The result was naturally predictable; he didn't even have time to draw his sword.
Karl, appearing before his horse in an instant, knocked him off it like a chicken.
Immediately after came a relentless, one-sided beating to the face.
Karl's fist, even controlling most of its power, was by no means something a pampered, ordinary noble could withstand.
The muffled thuds and piercing cries echoed down the road.
All the Holy Blood Angels watching this scene felt a sympathetic ache in their teeth, and at the same time, they intuitively understood their lord's strength.
The Lord of Dornedale was beaten black and blue, collapsed on the ground like a dead dog, and barely had the strength to groan.
The three attendants he had brought were subdued by Dalton and the others, pinned to the ground and unable to move.
In the end, under the threat of death and intense pain,
this lord, who had remained extremely arrogant, could only grit his teeth in humiliation, swallowing blood and tears.
With Dalton's "assistance," he wrote a promissory note for a larger amount and under even more demanding terms.
After resolving this last internal issue and ensuring a fair trading environment around Terra,
Karl and his Blood Angel Knights set off for the border of the Duchy of Ellander.
......
After four days of rapid marching, Karl and the Blood Angel Knights finally arrived at the border region between Ellander and Kaedwen.
However, the scene before them was very different from the well-organized preparation they had expected.
The air was filled with the strong smell of gunpowder, blood, and the stench of charred corpses.
In the distance, the open areas that should have been farmlands or pastures had now turned into a chaotic battlefield of slaughter.
As far as the eye could see, gunpowder smoke rose, and the sounds of shouts, clashing weapons, and the wails of the dying mixed together.
Two knightly teams of about a hundred men each seemed to have been completely broken up after a tragic assault.
The knights, having lost their cohesive formation, were like headless flies, fighting individually on the battlefield.
They fought the enemy cavalry in groups of three or five, or tried to break through the infantry lines and return to their positions.
Friend or foe, the knights' armor was stained with mud and blood.
Many had long since had their lances broken and could only rely on longswords and war hammers to fight.
Behind the knightly melee zone lay an even more chaotic infantry front.
The white lily soldiers of Temeria and the black unicorn soldiers of Kaedwen, like two different colors, constantly intertwined.
Crossbowmen hid behind simple shields or relied on the terrain, shooting crossbow bolts at the enemy.
Each time the crossbowmen fired a volley, they brought a spray of blood into the crowd.
The most striking sight was a relatively independent area on the flank of the battlefield.
There, with fiery red hair as conspicuous as flames, Triss was currently in an extremely bad state.
She was several dozen meters away from the core of the central army where Foltest was located, and a translucent spell shield was propped up around her body.
Magical streamers raced across the shield's surface, resisting attacks from all sides.
Triss's forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat, her breathing was rapid, and it was clear that her magical power was heavily depleted.
She gritted her teeth, and her pale green eyes were full of fatigue and persistence.
Instead of using control or support spells, she simply and crudely threw fireballs outward from time to time.
Each fireball that landed on the ground exploded among the surrounded Kaedweni soldiers, leaving a charred black pit.
Stumps, severed arms, and fragments of plate armor flew everywhere, and the air filled with the stench of burning flesh.
The ground around her was a mess: pits, scorched black, and dozens of corpses of Kaedweni soldiers lay piled on top of each other.
Despite the many corpses around her, the enemy continued to swarm like sharks smelling blood.
There were even enemy knights who tried to break her shield by charging it with their horses.
Triss didn't want to use teleportation to escape the danger, but that would require a short moment of calm concentration and time.
And now, even taking a breath was an incredibly luxurious act.
The small gap between fireballs could be exploited by pikes thrusting from unknown directions, or by cold arrows.
So she didn't dare to be distracted and could only hold on.
In contrast, the other court sorcerer, Fercart, was in an even more difficult position.
He was besieged by a large number of soldiers, his shield was collapsing, and he had to divert his attention to casting spells from a distance.
Sabrina, the sorceress and royal advisor to King Henselt of Kaedwen, constantly threw fireballs at him or unleashed distorted lightning.
The hair on his forehead was partly singed by the flames, and his face had traces of smoke and fire.
The knights beside him, who had been guarding him, were now cold corpses on the ground.
The plate armor on their bodies was still intact, but arcs of electricity flickered between the gaps in the armor.
This was the result of a direct hit by Sabrina's lightning spell; the armor could withstand part of the impact.
But the violent electrical energy that coursed through their bodies at that moment had already taken their lives.
Only a few ordinary soldiers remained, still fighting futilely beside him.
Logically, a sorcerer should stay close to the king, under strict protection, and use spells to support the battlefield from a distance.
However, there was a fatal problem...
Foltest himself, to protect against possible magical assassination,
had heavily infused his armor, weapons, and even various accessories with dimetrium, which caused aversion and discomfort to sorcerers.
The presence of dimetrium made it impossible for Triss and Fercart to cast effective spells around him.
The strong physical discomfort forced them to stay away from Foltest's protective circle.
As a result, they found themselves in a desperate situation, isolated and being passively defeated.
After all, they were sorcerers, not warriors, let alone Witchers with strong swordsmanship.
When they were approached and their magic was depleted, their time of death would come...
The situation before them was inevitably heading towards the worst possible outcome.
At that moment, on the flank of the battlefield, a unique knightly order, like a bloody lightning bolt breaking through dark clouds, suddenly cut across the battlefield.
There were only a few dozen of them, not many, but they were extremely well-equipped and unified.
Dark red full plate armor, the left shoulder armor adorned with winged white wings and a crest with a drop of blood.
They were silent, without battle cries, only the roar of their horses' hooves on the ground.
They formed a sharp wedge formation, using Karl's dazzling golden plate armor as the sharp tip, and fiercely cut into the relatively weaker flank of the Kaedweni army.
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