"Duke of Lannister? Do you even know what's happening? Where's Philippa?"
Dijkstra stood before Lann, armor in disarray, flanked by a dozen fully armed Redanian royal guards.
At the sight of Lann, a flash of fear crossed his face, but he forced himself to muster up some courage.
"Dijkstra?" Lann raised a hand to stop the witchers behind him from taking action. "You've got a lot of questions, and there's plenty we need to talk about too. But before all that…"
"You still haven't learned the proper posture for speaking to me."
In the same breath, Lann drew his weapons from his back—one golden longsword in his right hand, a crimson saber in his left—and like a bolt of lightning, he crashed into Dijkstra's formation.
He slipped easily past the towering spymaster, whose massive arms flailed in vain, trying to grab hold of him.
The twin blades danced like arcs of living light.
Two Redanian soldiers had their windpipes slashed open on the spot. The sheer force of the strikes was enough to rip through their necks entirely. One tried to raise his shield in defense but had the misfortune of standing directly in Lann's path—his sword, armor, and chest all sliced cleanly in two.
A few more were merely clipped in the shoulder by glancing blows, yet the impact launched their entire bodies across the corridor. They slammed into the stone walls with a bone-crunching thud. Helmets cracked open on contact. Their skulls, barely protected, might have held—but their necks were already snapped.
Slashes, chops, thrusts, smashes—even rams, kicks, and shoulder checks. Lann used no skills, just brute force and overwhelming physical strength. It made the scene more brutal than usual, but also far more satisfying.
In seconds, the hallway was a battlefield of ruin. Shattered armor and blood sprayed out like the wings of a butterfly—hauntingly beautiful, but deeply unsettling.
"Let's call that a warm-up." Lann exhaled deeply. He was in a good mood.
He slid his right-hand weapon back into its sheath, stepped toward the dazed Dijkstra, and grabbed him by the collar. With a single hand, he hoisted the man—easily twice his own width—into the air.
"Drugging me? I know what you were up to—you thought you could divide the power, huh?" Lann narrowed his eyes. "Clever idea. But the problem is… you never figured out your place."
With a surge of strength, Lann slammed his right arm downward.
Dijkstra's massive body dropped like a wooden post.
First, he tried to brace with his feet—failed.
Then his legs—failed.
Knees, hips—still failed.
With a sharp crack, Dijkstra's desperate attempt to remain standing collapsed entirely. After a brief, pained scream, he was left writhing on the floor, helpless.
"After tonight," Lann said, lowering his head, "Redania will never again have the strength to bark in front of Cintra."
"But still… you are the man who built the North's largest intelligence network from nothing. That counts for something. Even if Philippa has you wrapped around her little finger, I'd like to offer you a chance—"
Lann reached down and fiddled with Dijkstra's broken leg.
"Run. Get out of this castle before it crumbles to dust. Crawl if you must—use every ounce of strength you have. Prove you still hold some scrap of worth. And if you're in need of power…"
A wicked smile curled at Lann's lips as he whispered, "Philippa never told you everything. Just moments ago, I learned she's not just trying to seize the Brotherhood of Sorcerers—she intends to rule Redania in truth. I'd wager the assassins sent after Vizimir II have already succeeded."
He gave Dijkstra a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
"Such a pity…"
As the hulking man's face contorted with disbelief, Lann strode past him with long, confident steps.
Fortunately, at the end of the corridor behind Dijkstra lay Lann's true destination.
…
Earlier, Triss had given Lann a map of the castle, clearly marked with the locations of the high sorcerers' laboratories and the Academy's magical storage vaults.
Now, standing before him was the deepest of those vaults.
He didn't dare blast through the wall with a Sign. Instead, he gently—relatively speaking—split the door apart with his longsword. Then, stepping over the frame, he was instantly struck by the view.
A vast underground warehouse, easily as large as the banquet hall he'd arrived in, unfolded before him.
At the far end were rows of herb racks filled with ingredients preserved through drying, oil-sealing, vacuum stasis, and more. From a glance, Lann spotted rare specimens like mandrake root and winter cherry.
Closer in were devices and precious metals—many so arcane that even Lann, with his considerable knowledge, could barely identify them. There were no completed magical artifacts, unfortunately—those wouldn't be stored in a vault like this. A shame.
But the glittering table before him more than made up for that.
This was exactly what Lann had hoped to find here.
Crimson, sapphire, emerald, amethyst—gems of every hue!
Magical crystals. Mana-infused diamonds.
Other jewels glowing with arcane brilliance.
He reached out and picked up a flawless emerald, the size of his fist.
And finally—he exhaled.
[Source of Magic Detected]
Without the slightest hesitation, a wave of warmth surged from the gem in Lann's hand, flowing into his body as the system guided the process.
[Ability Point +1]
[Ability Point +1]
Keep going.
Lann picked up a flawless ruby next.
[Ability Point +1]
[Ability Point +1]
More.
This time, Lann grabbed an entire handful of gem shards.
[Ability Point +1]
[Ability Point +1]
[Ability Point +1]
[Ability Point +1]
One after another, the precious gems lost their arcane glow. They remained flawless, still worth a fortune—but in the realm of mysticism, they were now meaningless.
With a broad sweep of his arm, Lann dumped the rest of the magical gemstones into his inventory as if he were clearing out a marketplace stall. Then, moving swiftly through the vault, he began transferring every remaining magical material—racks and all—into his storage.
Once finished, he wiped the illusion of sweat from his brow.
He had absorbed only eight skill points so far, saving the rest for more careful planning back at base.
Whether to invest in research, refine his skill tree, or contract additional followers—it would all require thorough deliberation.
But there were two skills he'd been eyeing for a long time, resisting the temptation to unlock them—until now. With a major battle just ahead, it was time for one final surge in strength.
He opened the system interface, navigated to [Abilities], and scrolled straight to [Secondary Mutations].
[Euphoria] – Alchemy-type skill. Witchers who learn this ability can draw strength from toxicity. For every point of toxicity induced by potions, both physical power and Sign intensity increase.
This skill cost 3 points and was the core of the potion-heavy combat style. With system-enhanced stats, Lann's base poison resistance already numbered in the hundreds. Combined with the [Miasmal Body] trait, his toxicity threshold had become nearly incalculable.
[Conductors of Magic] – Hybrid Sign/Combat ability. Witchers who master this can generate a resonance loop between their bodies and inner magical flow. Physical strength feeds back into magic, boosting Sign intensity.
The ultimate ability for any witcher specializing in Sign-based combat. It required 5 ability points.
As soon as the icons for both skills lit up on the system panel, the other witchers who had followed Lann into the vault suddenly felt as though a mountain were pressing down on them.
It was his presence.
The sheer pressure radiating from him now surpassed even Jerome's. Some of them even felt that not just higher vampires, but giants, dragons, and all apex predators of the Continent could no longer match the man before them.
Tactics? Strategies?
He no longer needed them.
With nothing but blades in his hands and Signs at his fingertips, he could now crush his enemies head-on—with absolute dominance.
...
[BOOM!]
Everyone on Thanedd Island instinctively turned toward the source of the deafening sound.
The roof of the Thanedd Palace exploded like a burst of fireworks. Flames surged upward—but before they could fully bloom, they were flash-frozen midair by an unseasonal frost that crashed down from the skies.
"It's hard to imagine what kind of enemy the Duke is facing right now…" muttered Ace, eyes wide in disbelief.
A sharp slap on the shoulder snapped him out of it—House had hit him hard, grounding his thoughts in reality.
He pointed behind them, where a group of panicked female apprentices stood huddled together. Quite a few of them lit up with smiles at the sight of Ace.
If it weren't for the Cintran guards' armor being so cold and their weapons so intimidating, they might've already rushed over, clinging to Ace and chattering away.
"Take a look—are all the Academy apprentices accounted for?"
Ace nodded confidently. "Don't worry. They're all here."
"Students!" House called out, voice firm. "As you've seen, Thanedd Island is under dire threat—but don't be afraid! The people standing beside you are Cintra's finest warriors—my most trusted comrades. They'll escort us to safety."
As he spoke, House adjusted the lion-headed silver sword at his waist.
"Good. That's settled here," he said, amber vertical pupils gleaming.
"Now it's time to assist His Grace the Duke."
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