Duke aep Dahy's face had turned even paler than the snowy wasteland around him.
He knew—the Eastern Army Group was finished.
Even if he survived this encounter, the current military operation was already beyond salvation. And when he returned to the Empire… an even harsher reckoning awaited.
What had been the center of the Nilfgaardian encampment just moments ago was now reduced to shattered ice sculptures.
His personal guard, his staff officers, the noble allies who had joined him on campaign, their sons, and nearly half the mid- and high-ranking officers who had failed to return to their units in time—every last one of them had perished in that single strike from the Lion of Cintra.
"Blow the horn… blow the horn…"
Only his deputy and a handful of trusted aides—those who had remained right beside him—were lucky enough to be protected by the mage's barrier.
Now, Duke aep Dahy, trembling, gave the order: "Blow the horn! Call the troops back—block Lannister!"
"Albrich! The portal—open a portal!"
The Empire's Blue Fox had lost all nerve. No one could keep their sanity in the face of such devastation.
"This is your duty—fulfill your duty!"
Albrich's face turned even more ashen. Staring at the utterly composed Lann in front of him, he suddenly began to channel a massive surge of chaotic energy. Behind him, all but the few mages needed to maintain the barrier also began to chant incantations in unison.
In an instant, five enormous portals flared open in front of Lann—brief, but massive.
Such large-scale portals couldn't be maintained for long—but they didn't need to be. They were enough for something else to emerge.
Appearing before Lann was a colossal creature nearly two stories tall, its body forged from solid granite. Four others of similar form, each slightly smaller, flanked it.
Its chest, joints, and cracks pulsed with flickers of firelight, as though molten lava flowed beneath its surface.
Fire Elemental Golems.
There was no way a single mage could summon something of this caliber. Ever since the Battle of Sodden Hill—when the soldiers of the North had, with the help of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, first repelled Nilfgaard—the Empire's emperor had begun to take magic far more seriously.
Learning from past failures, he had invested heavily in the nation's magical academies. These five golems were the fruits of that policy.
Lann tilted his head up slightly. Even the smaller golems were taller than the ones he had once seen in Thomas Moreau's laboratory—let alone the central behemoth, which could nearly reach an ice giant's upper torso.
Truly worthy of Nilfgaard—flush with gold and utterly extravagant.
With a flash of golden light, Lann activated [Blink].
He bypassed the five golems. He bypassed the mage battalion's coordinated barrier. And in the next instant, he was standing directly in front of Albrich.
The mage was in the middle of stabilizing a true portal. But he would never have the chance to step through it—because a blinding golden radiance, brighter than the portal itself, now stood between him and his escape.
Impassable.
As Albrich stared, eyes wide with terror, Lann gave a faint chuckle—and swung his sword.
A spray of blood burst into the air.
...
Lann vaguely felt that some of the survivors inside the magical barrier looked familiar. But with so many characters in the original story, how could he possibly recognize them all?
Still, the fact that they seemed familiar meant that at least a few of these people were destined to achieve something significant in the future. That, in itself, confirmed that his raid hadn't targeted the wrong group.
The bright portal behind him billowed his lion-crested cloak violently in the wind.
It takes decades—sometimes even over a century—for a trained sorcerer to develop, beginning from the basics. Yet killing one still takes less than a heartbeat.
Without a word, Lann flipped his left hand and pulled a Dimeritium bomb from his [Inventory], yanked out the pin, and tossed it back through the portal.
With a dull explosion and a spray of dark green metallic shards, the portal disintegrated into motes of light and vanished.
"Let me guess..." Lann looked at the remaining Nilfgaardian sorcerer unit in front of him. Compared to the one he'd just killed, these mages looked far more rudimentary. Still, their uniforms were at least presentable, if utterly unadorned.
"You lot don't know how to use a portal, do you?"
Albrich's corpse still lay on the ground, and Lann's armor was stained with his blood.
Suddenly, one of the low-ranking mages snapped, letting out a piercing, terrified scream. At that moment, the barrier encasing them began to tremble—then shattered. They could no longer sustain the chaotic energy needed to maintain it.
A cold wind swept in, and the Nilfgaardian survivors began to shiver uncontrollably.
"Sound the horn!" Duke aep Dahy screamed hysterically. "Summon the entire Infantry! Lannister must die here and now!"
The duke, bearing the sigil of the blue fox, staggered backward in a frenzy, clutching desperately at the high-ranking officers around him.
"Stop him! Stall him—just stall him!"
But unlike the panicked Duke aep Dahy, the other Nilfgaardian officers were true battlefield veterans. They had earned their ranks through blood and steel, not politics.
Even faced with the terrifying might of the Lion of Cintra, even sensing power beyond their comprehension, they did not hesitate. They drew their swords and charged forward with fearless resolve.
"For the Black Sun!"
Such courage was worthy of respect.
So Lann also raised his sword and leapt into their midst.
Duke aep Dahy saw a burst of blood spray in front of him. The thudding crash of armored bodies followed one after another. That golden flash of a blade—after cutting down every officer in its path—suddenly blinked right before his eyes.
On instinct, the duke shut his eyes.
But the pain never came.
Instead, he felt only a gust of wind brushing past his face.
Then came more splashes of blood. More bodies collapsing behind him.
The Lion of Cintra's mastery of the sword had reached an awe-inspiring level. He had bypassed the duke entirely—killing the remaining members of the Eastern Army's sorcerer unit first with surgical precision.
When Duke aep Dahy turned to look, Lann had already sheathed his sword and was calmly wiping the blood from its blade.
The mages now lay strewn around him like discarded sacks, as if they were little more than stalks of wheat he'd cut down.
The five massive golems that had once marched forward with earth-shaking might now stood motionless. It was as though they had gone dormant. The molten glow beneath their veins had dimmed, and they now resembled nothing more than stone statues—lifeless and inert.
Lann glanced at the golems with an air of ease and mused aloud, "Perfect… I was just worried I hadn't brought back any gifts for Uncle Mousesack after being away so long."
The Lion of Cintra wore a satisfied look, admiring his spoils as though examining items in a collection.
"He's going to love these golems."
By this point, the Supreme Commander of Nilfgaard's Eastern Army Group had unexpectedly regained his composure.
He took a deep breath, and his voice steadied: "Lannister, you've certainly shocked us… but it's useless. Even if you kill every senior officer here, including me, the army's operations will not stop. You brought in the forces of Demavend and Meve? They'll be crushed all the same."
Lann gave a flick of the Lady of the Lake, ensuring every trace of filth had been wiped clean from the blade. In the distance, the blare of war horns echoed from within the city of Lyria—it seemed Meve's Royal Guard had regained control and were beginning their counteroffensive.
That sound made Duke aep Dahy's voice tremble even more.
"You didn't kill me, Lannister. That must mean you agree—I'm more valuable alive than as a corpse," the duke reasoned shrewdly. What he feared most was a brute who wouldn't negotiate. As long as the door remained open for dialogue, there was still a chance.
His mind raced like never before; the life-or-death crisis had unlocked his full potential. "As long as you—"
But Lann cut him off coldly.
"No need to rush, Duke aep Dahy. This isn't the time for talk." Lann silently raised his left hand and formed a magical sign.
"We'll have plenty of time to speak later."
[Axii Sign – Delusion]
"And right now, I need you to be quiet. A man like you… tends to talk too much. That's never a good thing."
Immediately, pale ether-magic elements invaded Duke aep Dahy's brain. His once refined and calculating face turned vacant in an instant.
Lann nodded in satisfaction. This was a valuable enough prisoner—through him, he could extract military intelligence on the other Nilfgaardian army groups. There might even be more surprises in store.
With the duke handled, Lann turned his gaze elsewhere. Aside from him and Duke aep Dahy, only one other person on the battlefield was still alive.
Ardal's aide—a Nilfgaardian in black armor and a winged helm, holding a war horn—was trembling uncontrollably.
He clearly lacked the courage of those senior officers Lann had just slaughtered.
"What are you waiting for?" Lann asked icily.
"Uh… huh?" The aide froze.
"Your commander ordered you to sound the horn and summon the Black Cloak Infantry. You received the command. What are you waiting for?"
The aide was completely dumbfounded. Under Lann's withering gaze, he shakily brought the horn to his lips. He hesitated, watching for a change in the Lion's expression—expecting him to snap and cut him down at any second.
But instead, the Lion of Cintra looked… impatient.
That gave him the courage to finally act—
[Bwoo—Bwoo, bwoo—bwoo—]
The rhythmic horn calls echoed over the battlefield, and almost immediately, similar signals sounded from not far away.
Soon after, Lann saw one of the nearby regimental banners hesitate—then promptly turn back in retreat.
Lann gave an approving nod, and the killing intent around him began to recede. Meanwhile, the horn-blower lowered the instrument with trembling hands, uncertain what fate awaited him now.
"Keep going."
"Uh… what?" The horn-blower froze again.
"I said keep going," Lann repeated. "Call out to every division, every regiment, every battalion. Use every signal you know."
Finally, the aide realized what Lann intended. His face went pale, and he hesitated, unwilling to move.
Lann realized he was wasting time.
So he calmly raised his hand again and cast another [Axii Sign – Delusion], putting the horn-blower into a deep hypnotic trance.
Immediately, bold, resonant, and rhythmically complex horn calls rang out behind him—and the previously well-ordered Nilfgaardian ranks visibly descended into chaos.
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