"Clatter—clatter—"
Wagons loaded to the brim rolled along the muddy road. Tents filled a camp enclosed by crude wooden palisades.
Fully laden carts wove back and forth among those tents.
From time to time, boldly dressed women—still wearing revealing, low-cut short skirts even as winter had just begun—moved through the camp.
In air cold enough that every breath turned to mist, they bared long legs and ample cleavage, either frowning as they dodged mud and puddles splashed up by passing wagons, or walking from one tent to another, or arguing with men in long robes and proper attire while directing porters wrapped in shabby cotton coats to unload building materials, move supplies, and construct walls—
The air was thick with the stench of human and animal excrement.
Voices clamored, like water boiling in the depths of winter.
This was the outpost outside the city of Maribor, the forward base for the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke.
The outpost's foundation was a border fortress lent by the Prince of Maribor to the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.
However, ever since the Kingdom of Sodden had been completely annexed and reduced to a vassal by Temeria after a series of brutal wars several hundred years ago, this border fortress—no longer serving any purpose—had been abandoned. Only hunters heading into the mountains or passing Witchers would occasionally stay here temporarily.
If the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had not suddenly needed a supply station for the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition, the Prince of Maribor likely would not even have remembered this long-forgotten fortress.
And because of that—
After centuries of weathering, "dilapidated" was not enough to describe this battered stronghold. Or rather than a castle, it was more accurate to call it a border watchtower.
Only after nearly a month of construction combining manpower and magic did it barely begin to look presentable.
Yet the successive arrival of various supernatural factions placed a burden on the fortress far beyond what it had ever been meant to bear.
"Victor Weber of the Withered Marsh is fighting with Cole Donovan of the Hand of Flame. They've already started shoving each other—spells are about to fly—"
"What's going on?! Don't they know the camp's prohibitions? Aren't they afraid of punishment from the Brotherhood of Sorcerers?"
"Wait—Withered Marsh and the Hand of Flame? Who arranged it, putting those two organizations together?
Don't they know that the former Archdruid of the Withered Marsh died at the hands of Cole Donovan of the Hand of Flame?"
The messenger fell silent.
Only then did the agitated sorceress in the room remember to give orders. She hurriedly turned and apologized, "Sorry, Headmistress, I didn't—"
"It's alright, Lux Antille," Tissaia de Vries withdrew her gaze from the chaotic scene outside the window and sighed inwardly before turning back. "Aretuza is severely understaffed. Some mistakes are normal, so no need to apologize. Go mediate immediately and separate the two sides."
"Yes, Headmistress—" Lux Antille stood up at once, her steps hurried, and followed the reporting sorceress out of the room.
The Brotherhood of Sorcerers' temporary headquarters, however, did not quiet down.
"The scouting team that set out a few days ago to survey Dol Dhu Lokke still hasn't returned?"
"Not yet, but it should be today—"
"Damian Holloway of the Mystic Web is dissatisfied with yesterday's coarse bread. They want milk croissants—"
"No! They eat whatever they're given! We're on an expedition, not on a picnic."
"The tent of the Enigma of Wisdom is drafty. Master Cody Fisher requests a replacement as soon as possible."
"Have the Department of Apprentices send people right now!"
"The first batch of supplies aided by Novigrad has all arrived. The caravan leader is waiting for confirmation."
"Gillian, you go. Count everything item by item—Novigrad merchants like to play little tricks— Mm—Aelia, you have experience in this area, go with Gillian—"
"Headmistress, Aelia left the camp not long ago."
"Uh, then—then Gillian, be extra careful—"
"Yes, Headmistress!"
Only after a long while, as the sun sank toward the horizon, did the hectic scene finally begin to subside.
"Phew—"
Tissaia de Vries sat back in her high-backed chair, looking at the now nearly empty room, and let out a long sigh in her heart.
She had prepared herself mentally for the expedition to Dol Dhu Lokke, but it still seemed she had vastly underestimated it.
The sheer complexity of expedition affairs exceeded Aretuza's usual academic administration by many times over.
"Has Philippa Eilhart sent no reply?" Tissaia suddenly remembered the sorceress in whom she had once placed high hopes and turned to ask.
A sorceress seated not far from Tissaia looked up cautiously from a mountain of documents. "Philippa did reply. She said she can't return for now, but she's already sent Roselyn, Selma, and the others. They should arrive by tonight—"
Hearing this, Tissaia de Vries's face remained expressionless, giving no hint of what she was thinking.
"Headmistress," the sorceress beside her asked even more carefully, "should we urge Senior Philippa to return?"
Tissaia was silent for a few seconds, then gently shook her head. "Forget it. Write back and tell her to be careful—don't lose herself in power. Sorceresses have their duties to uphold—… forget it. Just tell her to be careful."
"Yes, Headmistress."
Not a single one of them puts my mind at ease… Tissaia watched the sorceress leave and sighed inwardly. If only I hadn't given Margarita to Vera back then.
Over the years, the two students she had valued most at Aretuza—Philippa Eilhart and Margarita Laux-Antille—both had the ability to succeed her as Headmistress.
Unfortunately, one had gone astray, and the other had been taken by Vera.
Margarita Laux-Antille could be set aside for now; she was still young.
Philippa Eilhart, however, had long been her chosen successor to Aretuza. But now she had mixed herself in with those remnants of a fallen nation in Kaedwen. In the future—
Tissaia sighed again in her heart.
Member of the Chapter of Mages, Headmistress of Aretuza—these two positions seemed immensely powerful, but in truth they consumed more and more of her energy, to the point that she was beginning to struggle.
She was not someone who clung to power. Long ago, she had already considered stepping down as Headmistress of Aretuza to focus on the Brotherhood of Sorcerers and the Chapter, working for equal rights for sorceresses.
This mere month of preparing for the expedition had only strengthened that resolve.
As early as a month ago, she had been persuading Philippa Eilhart, even promising that after a year—or after the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition ended and the mages of Ban Ard were rescued—she would formally groom Philippa as Aretuza's heir.
With the merit gained from the Dol Dhu Lokke expedition, Philippa Eilhart's ascension would be perfectly justified.
She simply didn't know why Philippa seemed dead set on restoring Kaedwen.
Tissaia knew Philippa loved power—but was the Headmistress of Aretuza really inferior to being a sorcerous adviser to an exiled ruler?
Most of the time, the sorcerous adviser to "the Glutton" Henselt was little more than a mascot. And how much status or authority could Radovid's sorcerous adviser possibly have?
Tissaia de Vries could not understand it.
But now it seemed she might have to remain in the position of Headmistress of Aretuza for a very long time yet.
"Perhaps I could also sound out Vera. Margarita has long since become a full-fledged sorceress; there's little left she hasn't learned."
As she pondered, Tissaia thought again of Margarita, but then another image surfaced in her mind—a boy with beautiful blue eyes, mature beyond any Witcher child. She shook her head lightly.
Vera might not refuse—but after sitting in the Headmistress's seat for nearly two centuries, how could she not see it?
Aretuza's young witches had already been utterly captivated by Vera's boy.
If Vera agreed, Margarita would most likely refuse as well, choosing instead to remain at Kaer Morhen as the chief sorceress to a little lover—
Just like Vera herself back then.
Such things could not be forced—
"Honestly," Tissaia de Vries felt a sense of absurdity, "the Headmistress of Aretuza, the largest sorcerers' organization on the Northern Continent, actually being repeatedly turned down, unable to even find an heir—this really is—"
Flap, flap
A carrier pigeon flew in through the window, interrupting her thoughts.
A sorceress near the window deftly waved her staff. The pigeon obediently landed on the table, and she removed the note tied to its leg.
"Where is the letter from?" Tissaia asked.
"The Prince of Maribor," the sorceress replied. "He's asking about what happened with the Redanian army a few days ago—why such a large force suddenly arrived in Maribor."
Rather than asking, it was closer to a demand.
But the sorceress near the window did not dare phrase it so bluntly to the Headmistress and applied a bit of artistic softening.
Tissaia de Vries asked in confusion, "Didn't Radovid IV explain the situation to the Prince of Maribor, or to Foltest?"
"Is the Headmistress asking me?" The sorceress blinked, pointing at herself. "Or—should I reply to the Prince of Maribor like that?"
"No, uh—let me think—" Tissaia de Vries frowned deeply.
A few days earlier, when Radovid IV had acted completely out of character—paying an enormous price to open large-scale portals and transport the Crowned Silver Eagle along with two to three hundred elite knights—she had already suspected that Radovid IV had ulterior motives.
Yet the moment those knights and the sorcerers of the Crowned Silver Eagle arrived, they immediately cooperated, helping to construct the camp and assisting the Brotherhood of Sorcerers in maintaining order.
They were utterly unlike any other supernatural organization.
Even Temeria—even the local Prince of Maribor—had merely conscripted a batch of "rather expensive" civilian laborers. Forget about order-maintaining knights; not even a single militia soldier had been sent.
To be honest—
If it weren't for the Redanian sorcerers and knights, the Brotherhood of Sorcerers would be at least several times busier than it already was.
And so, after several days passed without them making any suspicious moves, Tissaia de Vries gradually accepted the situation. She even thought that the necrophages ravaging Redania had finally forced Radovid IV to come to his senses—that he simply couldn't swallow his pride yet and had sent manpower as a gesture of goodwill.
Who would have thought the trick was hidden here—
"But not informing Temeria at all—what is that supposed to be? Retaliation? That's far too petty. Or is Radovid IV using this opportunity to scheme against Maribor and Temeria—"
"Yet two or three hundred elite knights may be a respectable force, but to talk about taking Maribor, or Temeria… that's pure fantasy."
"Radovid IV may be brutal, but he isn't a fool—"
Tissaia de Vries pondered for a long time, yet still could not understand what Radovid IV was truly after.
"Headmistress?"
"Tell him the truth," Tissaia de Vries said. "Explain exactly how the Crowned Silver Eagle and the Redanian knights arrived, and what happened."
"Fiss," Tissaia de Vries looked toward the sorceress at the doorway and said solemnly, "go ask Agostino Austin what he's really trying to do. Is Redania trying to sabotage the expedition?"
"Yes, Headmistress." The sorceress called Fiss immediately accepted the order and left.
The sorceress by the window also finished writing her letter with a quill, tied it to the carrier pigeon's leg, and released it into the air.
Tap, tap, tap
Frowning, Tissaia de Vries tapped the tabletop with her index finger, her thoughts racing as she tried to discern Radovid IV's intentions.
"Talia, has the Wolf School's camp been arranged?" Tissaia de Vries suddenly asked.
The sorceress called Talia quickly replied, "Yes. It's right next to the Griffin School, adjacent to the priestesses of the Temple of Melitele, and far from the other supernatural organizations."
"Go check again later," Tissaia said after a moment. "And make sure Redanian personnel don't interfere in the construction of the Wolf School's camp."
"Don't worry, Headmistress," Talia replied. "The areas handled by the Redanian knights and the Crowned Silver Eagle are all on the western side of the camp. Vice-Headmistress Lux Antille arranged the Witchers on the eastern side."
Tissaia de Vries nodded, then asked again, "Have any other Witcher schools arrived? The Griffin and Wolf Schools aside, Kaer Kaverh of the Bear School is in the Amell Mountains—so close to Maribor. Has Arnaghad still not arrived?"
"Other than a few scattered Witchers, no," Talia said, flipping through a pile of vellum on the desk before shaking her head. "But—"
She seemed to recall something, her tone hesitant.
"But what?" Tissaia pressed.
Talia hesitated for a few more seconds before speaking. "I've heard some rumors these past few days. There are forces on the Northern Continent targeting Witchers—"
"Targeting Witchers?" Tissaia de Vries looked up from the mountain of documents, puzzled. "Wasn't that already known at the assembly?"
"No—this is different," Talia explained. "It's all schools, not just the Wolf School. And it seems quite a number of Witchers have already been murdered. Many supernatural organizations have been discussing it these past few days. I've heard it repeatedly while distributing supplies."
"I've heard it too."
"So have I."
Other sorceresses in the room chimed in one after another, sharing similar accounts.
Tissaia de Vries's expression gradually darkened. But before she could ask further—
Bang!
A portal suddenly opened inside the room, and immediately afterward, several blood-soaked figures stumbled out, fleeing in blind panic.
.......