The disguise he had worn for so long now felt unnecessary.
As Karl faced the opponent before him, the faint sense of restraint he had been maintaining quietly dissolved, like mist under the sun. For the first time since entering this land under the name Arnulfati, he felt no need to hide himself.
Without hesitation, he reached back and unbuckled the greatsword strapped across his back.
The weapon had always been little more than a prop—something to match his fabricated identity as a wandering adventurer. He had never truly needed it. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent the massive sword spinning backward through the air.
"Catch," he called out calmly. "Hold onto this for me."
Behind him, Geralt reacted purely on instinct.
The Witcher turned at the shout, his hand shooting out just in time to clamp around the hilt mid-flight. The instant the greatsword settled into his grip, however, his arm dropped sharply under the sudden weight.
His cat-like pupils narrowed in shock.
"So heavy…!"
The sword nearly dragged his shoulder down. Geralt barely managed to steady himself before embarrassment could show. The weight was completely wrong—far beyond what appearances suggested.
This wasn't merely heavier than a standard two-handed claymore. It was at least twice as heavy, perhaps more. Holding it felt like wielding a weapon forged for a giant rather than a human.
At the same time, the two Zerrikanian maidens, who had been staring skyward in awed fascination at the Golden Dragon circling above, finally noticed Karl's movement.
Their gazes dropped from the heavens to the strange man in front of them, curiosity replacing reverence as they watched this eccentric "Arnulfati" calmly step forward.
Karl dismounted.
He moved past his horse and walked toward the raging wall of flame several meters ahead—a blazing curtain of heat that distorted the air itself. Waves of scorching heat rolled outward, enough to make most men recoil instinctively.
Karl didn't even slow his steps.
"Hey! Arnulfati! Have you lost your mind?!"
Dandelion's voice rang out in panic.
Up until now, he had been watching the battlefield with tense vigilance, clutching his lute like a lifeline. Seeing Karl stride toward the fire and dragon, he forgot all sense of self-preservation.
Even his beloved lute was abandoned on the carriage.
He jumped down and rushed forward, covering the distance in a few frantic strides before grabbing Karl's arm with both hands, clinging to it as though trying to anchor him to the earth.
"This is suicide!" Dandelion shouted, his voice cracking. "You're walking straight to your death!"
He twisted his head back desperately and yelled toward Geralt, who was already dismounting his horse.
"Geralt! Say something! Stop him!"
"This friend of yours is insane!"
Even without Dandelion's plea, Geralt had already made up his mind.
He strode forward quickly, placing himself squarely in Karl's path. His taller frame blocked the way, silver sword still sheathed but his posture tense and ready.
Those sharp, feline eyes fixed on Karl with grave seriousness.
"Arnulfati," Geralt said in a low, firm voice, "calm down."
He gestured toward the sky with a slight tilt of his chin.
"That's a Golden Dragon. Not some contract monster. Not something you can fight your way through."
"An army couldn't take it down," he continued. "There's no reason for you to gamble your life here. This is madness."
His gaze shifted, sharp and pointed, toward a certain sorceress nearby.
"And frankly," he added, "some people's requests don't deserve this kind of sacrifice in the first place."
Yennefer heard him.
At that moment, sweat glistened on her pale brow, and her breathing was noticeably uneven. She was maintaining a shimmering magical barrier while simultaneously weaving complex atmospheric spells with rapid, precise movements.
Her goal was simple—bind the Golden Dragon, force it to land.
Reality was less cooperative.
The dragon beat its enormous wings just a few times, and her painstakingly constructed spells shattered as easily as fragile spider silk. Magic dispersed uselessly into the air.
The Golden Dragon's cold, golden pupils swept over her.
There was no anger in that gaze.
Only disdain.
It released a small burst of dragonfire nearby—not aimed directly at her, but close enough. The superheated air rippled violently, sparks flying.
Her horse reared and neighed in terror, stamping restlessly.
"Damn it!" Yennefer cursed under her breath.
Feeling Geralt's pointed remark, she shot him a sharp glare, irritation flashing in her violet eyes. But the moment she noticed Karl preparing to move, something else replaced her annoyance.
Expectation.
If the rumors surrounding this man were even half true, his strength might rival that of the dragon itself.
More importantly—he was a sorcerer.
And not just any sorcerer, but one whose magical mastery far surpassed her own.
That wasn't just assistance.
It was a miracle.
Karl took in everything at once—Geralt's concern, Dandelion's panic, and Yennefer's poorly concealed anticipation.
He chuckled softly.
"Geralt," he said calmly, meeting the Witcher's gaze, "I'm not doing this for her."
He lifted his chin slightly, eyes shifting to the Golden Dragon gliding through the sky. Within those eyes burned something pure and unmistakable.
Battle lust.
"I just want an opponent worthy of a fight," he continued. "That's all."
"An opponent?"
Geralt froze, disbelief written plainly across his face.
He stared at Karl as if he were hearing things.
"That's a dragon!" he snapped. "Not a vampire bird. Not a troll!"
"You're not even wearing armor!" Geralt continued, his frustration rising. "That knight earlier—Eyck—he was clad head to toe in plate, and he—"
Before he could finish, Karl interrupted him with a faintly amused tone.
"You mean Eyck?" Karl said lightly. "Him?"
He shook his head.
"Even if he were facing me," Karl continued, "the outcome wouldn't have changed."
"No matter how thick the tin can," he added calmly, "before absolute power, it's just a slightly sturdier toy."
The words weren't arrogant.
They were matter-of-fact.
Geralt searched Karl's face, doubt still lingering. Sensing it, Karl spoke again.
"Geralt," he said quietly, "when you heard those rumors about me…"
"…did anyone ever explain how those battles actually happened?"
"Or did they only talk about the deaths? The destruction?"
Geralt's eyes flickered.
A chill ran through him.
The rumors he had heard were already exaggerated—absurd, even. But now he realized something unsettling.
They hadn't been embellished.
If anything… they were incomplete.
Dandelion, listening from the side, was utterly lost.
"What rumors?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Geralt, is there something the two of you discussed without telling your best friend and biographer?"
Karl didn't answer.
Instead, he raised his hand.
With a simple, almost lazy motion, an invisible bio-force field expanded outward, instantly enveloping both Geralt and Dandelion.
"Whoa—!"
They felt an irresistible force lift and carry them sideways. Neither could resist. Yet the movement was oddly gentle.
They landed several meters away without stumbling, as if nudged aside by a courteous gust of wind.
Silence followed.
Under the stunned gazes of Yennefer, Geralt, the Zerrikanian maidens, and everyone nearby who hadn't yet fled…
Karl slowly rose into the air.
Defying common sense, he ascended effortlessly until he hovered at the same height as the Golden Dragon.
For most present, this was the first time they had witnessed such a thing.
Fear momentarily vanished, replaced by pure shock.
In the sky, the Golden Dragon flapped its massive wings, surveying the humans below with cold detachment.
Yet something had changed.
That faint sense of unease it had felt since spotting the man called "Arnulfati" suddenly intensified.
A powerful warning echoed within its instincts.
The dragon halted mid-flight and twisted its long, elegant neck.
Its sharp golden gaze scanned the air—
—and locked onto the space directly behind it.
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