Chapter 80: The Invasion Begins
The reports started arriving at dawn.
"Nilfgaard crossed the Yaruga." Tom's voice through the communication crystal carried the controlled urgency of someone delivering news they'd dreaded. "Three-pronged assault—central force toward Cintra, eastern column toward Sodden, western force toward Verden. Estimated strength: sixty thousand minimum across all fronts."
[SYSTEM ALERT: MAJOR EVENT DETECTED]
[Continental Conflict: INITIATED]
[Guild Assets in Affected Regions: 4 outposts (2 critical, 2 moderate risk)]
[Recommended Action: Execute prepared protocols]
I was already moving, message crystal in hand, issuing orders that I'd rehearsed for months.
"All outposts, priority one communication. War protocols active immediately. Vizima and Gors Velen outposts begin evacuation. Maribor and Ellander shift to humanitarian operations. All other positions maintain alert status and await further instructions."
The responses came within minutes—commanders who'd drilled for this moment executing their preparations with efficiency that made the chaos elsewhere seem even more stark.
"Vizima evacuation initiated," Brennan reported. "Essential equipment packed, non-critical materials abandoned. Team heading north via planned route."
"Gors Velen evacuating," Sera confirmed. "Local civilians asking if they can travel with us. I'm allowing it—small group, won't slow us significantly."
"Good. Help who you can without compromising team safety."
The invasion was unfolding exactly as I'd predicted—the same troop movements, the same strategic targets, the same overwhelming force that Northern kingdoms had refused to believe was coming. I'd spent years preparing for this moment, and now it was here.
"No satisfaction in being right. Just the grim necessity of executing plans while everyone else scrambles to understand what's happening."
The supply caches activated within hours of the invasion announcement.
Guild members distributed location codes to refugee columns streaming north—thousands of people fleeing Nilfgaardian advance, most with nothing but the clothes they wore. The caches provided food, basic medical supplies, emergency weapons for those capable of using them.
"Cache seven accessed," a regional coordinator reported. "Approximately two hundred refugees supplied. Moving them toward Oxenfurt refugee processing."
"Cache twelve depleted," another report. "Larger group than expected—three hundred plus. They've taken everything and are continuing north. I'm marking the location as empty."
"Understood. Redirect any remaining refugees to caches nine or fourteen."
The logistics were brutal but functional. Each cache had been positioned based on likely evacuation routes, and the refugees were following those routes almost exactly. The preparation was paying dividends measured in lives saved.
"Your predictions were accurate," Viktor observed, reviewing the operational status board. "The invasion corridors, the refugee patterns, the timing—everything matches what you said would happen."
"I wish I'd been wrong."
"But you weren't. And because you weren't, we're the only organization in the Northern Kingdoms that's actually ready for this." He marked another cache as accessed on the board. "The chaos everywhere else... kingdoms are mobilizing forces that should have been positioned weeks ago. Civilians are fleeing cities that should have been evacuated. Everyone is reacting to something they should have been preparing for."
"They were warned. They chose not to listen."
"And now they're paying for that choice." Viktor's expression carried the weight of a military man watching preventable disaster unfold. "How long until Cintra falls?"
"Days. Maybe a week if Calanthe's defenses hold better than expected." I pulled up the Cintra intelligence reports. "The siege will begin within forty-eight hours. After that, it's just a matter of time."
Forty-seven hours after the invasion launched, Nilfgaardian forces reached Cintra's walls.
The intelligence reports painted a picture of desperate courage and inevitable defeat. Queen Calanthe had organized the defense personally, her legendary military reputation finally being tested against an enemy she'd dismissed as "distant threat."
"Southern walls under assault," a refugee report indicated. "Siege engines positioning. Nilfgaardian forces outnumber defenders approximately four to one."
"City gates holding," another report. "But for how long? The defenders are fighting hard, but they can't maintain this intensity indefinitely."
I monitored every update with obsessive attention, tracking the siege's progression against what I knew would happen. Cintra would fall. Calanthe would die. Ciri would flee into the chaos.
The question was whether she'd use the beacon.
"Strike team, final briefing." I gathered Mira, Marcus, Kell, and Sera at the abandoned monastery forty kilometers from Cintra. "The city falls within the next seventy-two hours. When it does, we deploy."
"What's our insertion point?" Sera asked, studying the maps I'd prepared.
"Depends on how the breach occurs. If southern walls fall first, we approach from the west—less Nilfgaardian presence, better extraction routes. If they break through the gates, we go north and work our way in from the market district."
"And the target?"
"Princess Cirilla. Fourteen years old, ashen hair, likely trying to escape with refugees or hiding somewhere in the city." I pulled out the beacon's paired receiver—a crystal that would activate when she broke her half. "She has an emergency signal device. If she uses it, we know exactly where she is. If she doesn't, we search."
"Searching a city under siege is extremely dangerous," Marcus observed.
"I know. That's why we have alternatives." I explained the Group Teleportation capability without revealing its source. "I can move all five of us instantly to any location I can see or have previously visited. If we find her and situation becomes untenable, we evacuate immediately."
"And if we don't find her?"
"Then we tried. But I don't intend to fail."
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