The Witcher: Lord of the Empire

Brokilon Town – Lord's Estate, Study Room.

Ciri sat primly in the chair that usually belonged to Lann, idly twirling a quill in her hand.

She spread her hands slightly, and the quill, as if it were an actual feather—or even lighter than one—hovered weightlessly in her palm. Then, like a butterfly flitting among flowers, it began weaving in and out between her fingers.

[Knock! Knock!]

A knock came at the door, and after hearing Ciri's acknowledgment, the visitor stepped inside.

"Coën!" Ciri leapt up joyfully when she saw who it was.

Back when she trained at Kaer Morhen, Coën had also been invited to overwinter there as a member of the Griffin School. For quite a while, he had been part of Ciri's 'swordsmanship instructor group'.

Back then, aside from Geralt, Coën had been her favorite witcher—perhaps because members of the Griffin School generally behaved with more decorum, unlike some of the younger Wolves who never seemed to learn proper manners and took every chance to mock her with sarcastic remarks.

Or maybe it was simply because Coën, like Lann, came from the Griffin School—and she'd come to like him by association.

"Greetings, Your Highness," Coën said with a smile, giving a polite knight's salute as he entered—only to be rewarded with a playful kick from Ciri, her face slightly embarrassed.

"Don't joke around, Coën." She huffed.

The news from earlier that day had been deeply unsettling. Ever since returning from Fort Ortagor, Ciri had been in low spirits—and it seemed only Coën had the time and patience to try and cheer her up.

He quickly moved on to a formal report: "My guerrilla unit has taken over defense operations for the town. There are plenty of allies here that Lann has gathered from all over. Our defensive strength is far beyond expectations. If necessary, we can even retreat into Brokilon itself and request aid from the dryads. We will not allow you to fall into danger."

Ciri patted the chest plate of his armor like a true princess. "Thank you, Coën."

He chuckled. "Lann entrusted you to me, so of course I'll protect you. It's just a shame… Ever since the war began, his precognition—his Elder Blood foresight—has rarely manifested."

At this, Coën's expression turned a bit hopeful. "Ciri, you also have Elder Blood. Have you been able to see any glimpses of the future lately? Do you think the Nilfgaardians really will launch a surprise attack on Brokilon Town, just like we've predicted?"

Ciri pouted slightly. "If only I could see something. Honestly, I'd rather you all went to the front lines to help Lann instead of wasting strength guarding me over some vague, uncertain threat."

There's a strange phenomenon in the magical world—when a Source first awakens, it often exhibits power far greater than that of even the most famous veteran sorcerers.

Specifically with regard to foresight, even Nilfgaard's royal astrologers sometimes make errors in their prophecies. But for mages, the visions seen by a newly awakened Source are held as absolute truth—almost like gospel.

The power surge during a Source's awakening is immense, potent, and chaotic, often causing harm to the Source's own body.

Many Sources suffer various physical deformities. And among the most powerful ones, those who don't receive timely instruction on how to regulate their energy almost never live to adulthood.

Ciri, by contrast, was now in a much better situation than in the original timeline. Not only did she have a full team of sword instructors, but also a dreamlike magical tutoring group. Her magical power had already been carefully refined. While she hadn't awakened the ability to travel through space and time, she was steadily growing stronger.

But this had also temporarily robbed her of her foresight, making her feel 'ordinary'—and that left her especially dejected.

Seeing her like this, Coën couldn't help but laugh.

"You're Lann's most important princess, Ciri. How could protecting you ever be considered a waste of effort?"

"This is just a transitional phase in your growth. Just look at Lann—someday, you might surpass even me, Geralt, and Yennefer."

Just as Coën was trying to comfort her—

A sudden flash of emerald flames lit up the painting hanging directly across from the writing desk, drawing both of their attention.

A veiled spirit in a monochrome gothic gown slowly materialized from the painting, performing a graceful lady's curtsy in Coën's direction.

"Iris!" Ciri's eyes lit up again. "Is it time for another painting lesson?"

The spirit in the painting gently shook her head. Iris's artwork, in all its various forms, was now spread across the entire town. No movement or disturbance in any corner of Brokilon Town could escape her notice, and she could shift herself to wherever was needed.

This time, she had brought news.

"Nanomi… the succubus Lann brought back from Skellige has appeared again," Iris said with a slight frown. "And she brought with her a middle-aged man dressed like an herbalist. They say they wish to see the 'Elder Blood'."

Ciri was well aware that Lann had a habit of bringing back all sorts of odd people—and non-humans—when he returned from his travels.

Like the troll, for example—Ciri was quite fond of him; they often played together. Or the berserker, Bill—after hearing his story involving a mermaid, Ciri had even shed a rare tear.

As for the 'female humanoids' he brought back: Triss had proven herself useful to Lann with her strength, so Ciri had accepted her; Iris's reserved elegance and classic beauty had charmed even Ciri, let alone any man.

Then there was Saskia, the most recent arrival—her bold and heroic aura was exactly what Ciri hoped to embody one day herself. Once she learned Saskia was a true dragon, she had absolutely no objections.

These were all people Ciri had already come to accept—some she even genuinely liked.

But the succubus, Nanomi… try as she might, Ciri just couldn't bring herself to like her.

Even if Nanomi seemed to be a favorite of certain others—like some of the Wolf School members.

Right now, Ciri stood with her arms crossed, glaring openly at Nanomi and the middle-aged herbalist she'd brought along. Her hostility was obvious. Coën, meanwhile, stared at the man, sensing that something was off… but unable to say what, exactly.

Iris, however, appeared to sense something more. Her expression grew wary, and she subtly positioned herself in front of Ciri, as if to shield her.

It was Nanomi who finally broke the silence: "Regis, this is one of the two Elder Bloods I told you about. But her power seems to have only recently awakened—she's not as strong as the other one I mentioned."

"Greetings, Your Highness," said Regis, bowing deeply to Ciri. Unlike Nanomi, who was casual and indifferent, Regis's etiquette was flawless—one even a royal court instructor would have no fault to find.

He then turned politely to Coën and Iris. "My respects to you both as well—Master Witcher, and a lady as miraculous as she is mysterious."

"I am Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. My friends simply call me Regis." He smiled. "I'm an old acquaintance of Nanomi's. Upon hearing that an Elder Blood might be in need of aid, I came hoping to offer what modest help I can."

Ciri still didn't like Nanomi—but if someone had come to offer their strength to support Lann, she was more than willing to welcome them.

She also knew that anyone Lann accepted into his 'Pride' would never be someone who meant them harm. If Nanomi had brought him, at the very least he wasn't an enemy.

The young princess forced a courteous, perfectly measured smile. "Thank you for coming, Master Regis. Cintra welcomes all kindred spirits who wish to join our cause. Unfortunately, Lann is currently away on official matters, so I must trouble you to remain here in Brokilon for now. He'll arrange things properly once he returns."

Regis showed a hint of confusion. "But… aren't you the princess?"

Ciri answered matter-of-factly, "I listen to Lann now."

Regis immediately lowered his head in apology, sensing her displeasure. "Please forgive my impertinence."

Ciri lifted her chin slightly, signaling that it was fine and not worth minding.

Then, she glanced at Nanomi, her expression shifting to one of curiosity. "Since you're Nanomi's old friend, Regis, I hope it's not too forward to ask… what kind of power do you have? Or rather… is there such a thing as a 'male succubus'?"

Nanomi burst out laughing and replied casually, "By your human classification—Regis is a Higher Vampire."

---

I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar

---