Witcher: Sovereign of Magic

1272, Nilfgaardian-Occupied Vizima – The Emperor Watches

The banners of Temeria were gone. Where once the proud lilies of Foltest had flown, the black sun of Nilfgaard now loomed over Vizima, its golden embroidery gleaming in the morning light. Temeria had fallen. Its king lay dead, assassinated before he could rally his forces. His nobles had been scattered, his armies crushed beneath Nilfgaardian steel. And now, the last great kingdom of the North had become another province of the Empire. But Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes, did not celebrate. He sat in his war chamber, fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his throne, golden eyes fixed on the report before him.

"More Witchers."

Across from him, Vattier de Rideaux, head of the Nilfgaardian intelligence network, inclined his head.

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Our spies report increased Witcher activity across the North. There are more of them now than there have been in centuries."

Emhyr's gaze remained impassive. "And the formula?"

"Not the same as the one the Witchers once used," Vattier admitted. "It's been refined. Their survival rate is higher. The process is more controlled. They are stronger, faster… and their numbers are growing."

Silence hung between them.

Emhyr exhaled slowly.

"Castlevania."

The word carried weight, an acknowledgment of the unseen force moving in the shadows.

Vattier hesitated before nodding. "We believe so, Your Majesty. There is no other explanation."

That was what troubled Emhyr the most. The Lodge of Sorceresses had been dismantled. The Brotherhood was no more. The kings of the North were either dead or kneeling. Nilfgaard was on the cusp of total victory. And yet— There was always something lurking in the dark. Something he had not foreseen.

"What does Kaer Morhen intend?" Emhyr asked.

"We do not know," Vattier admitted. "Geralt of Rivia remains neutral, as always. The other Witchers follow suit. But the presence of so many new ones changes things."

Emhyr leaned forward slightly.

"They are not soldiers. They are not revolutionaries. Witchers are, and have always been, a neutral force."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Vattier agreed. "But that neutrality could shift—depending on who is behind their return."

That was the real question. Who had given the Witchers back their future?

"And Castlevania?" Emhyr asked.

Vattier frowned. "Still a mystery. Our spies have been unable to locate it. It exists in whispers, but…" He hesitated. "It is as if it does not exist at all."

Emhyr's fingers tightened around the edge of the report. Everything left a trace. Everything had a weakness. If someone was playing the long game, if someone was creating an order of enhanced warriors, then it meant one thing— They were preparing for something.

Emhyr's voice was cold when he spoke next.

"Increase our efforts. I want every available resource dedicated to this."

Vattier bowed. "As you command, Your Imperial Majesty."

"If Kaer Morhen is growing, we will know about it. If Castlevania is real, we will find it."

He exhaled slowly.

"And if they threaten the Empire…"

The words did not need to be finished.

Vattier nodded. "We will be ready."

1272, Redania – Radovid's Report

A cloaked figure slipped through the shadows of Tretogor, the capital of Redania. It was King Radovid, or rather, what remained of the man he once was. Consumed by paranoia and the fervor of the Eternal Fire, he was a puppet now, manipulated by zealots and haunted by the ghosts of his past. He had learned of Castlevania's growing influence, their connection to the enhanced Witchers, and the danger they posed to his kingdom – a danger that he perceived as a demonic threat, twisting the truth to fit the narrative of the Eternal Fire. He operated as a spy now, gathering what information he could to bolster his crusade against magic.

He had cultivated sources within the Eternal Fire, individuals who furthered his agenda and reinforced his fear of Castlevania. These contacts provided him with information, whispers of secret meetings, hidden agendas, and the supposed extent of Castlevania's influence. Tonight, he was meeting with one of these sources, a high-ranking member of the cult who had become instrumental in his witch hunts.

The meeting was brief and clandestine, held in a hidden chamber beneath the city's grand temple. His contact, a man named Elias, was fervent, his eyes burning with zealotry.

"The whispers grow louder, Your Majesty," Elias hissed, his voice trembling with righteous fury. "Castlevania's influence spreads like a plague. They corrupt the land, they tempt the weak, they defy the Eternal Fire!"

"And the Witchers?" Radovid asked, his voice low and urgent.

"They are their instruments," Elias confirmed. "Enhanced by dark magic, they serve Castlevania's evil designs. They are not protectors, Your Majesty. They are abominations."

"What are their goals?" Radovid pressed.

Elias shook his head. "They seek to destroy the true faith, to unleash chaos and darkness upon Redania. They are a demonic force, Your Majesty, a blight upon the land."

"And the mages?" Radovid asked. "The ones who vanished?"

"Taken," Elias replied. "Taken to Castlevania, to be used in their profane rituals. They are sacrifices, Your Majesty, offered to the dark powers that fuel Castlevania's strength."

Radovid nodded, his face grim. He knew the danger he was in, or at least, the danger he thought he was in. The threat of Castlevania, as presented by the Eternal Fire, was too great to ignore. He had to purge the land of this evil, to cleanse Redania with fire and faith.

1272, Kaer Morhen – The Training Begins

The new Witchers were stronger than expected. Vesemir stood at the edge of the training yard, arms folded as he watched Rhett, Julek, and Anika spar. Their movements were faster, their reactions sharper, their strength undeniable. The formula had worked. And that changed everything. The world was shifting. And if the Witchers wanted to survive this new age, they would need to be more than just monster hunters. They had to be ready for whatever came next.

Rhett, his silver sword a blur, disarmed Julek with a swift parry and riposte. Julek, grunting, rolled away and came back with a flurry of blows, forcing Rhett to block and weave. Anika, watching their duel intently, shifted her weight, preparing to step in if needed.

"Good," Vesemir rumbled, his voice echoing across the yard. "But remember what I told you. Technique over brute force. A well-placed strike is worth ten wild swings."

Rhett and Julek nodded, their breath coming in ragged gasps. They circled each other, their eyes locked, searching for an opening.

"Anika," Vesemir called out. "Your turn. Spar with… Eskel."

Anika's eyes widened slightly. Eskel was one of the most experienced Witchers at Kaer Morhen, a master swordsman. This was a test.

"Yes, Vesemir," she replied, her voice steady. She drew her silver sword, the polished blade gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Eskel, leaning against a nearby post, straightened and grinned. "Ready to dance, Anika?"

"Always," Anika replied, taking her stance.

Their duel was a study in contrasts. Eskel's movements were fluid and graceful, years of experience evident in every parry and thrust. Anika was more aggressive, her style a mix of speed and power. She pressed the attack, forcing Eskel to defend.

"Don't hold back," Eskel chuckled, blocking a particularly fierce strike. "Show me what you've learned."

"I intend to," Anika replied, her eyes focused on his blade.

The clash of steel rang out across the training yard, the sounds of their combat a testament to the Witchers' enhanced abilities.

Lambert, leaning against the wall with Coën, watched the sparring match with a critical eye.

"They're good," Lambert admitted. "Damn good. Avalon's formula… it's changed everything."

Coën nodded. "They're stronger, faster… but are they ready for what's coming?"

Lambert frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The rumors, Lambert," Coën replied. "The whispers of Castlevania. The witch hunts. The world is changing. Being a Witcher isn't just about killing monsters anymore."

Lambert sighed. "I know. Vesemir's been saying the same thing. We need to be prepared for anything."

The clang of steel interrupted their conversation as Anika, with a lightning-fast move, disarmed Eskel. His sword clattered to the ground.

Anika, breathing heavily, lowered her own sword, a look of surprise and respect on her face. Eskel chuckled, clapping her on the shoulder.

"Well fought, Anika," he said. "You've definitely improved."

Anika grinned, sheathing her sword. "Thank you, Eskel. I still have much to learn, but…"

"But you're a quick study," Eskel finished for her. "And you have the fire. That's important."

Vesemir approached, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Impressive, Anika. You've clearly taken Avalon's lessons to heart."

"Thank you, Vesemir," Anika replied.

"But remember," Vesemir continued, his gaze sweeping over all the trainees. "Strength and skill are only part of being a Witcher. You must also have discipline, and a sense of purpose."

He paused, his eyes meeting each of theirs.

"The world is changing. The old ways are being challenged. There are forces at work, forces we don't yet fully understand. And these forces… they will test you. They will test all of us."

"The whispers of Castlevania?" Rhett asked, his voice laced with concern.

Vesemir nodded. "The witch hunts. The growing unrest. These are not isolated events. They are all connected. And we, as Witchers, may find ourselves caught in the middle."

"What do we do?" Julek asked. "How do we prepare for something we can't see?"

"We train," Vesemir replied. "We hone our skills. We learn to adapt. And we stay true to our purpose – to protect the world from the things that go bump in the night."

He looked at each of them in turn.

"But also," he added, his voice low and serious. "We must be prepared to make difficult choices. Choices that will define who we are, and what we stand for."

The trainees nodded, the weight of Vesemir's words settling upon them. They knew that the world was no longer simple, that the lines between good and evil were becoming blurred. They were Witchers, enhanced by Avalon's gifts, but their true test was yet to come.