words in Lann's direction.
Not bad.
He hadn't even bothered to say his name—he had called out to the Elder Blood directly.
It showed just how deeply his obsession ran.
Of course, it also helped that Mousesack's potions had all but shattered what remained of his will.
But in the next moment, Vilgefortz managed to claw back a shred of lucidity. His eyes moved, and he recognized the man standing before him.
"Lann... Lannister?" he panted heavily.
"You finally... came to see me..."
"This is... our first meeting!"
Lann let out a quiet chuckle and strode forward confidently.
He stared at the face before him, his eyes growing colder with every passing second.
His hands itched to conjure up an Igni sign and blast the sorcerer point-blank in the face.
Hold on, Lann told himself. Wait.
It's not time for him to die yet—not while he still hasn't suffered enough.
"Do you want out?" Lann asked, looking at Vilgefortz's haggard face.
"Do you still want the power of the Elder Blood?"
Vilgefortz's eyes flew wide open.
The decoctions had nearly broken his mind, leaving him unable to think. Yet Lann's voice still stirred a reflexive response from deep within him.
"You... you're mocking me?"
Lann stared at Vilgefortz, trying to discern any lingering trace of the legendary Northern mage in what remained of this man.
He had been the first human sorcerer on the Continent to research the Elder Blood, and his studies in genealogy had even surpassed those of the elves.
Over thirty years ago, he had already begun using Emhyr as a pawn in his long-term scheme—his cunning and patience far beyond what one might expect from an ordinary conspirator.
He was a natural-born source of magic, one of the top five sorcerers on the Continent, and had leveraged the war between North and South to seize unparalleled prestige among the mages—rising to prominence like no other.
Before he revealed his true thoughts and motives, everyone had believed him to be a paragon of justice, calm, and valor—a destined leader for Northern mages in the coming age.
Lann kept staring.
"I'm not mocking you, Vilgefortz."
"Think about it—we've never even truly come face to face, have we? True, you caused considerable damage to Brokilon, but those losses were later repaired by the djinn you brought with you."
Lann's voice was calm, his expression icy. "There's no unresolvable grudge between us, is there?"
The decoctions clouded Vilgefortz's mind—his thoughts sluggish and dim.
"We're... not enemies?"
"No—we're not!" Vilgefortz suddenly jerked upright. "I already told you about Pavetta and Emhyr!"
His body convulsed violently. Foam spilled from his mouth. His limbs contorted in agony, as though a hundred ants were gnawing him from within.
He let out a blood-curdling scream.
Lann raised a brow in exasperation and, without hesitation, jabbed a syringe into Vilgefortz's neck. The decoction surged into his veins, and the mage quickly quieted down.
"What was in that one?" Lann asked, holding up the used syringe and glancing to the side.
"Some ghost-needle grass, corpse-caps, and an extract of mandrake root," said Mousesack coldly, his eyes fixed on Vilgefortz. "You could think of it as a potent hallucinogen with mild toxins."
Lann nodded with approval. "Good stuff."
He pointed at another syringe in Mousesack's hand. "And that one?"
"You could call it a stimulant."
Another vial of decoction was pressed into the captive's bloodstream. The once-still body began twitching again.
Lann and Mousesack stepped out of the cell, closed the door, and watched through a palm-sized observation window as Vilgefortz's body writhed.
They waited until the prisoner stopped seizing.
After a moment of continued observation, the druid gave Lann a slight nod—he was ready.
[Clack—]
The iron door creaked open. The sound of footsteps jolted Vilgefortz from unconsciousness. Light flooded into the cell, making him curl up and tremble.
"Been enjoying yourself, Vilgefortz?"
…
"We… don't have any unresolvable grudge," Vilgefortz repeated slowly.
"That's right." Lann spoke gently. "You know I'm not like Queen Calanthe. Under my rule, Cintra is particularly friendly toward sorcerers. I even sent my squire to study magic under you—his name is Ace. Do you remember?"
"Cintra welcomes anyone who can offer help," Lann said, lightly pressing a fingertip against Vilgefortz's cheek, the skin caving in under the pressure. "And I believe you're such a man."
"I can help Cintra… No! Wait!"
"Lannister, you—!!"
The mage began to spasm again.
Another syringe was driven into his flesh.
"This time I increased the mandrake ratio," Mousesack said, looking down. "The effect should be stronger."
…
"I think we can still build a friendship," Lann said with a deep breath, grinding his molars. "For the sake of a greater future."
"A greater… future…"
"I could even share the power of the Elder Blood with you."
"Elder… Elder Blood!" A sudden light burst forth in Vilgefortz's eyes.
This was the first time he'd shown such a strong reaction.
"That's right."
Lann used a skill point to unlock a new Follower slot and was just about to speak—
But when he turned around, he found Vilgefortz's body beginning to convulse again.
Lann let out a long sigh.
Watching the old druid expertly press yet another syringe into Vilgefortz's vein, he muttered helplessly, "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Maybe even doing it on purpose?"
Mousesack yanked the syringe out roughly, leaving the sorcerer's neck soaked in blood. "I won't deny it."
After a moment of contemplation, the druid asked, "Does he really have to stay alive?"
Lann nodded.
"He still has a very important role to play before he can exit the stage. Philippa can't be the only one driving the coup at Thanedd Isle. She needs a strong opponent to make tearing the Brotherhood apart appear reasonable—and that opponent can't be me. At least not in the eyes of the Northern mages."
The druid stared at Vilgefortz. "I understand."
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