As he was leaving, John saw the white wolf again.
He understood then—his next trial would take place on that battlefield.
Boro pawed nervously at the ground.
Animals could sense danger far better than humans could. If even Boro was afraid, that war was bound to be brutal.
John used mental magic to calm the horse.
Another fireball streaked across the sky, and John followed its trajectory.
Before long, he saw it get deflected by some force before it could hit the pass.
A sorcerer's doing.
The ripples of magic were clearly visible to his eyes.
"A battle led by mages," he murmured.
John rode toward the solitary fortress.
Once a quiet place, it now boiled over like a pot brought to a furious boil—the chaotic clamor inside made John pause for a moment.
"No army?" he muttered in surprise. The panicked shouts made it clear—there were no soldiers stationed there.
There were people, yes—but at best, they were militiamen who'd only ever touched a blade.
Nowhere near enough to qualify as an army.
They were supposed to hold back Nilfgaard's black legions with this?
John recalled what he had seen of those black-clad forces—there had to be tens of thousands of them.
The walls here weren't even high. On the contrary, they looked ancient and weathered.
As John approached the fortress, a sorceress spotted him.
"Who's there?"
A brown-haired woman fixed him with a wary look as she stepped closer.
John slowly turned his head, greeting her calmly. "Hello."
"Who are you?" The red-haired sorceress didn't lower her guard in the slightest.
John sighed helplessly. "I'm not with Nilfgaard. I just came to see what's happening here."
"You're a spy?"
"No, just a traveler," John said quickly, waving his hands in denial.
The brown-haired sorceress still looked doubtful.
At that moment, a fireball hurtled toward them.
The fireball carried an overwhelming surge of magic, and the brown-haired sorceress's expression changed instantly.
Someone inside the fortress had countered it—a black-haired sorceress.
With both hands raised high, the black-haired woman deflected the falling fireball.
The explosion's shockwave sent shards of stone flying toward them.
Instinctively, the brown-haired sorceress lifted her arm to shield herself.
But the stones froze midair.
She glanced at her hands—she hadn't cast any spell.
Looking up, she saw John holding a wand. The suspended stones shot away harmlessly.
"You're a wizard?" She blinked in surprise, then her eyes brightened. "You've come to help us?"
"Uh…"
John wasn't entirely sure. After all, he was here for a trial.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the fleeting silhouette of the white wolf atop the wall—as if confirming where he stood.
"You could say that," John answered vaguely.
That was enough for her. The brown-haired sorceress smiled. "I'm Triss. Welcome to the defense."
"John," he said—choosing not to give the name Yadani.
Witchers were meant to remain neutral, and John had no intention of breaking that rule.
If they were looking for the witcher Yadani, well—what did that have to do with John the wizard?
Though Triss had never seen him among the Brotherhood, she was still relieved.
She led John through the city gates.
She wasn't worried that he might be from Nilfgaard—his help earlier had dispelled that suspicion.
From what John could tell, the sorceresses here were still rather inexperienced.
Inside the walls, the commotion had woken the townsfolk.
Some were fleeing, others were scrambling to pack their belongings.
"They're villagers?" John asked, noticing the lack of armor or weapons on anyone around.
"Yes. The army won't arrive for some time. We didn't expect Nilfgaard to advance this quickly."
The Nilfgaardian army's speed had far exceeded their expectations.
John frowned slightly. Since entering, he hadn't seen the white wolf again.
It had slipped inside the fortress—and then vanished.
He found it strange—Ciri could see the white wolf clearly, yet none of the mages here seemed to notice it.
Most of the mages present were women, with only a handful of men among them.
Altogether, there were twenty-two mages.
With them and a few remaining villagers, they were expected to stand against Nilfgaard.
John said nothing.
As the sky grew lighter, the tension from the night attack did not fade.
Many villagers had already fled; those who stayed were gathered by the mages.
"I wonder what tricks they still have up their sleeve?" someone muttered.
The one leading the mages was Vilgefortz—a male sorcerer.
He carried himself with a righteous air, tall and powerfully built, strikingly handsome.
Though he looked to be in his thirties, he was in fact much older.
John's arrival drew a flicker of curiosity in Vilgefortz's eyes, but he still welcomed him.
"We can't wait for the Northern Kingdoms," Vilgefortz declared decisively. He was not only a mage but also a seasoned commander. "We have to fight."
Nilfgaard's advance had been too swift—the Northern armies hadn't even arrived yet.
Triss said quietly, "But we only have twenty-two… twenty-three people."
She glanced at John instinctively, counting him among them.
The difference in strength was overwhelming. A male mage spoke up, "I'm not leaving. I've lived long enough anyway."
Just then, a thick fog began to rise from the distant forest.
It was conjured by magic.
John could sense that it bore some resemblance to his own mist magic.
The heavy fog rolled closer, shrouding the movements of the Nilfgaardian army.
Vilgefortz immediately began giving orders. "They're here. Everyone, move!"
He pointed to ten mages. "You—outside the walls!"
Then he turned to a woman in a green robe. "Sabrina, take the villagers to the artillery platforms."
He quickly organized the mages to form a defensive line.
John wasn't sent outside. He was assigned to defend the walls against anyone trying to climb up.
They still didn't fully trust him.
As full mobilization began, John stood on the ramparts, watching as the black army drew nearer and nearer.
The villagers were distributed bows and arrows, preparing their weapons.
Up above, the black-haired sorceress who had deflected the fireball earlier was making her own preparations.
Standing beside John, Triss smiled softly. "That's Yennefer of Vengerberg."
She thought John was staring at her and teased, "Beautiful, isn't she?"
John had to admit—she was indeed beautiful.
Encouragingly, Triss added, "When this war is over, you could try courting her."
"That won't be necessary," John replied flatly. He couldn't help but feel that everyone here was rather… open-minded. He had just looked twice, that was all.
Triss pressed her lips together to hide a grin, thinking he was simply shy. "Be brave."
"I'm fifteen," John said with a straight face.
For a moment, Triss's eyes went blank in confusion.
…
The war had begun. The fog reached the outskirts of the fortress.
Triss stepped forward.
She placed both hands on the ground, letting her magic flow through her fingertips.
Ancient words spilled from her lips as John's expression grew solemn.
Spores bloomed within the forest, and the drifting toxins caused large numbers of soldiers to collapse.
John was slightly surprised and murmured, "An advanced application of the Growth Charm."
Then, a voice echoed in his mind—it was Yennefer's.
"Coral, soldiers approaching from the front."
John narrowed his eyes and saw a formation of soldiers advancing straight ahead.
"Telepathy," he noted in surprise. This magic was remarkably similar to his own mental magic.
The sorceress named Coral raised her left hand before the oncoming formation. As her magic surged outward, the entire formation collapsed at once.
At the same time, blood trickled from her nose.
"These spells harm the body," John muttered, sensing the shifting flow of magic around him.
In this battle, the world's authenticity was nearly indistinguishable from reality itself.
"It's the rules," he realized.
John understood now—something had changed.
The world's laws had solidified, and he was standing on a genuine battlefield.
The war raged on as villagers hurled explosive charges using makeshift catapults.
Under Yennefer's command, every movement of the enemy soldiers was swiftly detected and tracked.
John's pupils narrowed into vertical slits.
Through his enhanced vision, he could see the same chaotic particles that had once appeared on Nagini's body now saturating the entire battlefield.
"These spells… they resemble the Blood Curse," he murmured.
His gaze fixed on the waves of magic—each surge fragmented into countless chaotic motes that spread outward like dust in a storm.
It wasn't just the northern mages at work—there were sorcerers among the Nilfgaardian army as well.
Sensing the formation of chaotic particles within the city, John drew his wand and aimed at the area where the energy was gathering.
"Reducto."
A flash of white light streaked across the open streets within the fortress.
It struck the newly forming vortex head-on.
The light disappeared into it—
…
Vega, one of Nilfgaard's sorceresses and a commander in this battle, had gathered a contingent of soldiers.
She used magic to open a portal, and the soldiers drew their bows, aiming directly at that swirling vortex.
Just as the arrows were about to be released for a surprise strike on the defenders, Vega's expression suddenly changed.
A burst of white light shot out from the vortex, exploding like a flashbang.
The nearby trees bent under the force of the shockwave, and soldiers were hurled through the air.
Vega was caught in it as well.
"Who—?" she gasped, crashing into a tree and sliding to the ground, her eyes wide with disbelief.
...
John's attack had immediately drawn Yennefer's attention. In her mind, she recalled Vilgefortz's warning:
"Don't trust that man too much."
But now, the battlefield situation was far from favorable.
Her eyes hardened with resolve.
A voice echoed in John's mind.
"John, right?"
________
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