"I'm actually surprised you chose to take part in the fighting directly. You know that if I lose, Aedirn and Kaedwen might hold a grudge against the Phantom Troupe."
"Our purpose is to travel the world, right wrongs, punish villains, and help those in need.
"I don't understand politics, but according to our leader, the reason we train our bodies and hone our swordsmanship is so that when the time comes, we have the power to choose!
"This time, we chose to help Zoltan. We chose to help Iorveth. And because of that, we chose you."
"If they were fighting for Kaedwen, would you still support them?"
"Darling, I may be an idiot, but even I know no nonhuman would ever fight for Henselt."
Unnaturally dense storm clouds filled the sky, shedding a fine, steady rain that soaked everything beneath them.
Saskia the Dragonslayer and Angoulême, the Golden Eagle, were drenched from head to toe as the two fierce women talked their way into the mines of Vergen's upper district. They lit torches and ventured deeper, intent on confirming whether the city's rear entrance had been breached.
They made their way through eerily silent stone tunnels. The savage battle outside seemed to be taking place in another world entirely.
They did not encounter the enemy they had feared most.
Instead, they found exactly what they had hoped for, the scouting party sent out earlier.
Torches had been hung along the surrounding walls, illuminating a spacious stone chamber large enough to accommodate more than a dozen elven warriors.
And more than twenty mercenary corpses.
No one knew who had killed them.
Crouching to examine the bodies, Saskia and Angoulême found the same features repeated across them, razor-sharp wounds and blood leaking from their eyes, ears, noses, and mouths.
Both women were seasoned fighters.
They exchanged a glance and immediately reached similar conclusions.
"Fast swordsmanship... These mercenaries had already surrounded whoever they were fighting, but they were slaughtered instead."
"...Heh. I think I know who did this, and how he managed it!"
"Hmm... So do I. A Dragon Shout. A Dragon Shout inside a confined space. It had to be him. Tsk, ordinary people can't withstand that roar."
Angoulême looked mildly surprised.
"Vic never used it in Vergen, did he? Huh... He even told you about one of his trump cards. He must really trust you."
Saskia rubbed her nose and silently accepted the girl's conclusion.
The military situation outside remained urgent.
Now that they had confirmed the mine passage was secure, they needed to return as soon as possible.
Having reached her decision, the Dragonslayer stood and prepared to issue an order.
Without warning, another wave of dizziness struck her.
She swayed and nearly collapsed, but Angoulême caught her in time.
"You all right? Talk about rotten luck. We just had to start a war on one of the days you're anemic."
"No... It's not that time of the month. Forget it... Let's hurry back. Maybe he's already waiting for us on the walls."
Once the dizziness passed, Saskia patted the back of Angoulême's hand in thanks.
The two women returned to the battlefield, leaving the elven warriors behind to gather and burn the mercenary corpses before the smell attracted ghouls or rotfiends.
...
Meanwhile, the man who had stopped Kaedwen's surprise attack was already walking through Vergen.
With the city under wartime restrictions, most districts were tightly controlled. Some of the more remote areas, however, still maintained a minimum level of activity.
An iron mask covered his face, and a gray cloak wrapped around his body.
Victor Corion slipped through streets and alleys until he reached Philippa Eilhart's residence without difficulty.
Unsurprisingly, the sorceress was not home.
There was no one else inside either.
It was the perfect opportunity to search the place.
The standardized cavern dwelling and its familiar furnishings were nothing new to Victor. He had visited Philippa's home before.
Keeping his guard raised just in case, he went directly into the inner room and began searching the desk and bookshelves.
He had no idea what he expected to find.
He simply did not trust her.
...
After leaving the lightless depths of the mine behind, Angoulême and Saskia emerged beneath a sky where the rain was finally beginning to clear.
They had barely stepped outside when they encountered Zoltan.
The mohawked dwarf was a veteran of countless battles, and very few things could make him nervous.
Right now, he was nervous.
"Saskia, they've raised the royal banner across the field. King Henselt is preparing to personally lead the next assault. The moment our lads saw that, their spirits collapsed. They're losing the will to fight..."
Angoulême furrowed what the dwarves widely considered the most beautiful pair of eyebrows in Vergen.
"Zoltan, you have to make them understand that if they don't believe they can win, they're just volunteering for slaughter! Henselt's blade won't spare nonhumans!"
"I've tried, but I still can't get them back on their feet."
Zoltan shook his head and sighed.
That was one of the limitations of a militia.
Unlike professional soldiers, they were more vulnerable to collapsing morale and far more dependent on a strong leader to guide them.
Fortunately, Vergen's nonhumans were not a disorganized mob.
They had someone who served as the rock holding them together.
The Virgin of Aedirn drew a deep breath.
Saskia stood tall and radiant.
"Don't worry, Zoltan. Gather the defenders. I'll speak to them myself."
...
Whether crisis or opportunity awaited outside, none of the commotion disturbed the tranquility of Philippa's residence.
Victor searched through the desk and every drawer without finding any secret correspondence.
He did, however, discover something unexpected.
A surprisingly large portion of Philippa's collection concerned dragons.
The Fall of Dragons.
Twelve Uses for Dragon Blood.
Fundamentals of Dragon-Scale Smithing.
Dragonhorn Cough Remedy.
And Dragon Cock, Delicious Any Way You Cook It!
There were books on everything from draconic physiology to reproduction and habitat.
The collection was astonishingly comprehensive.
Victor had never expected Philippa to be such a dragon enthusiast.
Or perhaps this was one of Cynthia's research subjects.
Unfortunately, aside from that, the witcher found no particularly useful clues.
He dropped into a reclining chair and casually picked up a book of potion formulas from the table.
At first, he saw nothing important about it.
Then he noticed the page marked by an ornate bookmark.
The formula recorded there was for the deadly poison that had afflicted Saskia.
Magepain, Thaumador.
Ordinarily, antidote formulas were recorded close to the poison formulas themselves.
Victor's gaze moved across the page.
The ingredients required for the cure were clearly listed.
Dwarven immortelle, royal blood, and a powerful magical artifact.
There was no mention of a Rose of Remembrance.
Victor slapped his forehead, but the deep crease between his brows only tightened.
He remembered Philippa Eilhart's words perfectly.
"A Rose of Remembrance combined with dwarven immortelle can heal the mind."
Fortunately, he had gathered more than one flower back in Flotsam.
The alchemist reached into the Endless Herbal Satchel, took out a Rose of Remembrance, and began listening to the Plant Voice.
...
Rhundurin Square.
The Virgin of Aedirn climbed onto a raised platform.
She looked from left to right.
Below her stood elves, dwarves, and humans.
Every one of them was a brave warrior of Vergen who had been fighting since morning.
Yet now their eyes were filled with fear and despair.
They feared the warriors of Kaedwen.
They feared Henselt's reputation.
Whispers spread through the crowd.
They believed they were doomed.
"We're all going to die..."
"We can't stop them!"
"Henselt is invincible..."
Saskia thought to herself, You're wrong.
Completely wrong.
And I'm going to prove it.
At some point, the wind had died and the rain had stopped.
Brilliant sunlight now shone overhead.
Bathed in the sunlight, the Dragonslayer spread her arms.
Her stance was fearless and resolute.
Her voice rang bright and clear.
"Good afternoon, everyone! Why is it so quiet!? I thought you'd be delighted! King Henselt himself is coming to visit us. What an honor!"
Her beauty rekindled simple hopes.
Her words seemed like sunlight piercing storm clouds and reaching directly into the darkest corners of their hearts.
"I won't lie to you. The ruler of the Unicorn Dynasty is about to personally lead his guards against us in the fiercest assault we've faced yet.
"We won't merely be fighting his finest soldiers. We'll be fighting their king!
"But that threat is also our opportunity.
"Henselt is arrogant and spoiled. He looks down on our convictions and believes he can crush us easily.
"What he hasn't considered is what happens when we drag him down into the mud.
"If we defeat him here, he will have no choice but to accept our victory!
"What greater dream could a soldier have than defeating a king?
"If you're afraid to fight and raise the white flag, Henselt will rule this city.
"The inns will hang signs saying 'Humans Only.' Dwarves will choke to death in the mines, and elves will be driven into the forests forever!
"Farmers will be executed because they didn't bow deeply enough when the king passed!
"Is that the life you want to leave your children!?"
"I refuse!" a dwarven miner shouted.
An impoverished elf raised his fist.
"Never!"
"You're afraid simply because Henselt has appeared!
"But who is Henselt!?
"Is he a god!?
"No!
"He has hands. He has feet. And the blood inside his body is just as red as ours!
"If he dares set one foot beyond these walls, we'll gladly paint the ground with it!"
"That's right! Let him bleed!" the elves roared together.
The dwarven miners pounded their chests.
"Take Henselt!"
"Long live Saskia!"
Countless voices erupted in cheers.
Saskia had originally intended to end her speech there.
But suddenly the image of a certain man flashed through her mind, along with his incomparable talent for stirring people's hearts.
So she continued.
"Some of you may never see tomorrow's sunrise.
"Some may never return to your families and friends.
"But when the fallen are laid to rest, we will care for their graves and honor their memory.
"This is the soil of Aedirn!
"Their sacrifice will allow those who survive to live with dignity!
"That is what gives life meaning!
"Every one of us knows that when Henselt speaks of 'his people,' he does not include nonhumans. He would gladly see every dwarf and elf in his domain hanging from a rope.
"That is why we cannot lose!
"We must fight together for our future!
"Not for some grand slogan about opposing tyranny or persecution, but because we refuse to be exterminated!
"We fight for the right to live!
"For survival!
"If we win, the Pontar Valley will become a free republic!
"We will live!
"We will fight for freedom!
"I swear here and now that I will not surrender!
"Swear it with me!
"We will not go quietly to the slaughter!
"Arm yourselves, my brothers and sisters! Gather at the walls and show Henselt what a real battle looks like!
"Give us liberty, or give us death!
"Today!
"We celebrate our independence!"
The square fell utterly silent.
Then the Dragonslayer thrust her fist toward the sky.
The people's answering roar seemed powerful enough to shake the heavens.
"Long live Saskia!"
"We will not go quietly to the slaughter!"
"Give us liberty, or give us death!"
Countless young people listening in the square were overwhelmed with emotion.
They bit their lips as their bodies trembled.
I feel light as a feather.
Why am I trembling?
Why am I crying?
Why does this feel like happiness?
Is it because the Virgin's armor is shining so brightly?
That's right.
There's nothing left to fear.
I'm not alone anymore.
...
"Today! I will lead the charge myself!"
King Henselt of Kaedwen, last scion of the Dynasty of the Unicorn, Lord of Ard Carraigh, Sovereign of Caingorn and Malleore, Archduke of Ban Ard, and Vanquisher of Nilfgaard.
...
The walls were covered in scaling ladders, and brutal fighting raged everywhere.
The battle had reached a vicious stalemate.
Yarpen cursed at the top of his lungs.
"Did you little bastards skip breakfast!? What are you waiting for? Stick them harder!"
"Don't let up! Put your backs into it! Show the Kaedwenis what we're made of!" Zoltan shouted.
The rebels were fighting courageously, their morale burning high.
But Henselt simply had too many soldiers.
Their numerical advantage made it easy for them to attack from several directions at once.
Then, in the middle of that assault, something happened that filled the Aedirnians with despair and sent the Kaedwenis into wild celebration.
The towering, immensely heavy iron gate slowly began to open.
Seeing his opportunity, Henselt remembered the report Dethmold had given before leaving.
Naturally, he assumed the mage had successfully sabotaged the defenses from inside.
So Henselt personally led the finest soldiers of the Kaedweni Royal Guard and charged headlong into Vergen.
Unfortunately for him, it was a trap.
A classic fortress defense as old as siege warfare itself.
Let the enemy enter the killing ground.
Drop the iron portcullis.
Then trap them like rats in a cage.
According to Victor's memories, the tactic looked almost laughably simple, but traps just like it had ruined countless celebrated commanders throughout history. More than a few travelers from other worlds had also relied on the same idea to destroy enemies far stronger than themselves.
Combined with Serrit's final warning, "Henselt likes playing soldier. He runs around everywhere. He's reckless and bold," Victor had been especially confident that the trap would work.
Of course, its flawless success, and the fact that the Lord of Ard Carraigh walked into it without the slightest suspicion, also owed a great deal to the late Dethmold's unintentional assistance.
The moment the king charged through the gate, the iron portcullis crashed down behind him.
Then Iorveth led the Scoia'tael out of the cavern dwellings where they had been lying in ambush.
Their appearance was about to prove one thing.
Elves were the finest archers in the world.
A dark crimson bandana wrapped around Iorveth's head, while linked leather armor enclosed his powerful, lean frame without concealing the dangerous authority radiating from him.
He effortlessly drew his longbow.
Specially sharpened armor-piercing arrows repeatedly punched through members of the Royal Guard.
The ugly scar that cut diagonally across his forehead, eyebrow, nose, cheek, and all the way to his jaw only gave him a more predatory, wolfish charisma.
Iorveth, the Vengeful Ghost.
He was a terrorist.
A murderer.
A cunning fox of the forests.
And in this hopelessly uneven battle, he was also the freedom fighter who would decide the outcome.
Even the hardened Kaedwenis feared the commander of the Scoia'tael.
Iorveth coldly directed his elven archers from the battlements above.
Arrows poured down in dense volleys.
Henselt's soldiers had become birds trapped inside a cage, helpless as they were mercilessly cut down.
In an instant, there was no longer any real uncertainty over who would win the war.
Beside Iorveth, his young lieutenant with braided hair, Lansi aep Easnillen, was flushed scarlet with excitement.
She bounced around like a monkey, shouting encouragement at the top of her lungs.
"Spar, Aespar, Spar'le! Shoot! Fire! Kill them!"
"Aespar, N'aen Voe'rle, Spar'leaen Ichaerflow! Keep shooting! Don't stop! Keep shooting until they bleed!"
...
"Your Majesty, please order the entire army to break out. It will cost us dearly, but we still have a chance."
King Henselt stood protected at the center of his surviving guards.
His expression darkened as he watched more and more Kaedweni soldiers die helplessly beneath the rain of arrows.
He shook his head, rejecting the guard's proposal.
"No. Enough men have died today.
"Raise the white flag.
"Tell the Scoia'tael to stop the slaughter."
Henselt surrendered.
In practical terms, he had acknowledged Saskia's victory.
Formal negotiations would still be required to bring the conflict to a final conclusion, but the Third Upper Aedirn War had ended.
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