Baron Vserad wore a flamboyant wide-brimmed hat, its crown adorned with an oversized harpy feather. Draped across his shoulders was a cape of mink fur, and his silk shirt was embroidered with intricate, refined patterns. On the thumbs and index fingers of both hands, he wore massive onyx rings.
This lavish getup stood in stark contrast to the barren barony he ruled—a place so destitute it was nicknamed the 'Crow's Perch'.
It was easy to gauge the kind of man he was just by looking at him.
Baron Vserad's voice and manner of speaking were just as exaggerated as his attire.
The baronial guards he brought along were swiftly knocked to the ground by the Blue Stripes, but the elite troops didn't dare lay a hand on the baron himself.
Clearly, this wasn't the first time Baron Vserad had pulled something like this. Each time, he relied on his title to come and go freely among the soldiers.
In fact, the only one in this unit he needed to watch out for was Roche. Even if the man was just a lowborn commoner, he was still a close confidant of the king.
But this time, the Blue Stripes didn't wear the usual embarrassed looks on their faces. Instead, they watched with mocking smiles as Vserad barged into Roche's tent.
"Vernon Roche, take your men and get out of my lands!"
"I hear you even brought along a female sorceress? Those freaks who dabble in magic belong on the gallows with the filthy monsters!"
Even the presence of a sorceress was nothing significant to a baron like him.
But unexpectedly, when the baron flung open the tent flap—as he had done many times before—it wasn't that ragged vagrant who had risen to prominence under the king's favor who stood before him.
Nor was it the striking sorceress rumored to dabble in herbs and the human body.
"Baron Vserad?" Lann turned to face him, his dark-golden lion eyes utterly devoid of emotion.
Baron Vserad's body froze.
He knew exactly who this man was. He even owned a Gwent card modeled after him. Every time he hosted a gathering, he would proudly show off that rare card to his friends.
But now that the man was truly standing before him, Baron Vserad found himself unable to utter a single word.
"D–Duke Lannister?"
…
Lann cast a glance at Baron Vserad, not even bothering to waste a single word. He simply raised his hand and cast an Axii Sign.
A hazy veil of aetheric energy instantly engulfed the baron's face. His arrogance and belligerence hadn't even fully transformed into shock before they were completely swallowed by a dazed, vacant stupor.
"We need a unit familiar with the terrain to help us scout Velen. Understood?"
"…Understood," Baron Vserad murmured dazedly.
"We also need you to issue a proclamation instructing all villagers in the Velen region to cooperate with our operations. Do you understand?"
"…I do," Baron Vserad echoed, still in a trance.
It wasn't just Roche—Keira herself stood speechless, stunned at how easily Lann had bent a baron to his will.
A sorceress might seduce or bewitch, but such complete and immediate hypnosis was far beyond the norm.
"What are you still standing there for?" Lann said coldly.
Baron Vserad, still stiff and expressionless, turned to leave.
Lann shook his head and turned around, meeting the eyes of Roche and Keira.
He was just about to resume their discussion of the plan when a sudden thought struck him.
"No… Wait. Hold on." Lann raised a hand to stop the baron.
"There's still one more question I need you to answer—properly."
…
No one could say when it started, but both Roche and Keira's expressions had turned grim with fury.
They could hear Baron Vserad outside, shouting commands to muster the troops, followed by a chorus of surprised and confused voices. Yet in their minds, it was the baron's previous answer that kept echoing.
"So that's it… No wonder," Roche muttered. "No wonder he's been obstructing me at every turn, even knowing I'm acting on the king's orders!"
"He's not just arrogant and foolish…"
The Blue Stripes' commander took a deep breath, forcing down the pounding of his heart.
But as he thought about what would follow, a trace of grim satisfaction tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"And that is precisely the height of stupidity," Lann said, waving dismissively as he turned back to the map on the table. "He won't be getting another chance."
Roche nodded. "I'll be sure to report this to His Majesty. Even his baronial title won't save him now!"
But Lann didn't echo Roche's enthusiasm. Instead, he gave a quiet chuckle.
"If everything goes according to plan, he might not even live to see King Foltest's judgment."
Roche blinked, taken aback. He instinctively retorted, "Duke Lannister, with all due respect—Vserad is still a baron of Temeria!"
The implication was clear: Lann had no authority to pass judgment on him. Any rash action could create political turmoil between Cintra and Temeria.
Despite the admiration still lingering in Roche's eyes, his words nonetheless reflected his loyalty to Vserad—or more precisely, to Temerian law.
Lann shook his head, offering no further explanation. Instead, he changed the subject.
"Let your men fall back and rest for now. It'll take a while for the locals in Velen to gather intel. I've got a quicker way—I'll do a round of scouting myself."
Keira, meanwhile, found herself intrigued by Lann. It wasn't often she had the chance to be alone with him.
"Duke Lannister, that sign you just used… was it a witcher's Sign? Or is it something unique to your Elder Blood? Could you possibly—"
…
Lann's Axii Sign lingered for a long time.
Only after the scribe had finished writing the proclamation, the courier had ridden off, and orders had been smoothly dispatched to every garrison under Velen's jurisdiction—
Did Baron Vserad suddenly jolt, his body trembling as clarity returned to his eyes.
He glanced at his attendants beside him—still bowing low, awaiting orders. They barely had thoughts of their own even without a Sign's influence, still standing there with sycophantic, mechanical patience.
The baron let out a sharp cry and viciously kicked one of them aside, consumed by fear and rage.
"What just happened? What did I say to Lannister?!"
He could sense something had been wrong with him, but his memory of that time was foggy—like a muddled dream.
"Someone tell me what happened!"
The kicked attendant didn't even have time to rub the pain away. He rolled over and scrambled up with well-practiced ease.
"My lord, you—just now you issued a new decree. You called on all your subjects to cooperate with Duke Lannister's operations, and you also—"
"Idiot! Not that!" Vserad roared and launched another kick. "Did Lannister ask me anything? What did I tell him?!"
This time the attendant didn't get up so quickly. He struggled on the ground before stammering:
"M-My lord… I—I don't know. I didn't dare listen in on your conversation with Duke Lannister…"
"Then what good are you?!" Vserad's fury exploded.
"Lannister! Damn it! Lannister! Lannister!" The baron lunged at his servant, striking and kicking wildly in a fit of rage.
"I even collected your Gwent card! I used to praise you to the skies!"
"But now—you stoop to the level of sorcerers with their filthy magic, consorting with commoners! You've disgraced your own name! I challenge you to a duel! I'll—"
"RRAAAAHHHHH!"
A thunderous roar shattered Baron Vserad's tirade.
Like a fortress with wings, the ancient beast launched into the sky.
Keltullis unfurled his brick-red scales against the wind, cast a fleeting, unreadable glance toward the ground, flicked his tail—and vanished from sight.
The people of Velen stared wide-eyed. Some were so terrified they dropped to the ground, trembling.
"A dragon… a red dragon… The legends are true—Duke Lannister isn't just a dragonslayer, he's a dragonrider…"
A glint of longing flashed in the attendant's eyes—but he quickly buried it. He turned to look for his baron, only to find Vserad sprinting madly toward his horse, dust still clinging to the seat of his trousers from when he collapsed earlier.
The baron ignored the shouts of his men. He cast a hurried glance in the direction the dragon had flown, then bolted without hesitation.
"The dragon flew the wrong way… Of course! I must've left out the most important part when speaking to Lannister!"
Cold sweat streamed down his face, and even the wind couldn't dry it.
"There's still time… there's still time…"
…
By the time his steed began panting heavily, a small swamp came into view.
Skirting the edge, he reached what could loosely be called a village.
—Though even 'village' felt too generous. It was nothing more than four or five rickety wooden shacks, long since abandoned.
Yet in the center of these dilapidated huts stood one strangely well-kept building—a chapel-like manor, its surface thickly overgrown with ivy, vines, and parasitic plants. They clung to it like veins, as if drawing the life from every surrounding structure.
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