Ulfrey's assault was ferocious. The Norscan warriors and champions, wielding axes, charged from their longboats, storming the docks to engage the Bretonnian defenders.
The defenders at Chantillon's port responded fiercely with arrows and crossbows. Watchtowers were filled with archers and crossbowmen, constantly reloading and firing under the commander's orders. The first wave of Norscan warriors faced a deadly hail of arrows, yet, driven by their strength and devotion, they shouted the names of their gods—Dog God, Serpent God, Eagle God, or Crow God—as they pressed forward. However, many Norscans fell quickly, most of them unarmored or in leather armor, making them vulnerable to Bretonnia's volleys. Hundreds were cut down in the initial attack.
Had Ulfrey cared about tactical maneuvers, he could have minimized these brutal losses. But as a champion of the Four Gods and a famed wanderer, he dismissed such concerns, intent only on an intense, close-quarters showdown with his rumored rival.
"Ryan-Malcador, come out and face me!" Ulfrey stepped off the deck onto Bretonnian soil, followed by a hundred of his elite Icehorn champions. He taunted loudly, "Ryan-Malcador, come out, or are you worried your corpse-ridden father will freeze solid and never rot properly?"
More longboats arrived, spilling countless Norscan warriors onto the shore. Warped monstrosities like swamp fiends and skin wolves also began to emerge, each warrior shrieking curses at the defenders. At this point, only about two thousand of the Worldwalker legion had managed to land, but they continued to surge forward.
"Charge! Slay these weak Southerners!"
"Your Northern lords have come to reclaim what's theirs!"
The noise shook the defenders. Baron Raxal, who was overseeing the defense from the wall, urged his troops to stand their ground. Though the force mainly comprised serfs and freemen, their advance preparation and the fortified dock enabled them to hold their positions for the moment.
Meanwhile, the Norscan fleet, with its thousand ships, seemed almost limitless, though only a fraction could land at once. Many warriors, frustrated by the slow disembarkation, even jumped into the water to swim ashore.
Tzeentch's champion, Edjik the Maze Keeper, had prepared for this moment. With a shrill command, he ordered enormous pods loaded onto ship-mounted crossbows. Each pod, pulsing and writhing, contained something alive—or at least once alive. These pods were former humans, transformed yet failed Chaos ascendants, now too twisted to survive but still holding dark potential.
"Fire!" The pods launched from the ballistae and arced over the defenders' heads, smashing into Chantillon's buildings. Initially, the defenders ignored them, as most of the civilians had been evacuated, and they were focused on holding off the Norscans. Confident in their reinforcements' arrival, Baron Raxal trusted that Lord Carad would arrive swiftly.
This was a grave mistake. As the defenders fought at the docks, the pods began to rupture. Screaming monstrosities erupted from them, mutated Chaos spawn that tore into the defenders' ranks from behind, scattering the soldiers and leaving the rear vulnerable.
Ulfrey stomped over his troops to reach the wall, wielding his massive blade in a brutal sweep that decapitated six Bretonnian soldiers. Laughing like a man possessed, he charged through the defenders, scattering spearmen, archers, and swordsmen alike in a whirlwind of death.
Behind Ulfrey, his elite Icehorn champions followed, wielding giant axes. Though slower, their relentless advance crushed everything in their path. One by one, they decimated the defenders until Ulfrey reached a trebuchet still firing at the longboats. With savage glee, he struck it repeatedly with his sword, demolishing the ancient war machine.
As more Norscans landed, the defenders began to falter. Desperate, the Bretonnian knights mounted a charge, cutting down hundreds of leather-armored or unarmored raiders. Even the Chaos spawn bore the scars of the assault. But once their momentum faltered, the knights found themselves surrounded by the Norscans. Many were dragged from their horses and disemboweled, while the remaining knights rallied around Baron Raxal, who, after brief hesitation, ordered a retreat.
As the defenders withdrew, Ulfrey's forces cheered triumphantly, regrouping on the beach. Ulfrey urged his warriors forward, shouting, "Let's burn their capital to the ground!"
"For the Wanderer! For Chaos!"
Yet almost in answer, a distant horn call resounded: "Toot~ Toot~ Tooooot~~~"
On the plains of Couronne, a new army appeared.
It was Carad's Northern Army, finally arriving to confront the invaders. The Grand Grail Knight and Earl of Gallamond, Carad surveyed the burning town of Chantillon, his forces arrayed and ready for battle.
Positioning his infantry on the left and the knights on the right, Carad's forces advanced in coordinated ranks. Twenty-four cannons, hauled by mules and donkeys, followed behind.
"Chantillon has done its duty. We will rebuild it afterward," declared Marquis Thulas, riding a pureblood elven steed. "Give the order, Lord Carad, and let us stain this land with their blood in defense of our Lady."
Carad nodded, signaling the advance.
"Forward! For the Lady and the King! For Bretonnia!"
With drums and trumpets blaring, Bretonnia's elite infantry regiments formed disciplined squares, marching to the beat. In the distance, Ulfrey and Edjik watched the Bretonnian army approach.
"They're quick!" Ulfrey exclaimed.
Leading the vanguard was the Connaught Highland Regiment, a unique unit clad in plaid kilts, officer's boots, chest plates, and round helmets. Marching in tight formation, their morale seemed unbreakable.
Ulfrey sneered at the sight. "What's this, men in skirts?"
Laughing uproariously, he taunted them, "Is this the best you Southerners can do?"
Raising his sword, Ulfrey ordered the Blood Reaver Warband, a massive force of berserkers wielding dual axes and drenched in blood, to engage the Highland Regiment.
"For the Wanderer! For Chaos!" Under Ulfrey's command, the berserkers charged in a chaotic rush, each fighting for Khorne's favor, with gruesome trophies and painted Chaos stars on display. Their crazed howling and frenzied sprint showed no tactics—only a lust for blood.
"Ready!" The Highland Regiment's officers remained unshaken, drawing their swords and giving orders. "Load!"
The Highland musketeers leveled their guns, loading with calm precision.
"Fire!"
Thunderous gunfire echoed across the battlefield, a volley of smoke and death mowing down the charging berserkers.
"Second line, load!"
"Fire!" A second volley of musket fire followed, cutting down dozens more.
The berserkers advanced, undeterred but heavily thinned. As they closed in, the Highland Regiment pulled back the musketeers, allowing pikemen and swordsmen to form a solid line. The first berserkers leapt toward their targets, only to be impaled on pikes or cleaved by swords.
"Advance!" Rather than retreat, the Highland Regiment counter-charged, pushing the berserkers back.
Simultaneously, the Lioness Sylrouf Ambition Regiment and Gisole Oaks Stag Guard flanked the berserkers, their crossfire devastating the Blood Reaver Warband. The frenzied Norscan berserkers, overwhelmed and outmaneuvered, lost momentum and fell back toward the docks.
Disheartened, the Norscans wavered under the Highland Regiment's fierce resistance. The famed brutality of their Blood Reaver Warband failed against Bretonnia's disciplined firepower and counterattacks.
Next, the Mousilon Coldstream Guards entered the fray, clad in red uniforms with brown bearskin hats and reinforced with dwarven-crafted plate armor. Veterans of the Great Eight Peaks Expedition, they marched forward with disciplined efficiency. Under the command of Lord Philip Mountbatten, they advanced in tight formation, unleashing volley after volley at the Norscan forces. Even those who broke through were swiftly dispatched by pikemen and swordsmen.
The Brelion Boarband also joined the battle, flanking the berserkers. Surrounded on three sides, the Blood Reaver Warband collapsed, leaving hundreds of corpses behind as the Bretonnian soldiers cheered in victory.
Ulfrey's face darkened. "Aren't Southerners supposed to be weak in close combat?"
He muttered to himself, "Are we attacking the wrong place? Isn't this supposed to be the land of weak infantry and subpar firepower?"
"Regroup!" Ulfrey ordered, rallying his forces.
By now, over eight thousand Norscans had landed. Forming up under Ulfrey's command, they marched out of Chantillon to face Carad's army on the plains of Couronne.
The two armies faced each other, banners flying in the wind as Carad issued his orders, urging the artillery to the front lines.
But Ulfrey had little interest in tactical command, habitually allowing his forces to act independently. Scanning the Bretonnian ranks, his eyes locked onto Carad under the command banner.
"That must be Ryan-Malcador!" His Chaos-enhanced Tongues of Fury ability activated.
"Ryan! Your father's ashes are waiting for you back home, yet here you are playing soldier? The Garden of Morr is about to close for the day, better hurry back to claim your father's scattered bones!" Ulfrey bellowed, raising his massive sword, Frostbite. "If you've got the guts, get over here and face me now, coward!"
Carad squinted, baffled by the heavy accent. Though he couldn't make out every word, Ulfrey's insults were clear enough.
"Seems the barbarian champion wishes to challenge you, my lord," said Belya, riding up beside Carad on his mixed-breed elven warhorse. Filtering out the coarse language, Belya relayed Ulfrey's message with a grim smile. "What's your response?"
Carad understood this time. As a Grail Knight and general, he could not refuse a champion's challenge. With stoic resolve, Carad guided his horse out from the Bretonnian lines.
Ulfrey grinned, seeing Carad approach, and spurred his own mount forward. He clenched his fist and pounded it against his chest in a show of respect—one warrior to another.
Carad nodded coldly, reaching into his pouch to pull out a white glove, which he cast to the ground to formally accept the challenge.
The armies parted, clearing the field for an unbroken champion's duel.
Yet as their commanders squared off, the full battle raged on. War drums and horns signaled the clash, as soldiers on both sides surged forward.
"For the Wanderer! For Chaos!"
"For the Lady and the King! For Bretonnia!"
With rhythmic beats, Bretonnia's finest infantry, drawn from dukedoms across the land, advanced in tight formations. Across the field, Ulfrey and Edjik watched their troops clash against the Bretonnian ranks, noting the disciplined advance of the Bretonnian Highland Regiment at the forefront.
"Men in skirts…" Ulfrey scoffed, disdain coloring his voice. "Is this the best the Southerners can muster?" Laughing, he ordered his Blood Reaver Warband forward, a group of frenzied Khorne worshipers clad in blood-stained leather and bearing Chaos sigils, charging wildly with dual axes.
With no clear formation, the berserkers sprinted toward the Highlanders, shouting in crazed devotion. However, the Highland Regiment's officers held steady, drawing their swords and issuing orders to reload.
"Fire!"
The Highland musketeers unleashed a thundering volley, their shots cutting down scores of Norscan berserkers in a storm of smoke and fire.
"Reload!"
The regiment fell into an ordered rhythm, firing in waves as the berserkers pushed forward, undeterred. Yet the constant musket volleys continued thinning their ranks, leaving piles of fallen warriors in their wake. As the berserkers reached the Highlanders' front lines, the musketeers stepped back, allowing pikemen and swordsmen to form a sturdy wall. The first berserkers leapt at them, only to be skewered by pikes or cleaved by swords.
"Forward!" Instead of breaking, the Highland Regiment counter-charged, pushing back the remaining Norscan warriors. Flanking fire from the Lioness Sylrouf Ambition Regiment and the Gisole Oaks Stag Guard further decimated the Blood Reavers, causing chaos and a disorderly retreat to the port.
With their morale shattered, the Blood Reaver Warband fell back under sustained fire and the relentless Highland counterattack. As Bretonnia's elite Coldstream Guards joined the fray, the remaining Norscans struggled to withstand the disciplined Bretonnian assault. The Coldstream Guards, clad in red uniforms, bearskin hats, and dwarven-forged plate, marched in formation, delivering volley after volley into the Norscan ranks. Any Norscan who managed to close the gap was swiftly met by pikes or hacked down by swords.
The Brelion Boarband also entered the battlefield, hitting the berserkers on a third front. With three Bretonnian forces pressing in, the Blood Reavers collapsed, abandoning hundreds of bodies as Bretonnian troops erupted in cheers.
Ulfrey's face darkened with rage. These Southerners were supposed to falter in close combat, yet they had fought back with unyielding resolve.
Muttering under his breath, he began to question whether he had underestimated his opponent. Wasn't Bretonnia famous for its weak infantry and poor firepower?
"Regroup!" he ordered, rallying the Norscans onshore.
By now, more than eight thousand Norscans had disembarked. Under Ulfrey's commands, they gathered in formation and began to advance out of Chantillon to face Carad's forces on the Couronne plains.
Both armies displayed their banners, standing across the battlefield as Carad directed the Bretonnian artillery to the front.
However, Ulfrey's disdain for strategy led him to grant his forces relative freedom on the field, focused as he was on finding the enemy commander. His gaze fell on Carad, assuming this must be Ryan-Malcador himself.
Activating his Tongues of Fury, Ulfrey bellowed, "Ryan! Are you just going to hide behind your men, while your father's spirit waits in Morr's Garden?" Raising his sword, he shouted, "Come face me, coward! One-on-one, right here, right now!"
Carad's brow furrowed, barely understanding the barbarian's thick accent.
One of Carad's lieutenants leaned in, explaining the gist of Ulfrey's taunt. Honor-bound, Carad could not refuse the challenge. Slowly, the stoic Grail Knight rode forward.
Seeing Carad approach, Ulfrey grinned with savage joy and rode out to meet him. He clenched a fist over his chest, a show of mock respect, while Carad stoically nodded back, pulling a white glove from his belt and casting it to the ground to seal the challenge.
The armies on both sides parted to create a space for the duel.
The clash of champions was imminent, but this duel would not stop the unfolding battle. Under the rumbling drumbeats and blaring horns, the two armies surged into combat.
"For the Wanderer! For Chaos!"
"For the Lady and the King! For Bretonnia!"
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