The shield's light flickered violently, barely deflecting the fatal blow. At the same time, it became unstable, its surface cracking and wavering as if on the verge of total collapse.
And just as the Heat Vision was forced aside, in that lightning-fast instant—
Sabina saw, with mounting horror, that the golden figure had already appeared only a short distance away.
"No—no!!" she screamed in despair, instinctively pulling her hand back and forcibly interrupting the multi-person teleportation spell she had been guiding.
At that moment, the shield sustained by the magical artifact had nearly disintegrated entirely.
Driven by pure survival instinct, Sabina frantically redirected her magic. This time, she chose to teleport only herself, abandoning Henselt without hesitation.
Sparks erupted violently. Her figure vanished an instant before Karl El's hand could seize her, reappearing in what she judged to be a relatively safe location roughly a hundred meters away.
Her face was deathly pale. She gasped for breath, eyes wide with the lingering terror of having narrowly escaped death, staring at Karl El from afar.
But any remaining battle intent had completely vanished.
She turned at once and activated teleportation again, fleeing even farther from the battlefield.
Karl El watched Sabina disappear and snorted softly, making no move to pursue her.
He had unleashed Heat Vision with clear killing intent, yet had not expected it to be blocked by a life-saving magical artifact. Teacher had been right: the longer sorceresses lived, the more difficult they became to kill—especially those equipped with powerful artifacts designed solely to preserve their lives.
Still, his primary objective for this battle had already been achieved.
Casually, Karl El kicked Henselt, who had collapsed onto the ground in terror after Sabina's escape, sending the obese king rolling.
"Ugh!" Henselt cried out miserably.
His corpulent body tumbled across the blood-soaked earth, and his crown slipped free, landing crookedly in the dirt.
Karl El's gaze swept coldly over the fallen king, then flicked briefly toward the distant speck that was Sabina, now retreating at full speed.
Capturing a living king held far greater value—and strategic significance—than killing a hostile sorceress.
Karl El reached down and seized Henselt by the breastplate with one hand, lifting him effortlessly as if hauling a fat pig to slaughter. Despite the king's astonishing weight, Karl El raised him cleanly off the ground.
Henselt struggled frantically, his legs kicking uselessly in midair.
His bloated face was ashen with terror. Not a trace of royal dignity remained.
Karl El drew in a deep breath, then suddenly roared, his voice booming like rolling thunder across the battlefield.
"Stop! All Kaedwen soldiers—lay down your weapons immediately and surrender! Your king has been captured by me!"
The thunderous shout spread to every corner of the battlefield, momentarily overpowering the clash of steel, the screams of the dying, and the chaos of combat.
It was as if a ladle of ice-cold water had been poured into a pot of boiling oil.
In an instant, whether they were Temerian soldiers fighting desperately or Kaedweni warriors pressing their attack, everyone froze.
All eyes turned toward the source of the voice.
The sight that greeted them sent waves of ecstasy through the Temerian ranks—while plunging the Kaedwen side into an abyss of despair.
There stood King Henselt of Kaedwen, usually arrogant and resplendent in ornate plate armor.
Now, he was suspended helplessly in midair, struggling like a trapped animal, held aloft by a single hand belonging to a knight clad in dazzling golden armor.
A brief, stunned silence swept across the battlefield.
Then—
"We won! We won!!"
"Long live Temeria! Long live His Majesty the King!"
"Long live Lord Karl El!"
The soldiers and knights of Temeria erupted into deafening cheers. Weapons were raised high, shields hammered loudly, and triumphant roars echoed across the plain.
Their faces shone with the joy of surviving catastrophe, and with unrestrained awe and gratitude toward the golden knight who had turned the tide of battle. Their morale surged instantly to its absolute peak.
On the opposite side, the Kaedwen soldiers stood frozen.
Confusion. Disbelief. Absolute despair.
When they saw the ground beneath Karl El's feet—strewn with hundreds of corpses, severed limbs scattered everywhere, blood flowing so freely it nearly formed streams—the last remnants of their will to resist collapsed completely.
"I surrender! Don't kill me!"
"We surrender! We surrender!"
Almost without exception, the surviving Kaedwen soldiers threw down their bloodstained weapons. They raised their hands high, voices trembling and tearful as they begged for mercy.
They feared that even a moment's hesitation would condemn them to the same fate as their fallen comrades.
Yet not everyone was willing to accept such an ending.
Among the Kaedwen cavalry—particularly certain noble knights—some could not bear the humiliation of their king's capture, nor the disgrace of their entire army surrendering. Others simply refused to become prisoners.
Exchanging brief glances, they suddenly wheeled their horses around and spurred them hard, attempting to escape the battlefield amid the chaos—fleeing what had become a massive cage.
"Trying to run?"
Karl El raised an eyebrow, a cold gleam flashing in his eyes.
His gaze swept across the scattered long spears lying near his feet. With a flick of his toe, swift as lightning, he kicked five of them into the air.
The long spears had barely left the ground, still suspended in midair, when Karl El's figure blurred.
His right foot struck out five times in rapid succession, each kick landing squarely against the butt of a spear.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"
The spears shot forward like bolts fired from a ballista, tearing through the air with shrill, piercing screams as they streaked toward the backs of the fleeing knights.
"Pfft!"
"Ugh!"
Almost simultaneously, several short, sharp cries of agony rang out from the distance.
Although the smooth, curved backplates of the knights' armor made it difficult for the spearheads to fully penetrate—some even glanced aside—the tremendous force behind the blows was transmitted directly into their bodies.
Blood sprayed from their mouths as they were hurled from their horses, crashing heavily to the ground. Bones shattered, muscles tore, and they instantly lost the ability to move.
However, two cavalrymen positioned farthest to the side were fortunate enough not to be targeted and had already ridden some distance away.
At that moment—
"Zzzzt!"
Two dazzling bolts of bright-white lightning ripped through the air at speeds beyond human sight, striking the escaping knights with unerring precision.
"Ah!!"
The two men screamed briefly as both they and their horses were pierced by the violent current.
Their bodies convulsed uncontrollably, black smoke rising as they toppled from their mounts. After twitching weakly on the ground for a moment, they fell completely still.
In the distance, Triss and Fercart lowered their spellcasting hands almost simultaneously.
They exchanged glances, each seeing the same flicker of relief in the other's eyes.
After taking a short rest and moving away from the suppressive effects of the dimeritium, they had recovered a portion of their magical strength.
Now, any Kaedwen cavalry who had still clung to a shred of hope—any thought of escape—had those hopes utterly extinguished.
They stared at the tragic corpses of their comrades, then at the golden figure standing at the center of the battlefield like a demon incarnate.
And not far away were the two watchful sorceresses and ranks of Temerian cavalry, all poised and ready.
Powerlessness and terror filled the hearts of the remaining Kaedwen soldiers.
Run?
Where could they possibly run?
In front of that monster, fleeing meant nothing less than suicide.
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