Lann departed Vizima together with the Temerian envoy, heading toward Thanedd Island.
Thanedd Island itself was part of Temerian territory, and with the addition of Keira and the others, Lann gained considerable convenience in terms of transportation—their pace immediately shifted up more than just a gear.
…
With a loud boom, Leo launched a well-formed Aard Sign that blasted the monster in front of him away. House seized the opening and charged in, his sword dancing in a series of swift strikes that ended the creature's life.
Compared to the previous battle—where they had been scolded by Lann—their tactics had become much more cautious.
The remaining Cintran guards, following Lann's orders, did not intervene. Once the battle ended, they stepped forward of their own accord to begin collecting alchemical materials.
The commander of the Temerian special forces, Vernon Roche—clad in a blue studded jacket—had observed the entire fight. At this moment, he let out a sincere exclamation: "No wonder they're called the Lion Guard!"
And it wasn't just him. Even the sorceress Keira involuntarily parted her lips in astonishment at the Witchers' crisp, efficient movements.
Lann rode up and patted Roche on the shoulder. Seeing this, Roche immediately lowered his head in respect. Lann chuckled lightly.
"How do they compare to your special forces?"
Throughout this journey, Triss and Keira had grown closer through their past connection as colleagues, while Lann—intentionally or not—often struck up conversations with Roche.
After all, in the original course of history, Roche was destined to become a figure of great renown.
Getting to know him this way might prove more intuitive—after all, in Gwent, Roche was a gold card.
He was the commander of the Blue Stripes, a unit originally formed by Temeria to combat the growing threat of the Scoia'tael. Through sheer skill and exceptional talent, Roche had elevated this group beyond its original purpose. What started as a special forces unit targeting non-humans grew into a royal guard. Eventually, they also carried out espionage and assassinations. By the end, the Blue Stripes were even taking on military officer roles, and Roche himself was given command of an army to stand against Nilfgaard.
Although Temeria was ultimately crushed beneath the Nilfgaardian cavalry, Roche continued to lead the remnants of his forces in the north, plotting to restore the kingdom.
In a horizontal comparison, Roche was essentially a younger version of Marshal Vissegerd.
What was even more astonishing was that Roche had received no formal military education before reaching adulthood. All of his achievements stemmed from raw talent and extraordinary ability—he was a truly rare individual.
Although the Scoia'tael had gradually faded into obscurity due to Lann's influence—stripping the Blue Stripes of many of their original opportunities for distinction—Foltest still recognized Roche's potential through the formation of this unit and entrusted him with great responsibility.
Lann had to admit—Foltest had a sharp eye.
He, too, appreciated Roche—but not because he wanted to poach him.
Roche was unquestionably loyal to Temeria. After Foltest's eventual passing, Lann hoped that Roche's abilities and devotion could one day be redirected to serve his own child.
That was why, along the journey, Lann conversed with Roche often. He also selectively passed on a fair amount of military knowledge and combat technique—as a way of grooming the future support network for his child.
Though Roche now held the position of commander of the Blue Stripes, he did not yet hold any noble title. When standing before Duke Lannister—renowned across the North for his valor—he showed the utmost respect.
And when it came to Lann's guidance, Roche proved a fast learner.
…
"Duke Lannister—we've arrived!"
Just as Lann was engaged in another discussion with Roche, Keira and Triss's voices rang out together from the front of the group.
They looked up and quickly caught sight of a bustling city—tall walls encircled it, spires pierced the sky, and the tops of the towers gleamed with light.
On the far side of the city lay the sea. The grey-green surface of the water shimmered under the morning sun, dotted with scattered white sails. The salty, humid sea breeze swept over them, instantly refreshing the soldiers who had marched from inland.
Gors Velen—one of Temeria's largest port trading cities—stood near Thanedd Island, which housed the Aretuza Academy of Magic.
Thanks to its unique geographic location, the city had developed a thriving commercial market, with its trade volume in magical materials even surpassing that of Novigrad. It was common to see academy teachers and apprentices entering the city to purchase supplies.
This time, the various envoys from the Northern Kingdoms—gathered for the conference on Thanedd—would also be stationed in Gors Velen and receive hospitality there.
At the city gates, riders and carriages had formed a long queue at the drawbridge. Travelers clustered around the gatehouse, awaiting the guards' inspection.
The moment Lann's party appeared, those who had been grumbling in line quickly made way, bowing one after another. The guards clad in chainmail spotted the flying banners of Cintra's Three Lions and Temeria's Lily from afar and immediately opened the path—striking with the shafts of their spears at anyone slow or reluctant to move aside.
The captain of the guard rushed out, took one look at the heavy-armored cavalry approaching, and inhaled sharply before hurrying to lead the way: "This way, please—move it! Move! You bunch of bumpkins!"
Keira and Roche took this treatment in stride, clearly enjoying the display of status. But Triss—having spent this journey constantly under Lann's influence—frowned slightly.
"Enough of that. It's alright if we take things a little slower," she suddenly called out to the guards, drawing a surprised glance from Keira.
"Of course, my lady."
The captain of the guard stole a glance at Triss's fiery red hair, then quickly lowered his head. Here, sorceresses were afforded even more respect than most nobles.
Freed from the rough handling of the soldiers, the travelers instead made way with surprising efficiency—their bows growing more respectful by the second.
Inside the city, a local diplomat who had received advance notice soon arrived to escort Lann and his entourage. They were guided to a residential district reserved for foreign dignitaries—where Lann even spotted a few familiar faces.
"Duke Lannister."
The woman greeted him with respectful formality. She was dressed in chainmail and a fitted leather coat, her shoulder marked by a tri-colored emblem in black, gold, and red.
"Captain Rayla," Lann replied with a smile, greeting the Aedirnian officer. "It's been a long time since the battle outside Lyria. You've... been promoted?"
Rayla bowed to him, her expression lit with fervor.
"Yes. The merit I earned in that battle earned me a promotion to major by His Majesty Demavend. I owe it all to your leadership, Duke Lannister."
Lann waved a hand.
"You fought bravely on your own."
They continued deeper into the district. Lann's arrival had stirred up quite a commotion among the various diplomatic delegations, and he swiftly became the center of attention.
After a brief separation from the Temerian hosts, Lann settled the Cintran guards he had brought with him. Then he set off again, this time with Triss and House in tow.
He hadn't come all this way just to attend the conference properly. Before meeting the sorceresses of the academy formally, he had several matters to take care of.
…
Before them now stood a truly imposing building—grander than what most minor noble houses could ever afford. Even the estate Lann had owned during his days as a count paled in comparison.
"A bank," Triss explained to those walking behind her.
Lann's expression remained calm, but House and the other guards showed visible curiosity. After all, Cintra had no such thing as a bank.
Perhaps they would one day—but certainly not in this form.
A group of dwarven attendants rushed forward to bow as soon as they saw the group approach. Though they were short, stout, and bearded, they looked nothing like the dwarves House had known—like Yarpen or Zoltan.
These servants appeared dull and grey, dressed uniformly with no individuality to their attire. They carried themselves with the utmost deference.
House, having lived in Mahakam for a while, had assumed that all dwarves were born warriors.
"My dear Triss!"
A booming voice rang out—this voice, at least, reminded House of the dwarves from Mahakam. The speaker, a dwarf adorned with a clinking gold chain that hung even lower than his white beard, stepped forward with arms open.
"And Duke Lannister! What an honor to meet you at last! Please, come to my office!"
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