The result, naturally, was self-evident; he didn't even have time to draw his sword.
Karl, who had instantly appeared in front of his horse, dragged him off the saddle like a common chicken.
What followed was a merciless, one-sided beating aimed squarely at his face.
Even with Karl controlling the vast majority of his strength, his fists were far more than a pampered, ordinary noble could endure.
Dull thuds and agonizing screams echoed along the road.
This sight made all the witnessing Blood Angels wince, while also giving them a more direct understanding of their lord's strength.
The Lord of Dorndale was left bruised and swollen, sprawled on the ground like a dead dog, barely having the strength left to moan.
The three retainers he brought were subdued by Dalton and the others, pinned to the ground and unable to move.
Finally, under the fear of death and the torment of intense pain.
The lord, who had been so arrogant moments ago, could only grit his teeth in humiliation, tears mixed with blood running down his face.
Under the "assistance" of Dalton, he wrote an IOU for an even larger sum and with far harsher terms.
Having resolved this final internal nuisance and ensured a fair trading environment around Terra.
Karl and his Blood Angels Knight Order finally set off, single-mindedly, toward the border of the Erlend Duchy.
After four days of forced march, Karl and the Blood Angels Knight Order finally reached the border region where Erlend meets Kaedwen.
However, the scene before them was starkly different from the orderly war preparations they had anticipated.
The air was thick with the heavy smell of gunpowder, blood, and the stench of charred human and horse corpses.
In the distance, the open ground that should have been farmland or pasture had turned into a chaotic battlefield of slaughter.
As far as the eye could see, smoke billowed, mixing the sounds of war cries, clashing weapons, and the wails of the dying.
Two knight units, each numbering several hundred men, seemed to have had their formations completely shattered after a brutal head-on charge.
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Stripped of their collective momentum, the knights fought individually across the battlefield like headless flies.
They grouped in threes and fives, constantly tangling with enemy cavalry or attempting to break through the infantry lines to return to their main formation.
Whether friend or foe, their knightly plate armor was covered in mud and gore.
Many had broken lances and were forced to rely on longswords and maces for the close-quarters fighting.
Behind the chaotic cavalry engagement lay the even more disorganized infantry battle lines.
Temeria's White Lily soldiers and Kaedwen's Black Unicorn soldiers repeatedly clashed like two tides of different colors.
Crossbowmen hid behind makeshift shields or used the terrain to unleash bolts into the enemy masses.
Every volley from the crossbowmen caused a spray of blood in the crowds.
Most striking, however, was a relatively isolated area on the flank of the battlefield.
There, with her conspicuous flame-red hair, Triss's situation was extremely perilous.
She was dozens of meters away from the core of Foltest's central army, having erected a translucent Spell shield around herself.
Magical currents flowed rapidly across the shield's surface, deflecting attacks coming from all directions.
Triss's forehead was covered in fine sweat, and her breathing was ragged, clearly showing immense magical exhaustion.
She clenched her jaw, her pale green eyes filled with fatigue and determination.
She no longer used controlling or auxiliary Spells, but instead crudely and intermittently hurled blazing fireballs outward.
Each fireball that landed exploded among the surrounding Kaedwen soldiers, leaving behind a scorched crater.
Limbs, severed and broken, and fragments of plate armor scattered everywhere, and the air was filled with the smell of burning flesh.
The ground around her was a mess, uneven and blackened, with dozens of Kaedwen soldiers piled up dead.
Despite the number of corpses surrounding her, the enemies continued to swarm toward her like sharks smelling blood.
Mixed among them were enemy knights attempting to use the momentum of their horses to smash her shield.
Triss had considered using Teleportation Spells to escape the danger, but casting a teleport required a brief period of uninterrupted focus and time.
Right now, even taking a single breath was a luxury she couldn't afford.
The tiny gap between casting fireballs could be exploited by a lance thrusting from an unknown direction or a cold arrow flying in.
Therefore, she dared not allow the slightest Divided Soul and could only struggle to hold on.
In comparison, the other court mage, Fercart, was in an even more miserable predicament.
Not only was he similarly besieged by a large number of soldiers, with his shield barely holding, but he also had to divide his attention to deal with Spell attacks coming from a distance.
King Henselt of Kaedwen's royal advisor, the Sorceress Sabrina, was constantly hurling fireballs or unleashing twisting lightning at him.
A part of Fercart's hair near his forehead was scorched by flame, and his face bore traces of soot and smoke.
The few knights who were originally guarding him were now cold corpses on the ground.
Their plate armor was relatively intact, but tiny electric arcs jumped and flickered between the armor plates' seams.
This was the result of being directly hit by Sabrina's lightning Spell; the armor might have resisted some of the impact.
But the savage electrical energy that instantly passed through their bodies had already claimed their lives.
Now, only a few scattered ordinary soldiers remained around him, offering futile resistance.
Logically, mages should stay near the king, receive the strictest protection, and use Spells to support the battlefield from a distance.
However, there was one fatal issue—
Foltest himself, to guard against potential Spell assassination.
His entire armor, weapons, and various accessories were heavily laced with dimeritium, a substance that caused discomfort and aversion in spellcasters.
The presence of dimeritium made it impossible for Triss and Fercart to cast Spells effectively near him.
Intense physical discomfort forced them to stay far away from Foltest's protective circle.
The result was the current predicament: isolated, helpless, and passively taking a beating.
They were mages after all, not warriors, much less a highly skilled Witcher.
Once engaged in close combat, the moment their magic ran out would be their death sentence—
The current situation seemed inevitably heading toward the worst possible outcome.
Just then, on the flank of the battlefield, a distinctive knight order, like a crimson lightning bolt tearing through the dark clouds, suddenly sliced into the fray.
They numbered only a few dozen, but their equipment was extremely high-quality and uniform.
They wore identical dark red full plate armor, with the emblem of spread white wings and a blood drop inscribed on the left pauldron.
They moved in silence, issuing no battle cry, only the thunderous sound of hooves striking the earth.
They formed a sharp wedge formation, using Karl's dazzling golden plate armor as the arrowhead, and violently hammered into the relatively weak rear flank of the Kaedwen army.
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