That sword is bad news all over. It radiates and hums with the same toxic energy of the red lyrium he encountered in Emprise du Lion, and getting hit with the business end might not go as well as the steel these other templar are wheeling around.

Or. Well. Were wheeling around. Samson's support has fallen, and he sees that posturing, that spiting vitriol for what it is. Desperation.

He might be even more dangerous now, if that stomp aimed at Ciri was any indication. But he can take a hit a lot better than the others can, and if he can pull Samson's focus for just long enough.

"Stop talking and prove it, then." With a snort, Bull hefts his axe and charges in, snow thrown up under his feet in the rush, and if all he does is get Samson on defense?

That's enough for the others to take their hit.