Wooden walls can keep out beasts and bandits—
But they're powerless against powerful magic.
The ice orb tore through the wooden house with ease and exploded with a thunderous boom—releasing an intense wave of frost. In seconds, the entire house was encased in thick ice, from the inside out.
A perfect ambush.
And yet, as Imlerith gazed at the eerily quiet house, a strange unease settled in his chest.
It was too quiet.
Even if the surprise attack had worked, this still wasn't right.
The spell cast by his navigator was designed to control, not kill. Even if their enemies had been caught off guard, the spell shouldn't have killed them outright.
So why no reaction at all?
Imlerith gestured silently.
A group of Wild Hunt riders galloped forward, peering into the house.
"My lord Imlerith—no one's here!" one called.
No one?
Imlerith's brow furrowed.
He turned to the two scouts.
The two Aen Elle elves looked equally confused. This wasn't what they had expected. Just the night before, their reconnaissance had confirmed that their targets were sleeping there.
Whoosh—
Suddenly, a piercing storm of sound erupted from the forest.
Arrows, like a rain of meteors, flew down from the trees.
An ambush?
Imlerith's mind raced. He waved his hand. The navigator beside him raised his staff. The gem at its tip glowed faintly, and a massive, translucent shield emerged, catching the hail of arrows.
The other Wild Hunt riders drew their swords, tightening their reins in preparation.
They were seasoned warriors, able to gauge a battlefield at a glance.
From the volume of arrows—
There had to be at least a hundred archers in those woods.
Imlerith raised his hand.
"Charge!" he shouted, pointing forward.
His riders didn't understand the command—it seemed suicidal given their numbers. But none hesitated. Their training held. They surged forward.
Imlerith led the charge.
Brave, reckless, and always at the front line.
Prideful to a fault—but not brainless.
Far from it—he was a shrewd commander.
Eredin had warned him that the sorceress with the Witcher knew strange magic.
This barrage was likely an illusion.
He didn't believe that tiny forest could hide an entire army.
Nor that a hundred-strong force would waste so many arrows on a mere seventeen enemies—no, even the Aen Elle would never be so wasteful in war.
Their horses trampled the marsh. Hammers smashed through underbrush.
But what awaited them wasn't a massive army—
It was a single, giant steel-colored fist.
Imlerith's eyes widened in disbelief.
Where had it come from?
The fist towered over even giants, charging at them with terrifying speed.
No way that had been hiding in the woods.
But now was not the time to ponder.
If it landed, they'd be crushed into paste.
Whish—
In an instant, Imlerith vanished from his horse—and reappeared atop the fist.
With a mighty swing, he brought his hammer down—
BOOM!
The steel fist shattered into fragments, pieces scattering in all directions.
Now that its size was reduced, it was no longer such a threat.
The navigator raised a shield, blocking the debris.
"Elder Blood," Imlerith said, landing lightly, batting away a shard with his shield. "And the Witcher. I know you're here—come out!"
Stupefy!
A flash of red light answered.
Imlerith reacted instantly, raising his shield. The curse deflected with a clang.
Then—Flash!
He teleported to where the red light came from, swinging his hammer—
CLANG!
Harry blocked with his sword. The Disillusionment Charm dropped, revealing him.
Imlerith was strong. Unbelievably strong.
In raw power alone, Harry couldn't match him. He twisted, sliding his sword along the hammer's head to redirect the force.
"Witcher," Imlerith sneered. "You gave me quite a scare."
"Where's the Elder Blood?"
Behind him, a blade slashed at his neck—Ciri.
Imlerith spun, raised his shield—CLANG! He blocked her.
Ciri's assassination failed—barely dodging a retaliatory blow.
Behind them, the two navigators raised their staffs again—frost magic, not nearly as potent as Caranthir's, but dangerous nonetheless.
The knights charged anew.
"Hermione," Harry called.
Nearby, the Disillusionment Charm dropped. Hermione murmured a spell.
A chunk of stone transformed into vines, rising with a Levitation Charm.
Simple spells, combined for maximum effect.
The Wild Hunt didn't notice—by the time they did, their horses couldn't react. They tripped, fell, chaos erupting in their charge.
"Ciri," Harry said again. "You handle the knights. This one's mine."
He faced Imlerith.
Unlike most Aen Elle, Imlerith was massive and muscular. His hammer easily weighed over 100 pounds—but he wielded it like a feather.
Technique mattered.
But for warriors, raw strength was key.
A 100-pound hammer and a 4-pound sword were not equal.
"You're going to fight me alone?" Imlerith laughed. "Witcher, that's quite the joke."
"I've fought your kind before."
"But even with potions mutating your bodies into freaks—"
"The ending is already written."
He swung his hammer hard at Harry.
Harry didn't dare block it directly. With Hermione and Ciri nearby, he retreated into the deeper swamp to avoid drawing the battle close to them.
The hammer slammed into the earth—sending a shudder through the ground.
"Didn't you say you'd face me?" Imlerith taunted, striding after him. "Witcher, why are you running?"
Harry didn't reply.
Once he judged the distance sufficient, he flicked his wand.
Entrench!
The soft earth beneath Imlerith's feet turned sticky and viscous. With his armor and hammer's weight, he sank instantly—mud and filth up to his chest.
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Powerstones?
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