A fantastical journey across the heavens, beginning with the Witcher.

The extreme pain completely shattered the warlock's reason. His eyes turned bloodshot as he endured the excruciating pain of his burning flesh, dispelled the tornado spell, and then collapsed to the ground.

Li De, carrying his longsword, walked up to the sorcerer, raised his sword, and... slashed!

It was over. The biggest threat was gone. He was about to go and provide support when the badge around his neck, which had just calmed down, started vibrating again.

"Um?"

He looked at the dismembered sorcerer with surprise, wondering what had happened, when he noticed that the sorcerer's body was quietly swelling up, like a sponge that had absorbed water and expanded.

not good!

"Quinn!"

Li De's expression changed drastically, and he quickly cast a defensive spell.

The next second, boom!

With a deafening roar far louder than any explosion before, the corpse exploded!

Relying on the innate sense of danger ingrained in a Witcher, Li De released the Quen sign and crossed his arms in front of his head.

The explosion was far more powerful than he had imagined. The violent shockwave slammed into him, and the thick orange-yellow shield shattered in the blink of an eye. His armor, which had been grazed by the sand blades, was instantly ripped open with several jagged gashes, and metal fragments were deeply embedded in his flesh.

Li De was sent flying backwards like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily into the crowd.

Upon landing, smoke billowed from his body, and excruciating pain shot through his limbs and bones. His eyelids felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, and his consciousness was almost fading into darkness.

Upon seeing the fallen witcher, the Nilfgaard soldiers, who had been stunned by their own self-defense, snapped back to reality, and their previously suppressed ferocity instantly reignited.

The Nilfgaard soldiers roared and charged again, their footsteps shaking the ground.

Every breath Li De took pulled at his wounds, causing him to convulse in pain.

He gritted his teeth, his hand trembling as he reached for his waist, his fingertips gripping the cold medicine bottle. He used his teeth to open the stopper of the Swallow Medicine and drank the liquid in one gulp.

The cool liquid slid down his throat and into his stomach, then transformed into a warm current that flowed through his limbs and bones. The excruciating pain gradually subsided, the wound from the metal shard stopped bleeding, and his blurred vision cleared again.

He leaned on his longsword, half-kneeling to his feet. Fragments of his armor were still embedded in his flesh, and he was in a sorry state, but his eyes remained cold as he stared intently at the charging black-clad soldiers, ready to fight again.

Just as the black-clad army was about to rush close, a loud horn suddenly sounded from inside the city gate, its sound echoing across the surrounding area.

Queen Cranther of Sintra, clad in magnificent armor, her hair tied up in a high crown, and wielding a gilded longsword, personally led the royal guards and reserves out of the city gates.

The queen, with her graceful and upright figure, skillfully commanded her soldiers to form ranks. Upon seeing this, the Sintra soldiers, who were already holding the city gates, were instantly inspired and launched a counterattack together with the queen.

The Nilfgaard commander frowned, looking at the high morale of the Sintra reinforcements and then at Lid, who was kneeling on the ground with sharp eyes. He knew that a direct assault at this moment would only increase casualties. The flames of the "Devil's Blood" on the city walls had not yet been extinguished, and a hasty assault would still be disadvantageous.

He immediately ordered the retreat, and the piercing sound of horns echoed across the battlefield. The black-clad army began to retreat in an orderly manner, but they did not go far. They simply retreated to a point beyond the range of arrows, like a pack of wolves waiting for the enemy to bleed to death.

As the smoke gradually dissipated, corpses lay strewn across the city gates, stained with blood. Li De, supporting himself with his longsword, stood up, his wounds still throbbing. Led by two Sintra soldiers, he left.

Queen Calanthe strode up to him, her gaze towards Li De filled with admiration: "Your bravery is a once-in-a-century spectacle, even in the martial spirit of Sintra. Leave the rest to us. Mossak is preparing medicine in the side hall; I'll have someone carry you back."

"No need, I can still walk."

It wasn't that he was being reckless; the impact of the explosion was partially blocked by Kun and mostly by his armor, but it still left him slightly out of breath.

The Sintra soldiers along the way stopped in their tracks. Even the wounded soldiers on stretchers who were still groaning stopped moving and all looked at Li De with eyes full of respect, longing, and relief at surviving the ordeal.

……

The druid was waiting in the side hall, where healing ointments and fresh herbs were laid out on the table. Seeing that Li De was covered in wounds and his armor was tattered, he quickly stepped forward to help him sit down. Mossak's hands were steady and gentle as he carefully cleaned Li De's wounds.

He pulled out the fragments of armor embedded in his flesh and gently applied a cooling healing ointment to the wounds, but this ointment was still worthless if it wasn't universally applicable.

"What is the situation outside the city?"

While applying the ointment, Mossack asked in a low voice, his gaze sweeping over the hideous wounds on Li De's body, his brows furrowing even more.

Li De leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to rest: "The situation is not optimistic. Their withdrawal is not an abandonment; they are just waiting for the fire on the city walls to go out."

He paused, then analyzed the situation thoroughly: "If we send more people to defend the city walls, they will definitely use the oil tanker tactic again to wipe out the defenders on the walls; if we don't defend them, they can easily scale the walls and advance unimpeded. Either way, it's a dead end."

Mossack paused, silently continuing to apply the ointment, his face filled with worry. Sintra's forces were already scarce, and now they were caught in this dilemma, with almost no chance of breaking the deadlock.

After a moment, Li De spoke again, his voice extremely low: "Olivia refuses to open the portal because she's afraid her enemies will come after her. What about you? I remember the Sorcerer of Skellige was also a druid; there should be a teleportation point over there."

Mossack shook his head helplessly, his tone full of bitterness: "There are several magical places hidden around Sintra, and the spatial fluctuations are already chaotic, making the portals extremely unstable."

"Moreover, Nilfgaard has already been secretly interfering with spatial magic. Opening a portal now is gambling with your life; nine times out of ten, you'll be torn apart by the spatial turbulence."

With their escape route completely blocked, the side hall fell into a deathly silence, save for the faint sound of ointment being applied.

After the wounds were treated, as Mossack packed his medical kit, Lid suddenly looked up and asked in a low voice, "Does Calanther know that you want me to take Ciri to the Witcher's castle?"

Mossack paused for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

"I don't know, and it's best not to let her know."

The two understood each other without saying a word. Queen Calanthe was a fiercely independent princess, and this matter could only be planned in secret, never to be known by the queen.

Mossack picked up Lid's tattered armor and turned to leave.

"The armor is damaged in several places. I'll take it to a craftsman for repair. You should rest and recover."

After saying that, he turned and left, leaving Li De alone in the room.

……

Meanwhile, inside the main tent of the Nilfgaardian army, the atmosphere was terrifyingly oppressive.

The commander paced back and forth in front of the table covered with a map of the city's defenses, his hands behind his back, while constantly clicking his tongue.

The art of siege warfare also emphasizes striking while the iron is hot, followed by a decline in momentum and exhaustion in the final push.

If it weren't for the witcher suddenly appearing out of nowhere, he and his men would have stormed into the outer city today.

Tomorrow we need to break up the reserve forces and deploy them in front of the vanguard, while replacing the vanguard with the main force.

The tent was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, except for the sound of the commander pacing back and forth.

Suddenly, a lazy, casual voice, tinged with a hint of mockery, came from the shadows inside the tent without warning. It was light and airy, yet it made the commander freeze in place:

"I told you not to be too arrogant. Now look what happened, not even a complete corpse was left behind."

The commander was taken aback for a moment, and after recognizing the person, he couldn't help but complain, "Why are you so late? I wish I had some help today."

"Our jobs are different. You conquer cities and fortresses for His Majesty, while I capture people. If we don't set up some little things in advance, who knows where a teleportation portal can send them?"