The Battle's Crucible

"Furthermore," Ragnar continued, his voice unwavering, "from the bay, Ostrill's archers unleashed a barrage of iron spears. We shall turn their weapons against them with fire and fury. Let none of their planes escape our wrath. If we can bring them down before they reach Clearport, General Pyndale and his troops can be spared from engaging in battle. Ostrill did not send ground forces, and they are yet to recover from the same setbacks as Cescil's troops."

"Understood," Arn and Rast replied in unison, mounting their respective dragons.

Meanwhile, General Pyndale and his troops aided Roman in swiftly outfitting the Gamaaloth dragons with the necessary armor, ensuring they were well-prepared for the forthcoming battle.

"Qedren stays on the ground with Reeve. Please help stop Qedren's bleeding." Ragnar said while looking at Lady Sophia. His eyes held a hint of worry.

Lady Sophia's breath caught in her throat, struck by the stark contrast between the Gamaaloths and Sir Arthur and his companions.

While Sir Arthur had shown no hesitation in causing harm to his pet birds for mere spectacle, the Gamaaloths displayed a deep sense of care and regard for their dragons, treating them as cherished family members.

"You're injured," Lady Sophia gently reminded Ragnar, her voice filled with concern. It seemed he had momentarily forgotten about his own wound.

Ragnar glanced down at the arrow lodged in his chest, his demeanor strangely serene, as if the hole in his chest held no sway over him. "How long can you keep the bleeding at bay?" he inquired.

"It depends on the severity of the wound. Given the depth of yours, I estimate around 30 minutes," Lady Sophia replied earnestly.

"Too slow," Ragnar muttered, a hint of frustration in his voice. "We must swiftly bring down those planes. It's one dragon against three aircraft. Time is of the essence."

"I will join forces with Uzana," Roman declared, handing Ragnar his armor. Ragnar gratefully accepted it, acknowledging the significance of the upcoming battle.

"Indeed, Roman. Waste no time and swiftly follow Uzana's lead. Encourage him to don the armor as well. We shall confront a daunting challenge with four dragons against fifteen aircraft and an army of archers lining the bay," Ragnar commanded with determination.

With a quick motion, Ragnar ducked and snapped off the iron arrow protruding from the front of his chest. However, he left the remaining arrowhead within the wound, using it to fill the cavity.

"This wound can be attended to later. Extracting it now would only complicate matters," he muttered, fastening his armor securely.

"Ragnar," Sophia called out, her voice filled with concern, but unsure of how to intervene. The arrow wound on his back continued to seep fresh blood, a worrisome sight that weighed heavily on her heart.

"Heal Qedren," Ragnar reiterated, his voice filled with determination. "I made a promise to take him out to play tomorrow, and I never break my word."

He turned his gaze away, and Lady Sophia couldn't help but wonder if he was struggling to hold back tears.

With a click of his tongue, Ragnar signaled Ymat to take flight. Mounting his dragon, he returned to the battlefield, resolute in his determination to fight, even with an arrow still embedded in his chest.

Lady Sophia found herself momentarily at a loss for words. Ragnar's swift decision-making in matters of war strategy left her somewhat flustered.

Even General Pyndale, an experienced military leader, had barely been given a moment to process and contemplate the situation before actions were set into motion.

Adeline, in the midst of her attempts to stem the bleeding from Qedren's wound, found herself gaping at Ragnar's rapid assessment of the battlefield and decisive decision-making.

However, her attention was quickly pulled back to the dire situation at hand. The spear wound on Qedren's neck was substantial, and the bleeding proved challenging to halt. Lady Sophia soon approached, assessing the dragon's condition with a heavy heart.

"The wound is too extensive," Lady Sophia muttered, her voice filled with sadness and a tinge of helplessness.

The other healer girls looked on with sorrowful expressions, realizing that despite their efforts, Qedren's fate seemed grim and his life could not be saved.

Reeve, Qedren's devoted rider, sought solace by gently caressing the top of his dragon's head, his touch filled with both gratitude and remorse. Over and over again, he whispered the words "sorry" and "thank you" in a heartfelt manner.

"Qedren, you courageous soul who endured arrows and spears to shield me," Reeve repeatedly murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of reverence and admiration for the dragon's unwavering loyalty and sacrifice.

Lady Sophia gazed intently at Reeve for a brief moment before taking a deep breath. With a gentle touch on Qedren's injured form, she closed her eyes, fully immersing herself in a moment of focused concentration.

In a soft, melodic tone, Lady Sophia began to chant in a language unfamiliar to the healer girls, a mystical elven tongue that carried an air of ancient wisdom and enchantment.

As the words flowed from her lips, subtle but tangible energy seemed to emanate from her, causing a shudder to run through each of the healer girls, their senses attuned to the otherworldly nature of the spell being woven.

In a moment, both awe-inspiring and surreal, something truly extraordinary occurred. As Lady Sophia continued her incantation, mystical energy surged forth, causing the flesh to inexplicably and rapidly regenerate.

Qedren's gaping wound on his neck closed before their eyes as if time itself had been reversed. The bleeding ceased abruptly, leaving no trace of the grievous injury that had plagued the noble dragon just moments before.

Gasps of astonishment filled the air as the healer girls witnessed this miraculous healing.

After expending tremendous energy, Lady Sophia's body could no longer sustain her. Exhausted and drained, she collapsed onto the grass, her form becoming limp and motionless.

Her eyes remained closed, showing no sign of immediate awakening. The healer girls, filled with concern, rushed to Lady Sophia's side, their faces etched with worry and urgency.

The magnitude of the magic Lady Sophia had just performed placed her squarely within the realm of high-level sorcery. It was an extraordinary display of her exceptional abilities, far beyond what most could comprehend or achieve.

Had the Cescil aristocracy been aware of her remarkable powers, Lady Sophia would have faced a similar fate to Lady Severa, who had been persecuted for her own extraordinary magical aptitude.

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