In the heart of the battlefield, a duel of champions unfolded.
Carad and Ulfrey were evenly matched, both being unrivaled warriors of their respective cultures. Carad's legend had grown over years of trials; he was one of the fastest to complete the Grail Quest after Ryan. This knight had returned from his trials, steadfastly loyal to the Lady, saving his kingdom from peril many times. During the Great Eight Peaks Expedition, Carad's valor had earned him renown across the Old World as he vanquished a Strigoi vampire lord, the Lamian Queen Neferata's lieutenant, and numerous orc warlords.
Ulfrey, too, was a Norscan hero rarely defeated in battle, wearing trophies of skulls and bones from foes as symbols of his strength. Out of respect, Ulfrey had issued a formal challenge to Carad, and due to honor and faith, Carad could not refuse. Traditionally, battles between Bretonnia and the Norscans ended in such duels of champions.
Ulfrey moved with shocking speed, a Chaos-blessed predator, lunging like a wolf from the ice fields. He was a blur of fur and leather, a phantasmal figure tearing toward Carad, his sword, Frostbite, slashing down with an icy trail. The blade's frigid power kicked up a cloud of dust as it aimed for the vulnerable joints in Carad's armor.
Carad remained poised, his armor a masterpiece of dwarf craftsmanship, inscribed with the rune of Grimnir. Enchanted runes on his armor shielded him from Frostbite's chilling curses. The Chaos-tainted power within Frostbite could not penetrate this legendary armor, while his own sword, Durandal, radiated with holy flames from the Lady of the Lake.
As Durandal and Frostbite clashed, sparks exploded, forcing both combatants back. Waves of golden flame rippled from Durandal's edge, and frost flared from Frostbite, creating a fiery and frigid clash between the two mystical weapons.
"You're destined to fail, Knight-King! Your head will adorn my altar in Norsca!" Ulfrey taunted with every fierce swing, his blows aiming for Carad's neck.
Carad couldn't fully understand Ulfrey's language—a rough blend of Low Gothic and Norscan—but the intent was clear. He didn't bother responding, focusing instead on the graceful flow of his own attacks. Moving in close, Carad spun on one foot, delivering rapid upward and downward slashes. His sword found an opening, aiming for Ulfrey's torso.
Ulfrey parried swiftly, clenching his shield and pressing against the onslaught. Carad's relentless assault forced him back step by step, the weight of Durandal crashing down with formidable power as Carad looked for a crack in Ulfrey's defenses.
Aware of the peril, Ulfrey knew he couldn't allow Carad any advantage. His armor couldn't withstand repeated hits from Durandal, and even his shield, encrusted with Chaos blessings, showed signs of damage as the Grail Knight's holy sword sheared away corrupted bone and Chaos markings from its surface. Infuriated, Ulfrey sneered, "You could have chosen true gods, but you wasted your loyalty on a false one."
"You're too slow," Carad retorted icily. With a fierce downward swing, he shattered the shield, and the impact cracked the earth beneath Ulfrey's feet, staggering the Norscan.
"Strong as you are, Knight-King," Ulfrey growled, "a lesser champion would have fallen to that blow alone. Your father must have been quite skilled to bring a wretch like you into the world."
"…" Carad's gaze hardened, unleashing another flurry of attacks that chipped away Ulfrey's shoulder armor and broke one of the skeletal trophies he wore. Reeling, Ulfrey retaliated with a furious counterattack, meeting Carad's blade in an explosive collision that sent sparks flying, the sheer force resonating across the battlefield. For those watching, it seemed as though they were witnessing a clash between divine avatars.
While Carad and Ulfrey battled with relentless intensity, the broader battlefield began to shift.
The Norscans had initially charged fearlessly, but the Bretonnian soldiers' discipline and resilience defied their expectations. The Norscan raiders, typically ruthless in combat, faced lethal volleys from the Bretonnian lines. Though they fought valiantly, each attack wave grew weaker.
The arrival of Bretonnian artillery marked a dramatic turning point.
"Prepare to fire!" Mousillon's chief engineer, Thomas, signaled the artillery crew, who loaded the infamous Sunfire rockets and heavy cannons. Flames erupted as dozens of explosive shells and rockets launched toward the Norscan ranks. Clouds of smoke and flames filled the air, and blood and limbs scattered across the battlefield as hundreds of Norscans were blown apart, trenches of gore carved through their formations with each devastating strike.
After an initial barrage, the engineer recalculated the trajectory and range for increased accuracy, doubling the effectiveness of the artillery in the next round. Shells hammered the Norscan ranks, and those who weren't immediately killed felt the shockwaves that shattered morale. Without Ulfrey's guidance, the Norscans faltered.
What about the monstrous forces, the war mammoths and ice trolls? They remained trapped on the longboats! Norscan beasts and their massive mounts, positioned at the fleet's rear, struggled to disembark on the overcrowded shores.
As the Bretonnian infantry and artillery pressed forward, led by Marquis Thulas, the Norscan forces faltered, even the fearless Khorne worshipers uncertain of their next move. Another charge meant only more slaughter; staying put would merely delay their defeat.
Though Bretonnia seemed to have the upper hand, the battle's outcome was far from certain. Amidst the chaos, Tzeentch's chosen, Edjik the Maze Keeper, finally managed to land on the docks with his champions, the Beasts of the Tribe. His focus on commanding the infantry, however, allowed Bretonnia's right-wing forces, the Knight Errants, to act without restraint.
"The time has come for glory!" The Knight Errants, numbering over two thousand, could barely contain their eagerness. Inflamed by the sight of the retreating Norscans, they saw a chance to seize victory for themselves. The prospect of battlefield honor and renown was intoxicating, and with a shout from a few young knights, the signal for a charge rang out.
"Now, my brothers, for the Lady and the King! Let us purge our lands of these filthy Northmen!"
"Advance!" came the rallying cry as the knights formed wedge formations, charging headlong into the fray with a thunderous roar.
"Hold back! We haven't given the charge order!" A few clear-headed commanders tried to stop the impulsive charge, but their voices were lost amidst the call of horns and the knights' own battle cries.
Ignoring orders, the Knight Errants surged forward. Thousands of armored knights on horseback thundered across the battlefield, galloping toward the Norscans with gleaming lances lowered.
Edjik, spotting the knights' advance, paused his spellcasting. "Ah, delightful!" he sneered, savoring the chaos. "Everything is going exactly as planned!" He raised his staff. "Hawk!"
Under Edjik's command, the Norscan raiders fell into tight defensive lines. From the back of the fleet, boxes and bundles of wooden pikes were hauled onto the shore, totaling in the thousands.
"Fox!" the pikes were handed to the front lines.
The Bretonnian knights closed in, their steeds' hooves pounding the earth.
With a final command, Edjik chanted, "Wolf!"
At that instant, the Norscans dropped their shields and axes, each warrior raising a sharpened pike. A wall of pikes bristled across the battlefield, every one enchanted with Tzeentch's dark magic, hardened to withstand the mightiest charge.
This was the Norscans' secret weapon: a phalanx of over three thousand pikes, each more than two meters long, ready for the Bretonnian knights.
The Knight Errants' charge shattered against the deadly pike wall. Lances splintered, horses reared and screamed, impaled on the unforgiving pikes. Knights were thrown from their saddles, skewered through gaps in their armor, their cries joining the agonizing whinnies of their steeds.
The entire front line of Knight Errants fell instantly, many dying on impact. Those uninjured were dazed and vulnerable, staggering as the Norscans closed in. One berserker swung his axe into the helmet of a fallen knight, the impact spraying a bloody mist.
Row upon row of Knight Errants crashed into the pike formation, transforming what was meant to be a glorious charge into a massacre. The chaos of colliding horses and men trapped the knights in a vortex of death, with each passing moment claiming more lives as axes and spears found their marks.
Seeing the slaughter, the surviving Knight Errants broke, fleeing in small clusters across the battlefield, cries of despair echoing, "We're defeated! The Lady has abandoned us! Save us!"
"Every knight must endure a failed charge," Marquis Thulas grimly observed, watching the decimation of the Knight Errants. "Perhaps this will teach them wisdom, though the cost is high…"
"Now it's our turn!" Thulas said, signaling his troops to press forward. He glanced over at Carad and Ulfrey, still locked in their duel, and issued his next command.
Although the Bretonnians struggled to restrain their knights, the Norscans faced similar difficulties with their own forces. The massive battlefield spell that Edjik, the Maze Keeper, had unleashed had left him exhausted, his inner reserves of Chaos energy depleted and chaotic. Forced to rest for a moment, Edjik glanced up, catching his breath just as hundreds of Norscan marauder horsemen, impatient for glory, surged toward the Bretonnian lines.
Transporting warhorses for long distances across the sea was a logistical nightmare. But these Chaos-blessed Norscan riders, eager to prove their worth, had little regard for such concerns. Without a second thought, more than thirty units of marauder horsemen, accompanied by five hundred elite Norscan raider cavalry, charged toward the Bretonnian forces, driven by frenzied devotion to the Four Gods.
This sudden counterattack reignited the Norscans' morale. Horns blared as they rode in, a fierce wave crashing toward the Bretonnian army.
"Hold your ground!" bellowed Marquis Thulas, his voice steady as he marshaled his troops. Infantry formed shield walls, while musket and crossbow regiments readied themselves under his command. The field artillery, which had already inflicted devastating losses on the Norscan forces, prepared to fire once again.
At that moment, a volley of musket and cannon fire erupted from the Bretonnian lines. Lead shot tore through the ranks of charging Norscan cavalry, sending riders and horses tumbling in a spray of dirt and blood. The impact was deadly, but it only fueled the raiders' determination as they pressed closer.
The marauder horsemen closed the distance, axes and spears raised, smashing into the Bretonnian infantry with brutal force. The first ranks of Bretonnian soldiers braced for impact, their shields absorbing the initial blow. A ferocious melee ensued, with both sides locked in close combat.
The Bretonnian infantry fought fiercely, disciplined formations holding the line despite the savage assault. As Norscan axes clashed against shields, Bretonnian swords and pikes struck back with relentless precision. The Norscan riders, fierce and relentless, broke through the lines in places, but the Bretonnian forces quickly closed the gaps, pushing them back.
Meanwhile, Edjik, watching from his vantage, calculated his next move. Knowing that Carad's disciplined army was no ordinary opponent, he began to weave another spell, calling forth Chaos reinforcements.
But in the midst of this chaos, Carad and Ulfrey's duel continued, both champions nearly oblivious to the broader battle raging around them. Durandal and Frostbite clashed again and again, with each blow sending shockwaves across the battlefield, each warrior determined to prove his supremacy.
"I will bring down the Knight-King and drench this land in his blood!" Ulfrey roared, his voice booming across the battlefield.
Carad remained silent, focusing all his energy on the fight, his eyes flashing with the fierce determination of a Grail Knight defending his homeland. He lunged forward, striking with lightning speed, his blade blazing with the power of the Lady of the Lake.
The two champions circled each other, their weapons clashing in a relentless, brutal exchange of blows, the battle between them reaching a fever pitch. Around them, the Bretonnian and Norscan armies clashed with equal ferocity, each side vying for control of the field.
As Carad and Ulfrey dueled, the rest of the Bretonnian army began to rally, inspired by their general's valor and the disciplined resolve of their commanders. Slowly, the Bretonnians pushed the Norscans back, inch by inch, reclaiming the ground lost in the initial waves of attack.
Sensing the tide beginning to turn, Edjik gritted his teeth and prepared to unleash one final spell, a last desperate attempt to seize victory for the Norscans.
But at that very moment, Carad's blade struck true, breaking through Ulfrey's defenses. Durandal sliced across the Norscan's armor, sending him staggering back, blood pouring from the wound. With a triumphant roar, Carad pressed forward, determined to end the duel.
Ulfrey, weakened but still defiant, raised Frostbite for one final strike, his eyes blazing with unyielding fury.
"For Chaos! For the Wanderer!" he shouted, lunging forward.
"For the Lady! For Bretonnia!" Carad answered, his voice steady as he swung Durandal one last time.
In a final, decisive blow, Durandal cleaved through Ulfrey's defenses, striking him down. The Norscan champion collapsed, his body falling to the blood-soaked earth. The duel was over; Carad had emerged victorious.
Seeing their champion defeated, the Norscan forces wavered, a ripple of doubt spreading through their ranks. The Bretonnians, witnessing their general's victory, rallied with renewed vigor, pushing forward with an unstoppable surge.
Marquis Thulas signaled the final advance, and the Bretonnian forces, bolstered by artillery and musket fire, charged the remaining Norscans, driving them back toward the sea.
As the Bretonnian forces pressed the assault, Edjik realized that victory was slipping away. With a frustrated roar, he called for a retreat, his forces scrambling to board the longboats and escape the relentless Bretonnian advance.
The Bretonnian army surged forward, pressing the Norscans all the way to the shoreline, their cheers of victory echoing across the battlefield. The day belonged to Bretonnia; they had defended their land and vanquished the Norscan invaders.
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