The Witcher: Lord of the Empire

Lann then raised a question: "How's the battlefield cleanup going? The two of you didn't come all the way here just to bring Ciri over, did you?"

At the mention of cleanup, Mousesack's face took on a hint of exasperation.

During the earlier battle, the dragons Saskia and Keltullis had unleashed so much fire that their throats had nearly scorched from the effort. While they had succeeded in routing Nilfgaard's forces, they'd also left Fort Ortagor in near-total ruin.

Not to mention, just to extinguish the fires and provide the soldiers with a temporary shelter to rest, Lann had personally blinked across the battlefield repeatedly, using Piercing Cold to cool down the blaze—only retreating to the study after depleting his magical energy. After that, Mousesack and Fritjof, the two aging druids, summoned rain with their old bones and ritual chants, finally cooling the fortress enough for anyone to step foot safely inside.

"Half the city's been destroyed. One section of the outer wall has collapsed, and the other three are unusable. This place can only serve as a temporary rest stop now—we'll have to abandon it soon."

In its current state, Fort Ortagor had lost all strategic value until it could be rebuilt.

"Still, maybe some of those half-melted towers can be preserved," Mousesack mused. "They'll serve as monuments to today's battle—this will be remembered as a defining chapter in history."

Lann nodded in agreement.

The Marshal then began reporting the casualty figures: "The enemy broke ranks before our cavalry even arrived. As a result, the main Cintran cavalry suffered no fatalities—only a dozen or so light injuries."

"That's thanks to the Free Companies from Kovir holding the front lines. They lost over a hundred men. The exact number of casualties and wounded is still being tallied."

The forces brought here consisted of 3,000 elite Cintran cavalry and 3,000 mercenaries from the Free Companies. The mercenaries were highly skilled and could all fight on horseback, making them viable cavalry.

However, in terms of discipline and organization, they lagged far behind the Cintrans. On the Cintran side, even the lightly wounded had already been accounted for—on the mercenary side, they hadn't even finalized the death count.

Lann didn't seem to mind.

"That's the value of mercenary companies. Still, in terms of treatment, let's not make too sharp a distinction between them and our own. Make sure their wounded receive full medical attention. After the final battle, some—perhaps most—of them will likely become Cintrans themselves."

"I understand," the Marshal replied with a nod.

"What about the Nilfgaardians? How many did we kill, and how many did we capture?"

This question made the Marshal grimace slightly.

"Kills… are hard to calculate. We can only roughly estimate somewhere between 10,000 and 15,000. A large portion of them were burned to ashes, and many others are still buried under collapsed buildings. We haven't finished digging them out."

Lann nodded. That was understandable. Even without a precise figure, such a victory was already worthy of the history books.

Every soldier who took part would see themselves immortalized in song.

"What about the prisoners?"

"There are no prisoners," the Marshal said.

Lann paused slightly at that but said nothing.

Even Ciri's expression didn't change.

"The main force of the Western Army was here," Lann continued, "but there must still be scattered units in the surrounding area. Plenty of troops must have fled during the chaos of battle. Have our people continue clearing out any remnants. I'll also have the red dragon keep patrolling from the skies—make sure the soldiers coordinate with her."

"Ten days."

"No matter what the results are, we regroup and reorganize after that," Lann concluded decisively. "Then we march on Sodden and prepare for the final battle in our campaign."

The Marshal snapped his greave-clad heels together and gave a formal salute, his tone filled with reverence: "By your command!"

...

Town of Brokilon – Main Square.

A portal suddenly opened, and a fierce gust of wind tore through the air.

Radcliffe, royal advisor of Aedirn, stumbled out of the swirling gate—only to find a towering troll covered in stone plates rumbling toward him at full speed.

Radcliffe, already pale by nature, turned ghostly white.

Fortunately, as he frantically looked around, he caught sight of the Three Lions banner fluttering nearby.

"I am the royal advisor of Aedirn! By order of His Majesty Demavend III, I've come seeking Duke Lannister!"

"I'm here to request aid!!"

...

On February 10, 1265, Aedirn dispatched five thousand cavalry and ten thousand infantry to form a coalition army with Queen Meve, marching south together to resist the Nilfgaardians.

After Lann wiped out the senior officers of the Eastern Army in one fell swoop, although the Black Army still had an ample reserve of mid-level officers, there was no longer any general with the prestige to rally the remaining scattered forces.

Even though the Black Army, thanks to its high tactical training, managed to organize several small-scale counterattacks, each involved only a thousand or so troops. Against the combined forces of Aedirn—one of the Four Great Kingdoms of the North—and Queen Meve, whose strength rivaled that of Calanthe, they had no ability to resist.

This was one of the fatal flaws in the Eastern Army's decision to force their way across the Yaruga River. They had completely lost contact with their logistics corps, and after their advance was met with a devastating blow, they were instantly reduced to isolated, broken units with no hope of reinforcement or support.

Their chaotic retreat and fragmented resistance throughout Lyria did, however, cause Queen Meve considerable trouble for a time.

Eight days ago, the coalition army pushed to the Yaruga River and drove the last major Black Army unit into its raging waters.

Personally leading her troops, Queen Meve wiped the dust from her grimy forehead. In her current disheveled state, it was hard to see any trace of the famed beauty that once dazzled the Northern Kingdoms.

But her spirit was still high. "That was the last strength of the 'Black Infantry Regiment.' All that remains are scattered stragglers—groups of ten or a few dozen hiding in the countryside. That will be up to each city's sheriff to deal with."

"I must remind you, Meve," said King Demavend of Aedirn calmly from beside her, "these remnants are far more troublesome than common bandits or raiders. They'll demand a great deal of your attention."

"But we must prioritize eliminating the Nilfgaardians," Meve replied. "For example, those two cavalry regiments in Upper Sodden."

Demavend gritted his molars. "Have you read the secret message Lannister sent a while ago? I have to admit—his plan is quite viable."

Relaxed at last, Queen Meve couldn't help but laugh. "You're sounding more eager to fight Nilfgaard than even me or Lannister."

Demavend turned away. "Much of what Lannister said during the Northern Council was sensible. That brat may be outrageously young, but he has real talent."

"Calanthe certainly had a knack for nurturing the next generation," Demavend added, lowering his head. "A pity… she fell right at the beginning. And now Lannister has become a witcher."

Queen Meve paused in silence. "Isn't Lann's decision actually worthy of admiration? Besides, don't think I don't know..."

She urged her horse forward, leaving only her back to King Demavend. "You, Vizimir, Foltest, and Henselt—you're all more than happy to see Lann make this choice, aren't you?"

Demavend's expression hardened. "And what about you, Meve?"

The queen didn't answer him. Instead, she ordered her soldiers to occupy the camp previously seized by the Nilfgaardians and begin rebuilding the defensive line along the banks of the Yaruga.

Meve thought that once the situation in Lyria was fully stabilized, Cintra would likely be reclaimed through Lann's efforts as well. After that, they could join forces to annihilate the two cavalry regiments in Upper Sodden and drive Nilfgaard completely out of the North.

If possible, Meve even hoped to invite the remaining two of the Four Northern Kingdoms to join them—though she had little expectation of support from Henselt. As long as Kaedwen didn't make things worse, she would be content.

In the past, even with Lann at her side, her voice still held little weight. But now that Demavend—himself a ruler of one of the Four Kingdoms—was willing to speak directly to Foltest and Vizimir on her behalf, perhaps their attitudes could be swayed and they'd increase their support.

Unfortunately, Queen Meve, King Demavend III, and Lann all made the same mistake at this moment.

Though the constant fighting had taught them a great deal about the combat capabilities of Nilfgaard's Black Army soldiers, they still understood next to nothing about the Emperor who had led them from the South to the North—Emhyr var Emreis.

When the ground began to tremble ever so slightly and the Black Sun banner started fluttering in the distance, Queen Meve and King Demavend III both widened their eyes in alarm.

It wasn't just the threat of the Black Sun flag.

There were also two others: a black banner bearing a white scorpion, and another with a white skull on a black field.

Only units with distinguished military achievements were entitled to their own unique designations and banners.

Both rulers, well-versed in military affairs, instantly recognized which units those banners belonged to—they represented the 7th Daerlanian Cavalry Brigade and the Nausicaä Division, both under Nilfgaard's Fourth Cavalry Corps.

The thunder of hooves surged across the land, and the cavalry poured in like a tide of darkness.

To the Aedirnians, it felt like a grim déjà vu—reminiscent of the time the Ard Feainn Division charged in full force. But this time, the enemy was even stronger, and they no longer had the Lion of Cintra on their side.

Blades clashed, fire roared, and the banners of the Black Eagle, Red Rhombus, and Tricolor Rose were all trampled beneath the Black Sun banner—crushed under hooves, ground into the dirt.

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