My Free Will System: Transmigrating Into My Favorite Immersion Game

For the soldiers who were watching, it was a breathtaking sight. The sheer force of Varric's magical surge was palpable, sending ripples through the air that could be felt by everyone nearby. The soldiers who had brought the axe could only watch in awe, their faces were reflecting a mix of reverence and fear.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Even Lord Thane, who had been so confident moments ago, took a hesitant step back, a frown deepening on his face as he realized the gravity of the situation.

The clash between Lord Varric and Lord Thane was nothing short of cataclysmic. The battlefield, already scarred and battered, now became the stage for a brutal display of power and skill. Their weapons collided with a resounding crash, the force of each blow sending shockwaves through the air. At first, the fight seemed evenly matched—two masters of their craft locked in a deadly dance.

But as the minutes passed, it became clear that the tide was turning. With every swing of his axe, Lord Varric pressed forward, his strikes grew more precise, more powerful. The grin on his face widened into a feral smile as he began to dominate the fight, each of his attacks coming faster and more furiously than the last.

Lord Thane, once confident and composed, found himself driven back, his defenses, barriers and shields he put up crumbled under Lord Varric's relentless onslaught.

Varric laughed, a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the battlefield as he unleashed a barrage of deadly strikes. His axe moved like a blur, cutting through Thane's defenses with an almost effortless grace. Each of Thane's counterattack spells were met with devastating force, hacked apart with a single sweep of Varric's weapon.

The Lord  found himself struggling to keep up, his movements growing more desperate as Varric's momentum built.

In a final, desperate attempt to turn the battle in his favor, Lord Thane raised his wand to the sky, and with a chant he called forth a storm of lightning. The heavens responded to his plea, dark clouds swirling above as bolts of lightning began to rain down on Varric with relentless fury. The air crackled with energy, the ground scorched where the bolts struck.

For a moment, it seemed as though Thane had found his opening, the storm battered Varric with no chance for escape.

But as the lightning rained down, Varric stood resolute, his form barely visible through the blinding flashes of light. Thane watched intently, his heart pounding as he poured the last of his mana into the spell. Not everyone was Elias Ashdown who could throw around spells for days and still have mana to spare

He needed this to work—there was no other option. The sheer power of the storm was overwhelming, but something was wrong. Varric wasn't moving, wasn't falling.

Then, through the crackling thunder and blinding light, a sound emerged. It started as a low rumble but quickly grew louder, clearer. It was laughter—Varric's laughter, defiant and unyielding. The sound sent a chill down Thane's spine.

"Guinevere, you do not sleep!" Varric bellowed, his voice booming over the storm, echoing through the chaos as if answering a call only he could hear. His laughter continued, growing louder with each passing moment, until it drowned out even the thunder.

And then, impossibly, Varric began to move. Slowly at first, then with increasing confidence, he took a step forward. The lightning that had once rained down with deadly precision now seemed to falter, losing its effectiveness as it struck his body. Each bolt that connected with him fizzled out, its energy dissipating harmlessly against the glow of his axe.

The storm was becoming nothing more than a background to Varric's overwhelming presence.

Thane's eyes widened in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat. "Shit," he cursed under his breath, panic creeping into his voice. He was out of options, out of mana, and out of time. The storm that was supposed to be his salvation had failed, and now there was nothing left between him and the wrath of Lord Varric.

Varric continued to advance, his laughter still echoing, his eyes locked on Thane. He was unstoppable, a force of nature that no spell could contain. The battle was no longer a contest—it was a rout, and Varric was relishing every moment of it.

As the storm subsided, the last of the lightning strikes fizzled out, leaving the battlefield eerily quiet. Lord Varric stood amidst the dissipating smoke, his massive frame crackling with residual electricity. The air around him shimmered with the lingering energy, and for a brief moment, he looked like a god of thunder himself, a figure wreathed in the remnants of a storm he had conquered.

Lord Thane, breathing heavily and with sweat beading on his brow, knew that continuing the spell would be futile—his mana reserves were nearly depleted, and Varric was still standing, more formidable than ever. Reluctantly, he lowered his wand, the tension in the air dissipating as the storm clouds above began to break apart.

"Wait," Thane called out, his voice strained but clear. He raised a hand in a gesture of peace, trying to stall the inevitable. "Hold on a moment, Varric. Let's not waste this opportunity."

Varric, still radiating with the power of the storm, paused mid-step, his axe poised for the final strike. He eyed Thane with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, the adrenaline of battle still coursing through his veins. "You've already wasted enough of my time, Thane," Varric growled, his voice crackling like the electricity that still danced around him.

Thane held his ground, his mind racing to find the right words. He knew he was outmatched physically, but he had one last card to play. "I commend your strength," he began, forcing a respectful tone into his voice. "Truly, you are a warrior of legend. But before you finish this, hear me out. I have an offer—one that could give you something more valuable than victory." .net

Varric narrowed his eyes, but he didn't strike. Instead, he waited, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "What could you possibly offer me, Thane, that would spare your miserable life?"

Thane licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. "Your wife, Varric. Guinevere. I can help you bring her back."

"If I were you I would watche my words caref , Thane?" Varric's voice was low, dangerous. "Guinevere is dead, and no magic can bring back the dead. Do not try to desecrate her name"