He did not dodge, nor did he assume a defensive posture. He remained motionless, his golden light extinguished, awaiting Dagon's attack.
First came a powerful gust of wind, rustling the mist-shrouded edges of his garments. Then, the claws — enveloped in black mist and the size of battering rams — drove forcefully toward him, until the very tip of the claw touched his face.
Karl slowly raised his hands, crossed them before him, and made a simple blocking motion.
"BOOM!!!" Another deafening explosion resounded.
But this time, the impact force was significantly weaker than the previous times when Karl had delivered his blows. The shockwave continued to spread outward, but its intensity and range had greatly diminished.
However, it was still enough for Borch, who was flying away from the battlefield. Having barely covered a short distance, it was suddenly struck by the shockwave surging from behind. Its body, like a kite with a broken string, lost its balance in the air, tumbled several times, and then righted itself again.
Borch, seized by lingering fear, turned its head and looked back at the two figures standing opposite each other on the frozen lake. It dared not linger any longer, flapping its wings with all its might, and flew toward the shore with even greater speed.
At the same time, the people on the battlefield once again felt the ground tremble and the strong wind blow. "Here they come again! Stay calm!"
"Shield! Reinforce the shield!"
Triss and the others, having felt some relief, changed their expressions once more and quickly raised their hands to channel magic into the shield. Fortunately, this impact was far less fearsome than before, and the reinforced shield held steady, only swaying slightly.
Within the protective barrier, the fierce close-quarters fighting continued without pause. Even though Dalton and the others had shouldered most of the burden, Geralt still felt noticeable fatigue. He was slightly out of breath, with thin beads of sweat forming on his forehead and trickling down his cheeks.
He glanced at the silver sword in his hand — his long-time companion — now dulled from use. A hint of regret flickered in his eyes, but more so, resolve. He casually tossed the silver sword to the ground beside him, the blade sinking into the frozen earth and trembling slightly. At the same time, he drew another sword from his back — an enchanted steel sword that Karl had given him earlier.
The steel sword felt slightly heavier in his hand, and in the next moment, dark-blue runes suddenly ignited along the blade. An icy, bone-penetrating cold emanated from the blade in an instant. This caused the ambient air temperature to drop by several degrees, and the ice crystals around the blade hardened even more.
The moment the steel sword was drawn, Geralt heard a gust of wind behind him. Suddenly, a mutated fish-man appeared from the side, baring its fangs and claws, and lunged at his back. Geralt did not turn around; he simply sidestepped, calmly evading the fish-man's foul-smelling claws. With his free left hand, he quickly bent his middle finger, and as he sharply thrust his left hand forward, a white light flashed.
An invisible shockwave struck three fish-men charging straight at them. "BAM! BAM! BAM!" The three fish-men were caught by the shockwave, sent flying several metres back, and crashed onto the ice. After all this, Geralt still hadn't turned around. He held the steel sword in his right hand and swung it backward in a backhanded strike.
"FWOOSH!!" A flash of dark-blue light from the sword, and the fish-man that had attacked from behind came to an abrupt halt. In the next moment, its head silently fell off. Before blood could spurt from the wound, it instantly froze from the cold air adhering to the sword, and the decapitated body stiffly fell forward. The moment it touched the ground, its entire body rapidly became covered in a thick, crystalline layer of frost, transforming into a grotesque ice sculpture.
"Well done, Geralt!" Dalton's voice came from nearby. Before he had even finished speaking, a sharp crackling sound, like the singing of thousands of birds, erupted, and orange lightning flared. Surrounded by raging flames, it escaped Geralt's detection. Suddenly, it engulfed all the mutated fish-men within a seven-to-eight-metre radius around him that had been trying to approach.
In an instant, lightning flashed and flames blazed, and the fish-men within range let out piercing screams of pain. Some fell, convulsing as if in an epileptic fit, while others were enveloped in unquenchable golden flames. They burned, leaped, and desperately thrashed about, but it was all in vain; the air was filled with the acrid smell of burning.
The threat was temporarily eliminated. Geralt straightened up and slightly turned his head. He gave a slight nod to Dalton, who had just lowered his left hand and whose expression remained stern, expressing his gratitude.
However, not everyone fared as easily as Dalton. On the other side, Philipp's situation was not as optimistic, as he had not practised the breathing techniques as long as Dalton. The previous five successive small lightning strikes had already severely drained his mental and physical strength. At that moment, mustering all his strength, he swung his halberd for the 127th time, cleaving a mutated fish-man in half.
In the end, he could no longer endure and heavily dropped to one knee. The halberd in his hand struck the ground with a loud clang, barely keeping him from collapsing. He breathed heavily, darkness creeping before his eyes, his vision beginning to blur, and his ears ringing. Exhaustion and discomfort — both mental and physical — overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. He gritted his teeth, trying to rely on his willpower to stand up and continue fighting. But his body was heavy, as if filled with lead, and he was completely unable to control it.
"Lord Philipp!"
"The Lord has collapsed from exhaustion!"
The surrounding knights noticed his unusual condition and immediately cried out in alarm. "Quick! Get the Lord out of here! It's too dangerous!"
Two knights closest to Philipp reacted quickly, abandoning the enemy before them and rushing to his rear. The two men quickly connected the slots on the edges of their shields, forming a simple metal stretcher. They stood on either side and carefully helped the nearly semi-conscious Philipp lie down on the stretcher. Then, not lingering in combat, they quickly retreated to a relatively safe position in the rear.
Dalton's gaze sharpened, and he immediately stepped forward, positioning himself between the two companions carrying Philipp and the pursuing fish-men. Several mutated fish-men roared and lunged at Dalton, their claws and rusted weapons striking his armour.
"CLANG! CLANG! HISS!"
However, aside from creating a few magical ripples on the smooth surface of the plate, they could not cause any significant damage. These plate armours, forged and enchanted by Karl himself and imbued with the power of faith, possessed an incredibly high level of defence.
Dalton's gaze was cold as he swung his halberd, enveloped in golden flames and lightning, and swept it forward sharply. He sent these reckless fish-men flying, buying precious time for the retreat.
At this moment, the situation on the battlefield remained a stalemate. After the long battle, the number of mutated fish-men had indeed decreased.
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