— Third-person perspective —
— A few hours later —
"ZOLTAN, THEY'RE COMING FROM THE LEFT!"
"I SEE THEM!"
Zoltan yanked his ram sharply to the side. Galloping at full speed across the rocky plain, he skillfully weaved through the Warg Riders. The moment he raised his axe, he split the throat of an Orc that stepped into his path in a single, clean strike. Riding beside him, Kargan smashed a Warg's skull apart with his axe from the back of his own ram.
Azanulbizar was no longer merely a plain; it had turned into a slaughterhouse where iron crushed iron, where screams slammed into the rocks and echoed back. Blood, severed limbs, and shattered armor were scattered among the stones. Zoltan and Kargan charged through the battlefield, their rams' horns knocking aside everything in their way, mercilessly cutting down any Orcs who crossed their path.
Elsewhere on the field, a large-built Dwarf swung his axe and lunged at an Orc. The Orc raised his shield and caught the blow, then counterattacked with his sword. The Dwarf leaned his body backward; the blade missed his chest by mere inches. As the Orc pitched forward from the momentum, the Dwarf surged ahead and slammed his head into him.
The blow staggered the Orc.
Not missing the opportunity, the Dwarf raised his axe and buried it into the Orc's belly. A scream filled with agony tore across the plain.
AAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!
The Orc collapsed to his knees. The Dwarf yanked his axe free and, in a single upward swing, severed the screaming head from its body. The Orc's head rolled across the stones, spraying blood as it went. Black blood splattered across the Dwarf's armor; he did not even flinch.
He scanned his surroundings. To his right and left, he spotted another Dwarf being pressed by two Orcs. Without hesitation, he charged forward. He slammed his shoulder into the Orc on the left; the Orc lost his balance and crashed to the ground. The Dwarf raised his axe and drove it straight into the center of the Orc's chest. The sound of ribs breaking rang out; the Orc groaned in pain as blood burst from his mouth.
The Dwarf pulled his axe free and turned to attack the Orc on the right. The Orc blocked the strike with his shield, but at that exact moment another Dwarf charged in from the left with his sword. Caught between the two attacks, the Orc faltered—and the axe-wielding Dwarf brought his weapon crashing down hard against the edge of the shield.
The Orc lost his footing.
With the haft of his axe, the Dwarf struck the Orc's kneecap.
CRACK!
Bone shattered and burst through flesh. The Orc collapsed to the ground, screaming.
AAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!
As the Orc defenseless, the other Dwarf leapt onto him, slamming into him with his shield. The Orc fell flat on his back. Without a moment's hesitation, the sword plunged into his throat. The Orc lifted a blood-soaked hand with a final, gurgling whimper, but died before he could reach the Dwarf.
The two Dwarves exchanged a brief glance and nodded to one another. Then they looked around.
More Orcs were charging toward them.
They took position back to back. Axes and swords rose once more. They knew one thing with certainty: if their backs were exposed, this battle would end here for them.
At another point on the battlefield, an Uruk-hai was raining heavy blows down upon a Dwarf with his massive sword. The strikes came one after another; the Dwarf had raised his shield, gritting his teeth as he met each blow head-on…
CLINK!
CLINK!
The Dwarf advanced carefully, never taking his eyes off the Orc in front of him. At that very moment, a searing pain exploded in his chest. Before he could understand what had happened, he looked down.
The tip of a spear was protruding from his chest.
A few drops of blood slipped from his mouth, then suddenly his knees gave out. He collapsed to the ground, vomiting a mouthful of blood.
The Dwarf was dead.
The Orc behind him pulled the spear free with a disgusting grin. He licked the tip with relish. The other Orc let out a guttural chuckle and moved off to attack another Dwarf.
The spear-wielding Orc paused for a few seconds. He surveyed the bodies colliding across the rocky plain. He chose his next prey. Licking his lips with his tongue, he silently slipped in behind another Dwarf. With a single motion, he drove the spear into the back of his neck.
The spear burst out through his throat.
The Dwarf's eyes widened in shock. His hands trembled, his sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground. He tried to clutch his throat with his free hand, but blood poured through his fingers. His eyes dulled, and his body slumped forward.
The Orc pulled the spear from the corpse, wearing that same vile grin. He raised it to his mouth to lick it again—
A heavy thud echoed.
The Orc's head snapped forward violently. His eyes widened in terror. He felt an explosion of pain at the back of his skull, but his legs had already failed him. He collapsed to the ground.
He was dead.
A throwing axe forged with Dwarven craftsmanship was embedded in the back of his skull. Blood gushed from the wound.
A Dwarf sprinted past the corpse. Without slowing, he grabbed the axe lodged in the Orc's head and ripped it free in one smooth motion. Taking a few running steps, he hurled the blood-soaked axe.
The axe sank straight into the center of an Uruk-hai's forehead.
The Uruk-hai's eyes flew open in shock, then he toppled backward onto the ground.
Nearby, another Dwarf saw one of his kin about to be killed. He quickly dropped beside corpse, yanked the axe from it, and threw it at the attacking Orc. The axe buried itself in the Orc's shoulder. The Orc roared in pain, clutching his arm.
Not missing the moment, a spear-wielding Dwarf lunged forward. He drove his spear into the Orc's head. Blood sprayed from the Orc's brow. The Dwarf pulled his weapon free and scanned his surroundings.
A Dwarf had fallen; an Orc was about to pounce on him.
The spear-wielding Dwarf twisted his weapon and hurled it like a javelin. The spear punched straight through the Orc's chest. The Orc dropped his weapon, grabbed at the spear embedded in his chest, but collapsed lifelessly before he could pull it free.
The Dwarf ran to his wounded kinsman and extended his hand.
"Are you alright, cousin?"
The Dwarf on the ground took his hand and struggled to his feet.
"I'm fine… thank you, cousin."
Their exchange was cut short. More Orcs were rushing toward them.
The Dwarf who had thrown his spear quickly pulled his weapon from nearby corpse and assumed a fighting stance. An Orc charged him. The Dwarf raised his shield.
CLANG!
Sword and shield collided, sparks flying. As the Orc prepared a second strike, the Dwarf did not wait. He counterattacked. The Orc tilted his head aside, narrowly avoiding the blow; the spear grazed his cheek.
The Orc retaliated instantly. The Dwarf blocked the attack with his shield. Weapons locked together. The Orc pressed with all his strength, and the Dwarf clenched his teeth, holding the shield firm.
Suddenly, the Dwarf angled his shield slightly and leapt to the right.
The Orc lost his balance and staggered forward.
Without hesitation, the Dwarf drove his spear into the Orc's belly. The Orc looked down, eyes wide. The Dwarf twisted the spear left and right, widening the wound, then tore it free. Blood sprayed across his shield and face.
The Orc collapsed to the ground with a groan.
The Dwarf finished him by plunging the spear into his throat, then turned and ran toward his other kinsman.
The sword-and-shield Dwarf he had just saved was fighting an Uruk-hai. The spear-wielding Dwarf moved to his side. Together, they studied the Uruk-hai. The Uruk-hai, in turn, weighed his two opponents.
A brief silence.
Then they attacked together.
The Uruk-hai struck the spear aside with his sword, then slammed his shield into the spear-wielding Dwarf, throwing him back. At the same time, the sword-wielding Dwarf attacked from the left. The Uruk-hai blocked the blow but was forced to step back.
At that moment, an Orc behind them raised his axe.
The spear-wielding Dwarf instantly moved behind his companion and blocked the attack with his shield. He pressed his back against him and spoke in a calm, confident voice:
"My back is yours, cousin."
The sword-wielding Dwarf took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the Uruk-hai before him.
"I trust you, cousin."
The spear-wielding Dwarf chuckled softly.
"May Durin be our aid."
At the far end of the battlefield, an Uruk-hai commander charged the Dwarf facing him with his massive sword. The Dwarf raised his shield; the impact reverberated through every bone in his body. He did not get thrown back, but his knees trembled.
The moment the Uruk-hai's attack glanced off, a sinister, dark aura surged around him.
The Dwarf's eyes widened, his voice cracking as he shouted:
"AN AURA USER!"
The Uruk-hai commander's muscles visibly swelled. Veins bulged as if about to burst. The aura enveloping his empowered body flowed into his great sword. The Uruk-hai roared and swung.
The Dwarf met the attack.
But this time, it was not enough.
The shield bent inward; the shock of the blow shattered the Dwarf's arm bone and shoulder. His body was hurled five meters away, crashing into another knot of Orcs and Dwarves. He lay motionless on the ground.
The Dwarves around the Uruk-hai recoiled instinctively. The Orcs, on the other hand, began to roar and cheer.
The Uruk-hai commander did not stop.
He lunged forward, far faster than before. He threw an aura-coated punch at the first Dwarf in his path. The Dwarf reflexively raised the haft of his axe—but when the punch landed, the axe split clean in two.
The Uruk-hai's fist drove into the Dwarf's chest and burst out through his back.
The Dwarf vomited a mouthful of blood. His eyes widened in shock. The Uruk-hai pulled his arm free from the body and hurled the corpse into a cluster of Dwarves. Before those who fell could even rise, they were slaughtered by Orcs.
Seeing this, the Dwarves roared in fury and charged.
The Uruk-hai commander swung his sword like a storm. The head of the first Dwarf flew off. He kicked the one coming from the left, sending him flying two meters away. He grabbed another by the head—and crushed it until it burst.
Blood sprayed everywhere like rain.
He turned to the remaining three Dwarves. With a single fluid motion, he cut them all down. Their bodies collapsed to the ground, eyes still open.
The nearby Dwarves were seething with rage… but none dared to rush forward.
The Uruk-hai commander saw this. He smiled. He roared in triumph.
Then he turned toward another Dwarf. He raised his sword, preparing to split him vertically in two.
The Dwarf clenched his teeth.
But that blow never came.
A crimson aura exploded outward.
A Dwarven officer cloaked in red aura burst onto the scene at full speed. He drove his shoulder into the Uruk-hai. The force of the impact shoved the Uruk-hai sideways; deep grooves were carved into the ground beneath his feet. He stabbed his sword into the earth to stop himself, yet still slid back, bowling over several Orcs in the process.
The instant he came to a halt—
A heavy axe strike descended.
The Uruk-hai reflexively raised his sword with both hands, pouring aura into it and barely blocking the blow in time. Even so, the impact forced him to stagger back two steps.
His brows furrowed.
Standing before him was the Dwarven officer, wrapped in crimson aura.
Their gazes locked.
The Dwarven officer spoke harshly:
"*Fight someone your own size, you disgusting **!"
He flooded his legs with aura and lunged forward. He swung his great axe. The Uruk-hai answered with equal force.
The weapons of the two aura users collided.
BOOM.
A shockwave rippled through the air. Neither of them stopped. Great sword and great axe clashed again and again, each blow heavier than the last. Orcs and Dwarves nearby instinctively fell back.
The Dwarven officer swept his axe horizontally. The Uruk-hai countered. Their weapons glanced off each other.
The Dwarven officer did not relent.
He spun around himself, building momentum, and attacked again.
The Uruk-hai raised his sword, but the force of the spinning strike drove him backward.
As the Uruk-hai slid—
The Dwarven officer gathered aura into his legs and leapt.
While airborne, he poured his aura into his axe. The blade flared a blazing crimson.
The timing was perfect.
A vertical strike came down.
The Uruk-hai reflexively tried to defend, channeling aura into his sword.
But he had underestimated his opponent.
The sword shattered under the impact.
The axe did not slow. It split the Uruk-hai commander clean in two.
When the axe struck the ground, stones burst upward and a crater formed. For a brief moment, the Uruk-hai's body seemed to remain standing. Then it fell in two separate halves.
Blood gushed from the severed edge.
The blood-soaked Dwarven officer spat on the ground in contempt.
"*You thought you could stop my Dwarven axe with that bargain-bin sword, **!"
The moment his words ended, he did not pause for even an instant.
The Dwarven officer reignited his crimson aura and surged forward. His axe swept in a single arc, tearing the leg of the Orc before him clean off below the knee. The Orc collapsed to the ground with a scream of agony, desperately trying to clutch the severed limb.
But no mercy was given.
Without slowing, the officer twisted his grip and brought the axe down. The blow sank into the Orc's neck. The head fell, rolling among the stones.
In the next heartbeat, he leapt to the left. His axe fell again, splitting another Orc clean in half at the waist. Blood erupted outward as the body dropped in two separate pieces.
The Dwarven officer quickly scanned his surroundings.
An Uruk-hai archer was taking aim.
He snatched up a spear from the ground. Aura wrapped around the weapon, and the metal flared with a crimson glow. The officer halted, steadied his breath, took aim—
and hurled it with all his strength.
When the spear struck the Uruk-hai archer's chest, it punched a hole the size of a fist straight through him. The archer toppled backward, eyes glassy and unfocused.
But the spear did not stop.
Without losing momentum, it pierced through three more Orcs. It finally came to a trembling halt, half-buried in the chest of the fourth.
The Dwarven officer was already moving on.
The aura still enveloped his body. His eyes swept across the battlefield—
and he singled out another aura user radiating power much like his own.
Without the slightest hesitation, he turned toward him.
Two forces, laden with power, rushed toward each other across the plain, closing in for an inevitable clash.
Mephisto was not content with merely watching the battle between the two aura users with great enthusiasm; he was actively cheering for the Dwarf, waving a large flag like a devoted supporter and shouting at the top of his lungs.
"PUSH THEM, DWARVES! HAHAHAHA!"
Ciri, who had been following Igris's life with keen interest, also found the opportunity—thanks to Mephisto—to watch the battle between the aura users.
"So this is aura?" she said.
Mephisto slipped into the role of a teacher and nodded solemnly.
"Yes. But don't worry—within this simulation, the Dwarves of your world will not face opponents like these. They've barely adapted to their bodies yet; attempting to use aura now would cause severe internal injuries. Besides, loading them with pre-made experience feels unnecessary. It's better for them to learn it themselves. Like Igris, I don't believe in power gained for free—that's why I like him. When someone gains strength while accumulating experience and real combat insight, they can go much further. They can even carve out new paths, develop new techniques. But with a technique that's simply handed to them and placed on top of their abilities, what they can achieve is far more limited… at least unless they're exceptionally intelligent. And even those have their shortcomings. That's where our system comes into play! Enhancement systems exist precisely for that purpose. I've always looked down on those who rely on them… but unfortunately, in some worlds, such systems are necessary. Anyway, enhancement systems aren't really our concern."
Ciri tilted her head to the side, curiosity evident.
"What do you mean by that?"
Mephisto waved his hand dismissively as he spoke.
"Forget it… I'm just rambling. These topics aren't things that concern you. Focus on your task. The reason I pulled you away from watching Igris was because I wanted you to see this fight between aura users and understand what kind of opponents exist in that world."
Mephisto grinned mischievously.
"Now go on—keep watching the life of that man you're so curious about."
Ciri shot him a sharp glare before replying.
"I'm just gathering intelligence and trying to understand who we're up against."
Mephisto casually picked up his binoculars and began scanning the battlefield to watch another fight, murmuring to himself,
"Mhm, mhm."
Ciri rolled her eyes and continued focusing on her task. Just then, something occurred to Mephisto. He pulled out a bottle and handed it to Ciri. She stared at it in surprise.
"What is this?"
Mephisto chuckled.
"Drink it. It will make you stronger by enhancing your bloodline, and it will also help you control your power more easily. But don't say I didn't warn you—your body will undergo constant changes and continue to evolve."
Ciri's brows furrowed.
"Why would I want something like that, and why should I trust you? Because of the ancient blood inside me, I was hunted endlessly, lost my friends—Vesemir died right before my eyes because of it! This thing is nothing but a curse."
Mephisto rolled his eyes.
"This is different, all right? Right now you can only increase your speed by using Blink, but Blink won't protect you in this world. Think of it as a gift from me. This is something from my personal vault, and I guarantee it will be very useful to you. It will suppress the instability of your Elder Blood and turn it into a power entirely under your control—but I should note that it's a process that takes time."
He tossed the bottle toward Ciri. Catching it, she stared at it suspiciously, then asked with curiosity,
"Why are you helping me?"
Mephisto replied with a chuckle.
"I'm not actually helping you. I'm helping Igris—and indirectly, I'm helping myself."
Ciri frowned.
"What do you mean by that?"
Mephisto waved his hand dismissively.
"It's not important. What matters is that you drink it. It will benefit you, Igris, and me. But the choice is yours. Think of it as something similar to what the Dwarves drank. It strengthens your body, your bloodline, and your power, and helps you gain better control. Still, I'll repeat it and underline it—the choice is yours."
Ciri looked at the elixir in her hand with suspicion and hesitated. But she had seen Zoltan drink something similar and nothing had happened to him. Besides, the only truly special thing about her was her power—the Elder Blood—which allowed her, for a very short time, to control it and open interdimensional gateways. For Mephisto and his organization, however, such feats were as easy as breathing. There was nothing they could possibly take from her. Honestly, if Mephisto truly wanted to do something, he could have done countless things already—he had that kind of power. Thinking all this through, Ciri hesitated for a moment longer, then opened the bottle.
Beside her, Mephisto spoke absentmindedly while watching the battle.
"Oh! By the way, the first process is extremely painful and can cause some permanent changes to the body."
He finished his sentence and looked at Ciri.
She was staring back at him in shock.
The bottle in her hand was empty.
Mephisto's eyes twitched. He was stunned.
"When did you drink it!?"
Ciri suddenly felt a sharp pain burning through her body. Slowly, her veins began to swell. She groaned in agony. Mephisto snapped his fingers rapidly, and in an instant he was wearing doctor's clothes. After laying Ciri onto a hospital bed, he quickly strapped her down.
"EMERGENCY PATIENT! EMERGENCY PATIENT! IN FIVE SECONDS HER BODY WILL BE HIT BY SEVERE PAIN! NURSE! BRING MORPHINE!"
Ciri groaned violently, feeling a pain she had never experienced in her life. Her body began to convulse uncontrollably. From every part of her body—eyes, nose, mouth, ears included—a black liquid began to flow. She was about to scream. Mephisto quickly created a soundproof field.
"Let's not break the Dwarves' concentration… Why did you drink it now, of all times!?"
Ciri glared at Mephisto with pain and fury.
"This is your fault! When I get out of here, I'm going to kill you!"
Mephisto froze for a moment. After thinking briefly, he spoke.
"You're right. Don't worry—I'll take responsibility!"
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU SADISTIC BASTARD!"
"The process will take less than half an hour. This is normal. The potion expels impurities and repairs missing or damaged cells. Pain is normal—but when it's over, you'll see that it was worth it… though your body might end up being somewhat different."
"AGHHHH… WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT!?"
Mephisto answered seriously.
"I have absolutely no idea."
"I SWEAR, WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, I'LL KILL YOU! MEPHISTOOOOOO!"
Mephisto shouted toward a nonexistent nurse.
"NURSE! WE URGENTLY NEED MORPHINE! THE PATIENT IS HALLUCINATING AND STARTING TO TALK NONSENSE! SHE'S SEEING IMPOSSIBLE THINGS! WHERE ARE YOU, WOMAN!"
At the same time, on the battlefield, the clash between Dwarves and Orcs was continuing with brutal intensity. An Orc began to roar a battle cry—but a hammer smashed into his head, crushing his body down to the waist. The hammer immediately struck another Orc on the shoulder; the force sent him flying sideways, crashing into two more Orcs. The hammer then lunged toward a Uruk-hai. The Uruk-hai blocked with his shield, but the impact hurled him backward. His shield was bent, his arm snapped, the bone protruding from the flesh. Kneeling in agony, the Uruk-hai looked at the Dwarf holding the hammer with a mix of hatred and fear—Thráin, Thorin's father.
Thráin spun the massive hammer rapidly in both hands, then slammed its handle hard into the ground and roared,
"COME ON, YOU UGLY THINGS! FACE ME!"
He unleashed his aura wildly. The ground beneath his feet slowly cracked apart, and the red aura made him look even more menacing. The surrounding Orcs took several steps back in fear and tension. Three Uruk-hai aura users surrounded Thráin, flaring their own auras as they challenged him.
Thráin carefully observed his surroundings. Gripping the massive hammer tightly with both hands, he watched as the Uruk-hai on the left lunged forward, raising the twin axes he held in both hands. Thráin swung his hammer in a swift arc, targeting the Uruk-hai's waist. The Uruk-hai, startled, desperately tried to defend himself with his twin axes. The hammer collided with the axes, but it failed to fully stop the force of the blow, and the Uruk-hai's ribs shattered. Groaning in agony, the Uruk-hai staggered backward.
Thráin felt a chill crawl up his spine. He turned around and swiftly raised his hammer, blocking the incoming strike. Releasing one hand from the hammer's grip, he shifted sideways as the Uruk-hai's sword scraped down the haft, throwing off sparks as it slid downward. The Uruk-hai, caught off guard by the deflection, pitched forward in surprise. Thráin instantly sheathed his free hand in aura, clenched it into a fist, and drove it with all his strength into the Uruk-hai's jaw. The jaw shattered with a sickening crack; the Uruk-hai was hurled slightly backward and slammed to the ground. He was unconscious.
Feeling another shiver along his back, Thráin leaned sharply to the side. A sword missed him by mere centimeters, grazing past. Thráin snapped the hammer's haft backward, smashing it into his enemy's throat. The Uruk-hai's throat collapsed, causing him to choke on his own blood. Blood spilled from his mouth as he clawed at his neck with both hands, desperately trying to breathe. Noble and kind-hearted Thráin was deeply pained by his opponent's suffering; to end it, he crushed the Uruk-hai's head with his hammer, freeing him from agony.
Breathing heavily, thick vapor pouring from his mouth, Thráin calmly turned around and glared coldly at the first aura-using Uruk-hai he had wounded earlier. The Uruk-hai was so terrified that he had soiled himself; his skin tone began shifting from green to a sickly gray. He desperately tried to retreat and save his life, but the moment he turned his back, a Dwarf buried an axe into his head. The Uruk-hai's eyes widened in shock as life left him. The Dwarf who killed him rushed to Thráin's side, pressing his back against Thráin's. He was breathing hard.
"The situation is starting to get really bad, Thráin!"
After blocking an Orc's attack, the Dwarf struck him with a punch and knocked him down. Acting quickly, he drove his axe into the chest of the Orc lying on his back, then continued speaking.
"There are too many of them! If this keeps up, we'll lose the battle!"
He blocked another incoming attack and went on.
"Our cavalry isn't doing well either! Balin is doing everything he can, but there are too many Wargs!"
Fighting while listening to the Dwarf behind him, Thráin replied gravely,
"I know, Dwalin!"
After crushing yet another enemy with his hammer, Thráin swiftly pulled a throwing axe from his belt and hurled it at another Orc. The axe sank into the Orc's head, knocking him flat onto his back. Casually blocking another attack, Thráin continued,
"Have you seen the King and my son?"
After headbutting his opponent, Dwalin replied,
"Yes! They're to the southeast! They were fighting very close to each other."
As Thráin killed another enemy, he spoke again,
"Take me to them!"
Dwalin nodded, and the two advanced through the battlefield, fighting as they went, leading the surrounding Dwarves and cutting down their enemies. They began moving relentlessly toward their destination. Thráin was a prince, not the king. With his father present, he could not overstep him and order a retreat—neither his honor, nor his rank, nor the love and respect he held for his father would allow it. Therefore, he had to find him and persuade him to withdraw or to fight on more favorable terrain. Otherwise, they would suffer enormous losses—or be completely annihilated.
Elsewhere on the battlefield, a Dwarf from the Witcher world was charging forward atop his ram. The ram barreled ahead without slowing, smashing enemies to the ground with its head. The Dwarf's name was Cori, and at that moment he was extremely tense. The battle felt terrifyingly real; at some point, Cori had completely forgotten that this was supposed to be an illusion. He cut down Orcs with his sword as he advanced. After several seconds, a Uruk-hai hurled a spear that struck the ram. Cori was thrown into shock as he fell and tumbled along with the ram. He lay on the ground, dazed, his head spinning violently from the impact. When he lifted his head and looked around, he was met with corpses and severed body parts. His stomach churned—both from what he saw and from his fear of death.
As Cori tried to stand up, a shadow appeared to his left. He looked in shock and saw an Orc grinning grotesquely, sword raised and ready to kill him. Cori froze, feeling the sharp breath of death upon him.
"Wait! Please, don't!"
Cori tried to beg, but the Orc only grinned wider. It was obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying Cori's helpless state. It was precisely at this moment that the difference between the Dwarves of Arda and the Dwarves of the Witcher world began to reveal itself. Even though the Witcher Dwarves had physically become Dwarves of Arda, their mindset was still bound to the experiences of their former world. The Dwarves of Arda would never easily beg their enemies for mercy; they would glare back defiantly and die with their pride intact. İgris was well aware of this—indeed, it was one of the reasons he had chosen the Battle of Azanulbizar.
Just as the Orc was preparing to kill Cori, a Dwarf rushed in and slammed into the Orc with his shield. The Orc staggered in shock. When he turned to the left and saw the Dwarf, he roared in fury and attacked. The Dwarf blocked with his shield and countered with his sword. A deep gash opened across the Orc's chest; blood burst from the wound. The Orc roared in pain and dropped to his knees, clutching his chest with both hands. The Dwarf moved instantly, driving his sword straight into the Orc's heart. The Orc froze, staring into the Dwarf's eyes in disbelief. The Dwarf pulled his sword free, spun swiftly on his heel, and swung again. The Orc's head separated from his body, hit the ground, and rolled to a stop right in front of Cori. Cori had gone deathly pale; he looked as though he were on the verge of collapse. The Dwarf rushed over, grabbed him by the shoulder, and hauled him up.
"Are you alright, cousin? We don't have time to rest right now!"
For a moment, Cori could not even find words. He could only nod. The Dwarf quickly pulled Cori toward himself. Cori was startled as the Dwarf moved behind him, raised his shield, and blocked an Orc's attack coming from the rear. The Dwarf counterattacked immediately, but the Orc leapt back, narrowly avoiding the blow. At that moment, Cori snapped out of his shock and moved to stop another Orc who was trying to sneak up on the Dwarf who had saved him. He slammed his shield hard against the Orc's spear. The Orc reeled, his balance broken. Cori instantly drove his sword into the Orc's throat, twisted it sharply, and ripped it free. Blood sprayed violently from the wound.
Cori pressed his back against the Dwarf who had saved him. The Dwarf held his stance carefully, ready for battle, and spoke.
"What's your name?"
Still tense and in a fighting stance, Cori answered cautiously as he stared at the two Orcs in front of them, ready to attack.
"Cori Owern."
The Dwarf nodded. Watching the four Orcs poised before them, he spoke again.
"I am Galder, son of Sakan. I've got your back, brother. Do not leave my side. The enemy outnumbers us—if we're separated, we die. I trust you."
Cori was taken aback for a moment. The Dwarf had said this with unshakable confidence. In that instant, Cori began to truly understand the gulf between the Dwarves of Arda and the Witcher Dwarves. The trembling in his hands stopped, and his rigid posture steadied. With resolve, he replied,
"…Alright… brother…"
Similar moments were unfolding among the other Witcher Dwarves as well. This was the result of Mephisto's subtle manipulation—granting the Witcher Dwarves the chance to experience the proud Dwarves of Arda firsthand. The honor and pride etched deep into their genetic memory, long forgotten by the Witcher Dwarves, were slowly beginning to awaken once more.
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{5285 Words}
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