The Witcher: Serpent School Witcher's Otherworldly Journey

"I understand, Your Majesty. The issue of succession is indeed... thorny." The Nilfgaardian ambassador took a half step back and performed a standard courtly salute. His sable shawl gleamed unnaturally in the smoke of battle, looking as if it had been smeared with a thick layer of battlefield ash.

"Please allow me to take my leave temporarily so that you can discuss tactical details with these..." He glanced at the Witcher's cat-like eyes, "...professionals."

Foltest didn't even turn his neck; he simply waved his hand, which was covered by an iron glove, as if shooing away annoying mosquitoes.

As the figure in black disappeared around the corner of the transport trench, he suddenly kicked the oak railing at the edge of the observation platform, and the three-inch-thick wood cracked open with a spiderweb pattern.

"Those southern bastards of the Aegypsy goats," he cursed, a hint of self-mockery in his voice, "I should have pinned them to the gates of Sintra with a siege crossbow!" The lily pattern on the king's breastplate rose and fell with his heavy breathing, as if it were about to take flight and fly toward the burning walls at any moment.

"What's wrong with this world that a man in black dared to show up in my tent before the war even started? Nothing makes me happier than to send his wrinkled head back to Emhyr."

He kicked the railing again, but this time with less force, as if merely to complete a full beat of the emotion he had just expressed. The venerable King of Temuria took three deep breaths, then adjusted his crown and helmet, seemingly regaining his composure.

“However, my royal advisors insist that I be patient and polite.” He turned around, the rage that had been spitting fire on his face now gone, like a branding iron being removed. “Tell me, Geralt, did I act like a polite fool just now?”

"Your Majesty has done a fine job," Geralt replied without batting an eye. "I don't think any king in the North could have done better."

“There is no king in the North…” Foltest repeated slowly. “Well, Geralt, that sounds like a curse. Do you know that Demavie III was also a ‘well-behaved’ king? Now his bones are probably being carried back to his lair by some ghoul.”

"Then please do it even worse, Your Majesty."

"Ha!" The king burst into laughter, the sound echoing against the side of the siege tower. "When did your tongue become sharper than Dandelion's?"

Gillian glanced at Geralt, who was speaking flattering words with a straight face, and was surprised that this big-eyed guy would actually flatter the king.

Moreover, the shot was perfectly timed, neither overdone nor lacking in flexibility, leaving room for reversal at any moment. This was clearly not his first conversation with the king.

"I know you've always been one of us." Foltest patted Geralt's arm, then looked at Gillian, "And Master Gillian! Since you're Geralt's friend, I won't treat you unfairly. Come on, gentlemen, let's climb the siege tower, it's time for the assault."

With a wave of his hand, the king once again took the lead and rushed into the massive siege tower.

The air inside the siege tower was so thick it could be sliced ​​open and bagged. Pine resin torches crackled in the iron cages, casting the silhouettes of three hundred heavily armored soldiers onto the damp cowhide bulges. The wet cowhide, meant to prevent the rockets from igniting the tower, now emitted a nauseating stench somewhere between animal fat and saltpeter. Every drop of water seeping from the bulges carried the earthy, musty smell of leather, dripping onto the wooden steps with a dull thud, perfectly synchronized with the intermittent firing of the catapults overhead.

As the king's iron-plated boots stepped onto the first wooden step, the clanging of metal spread like ripples towards the top of the tower. All the soldiers knelt down in unison, their growls beneath their helmets coalescing into thunder.

"Fight for the Silver Lily!"

"Save your energy for piercing the rebels' throats!" Foltest laughed and sneered, patting each shoulder armor he passed. His fingers traced the dense engravings on the central pillar of the siege tower, each one bearing the name of a fallen soldier from past battles. He paused for half a second at the freshest part of the engraving, where it read, crookedly, "Old Lame Hank, Mahakam liquor merchant, died while delivering arrows."

Geralt suddenly pressed down on the king's gauntlet: "Be careful, the tower is shaking."

"Nonsense! An eighty-foot-high wooden frame moving on forty wheels, it would be a miracle if it didn't wobble!" Foltest shook off his hand and continued climbing, but Kiliam keenly noticed that the king had subtly adjusted his center of gravity, and those seemingly casual clanging sounds of armor were actually precise steps placed directly on top of the siege tower's load-bearing beams.

King Temuria was in excellent physical condition. As he climbed the stairs, he continued to chatter incessantly, as if the long, upward-reaching wooden ladder inside the siege tower had no effect on his stamina.

"You know I intend to forgive Louisa, Geralt; all she has to do is kneel before her king."

"You are very kind, Your Majesty," Geralt replied quickly, clearly quite used to Foltest's way of interacting with him.

"Are you mocking me? Ha! I don't care, but I'm sure Luisa will understand her mistake. Besides, the children need their mother. Because the solution is simple; she just made one request that I can't fulfill."

The more Giliam listened in silence, the more uneasy he felt. He didn't know the main reason for the civil war, nor did he understand why La Valedi, an important border territory, would suddenly rebel. But now it sounded like this seemingly large-scale civil war was just a private family matter for the king.

Everything seems a bit far-fetched?

"I think so," Geralt replied, like a merciless question-and-answer machine, following Foltest's lead.

"My daughter, Yda, married Radovid after the curse was lifted, so she has no choice but to stay in Redania, and I have no objection. Therefore, Radovid now hopes for my death, wanting to take what belongs to me, and ancient Temuria will certainly not allow a Redanian to become their king."

"Damn Redanian vultures!" The king suddenly slammed his sword hilt against the brass megaphone beside him, and the siege tower emitted a roar like a dragon awakening. "Once my corpse has cooled, they'll put my little Anais on the throne, and then..." He made a choking gesture, the joints of his iron gauntlets cracking, "and then the great Silver Lily will become rotten weeds that Radovid can pluck at will!"

"And those damned nobles hypocritically claimed to help Louisa, saying that the evil king would take her child away, and that they would help Louisa become the mother of the next king... and then the Baroness was deceived, her maternal love was exploited to weaken my power."

Interesting... So this is a real civil war, Kiliam thought.

The only descendant of the King of Temeria has married the King of Redania. Although Kiriam could guess that Foltest might be seeking a stronger alliance with Redania through marriage.

After all, Cordwin, a former ally of Aden, had seized territory that rightfully belonged to Aden, making the fragile alliance of the northern kings seem precarious.

If a nation loses its heir, it will only breed more and more ambitious people, even illegitimate ones. What Foltest needs now is someone of blood who can inherit his nation's bloodline.

Therefore, this is a war that will truly affect the fate of Temuria. Foltest must conquer La Valedi as soon as possible, otherwise his enemies will only increase.

Nilfgaard, Redania, and even the obese King Cordwin would swarm around Foltest's bastard like bloodthirsty sharks.

However, there was still one thing he didn't quite understand: if the reason this war started was the lack of an heir, then why was Foltest so eager to marry Jada off to Radovid?

As Yatan's legitimate eldest daughter, even with the curse lifted, she still retains her right to the throne in Temuria. Marrying her off to Redania is tantamount to voluntarily castrating one's own royal bloodline, even handing over the pretext of joint rule to the other side. And now the current king has launched a civil war to reclaim his two illegitimate sons. These two moves, taken together, are either an extremely brilliant strategy or an extremely reckless and hasty act.

Kiriam suddenly interjected, "So His Majesty started the civil war to remove his children from the political game?"

Foltest stopped at the corner of the stairs, his profile as hard as the rocks of the Mahakam Mountains in the firelight: "Witcher, do you know how to kill a king?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued climbing, "Not with a sword or poison, but with the corpses of their children paved with stairs."

His boot heel slammed against a wooden board with a dull thud.

"And if I die on the journey... Yatan has already paid too high a price." He paused, and there was so much left unsaid in that pause. About the long years Yatan was cursed into a vampire bird, about the girl who woke up with her forever pale hair and lost childhood, about the blood flowing from a father's heart as he watched his daughter transform from a monster back into a girl, and then as she was sent to sleep with the monarch of another kingdom.

"All she needs now is to be a princess, to wake up every day in a soft, big bed like a normal girl, and then the rest is my business. The Witcher has done most of the work for me, and now it's time for the old man to wield his sword."

Hearing the other's reply, Gillian narrowed his eyes. He had to admit that Geralt was willing to stay and protect Foltest for a reason; the White Wolf wouldn't be restrained just because of a king's threat.

The King of Temuria is indeed a charismatic fellow... Interesting.

When they reached the tower's summit platform, twenty knights were striking their shields with the spines of their swords, playing a war song. These were noble sons selected from the eastern border of Temuria, each clad in bright full plate armor, their helmets gleaming with long, red decorative feathers, and their shoulder armor branded with their family crests.

The longswords, requiring both hands to hold steadily, were firmly in their hands, their sharp, cold gleam leaving no doubt that they were superior weapons. These were minor nobles loyal to the king, and also his most elite soldiers, waiting here for the king's command to charge against those he considered traitors.

"Alright, gentlemen."

Foltest raised his hand to silence the knights' cheers. He held up his forty-pound two-handed sword with one hand, the sapphire on the hilt gleaming against the soldiers' breastplates. "See those fools on the other side of the drawbridge with their torches? They think they can hide behind the walls and..."

The siege tower suddenly trembled violently.

Kiliam swiftly caught a knight who was about to fall. A burning crossbow bolt was stuck in the right side of the tower, and smoke rose from the soaked leather cladding. The makeshift engineering tower looked as if it were about to collapse. A wooden beam deep inside the tower let out a sickening groan, then fell silent, as if making a promise that it was about to give way.

Foltest remained completely calm. He stood ramrod straight beside the two knights who came forward to protect him, his eyes sharp as sword tips, fixed on the figure three hundred yards away at the breach in the city wall.

"That's old Hogger! I still remember the stupid way he sneaked a drink at my party back then."

The king's anger was as visible as the steam rising from the cracks in the siege tower.

"That damned traitor! How dare he stand against his own king! Whoever puts his head on a spear, I'll reward him with three thousand Orens!"

"Then we can have a chamber pot made of a skull at the next banquet!"

The knights erupted in bloodthirsty laughter, and the youngest warrior even ripped off his visor and spat towards the city wall.

There's a reason the Northern Kingdoms were considered barbarians by the Nilfgaardian Empire. But nothing is more exhilarating than charging alongside their king, especially when he stands before them with sword in hand. These beasts are already eager to serve their king.

"We can say whatever we need to say after the battle," Foltest's voice boomed, cutting through all the noise. "Now, in the name of Temuria, charge!"

"Ooh ooh ooh!"

The siege tower's thick doors were placed directly against La Valéry's towering walls, and by the time they reached the top, it had slowly reached a suitable firing position. The castle's ballistae were completely suppressed by the king's firepower and could not stop this behemoth from approaching.

The knights of Temeria charged up the city walls, where they were met by La Valéry knights whose armor was identical to their own, except that the white lilies on the dark black background were covered by green paint, replaced by the La Valéry family crest. Some of the green paint was still damp, reflecting the morning light. On some knights' breastplates, the green was even incompletely covered, revealing the faint outlines of the lilies beneath, making it look like a shameful crime hastily concealed.

These men were once Temerian knights. Many of them had been drinking with Foltest's men in the same tavern just three months ago, exchanging lewd jokes about women and warhorses. Now they had drawn swords from each other with a bucket of green paint, ready to meet on this city wall.