As Zerinya and her team joined the fray, a one-sided cleanup operation began at the ambush point. Roughly seventy to eighty meters north of this chaos, three female dark elves sat cross-legged, their backs leaning against a bizarre totem. Around the totem, the corpses of three elven soldiers, their throats slit for a sacrificial ritual, hung nailed to wooden posts. As the blood trickling from the corpses flowed directly into the totem, the runic structures drawn on the ground glowed faintly in a sickly, purplish hue. Fine, visibly purple motes of energy danced in the air, forming a protective barrier around the area. The dark elves' eyes had rolled completely white; they were in a deep trance, and words resembling a divine chant in their own tongue poured from their lips in unison.
However, this deep trance was sliced like a blade by the heavy thud of horse hooves and an ancient energy that suddenly blanketed the air. When the dark elves opened their eyes in bewilderment, a creeping dread washed over them at the sight of the figure standing before them. Although the newcomer's voice was authoritative and elegant, beneath this grace lay a suppressed wrath and a clear intent to kill.
"So, this is what you were using to hold me back."
Sitting atop her pure white unicorn, Galadriel shifted her usually gentle and warm gaze to the elven soldiers sacrificed on the posts; in that instant, her soft expression turned into an ice cellar. The dark elves sprang into action in a panic. One of them immediately conjured a massive, seven-meter fireball and hurled it at Galadriel; the darkening sky lit up for a moment with its blaze. The ancient elven lady stood waiting without breaking her posture. Just as the fireball struck and engulfed her like a sphere, a second dark elf roared and unleashed her own magic. A colossal, five-meter tornado formed around the sphere of fire, feeding the flames. The third sorceress began hurling a rapid succession of weakening curses at Galadriel. From within this magical bombardment that lasted for several seconds, Galadriel's omnidirectional, echoing voice was heard. Her tone was deeply neutral, yet laced with a faint hint of mockery.
"Is that all?"
Suddenly, a shard of pure white light erupted from within the cloud of magic, followed by bursts of light violently tearing outward from several other points. As the fire tornado began to lose its stability, the two dark elves controlling the wind and the curses broke into a heavy sweat, trembling from the sheer exertion. The veins on the wind-controller's face bulged; she forced herself to turn to the fire sorceress and roared.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, YOU FOOL! HELP US!"
The fire sorceress, who had been gathering energy all the while, finished her preparations and thrust her arms out fiercely to the sides. In an instant, a colossal fire hurricane standing over seven meters tall completely swallowed the spot where Galadriel stood. Seeing this, the wind sorceress poured all her remaining strength into the spell, pushing the hurricane's height to a staggering twelve meters. Meanwhile, the two groups clashing in the ambush zone sixty meters away were left in sheer shock, watching this gargantuan flame light up the sky like a flare. Kaelith, lying on the ground covered in wounds, realized the sorceresses had been attacked and finally knew with absolute certainty that he had lost. He looked up at Zerinya, who held a long dagger to his throat and bore only two mere tears on her clothing; he wondered only one thing.
"...How did you know about the ambush?"
Zerinya stared down at her opponent with emotionless eyes and answered in a chillingly calm voice.
"The falcon."
That single word was enough to explain everything. Realizing what had transpired, the defeated Dread Lord experienced a brief flash of shock before heaving a deep sigh. Staring up at the sky where the stars had just begun to peek through, he resigned to his fate and muttered to himself.
"...I hate birds..."
At that same moment, as the distant battle of the sorceresses raged on, Galadriel's voice rose once more from the dead center of the fire hurricane.
"Enough."
Immediately following, a blinding explosion of light tore through the area, shattering the spell with a violent blast and sending a massive shockwave rippling outward. All three dark elf sorceresses were sent flying by the wave; one slammed hard into the totem and collapsed, while another was dragged for meters before cracking her spine against a rock. The last one crashed into one of the sacrificial posts where the elven soldiers were tied, bringing it down with her. As the fire hurricane dispersed, the land outside a five-meter radius around Galadriel was scorched to ash, yet within that circle, nothing had changed. The earth was untouched, and even the temperature had not risen. Galadriel showed not a single sign of fatigue or strain; breaking that combined spell had been as effortless for her as blowing out a candle. When she spoke again, her voice carried an older, more commanding tone, echoing from every direction at once.
"I wondered what you were relying on when you targeted my beloved grandchildren right under my nose."
A wrathful wind began to blow slowly around Galadriel, whipping her hair back. She continued without losing a fraction of her composure.
"But to not merely dare such a thing, but to even consider it without so much as a Supreme Sorceress among your ranks... is a blatant insult to me!"
With a slight flick of her finger, a sharp blade of wind cleaved the wind-controlling dark elf in two, simultaneously shredding the totem behind her to pieces. As the other two sorceresses watched in sheer horror, Galadriel turned her cold eyes toward the dark sorceress. The elf attempted to flee in terror, but a sphere of wind encased and trapped her; her agonizing screams echoed across the field until her body was ground into a cloud of bloody dust.
"KYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
When Galadriel's gaze shifted to the fire sorceress, the woman's purplish-white skin had drained to a sickly, pale white out of sheer terror. She felt infinitesimally small before Galadriel's presence, shivering violently. Feeling a sudden wetness run down her legs, she looked down in horror, realizing she had soiled herself in fear. She desperately tried to formulate a spell to escape, but at that exact moment, an intense pressure clamped down on her throat; her breath was cut short. In a panic, she clutched at her throat with her hands, frantically trying to understand what was happening. Galadriel was using her mana to strangle the elf with an invisible noose; yet she remained seated silently upon her horse, merely staring without twitching a single finger. The dark elf clawed at her own throat trying to draw breath, her body slowly lifting into the air and drifting toward Galadriel. Feeling another surge of mana grip her wrists, her arms and legs were forced spread-eagle; she was now simultaneously suffocating and completely immobilized.
Galadriel elegantly reached out with the hand bearing her ring of power, bringing it close to the elf's forehead. The moment her index and middle fingers touched the woman's forehead, the thrashing elf froze completely. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and the veins on her scalp bulged ominously. As Galadriel forcefully breached her mind, the dark elf fought back with every ounce of her remaining willpower. During this process, Galadriel also sensed the condition of the twins; they were wounded and poisoned, but upon realizing they were safe, she allowed herself a brief moment of relief. She then focused her absolute attention on her prisoner's mind. The dark elf's agonizing shrieks reverberated across the entire landscape.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
Meanwhile, the injured Igris glanced briefly in the direction of the fiery explosion before continuing on his way. When he arrived at the ambush zone, a wave of relief washed over him as he saw the Red Archers establishing dominance over the dark elves. Scanning his surroundings, he spotted Doğan waving at him and made his way toward him. Ignoring the sounds of the ongoing skirmish, he reached his friend's side. Doğan assessed his battered state and spoke in a deadpan tone.
"My liege... You just came out of a coma last night, and within a few hours, you've been wounded again... Should I be questioning your leadership? It wouldn't bode well for us if you were to die prematurely."
Unsure of how to respond to this entirely justified reproach, Igris scratched the edge of his helmet and chuckled sheepishly. He quickly tried to change the subject.
"Hahahahaha... Never mind me, where is Ciri?"
A calm voice answered from behind the rock right next to them.
"I'm right here."
When Igris stepped to the other side of the rock, he saw Ciri resting with her back against the stone, her arms crossed over her chest. Ciri raised her hand slightly in greeting and spoke.
"You owe me a new set of clothes."
Seeing her relaxed demeanor, Igris breathed a sigh of relief. Even though he knew Ciri's strength, the gravity of the situation had kept him on edge. His eyes caught sight of Ciri's slash-riddled clothing; her skin peeked through the torn fabric. Noticing the bloodstained bandage on her arm, he asked,
"Are you hurt?"
Ciri tilted her head to inspect her own arm and answered with dismissive nonchalance.
"It's just a scratch. I've survived far worse."
She then eyed Igris's bleeding wounds and added,
"Worry about yourself rather than fussing over me. It looks like you had an intense bout."
Upon hearing Ciri's words, Igris slowly lowered his head, stared at his trembling, blood-soaked hands, and muttered in a hushed voice,
"These are just ordinary wounds for me, too..."
He then shifted his gaze to Doğan.
"Doğan! Do you know anything about bandaging wounds?"
Doğan, who had been intently watching the ongoing skirmish between the Elves and Dark Elves, started slightly at the question and turned his head toward Igris. His tone carried a hint of weariness mixed with a touch of exasperation.
"Yes. Thanks to Bamsı, I do."
Thinking of his reckless brother Bamsı, who was always prone to diving headfirst into a brawl, Doğan let out a hopeless sigh and stepped closer to Igris. Igris, meanwhile, was suffering a literal heartache as he stored his scratch-covered, deeply gouged armor back into his inventory.
I hope Thorin can fix this... Otherwise, I'm going to cry from a nervous breakdown for the first time in a long while!
Not wanting to drag down his morale by mourning his armor any further, Igris took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He peeled off his tattered clothes and set them aside, leaving his upper torso completely exposed. Though marred with wounds, his muscular physique—the undeniable product of disciplined training—was laid bare. Seeing this sight, Doğan pursed his lips and shook his head.
"Yes... I need to keep a much closer eye on you. You need to stay alive so my family can cross over into this world."
Ciri, standing to the side, blushed faintly at the sudden display and quickly averted her eyes. This brief skirmish had exhausted her slightly; even though she had only tapped into a fraction of her power, keeping it tightly controlled had required a certain level of exertion. Even this minor effort was enough to tire her, yet it served to remind her just how wise a decision it had been to avoid direct close-quarters combat. Opening one eye slightly, Ciri sneakily stole a glance at Igris's scarred, muscular back. Upon seeing the myriad of claw marks, bites, and old sword scars crisscrossing his skin, she couldn't maintain her silence.
"You seem entirely too reckless."
Hearing this, Igris glanced back over his shoulder, trying to fathom what prompted Ciri's comment.
"What do you mean?"
Ciri gestured with her head toward the scars on Igris's body.
"Your wounds... I've seen very few people bear that many scars..."
Realizing exactly what Ciri meant, Igris chuckled softly.
"Perhaps you're right. I do love a good fight... But I won't lie, sometimes trouble just comes looking for me."
He then lifted his arm to the side to make it easier for his wounds to be cleaned. Taking the bandages and salves Igris pulled from his inventory, Doğan began to meticulously clean the gashes. Igris continued speaking.
"Besides, a scar is a warrior's badge of honor. It's the physical proof of all the hardships I've endured."
At these words, Ciri simply stared at Igris's face for a moment, before replying with a touch of disdain in her voice.
"That is idiotic logic."
Igris shrugged, a wry smile creeping onto his face.
"You may be a warrior, but you're still a woman. Men understand me better on this, right Doğan?"
Doğan, busy treating the injuries, chuckled for a second before answering without pausing his work.
"True enough, my liege... Though your case seems a tad excessive."
Igris shrugged again and said,
"Five years of relentless training followed by six years of non-stop adventuring tends to result in this... I rarely ever rest."
Hearing this, Ciri couldn't help but chime in again.
"That is incredibly unhealthy. Even Witchers, who are constantly on the road, occasionally return to Kaer Morhen to rest."
Igris replied with a calm smile.
"Perhaps, but my passion for adventure is entertainment to me. A man never gets bored or truly tired when doing what he loves."
He then lifted his head, gazing at the night sky where stars were appearing one by one, and went on.
"Besides, if you don't chase these adventures while you have the time, you'll regret it when you grow old... I never want to experience that."
Ciri was left speechless for a moment, simply staring at Igris. Doğan silently continued bandaging the wounds. Just then, noticing something, Igris spoke up again.
"The sounds of combat have ceased. It seems the Red Archers are even more skilled than I thought."
Right on cue, the light patter of footsteps approached. As the trio turned simultaneously toward the sound, an Elven woman with her blonde hair tied back in a tight ponytail appeared right beside the rock. Offering a respectful nod, she delivered a brief, crisp report.
"Lord Igris, the area is secured."
Upon hearing this, Igris gave a slight nod of approval and immediately asked,
"Casualties and injuries?"
The Elven woman replied in a remarkably composed manner.
"No casualties or major injuries, though we do have some minor scratches. We had the upper hand thanks to our sheer numbers."
Relieved by the report, Igris nodded his head. He understood the current situation perfectly; the enemies they had faced were by no means weak. However, the primary reason the dark elves were left so severely outnumbered was likely due to the devastating, wearing attacks of Elladan and Elrohir at the very onset of the battle. Following that, the intervention from Ciri and Doğan had inflicted massive casualties upon the enemy lines. Furthermore, the Red Archers were exceptionally master marksmen; whereas the opposing side had very few archers left. As for the dark elf crossbowmen, after firing their initial volley, the lengthy reload times left them entirely incapable of keeping pace with the battle, rendering them virtually useless. As Igris continued to run these tactical assessments through his mind, Ciri interjected with a warning.
"Check those with scratches carefully; their weapons and arrows are coated in a potent paralyzing poison."
Hearing this, the Elven woman flinched slightly at the mention of poison, but as an experienced warrior, she maintained her cold composure and nodded; fortunately, only four or five soldiers in her unit had sustained any minor nicks. Breaking the brief silence, Igris spoke again.
"What is your name?"
"Neora."
Igris nodded, as if carving the name into his memory, and continued.
"A pleasure, Neora. I have a few requests of you now."
Neora nodded attentively, and Igris pointed to a specific spot in the distance.
"Over by those rocks, Zerinya is currently beating the enemy leader. Go assist her."
The Elven woman received the order and nodded, before Igris added,
"Also, bring the Twins to me. I want to see how those two idiots are holding up."
Neora nodded once more and was just turning to leave to execute her orders, when Igris called out behind her with one final request.
"Neora! One last thing..."
The Elven woman stopped in her tracks and looked back, asking curiously,
"Yes?"
Igris, adopting a somewhat shy and hesitant tone, went on.
"Is there any chance... you could gather the dark elves' equipment and bring it to me? Of course, I don't know if you have a culture of looting or taking spoils; if you do, you're free to take them."
The trio staring at Igris was momentarily dumbfounded by this unexpected request. In truth, they were all more than accustomed to this sort of post-battle scavenging; it was just that they hadn't expected Igris to bring it up so abruptly. Catching the sudden silence and bewildered stares, Igris shrugged defensively.
"What? I'm no greedy miser, but I'm certainly not opposed to making a coin. Especially when I've got plans to build a kingdom!"
Hearing these highly practical and honest words, the trio understood Igris's logic and nodded in agreement. Neora, having accepted the situation, replied.
"Understood. Don't worry, we do not partake in a culture of looting or spoils. You may take it all."
Delighted by this news, Igris nodded his head and answered.
"Thank you."
As Neora nodded and walked away to resume her duties, Igris turned to the other two and asked curiously.
"Do you want the equipment of the ones you killed?"
Doğan weighed his own circumstances in his mind for a moment before giving a sensible response.
"My liege, I am still a stranger to this world. What if I showed you the ones I killed, and you appraise their gear and give me my share?"
The dark elves' equipment was of little use to Doğan's personal combat style. However, in this unfamiliar world, he would absolutely not say no to money; having a bit of hard cash in his pocket, just in case, was an absolute necessity. Hearing Doğan's practical reasoning, Igris nodded; after all, he was not the type to swindle his comrades out of their rightful share.
"Understood. Don't worry, just show me the equipment, and I'll try to sell it to the Elves in Rivendell."
He then turned his head to look at Ciri. The woman pondered the logic of the situation for a brief second before nodding in agreement.
"I want the same."
Igris nodded once again. This looting business was turning out to be more profitable than he expected, but it would require an equal amount of bookkeeping.
"Got it. I should keep a list... Let's keep one for Bamsı as well."