Witcher: The Half Elf

After two more days of pleasant interactions, under Wayne's charismatic and well-funded approach, his relationship with the priestess Paletress had grown increasingly close.

Inexperienced in matters of the heart, young women often found themselves drawn to men who were wealthy, handsome, and adept in the art of romance. Wayne, naturally, knew how to play his cards well.

Yet, even as he charmed the devoted priestess, his mind remained focused on the looming confrontation with the Black Dragon Princess, Onyxia.

The plan had been set. The battle would take place during the upcoming noble banquet, but this was a scheme he could not share openly.

After all, it would be absurd to expect anyone to believe that a black dragon had infiltrated Stormwind's noble ranks under the guise of a human countess. Even if there were suspicions, few dared to act against a woman so deeply entrenched in the kingdom's politics—one whom the regent, Bolvar Fordragon, openly pursued.

Most would hesitate, demanding irrefutable evidence before taking action.

Wayne, however, had no such concerns.

He had already taken steps to ensure there would be ample support when the time came.

First, he approached Mathias Shaw of SI:7, feeding him just enough fabricated intelligence to justify the deployment of a large number of agents around the banquet venue. To Shaw, it was simply another covert operation, a precaution against suspected internal threats.

Second, Wayne discreetly hired a dozen seasoned adventurers from Stormwind's mercenary circles, lodging them at a high-end inn near the banquet. Each was given a sealed envelope, with instructions to only open it when specific conditions were met.

Third, leveraging his growing influence within the Holy Light Church, he convinced Paletress to invite numerous fellow priests to a lavish dinner at a separate upscale establishment that same evening.

This move puzzled the priestess, yet Wayne's silver tongue and carefully crafted reasoning left her with little choice but to comply.

These three measures provided contingencies should his plan unfold as expected—or worse, if things spiraled beyond his control.

Still, he knew there was only so much he could prepare. His connection with Major Genset was not yet strong enough to rally Stormwind's military.

But if a dragon were to reveal itself in the heart of the city, the military would come regardless. His aim was to ensure the battle's outcome, not merely its inception.

...

Two nights later, as the noble gathering commenced, Wayne and Paletress made their entrance into the grand residence of Countess Katrana Prestor.

Dressed in an elegant white gown embroidered with golden threads, Paletress was a sight to behold. The transformation from a humble priestess into a radiant noblewoman was striking, courtesy of Wayne's generous patronage.

Her pure, dignified aura—combined with her beauty and standing as a senior priest—immediately outshone the other women present.

Unlike the noble ladies, who relied on lineage and artificial airs of sophistication, Paletress possessed an untainted grace, drawing admiration from many and jealousy from a few.

As the two of them moved through the banquet hall, Wayne's sharp gaze finally settled on their host—the Black Dragon Princess in disguise.

Countess Katrana Prestor.

Seated with effortless poise, she radiated an allure that was both regal and dangerous.

With golden locks cascading down her shoulders, a figure sculpted with predatory elegance, and a gown that subtly accentuated her curves, she embodied the fantasy of every man in the room. Her presence was intoxicating, her beauty sharp enough to cut.

It was no wonder that Stormwind's nobility—spineless and corrupt as they were—worshiped her, allowing her to tighten her grip over the council.

However, despite her enthralling appearance, Wayne could sense the condescension lurking beneath her lazy smile, the amusement of a predator watching lesser creatures scurry beneath her feet.

Her posture was relaxed, yet every movement was deliberate. She exuded the air of a woman who considered herself untouchable.

For a moment, Wayne's lips curled slightly.

She might be right—but not for long.

As Paletress and Wayne approached the countess, a steward promptly stepped forward and introduced them.

"Your Excellency, this is Lady Paletress, senior priestess of the Cathedral of Light. She attends this evening on behalf of the church to discuss this year's noble fund for education."

Wayne noted that, despite the introduction, Countess Prestor did not bother to rise from her seat.

Instead, she languidly swirled the deep crimson wine in her glass, her smirk barely shifting as she finally deigned to look at them.

"Ah… the esteemed Lady Paletress," she murmured, her voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an undertone of amusement.

"I have heard much about you—Stormwind's youngest senior priest, graced with beauty and wisdom alike."

The words were polite, yet the lack of sincerity was palpable.

Paletress, ever the earnest one, smiled gracefully. "You honor me, Countess. The Holy Light Church deeply appreciates the Noble Council's willingness to aid in our charitable efforts."

Katrana took a slow sip from her goblet, her violet eyes regarding Paletress with a gaze that was half-interested, half-dismissive.

"Of course," she said airily. "The Council will certainly… consider its contributions."

"I hope you will have a good time at this dinner."

After delivering her dismissive words, Countess Katrana Prestor shifted her gaze away from Paletress, her interest in the priestess already fading. Instead, her violet eyes flicked toward Wayne, lingering on his face for barely a second before turning away in apparent boredom.

She then turned her attention to another guest seated nearby—a man of noble bearing, though visibly unwell.

Dressed in formal attire befitting his station, the man's pallid complexion contrasted sharply with his otherwise handsome features. Despite his composed demeanor, there was a hollow weariness in his expression. Yet, whenever the countess spoke to him, his tired eyes softened, betraying a hint of admiration—perhaps even enchantment.

Wayne recognized him immediately.

Duke Bolvar Fordragon. The regent of Stormwind.

A man burdened with responsibility, yet blissfully unaware of the venomous serpent coiling itself around his throne.

An unfortunate figure in Azeroth's history.

However, Wayne had little interest in his fate.

By all accounts, he and Paletress should have taken their leave, mingling with the other guests in the grand banquet hall, playing their roles as dignified attendees.

But Wayne had never been one for pretense.

He preferred a direct approach.

As soon as the countess turned her head, dismissing his presence, Wayne's breath slowed, his senses sharpening. His right hand brushed against the space bracelet on his left wrist, fingers curling around the handle of a weapon concealed within its enchanted depths.

In an instant, he drew forth a massive two-handed sword—a masterwork of war, its steel polished to a mirror sheen, its edges honed to a razor's bite.

A relic forged in ancient battles, now wielded in the present for a single purpose.

At that moment, the chaotic magic within Wayne surged to life, an untamed force roaring through his veins.

Power flooded into the blade.

The weapon trembled, drinking deep of his magic, expanding, transforming.

A radiant golden light ignited in his grasp, extending nearly five meters, its brilliance banishing every shadow in the hall.

The banquet, once filled with idle chatter and noble pleasantries, fell into an eerie silence.

Gasps of shock and confusion rippled through the gathered guests.

Then—before anyone could react, before the countess could even turn back to face him—

Wayne struck.

With blinding speed, the greatsword cleaved through the air, a golden arc of death aimed straight at Countess Katrana Prestor.