Chapter 127: Chains Beneath the Fortress

Time passed in waiting.

In Dark Water, Berengar’s lessons on witcher knowledge had already continued for five days.

During that time, Lannor had once asked the Lady of the Lake’s operational courier when the real work would begin. The answer he received was:

“Her Ladyship and her companions are making preparations. They must ensure that when Dagong disappears, not a single trace of residue remains behind. They must also ensure that you possess the material strength necessary to defeat its physical vessel. Otherwise ... the result would be something no living thing in this world wishes to witness.”

“Be patient, witcher. Surely a long-lived race should understand the scale of time.”

Lannor was not certain whether it was only his imagination.

But when the courier spoke of a “long-lived race,” he had the distinct feeling the phrase referred to something far beyond the few centuries of a witcher’s lifespan.

Triss also visited the village once.

She stepped out from a portal and immediately cast a protective barrier behind herself, as though she were blocking someone from following her through.

Foltest had spent his entire life around women. Countless women.

His judgment truly had been precise.

When Triss walked toward Lannor, her cheeks were flushed pink.

She had never hidden her ambition for power, nor her desire to use power to realize her own worth.

Over these past several days, the attention and goodwill she received within the royal court surpassed anything she had ever imagined before.

In earlier years, nobles and officials had always been polite when meeting her. But they never discussed the authority in their hands, nor would they seek a sorceress’s opinion on serious matters unless magic itself was involved.

She had once mistaken smiles for friendliness. Formal greetings for respect.

Only now did she understand.

True respect was when influential men surrounded her in conversation, carefully steering every topic toward her, competing to pull her into the center of the circle.

Respect born from power.

It struck harder than the strongest aphrodisiac potion in existence.

By the time she reached him, the young witcher almost felt as though he were watching a film.