Astartes of the Bear School

Chapter 1826, 1798. The Regent is Busy
At the negotiating table, those outside of Nilfgaard and Sintra instinctively leaned back.

He had an attitude of 'I don't want to get involved, don't let my blood get on me'.

“Using force during negotiations,” Archbishop Hermelfat interjected, “is not honorable, gentlemen. Please exercise restraint!”

“But it’s hard to say,” Foltest chimed in. “After all, I think the Regent of Sintra has a point. If post-war negotiations fail, we’ll still have to fight, won’t we?”

Dixter nodded to Lann in return: "After all, the joint statement hasn't been signed yet, has it?"

The smart people at the negotiating table, or those who had heard rumors beforehand and knew the conditions Lann had proposed, were mostly happy to see those conditions implemented.

Because they also realized that this was like stabbing Nilfgaard in the heart.

"In war, the defeated must pay a heavy price; isn't that just common sense?"

Lann's calm voice rang out again, and his gaze toward Oyestella seemed to be offering a final piece of advice.

"Furthermore, I also believe that with your family's four generations of diplomatic experience and your own thirty years of experience in the diplomatic arena, you will certainly be able to find a way to bring this message back to Nilfgaard in a way that the people can accept."

Oyestalan's face turned deathly pale in an instant.

This was completely different from his hot-blooded appearance just now.

At the same time, his gaze as he looked across the table trembled with surprise and uncertainty.

His previous indignation stemmed from his understanding of Lan En's character. He believed that someone like Lan En wouldn't kill an ambassador like him now, even if a fight were to break out.

But what Lan En is saying right now... sounds pretty much the same as his conversation with the emperor's messenger that night?

What do you mean?! He knows what we talked about that night? And if he does, to what extent?
After a moment of thought, Oyestalan truly panicked, turning pale.

He believed in Lann's character, but he had no idea how the Emperor would deal with a disloyal subordinate!

However, after Lan En finished speaking, he lowered his head and started writing and drawing again, without making any eye contact with the other person.

This left Oyestalan completely unsure: was it just a coincidence, or was he simply scaring himself?
Or has the other party already lost patience, and if I dare to resist again, he will just release the information?
The ambassador dared not gamble and could only remain silent.

To outsiders, it appeared that Lann was making a firm demand and refusing to budge an inch, and the Nilfgaardian ambassador finally gave in.

“This matter is of great importance,” Mivi said, seizing the opportunity. “I think it’s necessary to leave a record of it in the meeting minutes.”

"agree."

"Seconded."

So the recorders from each country left their mark on their respective meeting minutes, and at this stage, Oyestalan still did not refute it, which was tantamount to confirming it.

Everyone in the throne room breathed a sigh of relief after the matter was discussed.

Since the most difficult and crucial issues had been resolved, it was as if the entire negotiation could be declared to have gone smoothly.

Even the clerks and scribes from various countries who had worked hard and exchanged ideas during the week-long negotiations congratulated each other on the successful completion of their work and shared their achievements.

Not only in the throne room, but also on the floor above it, sorceresses raised their glasses at a round table, celebrating the birth of a new post-war order and the flourishing of the magical power led by the sorceresses in the future.

The beverage they used was a bottle of premium Redaniya herbal liqueur brought by Philippa.

The liquor is clear and bright like black jade, with a hint of bittersweet herbal flavor.

Lann had tried it once before and wasn't a fan; his taste had always been sweet ever since he became a Witcher.

However, the ages of the sorceresses present were all a mystery, and they had spent most of their lives indulging in material pleasures. They all had excellent taste and could discern the quality of the wine.

The sorceresses blushed upon tasting the wine.

But Margarita and Triss, sitting together, exchanged a glance and gave each other a cold laugh.

They knew in their hearts that some of these blushing sorceresses were truly blushing because of alcohol, while others were blushing because their legs were already twisting together under the table.

Most of the sorceresses who join the sorceresses' quarters directly after Philippa reveals her intentions, rather than being forcibly recruited, are like Philippa herself.

A woman who is ambitious in politics and power, and who is also strong-willed and assertive.

For them, the hardline clash between the Witcher and the Nilfgaardian ambassador in the throne room was as thrilling as watching porn on a porn site.

For these kinds of people, the desire for power is the most effective aphrodisiac.

“A bunch of bitches.” Triss, still smiling, leaned close to Margarita’s ear and uttered a fierce curse in her sweet voice.

“Who says otherwise?” Margarita replied in a low voice with the same polite smile. “I bet at least one of these people has used magic to make his underwear disappear.”

But regardless of whether it was openly or covertly, the Sintra Conference has ended.
-
"grown ups!"

In the deep corridors of the palace, Henry's somewhat simple voice echoed as he and Hans called out to Lann.

The Witcher turned around and looked at the two of them, wondering what was going on.

"My lord," the two men said, their body language and voices revealing obvious unease, but they still tried their best to stand in front of Lan En.

“I am very grateful for your help to my family, sir,” Hans said, stepping forward first, his fingers turning white from gripping them so tightly. “I simply don’t know how to repay you, I…”

It was obvious that he was stuck.

Henry then interjected, using his honest voice to mask his friend's unease: "Me too, very grateful, sir!"

Lan En looked at them with a smile, making the two young men blush.

Sixteen or seventeen-year-olds... they are even younger than I was when I came into this world.

For some reason, when Lan En reached the age of twenty-four or twenty-five, he began to feel a sense of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a complex feeling of mixed emotions, including nostalgia and reflection) towards the young people around him. Perhaps it was because he had experienced too much?
But he decided to cherish this feeling... while he was still sensitive to the concept of age.

"Lincoln must have invited you two?" Lann said to them, "regarding the expansion of the Knights of the Ember."

“Yes!” Henry scratched his head, a hint of unease on his honest face. “But Sir Capone and I both feel that this is an extravagant honor.”

"Then let's not worry about it." Lann waved his hand casually. "If you pass Lincoln's evaluation and become an Ember Knight, I'll consider that your gratitude enough, how about it?"

He was asking for their opinions, but Lan En didn't seem to care about waiting for a reply. He patted them both on the shoulder, smiled, and turned to leave.

Henry and Hans exchanged a bewildered glance, speechless.

But in the end, watching the Witcher's departing figure, they nodded solemnly to each other.
-
After numerous kings and messengers returned with the negotiated treaty and joint declarations to all corners of the land, the Second Northern War officially came to an end.

Shortly afterward, the Northern Alliance held a grand celebration in Novigrad, the climax of which was a military parade.

During that military parade, northerners cheered wildly for the soldiers and generals, and flowers were scattered all over the ground.

"Long live the mercenaries! Long live Julia Abbotmark! Long live Adam Pangera! Long live Lorenzo Mora!"

"Long live Sheriff Natalis!"

"Long live our king! Long live Foltest, Demarve, and Henselt!"

"Long live Lord Dikoscher!" some people shouted.

"Long live His Excellency the Archbishop!" A few scattered voices came from the crowd, clearly paid to create a stir.

Archbishop Cyrus Engelked Hemelfat of Novigrad rose to his feet and extended his hands to bless the commoners and soldiers, the hem of his robe inevitably obscuring Queen Hedwig and the young Radovid.

'No one's shouting "Long live Radovid!"' the prince thought, his view obscured by the archbishop's large backside. 'No one's even glancing at me, no one's paying homage to my mother. And no one cares about my father, even though this war started because of his death.'

The young prince sensed a gaze upon him; he knew it belonged to Philippa Ehrart, the current true ruler of Redania.

He tried to remain calm.

'Wait a minute,' Radovid reminded himself, 'Wait a little longer.'

At that time, no one could have predicted that this young prince would later earn himself the title of "Radovid the Heartless".
-
'She's a woman now,' Nannick thought. 'She was a child before she went to war, and she came back a woman. Confident, self-aware, calm, composed—a fully mature woman.'

She won the war. She didn't let the war destroy her.

“Deborah,” Yuned whispered, “died of typhoid at the camp in Mayena Fortress. Prun drowned in the Yaruga River; her small boat with the wounded capsized. Milra died at the hands of the elves, and the Scoia'tael raided Amelia’s hospital… Katie…”

“Tell me, child,” Nannick urged softly.

“Katie,” Eunice cleared her throat, “met a wounded Nilfgaard at the hospital. After the peace treaty was signed, she went to Nilfgaard with him during the prisoner exchange.”

“As I always say,” the priestess sighed, “love knows no borders. What about Aurora II?”

“Alive,” Eunice quickly explained, “she’s in Maripo.”

Why doesn't she come back?

The novice priestess lowered her head.

“She won’t be going back to the temple, Mother,” she whispered. “She went to the hospital and works under Milo van der Beck, that halfling surgeon. She said she wanted to care for patients. It’s what she wanted to dedicate her life to. Please forgive her, Mother.”

"Forgive? What nonsense, child?" The kind and sturdy priestess looked on in astonishment. She exclaimed, "I am proud of her!"
-
A minor incident occurred during the military parade.

"Awesome, dwarf! Long live Barclay Ayers!"

Long live the dwarves!

In Novigrad, the veterans of the dwarven volunteer army marched forward, their iron-soled boots clattering heavily on the paving stones. The dwarves advanced in ranks of five, waving banners emblazoned with crossed hammers.

"Long live Mahakam! Long live the dwarves!"

"Glory and honor belong to them!"

Suddenly, someone in the crowd burst into laughter. Soon, everyone started laughing.

“Outrageous…” Bishop Hemelfat gasped. “This is a blatant insult… unforgivable…”

“A vile race,” Priest Villemor hissed.

“Just pretend you didn’t see it,” Foltest said calmly.

“We shouldn’t withhold their pay,” Mivi said sourly, “nor should we refuse to give them additional rations.”

As the dwarves passed by the viewing platform, they undoubtedly expressed their dissatisfaction with the austerity policies implemented by the kings and archbishops.

The specific act of discontent was that when they saluted the reviewing stand, they did not use any military salute in the world. Instead, they simply raised their right fist towards the reviewing stand, with only the middle finger sticking out of that fist.

Scholars call this gesture the 'despicable finger,' while ordinary people have an even more offensive name for it.

The flushed faces of the kings and archbishops were proof enough that they were familiar with both titles.

“We shouldn’t have angered them,” Mivi persisted. “Or at least, we should have brought the regent over. That way, the dwarves would at least be more cautious because they have a good relationship with him.”

But in any case, as Queen Meve said, they couldn't bring in the regent of Sintra.

Because he's quite busy right now.

(End of this chapter)