While Ryan and his family are enjoying a picnic, trouble brews to the north of Couronne, at Castle Arlons.
The Bretonnian Northern Army has stationed itself here. Situated north of Couronne, Arlons is a crucial economic hub and a gateway along the northern coastline of Connaught Duchy. To reach Couronne itself, Arlons is a vital step along the way. Over the years, the capital has faced many attacks, prompting successive kings to heavily fortify this castle and appoint both an earl as its lord and a governor under the authority of the King and Duke of Connaught to command the garrison.
Currently, however, the Northern Army under Carad's command controls the area. Both Earl Jean de Arlons and the governor appointed by Regent Lauen answer directly to Carad.
"The best-known specialty here is the famous Arlons lace. Many royal tailors came from here," Jean de Arlons II explained to Carad as they walked through the streets. "But it seems His Majesty Ryan doesn't think highly of our tailors. They are excellent, though, just as skilled as those in the south, whether for royal attire or military uniforms."
"I'll mention it to His Majesty Ryan if I get the chance," replied Carad, offering a polite response. Spending so much time with Ryan had taught Carad how to handle such remarks gracefully.
After some shopping, Carad purchased some lace for Catherine. Struggling to express his emotions, Carad decided to show his care through these thoughtful gifts. Meanwhile, positive news arrived from Ryan's court; the king had proposed that Catherine be made his countess, a plan that didn't draw much reaction from most dukes. Although Duke Berchmond opposed the match, his resistance was mild. With Ryan's support and Morgiana's approval, few raised objections.
The cobbled streets of Arlons, lined with half-timbered houses, exuded historic charm. Numerous ancient chapels, including those of the Grail, Sallia the Merciful, Valerina the Just, Moor the Reaper, Ulric the White Wolf, and Charlemagne the Just, stood as symbols of the town's heritage.
At a street corner, Carad noticed Belya and Meletskov engaged in a quiet conversation. Belya was drinking coffee with his usual grim expression, while Meletskov tasted a Bretonnian honey tart with an air of guarded flattery.
"My Commissar, what are you up to?" Carad asked, tossing his purchases to his squire. After dealing with Belya for so long, Carad had grown somewhat tolerant of his manner. Belya was a bureaucrat, but one fiercely loyal to Ryan and Carad, handling matters efficiently, though sometimes with a ruthlessly heavy hand.
"Just compiling a list, my earl." Belya forced a thin smile as he held a paper. "I'm trying to remember who in the Cheka prison might still have value. After serving His Majesty for so long, it's hard to keep track. Meletskov here is helping me jog my memory."
The general explained that many individuals were still detained in Kislev's Cheka prisons, from generals and marshals to scholars, doctors, engineers, and skilled laborers—individuals condemned under various pretexts to brutal suppression and imprisonment. Surveillance and fear of "Chaos corruption" were rampant, and these prisoners lived under constant threat of execution. However, unbeknownst to the Tsarina, Belya had established a covert network with the prison warden, Joseph, effectively creating a "Cheka Talent Market."
Joseph personally interrogated each prisoner, collecting details of their skills and potential usefulness, then handed these reports to Belya, who decided which prisoners to ransom for service in Bretonnia. Known as "Belya's List," this arrangement was a lifeline for prisoners who otherwise faced endless suffering and potential execution. Those on the list were treated with relative leniency, receiving cleaner cells, edible food, and occasional yard time as they awaited Belya's intervention.
"Belya, he's our savior, a blessing from Ursun himself!" declared Vavilov, a Kislev geneticist on the list.
Meletskov, having spent years in prison himself, pleaded with Belya to add more names to the list, knowing that every name meant one more life saved. But Belya balanced this against Ryan's needs and the budget.
Carad, glancing over the list, didn't fully understand the intricacies of Belya's work but appreciated the effort. Just as he prepared to return to the barracks, a scout arrived, racing up on horseback. "My lord! Urgent news!"
"What is it?" Carad asked calmly.
"A large barbarian fleet has appeared in the Claw Sea. They've quickly overwhelmed our privateers and even some of the Le Angron navy and are advancing rapidly toward our coastline!" the scout reported, his face grave. "When we received the report, they were already nearing Chantillon!"
"They're here." Carad immediately mounted his horse and issued commands.
"All forces, mobilize!"
"Prepare to support Chantillon!"
"Yes, sir!"
... Belya's List …
The Claw Sea was strewn with wreckage from Bretonnian ships, scattered across the turbulent waves. While Bretonnia's privateers were agile and capable, they stood no chance against the far faster Norscan longboats. Amidst the frenzied shouts and howls, nearly all of the patrolling Bretonnian vessels had been destroyed by Ulfrey's thousand-strong fleet of longboats. A few escaped, but Ulfrey was unfazed.
This time, Ulfrey's invasion of Bretonnia had two clear objectives. First, to plunder and raze the capital of the so-called "virtuous knights" to ashes. Second, before setting sail, Ulfrey had received a prophetic vision from the Dark Gods.
In his dream, the Chaos Gods commanded him to penetrate deep into Bretonnia and defeat a mighty warrior—a bane of Chaos, a foolish mortal (as Khorne called him), an irritating nuisance (according to Tzeentch), a loathsome worm (as Nurgle deemed him), and a simpleton (in Slaanesh's words): the Knight-King, Ryan-Malcador.
With this goal, Ulfrey's path was clear. Burn Couronne, slaughter those virtuous knights and weak southerners, and Ryan would be forced to confront him. For Ulfrey, it was a perfect plan.
As a wanderer, the last of the Sea Warriors, the Skull King, and chosen of the Four Chaos Gods, Ulfrey's life had been defined by combat and bloodshed. Though once a young man who loved life and the thrill of battle, pride had led to his downfall. Following his victory over King Torgard of the Norscan tribes in the Battle of a Thousand Skulls, he boasted of his unmatched prowess. Unfortunately, the Chaos Gods heard his claim.
That night, a dark emissary visited Ulfrey in his dreams, taking him through visions of heavenly realms, graveyards, and even the underworld, until he drowned in a sea of blood. Upon awakening, he found himself cursed by the gods. While gifted with the Tongues of Chaos, allowing him to challenge any warrior in their native tongue, he was also cursed to wander the world endlessly, seeking battle with worthy opponents, human or demon alike, to prove himself.
Now, with Ryan-Malcador as his target, Ulfrey knew that this was the Knight-King's last year alive. Standing on the deck of his flagship, the Sea Fang, a ship granted by Tzeentch with both sailing and limited flight capabilities, Ulfrey laughed. Once he had chosen his prey, escape was impossible. After his victory, he would dedicate his foe's skull to Khorne, the still-beating heart to Slaanesh, entrails to Nurgle, and the last breath to Tzeentch.
The fleet was now within sight of Chantillon, a port town north of Couronne. In terror, the townsfolk could feel the looming might of the northern invaders.
"Ding~ ding~ ding ding ding!" Bells tolled in Chantillon as the first Norscan longboats appeared on the horizon. Panicked villagers fled under the shouts of the town's garrison and knight retainers, heading south toward Couronne.
Thanks to General Meletskov's foresight, Chantillon and the nearby Andey Port had received Carad's warning in advance. Though the noble lords in charge were indifferent at first, their respect for Carad, a heroic legend and Grand Grail Knight, had led them to expedite the autumn harvest and conduct evacuation drills. Regent Lauen had also dispatched a force from the Couronne garrison to assist.
The local lord of Chantillon, Baron Raxal, a knight of the realm, was feasting in his manor when word reached him of the approaching fleet. He paused, lifted his bottle of rum, and took a deep swig.
"Bring me another round of rum!" he called, gulping it down in a series of boisterous swallows. "Gather the army—the northerners are truly upon us!"
The signal went out, summoning every levy, militia, and soldier to the walls and docks. The heavy trebuchets, though clumsily operated by the serfs, began hurling massive stones toward the dense formation of longboats, damaging a few of the ships.
As the longboats closed in, Ulfrey unsheathed his blade, Frostbite, and ordered a counterattack. The Norscans' siege crossbows, crude but effective, unleashed stones and other projectiles onto
the defenders, causing panic among the Bretonnian forces.
"Hold the line!" The noble knights rode along the rear of the wall, eager to clash with the Northmen.
With a roar, the first Norscan boat landed. A mass of bloodthirsty warriors wielding spears and hooks surged from the ships, attacking the defenders with chilling ferocity.
"For the wanderer! For Chaos!" Ulfrey charged forward, his boots crunching on the sand as he stepped onto the Bretonnian shore.
"Ryan-Malcador, false king! Face me in battle!"
_________________________
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