At the final moment, he was dragged inside the Magic Shield they were jointly sustaining. As for Niedamir's personal guards outside the barrier, Natasha no longer had the time—or the ability—to worry about them.
The Dragon Hunters who had been relentlessly hurling insults at Geralt and the others, trying desperately to break through the defensive line, remained completely unaware of what was descending upon them.
Only when the suffocating wind pressure nearly pressed against their skulls did they finally realize something was wrong.
They looked up.
And what they saw erased every trace of greed, fury, and arrogance from their faces.
A massive golden shadow blotted out the sun.
High above, the Golden Dragon was falling—its enormous body engulfed in a blazing shockwave born of high-speed descent. The air screamed around it. Friction ignited its scales in streaks of searing light. It was not merely falling—it was being driven downward by an irresistible force, like a divine hammer from the heavens.
"Boom!!"
The impact came with a thunderclap so violent it sounded as though the earth itself had split apart.
The Golden Dragon's colossal body struck the most densely packed area of the hunting party like a meteor.
The dwarves and mercenaries at ground zero did not even have the chance to scream. The force of the collision was beyond comprehension. Flesh, bone, and metal shattered in an instant, crushed into a grotesque paste beneath the unimaginable weight and velocity.
Blood erupted like fountains in every direction.
The ground fractured like brittle glass, caving inward to form a crater more than ten meters wide. Shockwaves blasted outward in concentric rings, hurling boulders the size of men through the air. Dirt and stone spiraled skyward before raining back down like artillery.
Those on the outer perimeter of the Dragon Hunters were spared direct impact—but not the devastation.
The shockwave struck them like a physical tsunami.
It was as though an invisible giant hammer had smashed into their chests. Breath fled their lungs. Blood sprayed from their mouths. Their bodies were hurled backward, twisting helplessly through the air as their screams were swallowed by the roaring wind.
Bones snapped like dry branches.
They crashed to the ground in broken heaps, their fates uncertain.
Inside the Magic Shield, Natasha and Doregare bore the brunt of the force.
The instant the dragon struck the earth, an overwhelming pressure descended upon them, as if a mountain had been dropped onto the barrier. The shield's glow flickered violently, its surface rippling and cracking. A harsh creaking noise filled the air, the sound of magical strain pushed beyond its limits.
It seemed certain that the barrier would shatter in the next heartbeat.
Both Natasha and Doregare turned pale.
Without hesitation, they poured nearly all of their remaining magic into the shield. Sweat beaded on their foreheads. Their breathing grew ragged. They held nothing back, desperate to prevent the barrier from collapsing.
And yet—
Just as the shield reached its breaking point, something changed.
They felt it clearly.
The outer surface of the Magic Shield collided with something unseen—an invisible wall, tougher and more resilient than steel. The violent shockwave struck that hidden layer first, dispersing and redirecting much of its force.
Only after being weakened by this unseen barrier did the remaining impact reach their shield.
That single moment of buffering saved them.
Though cracks spread like spiderwebs across its surface and the entire structure trembled violently, the Magic Shield did not shatter.
It endured.
Because of Karl.
He had been a heartbeat slower than Borchi's falling form, arriving in midair just moments afterward. The punches he had delivered earlier—each thrown with unrestrained force—had compounded, accelerating Borchi's descent to terrifying speeds. Combined with the magical effect that lightened the dragon's body, the fall had become something even Karl struggled to keep pace with.
But during that descent, his Super Senses captured everything below.
Especially Natasha's position—directly on the edge of the crash site.
Without hesitation, Karl acted.
With a single thought, his invisible Bio-Force Field extended outward. A transparent yet unyielding layer of protection enveloped the exterior of Natasha's Magic Shield, reinforcing it at the critical moment.
Given her location, even with the joint barrier, Natasha and Doregare would have been severely injured by the shockwave.
Karl's intervention made the difference.
Dust mixed with blood mist and filled the valley. The air became thick and metallic. Moans of pain, broken cries, and the rumble of shifting debris blended into a nightmarish symphony.
With a single fall, the once-formidable dragon hunting party had been annihilated.
Any threat they posed was gone.
Hovering in midair, Karl looked down at the devastation.
Then his gaze shifted toward the center of the crater.
Borchi.
Within the deep pit, before the dust had fully settled, the Golden Dragon let out a low, restrained roar. It was no longer the majestic, resonant cry that once commanded the skies. Now it was hoarse—raw with exhaustion and pain.
Borchi struggled to rise.
Using his massive foreclaws, he slowly propped up his enormous body. His golden scales, once radiant and flawless, were now caked in dirt and splattered with his own blood.
He lowered his head and examined his chest.
The magnificent armor of scales had been shattered in multiple places. Beneath them, torn flesh and deep wounds revealed glimpses of damaged muscle—perhaps even internal organs. The force of impact had left catastrophic injuries.
He attempted to roll onto his side.
The simple motion triggered a violent coughing fit.
Blood and foam spilled from his jaws.
After a moment, Borchi lifted his head and looked toward Karl, who was descending calmly to the edge of the crater.
Within those molten-gold vertical pupils, there was no hatred.
No resentment.
Only exhaustion—and acknowledgment.
The recognition of a worthy opponent.
With visible effort, Borchi managed to twitch the muscles along his jaw. On a dragon's face, the expression looked strange and almost unnatural.
But it was unmistakably a smile.
In a low, breathless voice, he spoke.
"You… win."
Karl landed lightly on the ground.
He looked vastly different from his earlier relaxed demeanor.
His upper garments had long since been torn to shreds in their earlier collisions. Exposed beneath was a lean, sculpted torso, muscles defined like marble carved by a master artisan. Faint red abrasions marked his skin—evidence of friction against dragon scales.
From mid-thigh downward, his trousers had been completely destroyed. Only a few tattered strips of fabric clung to his waist. His calves were bare, his shoes riddled with holes.
He looked battle-worn.
But unbowed.
Hearing Borchi's admission of defeat, Karl slowly shook his head.
His breathing remained steady.
His eyes were bright and sincere.
"No," he replied calmly. "You are strong as well. The name of the Golden Dragon is not undeserved."
He raised a hand and gestured toward the fading red marks on his body. Even as Borchi watched, they were disappearing at a speed visible to the naked eye.
On his chest, where dragon claws had torn into him earlier, only faint white lines remained.
"I was injured too," Karl admitted openly. "It's just that… my body recovers a bit faster."
He was telling the truth.
In their previous exchange—an almost reckless, unreserved clash of strength—neither had held back. Each strike had carried lethal intent. Each collision had shaken the air.
Borchi's power had been immense. His speed astonishing. His control over magic precise and refined.
Even Karl had felt the weight of those blows.
But the difference lay in endurance.
Karl's body, strengthened beyond mortal limits, regenerated at an extraordinary rate. Where others would falter, he recovered. Where others would collapse, he endured.
Borchi studied him silently.
Then, slowly, the dragon exhaled.
A plume of warm, blood-tinged air escaped his nostrils.
"I see…" Borchi murmured.
There was no bitterness in his voice.
Only acceptance.
Above them, the sky seemed strangely quiet now.
The valley, once filled with shouting and chaos, had fallen into a grim silence. Survivors lay scattered, too injured or too terrified to move.
The Dragon Hunting Party had come seeking glory.
Instead, they had found annihilation.
Karl stepped closer to the edge of the crater, looking down at the fallen dragon—not as an executioner, but as a warrior acknowledging another.
The battle was over.
Not because one had crushed the other without effort.
But because one could rise again… faster.
And Borchi understood that truth.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then the wind carried away the dust, revealing the full devastation of the valley.
A single fall had rewritten the outcome of the hunt.
And the legend of this day would not speak of hunters victorious—
—but of a Golden Dragon who fell like a meteor,
—and a man who stood against it and endured.
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