Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

In the blink of an eye, Caman approached the green-eyed blond man with a speed that Winters could hardly react to, and stabbed his sword into the latter's throat, forcibly silencing his words midway.

An urgent and merciless elbow strike directly shattered the chest bone of the green-eyed man.

It was only at this moment that the sound of Ernest Fuller, who lost his support and fell, reached the ears of others.

Similarly, only at this moment did Winters, his guards, and the four masked men regain their senses and make their next move.

Caman had already made his killing move, and Winters did not hesitate to enter a spellcasting state.

However, the feedback from the third hand was not the familiar phantom pain, but an indescribable, unbearable, tearing severe pain.

The sudden and intolerable pain seemed to tear Winters apart; he convulsed and fell, causing another Dusack guard to cry out in shock and immediately draw his sword to help Winters up.

Winters trembled, struggling to get up, and within a few seconds, his clothes were soaked with cold sweat.

"Leave me be," Winters leaning on the ground and gritting his teeth, pushed the guard away forcefully and pointed towards the masked men, "Kill them."

Nine out of ten, those masked men were court wizards. Duels between spellcasters happen in the blink of an eye, and Winters didn't know if there was enough time.

However, he saw a bizarre scene: all four masked men were also on the ground, obviously having endured tremendous pain; the most severe among them emitted strangled, miserable screams while convulsing continuously.

Meanwhile, Caman was holding one of the masked men by the collar, cleanly and swiftly shattering his throat with a punch.

More jumbled footsteps approached, not from the direction of the inn—the green-eyed man had other accomplices.

Winters staggered to his feet, feeling his limbs regain some strength, he pulled out his wand-sword, and commanded loudly to his subordinates: "Go back!"

The guards paused for a moment, then clenched their teeth and nodded briskly before heading toward the inn at a sprint.

At that time, Caman was already "dealing" with the third masked man.

Although Winters' limbs were still somewhat disobedient, his mind was clearer than ever; he figured out what was happening in the time it took to breathe and hurriedly shouted at Caman, "Keep one alive!"

Caman looked up at Winters, his eyes sharp as an eagle, his voice filled with anger: "None can be spared!"

Before he finished speaking, he twisted the third masked man's neck brutally.

Winters bellowed unwillingly and faced the approaching enemies with his sword.

All the sudden changes took place in an instant; old Schmid and Fuller had not yet recovered their senses when Winters was already engaging in close combat with the new enemies.

It was only when Fuller got blood splashed on his clothes that he realized he wasn't dreaming. It was like the plump man sobered up instantly and cried out as if his life depended on it: "Murder!"

This scream drew attention immediately.

Old Schmid angrily slapped Fuller's son and clutching him by the arm, stumbled toward the lakeside inn.

The green-eyed had brought along more than a dozen swordsmen. As soon as they sensed something was amiss, these swordsmen, originally ambushed around to prevent their targets from escaping, immediately surrounded them.

The moment Winters exchanged blows with an enemy, he immediately knew they were adept.

The swordsman facing Winters had strong arms and ferocious attacks, leveraging the length advantage of the Swift Sword, utterly disregarding Winters' counterattack, directly aiming for Winters' vital spots.

Winters' wand-sword had no guard to lock the opponent's weapon, and Winters had no time to tangle with the opponent.

In a flashing moment, Winters "seized" a fleeting opportunity and reached for the opponent's sword with his cape as padding.

He held tightly onto the blade in his hand, not letting it move an inch.

The opponent was initially startled, did not abandon the sword, but withdrew and stepped back.

In a split second, a horrific wound appeared in Winters' palm, and his wand-sword had pierced through the opponent's chest.

Winters did not linger in the fight, pulling distance before the other swordsmen could close in, leaving his opponent clutching his wound and collapsing on the ground.

More swordsmen surrounded him, Winters desperately needed to recover his spellcasting ability, but he dared not easily enter the spellcasting state.

Just then, Caman had finished off the last masked man and was unrelentingly backing up Winters.

Unlike Winters, Caman made no probing movements, no standoffs; his combat style was simple, crude, and direct. His movements were as agile as a big cat, but the power in his fists was frightening like that of a bear.

When the opponent's Swift Sword lunged, Caman simply parried it with his arm and immediately closed the distance with unmatched speed, smashing either the opponent's chest bone or throat with a punch.

It seemed like exchanging injury for life, but Caman seemed utterly indifferent to being hurt, only avoiding certain vital points.

By the time Winters had taken down the second enemy, Caman had already dealt with three swordsmen—barehanded.

Witnessing Caman's "cost-unmindful combat style" and "unimaginably skilled barehanded fighting technique," one swordsman suddenly realized, he screamed madly, "You are… you are…"

Before he could finish speaking, the swordsman's jaw took a heavy hit. He was knocked out on the spot, then Caman kicked, breaking his cervical spine.

The swordsmen still alive realized: those with swords, they couldn't resolve quickly; those with bare hands, they couldn't deal with at all.