Fighting style of rich people

Looking at the acolytes in the temple hall, now clearly corrupted by the evil god's power, Vesemir's expression turned grim. He shouted to the others, "The evil god's power is formidable. Be careful, everyone. These acolytes have been corrupted. The enemy is about to attack."

Wayne's face mirrored Vesemir's seriousness. The acolytes transformation was alarming; their power clearly amplified. The evil god's influence was not to be underestimated. Even if the acolytes weren't slain by the witchers, they would likely succumb to the corrupting power, becoming sacrifices to the evil god. The battle ahead promised to be difficult. The sheer size of the transformed acolytes indicated a significant increase in their combat strength. The previous tactic of direct confrontation would no longer suffice to protect the sorceresses.

Fortunately, Wayne had anticipated this scenario. He yelled to Vesemir and the others, "Execute the plan! Don't hold back on my account. Safety is important."

As if on cue, the evil god's avatar at the back of the acolyte ranks emitted a terrifying, rasping cry. An invisible force erupted from it, filling the temple.

Upon hearing this sound, all the witchers and sorceresses, including Wayne, felt a jolt as if their minds were being assaulted by a psychic force.

It felt as if an unseen force was attempting to rip their souls from their bodies. Overcome by intense pain and a haze over their minds, they lost control. The acolytes waving their staves abruptly stopped, their forms erupting into a bloody mist infused with the malevolent god's power. This transformed into countless crimson tendrils of energy that seeped into the acolytes standing before them.

Empowered by this sinister energy, the acolytes grew even larger, a surge of violent power emanating from their bodies. Suddenly, Triss, who had been maintaining the magical barrier from behind the crowd, cried out. Her mind was under assault by the god's psychic attack. Not only was her consciousness overwhelmed, but her body could no longer contain the chaotic magic within her. The barrier she'd worked tirelessly to uphold began to falter, and the backlash of energy caused Triss to collapse, her face pale and foam spilling from her lips.

As Triss fell, the barrier surrounding them constricted, millions of tons of lake water surging towards them like a broken dam. At that moment, a radiant energy burst forth from Wayne's brow. It banished the god's influence from his mind and wove a protective melody around him. Wayne recognized the ethereal tune as that of the Lady of the Lake.

With no time to ponder the implications, Wayne reacted instinctively to the impending deluge.

Quickly forming a seal with his hands, he channeled all his magical energy upwards, conjuring a massive Quen shield that encompassed a ten-meter diameter above them. This protective dome sheltered him, the three sorceresses, and the witchers. Though smaller in scope than the sorceresses' underwater barrier, this wasn't due to a disparity in magical power. Rather, the Quen shield was a basic, unchanted spell, barely even qualifying as one. If not for Wayne's recent studies in spellcraft, he wouldn't have been able to cast it at all.

Even with his efforts, the shield could not be strengthened beyond its inherent limitations. It paled in comparison to the underwater barrier, which had been crafted with specific magical rules and tailored for aquatic conditions. Maintaining the Quen shield drained Wayne's Chaos energy rapidly, causing cracks to appear in the skin of his hands.

Despite his best efforts, Wayne's power was no match for the immense force of the surging water. The shield shattered under the unimaginable pressure, its semicircular form seemingly compressed as the chaotic energy within it was consumed at an alarming rate.

A burning sensation spread through Wayne's mutated organs, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he coughed up a crimson spray. His transformation into a Source Warlock was the only thing preventing him from being immediately crushed and swept away. This was the first time since his arrival in this world that he had been injured, and the damage was severe.

Agonizing pain racked his body, his mutated organs strained beyond their limits. The immense pressure of the water felt as though it was crushing his very bones. A sickening cracking sound filled the air as the lake water continued its relentless assault, threatening to obliterate him entirely.

Despite the agonizing pain, Wayne held on, driven by the need to protect his companions. They were under his care, and he refused to let any of them suffer lasting harm during this mission.

Thankfully, the Lady of the Lake's blessing proved potent, freeing everyone from the evil god's mental grasp. Though Triss had succumbed to the magical backlash and lay unconscious, and Keira was still recovering from the psychic assault, Yennefer was the first sorceress to regain her senses.

Taking in Wayne's dire situation, she wasted no time. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she began casting a new underwater barrier. The witchers, too, awoke from their stupor. Witnessing Wayne's struggle to maintain the Quen shield, they were eager to help but lacked the magical knowledge to do so.

Yennefer's exceptional talent shone through even in this crisis. With swift, precise movements, she restored the underwater barrier, halting the onslaught of water and relieving the pressure on Wayne.

As the immediate danger subsided, a wave of even greater pain washed over Wayne, but he ignored it, shouting to the others, "Keira, focus on the barrier!"

"Everyone else, as planned, prepare the Northern wind bombs for a saturation strike," Wayne commanded.

Keira, despite her lingering disorientation, instinctively began casting a protective spell. The witchers, meanwhile, retrieved their Northern bombs and armed them. While other alchemical bombs were ineffective underwater, Northern wind bombs, which relied on freezing power, were not only potent in aquatic environments but even more devastating due to their unique properties.

As Wayne struggled against the pain of his injuries, the mutated acolytes completed their transformations and launched a ferocious attack. Engorged with the evil god's power, they had lost all semblance of reason. Grotesque tentacles sprouted from their bodies, their eyes burning with a bloodthirsty red as they charged towards the group.

But this was exactly what the witchers had hoped for. As the acolytes closed in, over a dozen Northern wind bombs were hurled, each carefully aimed to maximize their impact. Simultaneously, Keira completed her spell, erecting a shield specifically designed to protect against the intense cold.

The bombs detonated in a series of explosions, unleashing a wave of freezing energy that rapidly spread through the water.

Within ten seconds, the water surrounding them froze solid, encasing most of the mutated acolytes in thick ice. Frozen mid-movement, they became statues, trapped and immobilized. Though the cold wouldn't kill these aquatic creatures, it would rapidly drain their body heat, sending them into a state of hibernation.

However, not all of the acolytes had been caught in the blast. Some, moving slower than the others, had escaped the freezing radius. Fueled by the evil god's power, they had no concept of fear or self-preservation, mindlessly charging towards the group from different angles.

But Wayne was prepared. As the remaining acolytes approached, Vesemir and the others unleashed another volley of Northern bombs, targeting the new threats. Each bomb cost a hefty thirty crowns, and in a matter of minutes, they had expended nearly a thousand crowns worth of explosives.

It was a costly tactic, but an effective one. The remaining acolytes were frozen solid, neutralized, if not killed. The immediate danger had been dealt with.

Wayne, using his steel sword as a crutch, struggled to his feet, coughing up another mouthful of blood. He quickly downed a healing potion from the druid elder and a second, stronger one from his own inventory. Then, pointing his sword at the monstrous effigy of the evil god, he shouted,

"There's no time to waste," Wayne urged. "We have to destroy the evil god clone before it causes more trouble."

Drawing upon the Lady of the Lake's residual blessing, he invoked its power once more, enveloping everyone in a protective aura that shielded them from the clone's mental influence.

George of the School of the Griffin, ever the bravest, was the first to act. He downed a potion of underwater breathing and charged towards the clone, followed closely by his fellow Wolf School witchers, including Vesemir. Six master witchers surrounded the clone, their movements swift and coordinated.

Though fighting underwater put the witchers at a disadvantage, their combined skill was enough to challenge even a monster, let alone an clone of a god.

Wayne, severely injured, could only watch helplessly from within the barrier as Keira and the witchers battled the clone. The only thing he could do was tend to Triss, who remained unconscious. He gently administered an intermediate healing potion from Azeroth, its magic-free properties safe for the magically sensitive sorceress.