With nothing more than a thought, Karl slightly relaxed the crushing pressure of the Bio-Force Field surrounding her. The unbearable weight that had been compressing her body eased just enough to stop the sickening sound of bones grinding against one another. The silence that followed was almost as frightening as the pressure itself.
Only then did Karl finally speak, his tone casual, as though he were commenting on the weather.
"I'm merely teaching her a small lesson," he said lightly. "A reminder to trim that haughty, nose-in-the-air pride of hers. Don't worry—no real harm done. Give it three more minutes."
Geralt watched Natasha helplessly. Her eyes shimmered, filled not only with pain but with deep humiliation and raw terror. Seeing her like that made his chest tighten painfully. His instincts screamed at him to intervene.
He opened his mouth, ready to beg Karl to shorten the punishment, but before any words could escape, the sound of her bones straining suddenly faded. The pressure lessened further, almost imperceptibly.
In that moment, Geralt realized Karl had already eased the punishment—on his behalf.
Since Karl had shown restraint and clearly held back, Geralt swallowed his plea. He understood Natasha well. She had been born with a deep-seated disdain for ordinary people, most non-humans, and even many fellow mages. At times, her arrogance crossed the line into cruelty. Even Geralt found it excessive. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, this setback would do her some good.
For Natasha, those three minutes stretched into an eternity.
She felt as though she were being crushed by an invisible force far beyond her comprehension or resistance. It resembled a colossal atmospheric spell—something titanic and absolute—yet there was no fluctuation of mana, no arcane signature she could sense. That absence alone filled her with despair. She couldn't fight it, couldn't analyze it, and couldn't even understand it.
She had never felt so powerless.
When the time finally elapsed, Karl flicked his will aside, and the Bio-Force Field restraining her vanished instantly.
Whoosh!
The pressure disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Natasha's limbs went slack, her body turning weak and boneless. Every trace of strength drained from her in an instant. Cold sweat poured down her face and neck, soaking her expensive black-and-white gown until it clung uncomfortably to her skin.
She pitched forward.
Geralt reacted without thinking, stepping in just in time to catch her before she collapsed to the floor. He supported her trembling frame as she leaned heavily against him, gasping for air like someone pulled from deep water. It took several long breaths before her legs remembered how to hold her weight.
When she finally steadied herself, the first thing she did was glance at Geralt. Her look carried a mixture of reproach and grievance, as though blaming him for not stopping what had happened—yet also acknowledging that he had been powerless.
She then gently pulled away from his support, straightened her posture with visible effort, and turned to face Karl.
Without hesitation, Natasha bowed deeply.
Her voice trembled, still echoing with lingering fear and shock as she spoke.
"Your Excellency," she said sincerely, "I deeply apologize for my earlier rudeness. Please forgive my foolishness."
Karl merely smiled faintly and shrugged, as though the terrifying pressure she had endured had been inflicted by someone else entirely.
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