The Norscan cavalry charge differed vastly from Bretonnia's disciplined lance formations. For the Norscans, order was nonexistent, especially in the chaos of a mounted assault.
At the forefront was the Khorne champion, Flaggnus, wearing a massive blood-red helmet emblazoned with Khorne's eight-pointed symbol. His crimson armor gleamed with blessings from the Blood God, and his Chaos steed snorted fire and sulfur. With a blood-drenched sword in one hand and a Khorne-engraved axe in the other, Flaggnus was nearly overcome with frenzy and anticipation as he saw Bretonnia's knights faltering.
"Now! Bloodhounds of Khorne! The moment is here!" Flaggnus bellowed, wildly waving his weapons. His voice rang out like molten metal poured into a blast furnace, boiling with hatred. "The cowardly Southerners are fleeing! The weak Southerners are breaking!"
"Servants of Khorne! Follow me! Charge!" Flaggnus signaled his followers with a call to sound the war horn: "CHARGE! For Khorne, blood for the Blood God, skulls for the Skull Throne!"
The rallying horn blew, and nearly every Norscan felt the bloodlust radiating from their champion. Over a thousand Norscan cavalrymen followed Flaggnus in a wild charge, with nearly two thousand more rushing to join.
They stormed across the fields, axes raised, spears glinting, and Norscan steeds devoured the ground, tearing through farmland as the raiders surged toward Bretonnia's center like a pack of wolves, unruly and disorderly but deadly in their chaos.
"Fire! Open fire!" shouted the Bretonnian artillerymen. Under Chief Engineer Thomas' command, rockets soared into the air, followed by the thunder of cannons and mortars.
Explosions erupted among the charging Norscan cavalry, splattering limbs and spreading terror as the Norscan warhorses, unaccustomed to such artillery, bucked and faltered. The heavy cannonballs and mortars obliterated ranks, shattering nearly three hundred Norscan riders in moments.
"Who let Flaggnus charge ahead?!" Tzeentch's chosen champion, Edjik the Maze Keeper, cursed as he clung to a wall for support, directing his elite "Beasts of the Tribe" to order a retreat for the cavalry. "That brainless fool is undoing all our work!"
Edjik's champion warriors blew the horn of retreat, but the riders either didn't hear or simply ignored it. Many muttered, "Only cowards follow Tzeentch! Plots and schemes—cowardice for weaklings!"
And for Khorne's devotees, Edjik's horn was meaningless. Blood and battle were all that mattered.
Flaggnus, laughing amid the carnage, watched his followers die with twisted glee as rockets, cannonballs, and mortars shredded the field. Blood misted the air, and the screeching of horses and cries of comrades fueled his fervor. "This is Khorne's blessing! Yes! Blood for the Blood God!"
"Follow me, my brothers!" Flaggnus raised his weapons high as they neared the Bretonnian lines, surging over a shallow trench and catching a glimpse of his target through smoke and dust.
The champion's glee vanished in an instant.
What awaited the Norscans was a formation of massive hollow squares.
Rows of pikes bristled from the Bretonnian ranks, with gunmen and crossbows positioned behind. Bretonnia's forces were prepared to repel the cavalry.
"Ready!" Lord Philip Mountbatten commanded the Coldstream Guards and the Connaught Highland Regiment, grinning as he drew his knight's sword. "Fire!"
At his command, a volley of gunfire and crossbow bolts launched a storm of death. Norscan riders fell in waves, and the gleaming pike tips dissuaded even the fiercest of Norscan steeds, forcing them to veer off in every direction, seeking a way around the formation.
"Scatter! Flank them!" Flaggnus roared as gunfire struck his shoulder and arm. His once-large retinue dwindled as only five of his thirty elite riders remained. Pulling a bullet from his shoulder wound, he snarled, "Scatter and encircle from behind!"
But as they tried to flank the square formations, they found themselves facing yet more formations of Bretonnian infantry—three more hollow squares, fortified with pikes, muskets, and soldiers from the Duchies of Parravon and Montfort.
"Get away from the packed squares! Find open ground!" Flaggnus cursed, furious that he couldn't break Bretonnia's unyielding formation. "You filthy Southern cowards, hiding behind your tricks! You're not worthy of a real fight! I'll hack off every one of your heads for Khorne!"
"He's had one too many drinks," Lord Philip commented to his lieutenant, Uldino, signaling the Coldstream Guards to hold formation.
"I think he's asking for an 'increase in intensity,'" Uldino replied with a cold grin. "Coldstream Guards, prepare grenades!"
The order was given, and grenadiers advanced to unleash a barrage of explosives on the approaching Norscans.
Unable to find an opening, the Norscan cavalry circled in confusion, losing hundreds to the relentless pike and musket fire, leaving fewer than half of their original three thousand riders. As they faltered, the Bretonnian troops began a traditional marching song to boost morale.
"Some men speak of Caiod, others of Landuin… Or famed heroes like Jules and Taillefer~ But none can match the rank and file of Bretonnia's grenadiers!"
Flaggnus rallied a unit of a hundred warriors for one last charge, but the grenades tore through their ranks. A blast hit him directly, searing his armor and killing his steed, leaving him no choice but to retreat.
"Sound the retreat!" he roared, but his voice barely reached his scattered forces. The situation only worsened when the Ulgol cavalry, led by Belya and General Meletskov, entered the field. Equipped with muskets and scimitars, they tore into the retreating Norscan riders.
After receiving superior armor and weapons, the Ulgol soldiers from Kislev fought with renewed pride and vengeance, for the Norscans were their ancient foes. With Belya at the forefront, slicing through enemy riders, the Norscans quickly lost any remaining morale.
"Slay every barbarian you see!" Belya commanded, beheading a Norscan with a single stroke, blood spraying from the stump.
Almost all the Norscan cavalry was annihilated, unable to breach the hollow squares and routed by the Ulgol flanking charge. Out of the initial three thousand riders, fewer than two hundred managed to escape.
Flaggnus, unable to accept this defeat, bellowed in rage as he tried to rally his men, but even Khorne's bloodlust could not prevent the Norscans from fleeing.
Desperate, Flaggnus turned his gaze to the Ulgol cavalry approaching. Rather than flee, he invoked the oldest Norscan tactic: a lone rider, advancing toward the enemy. Stopping a short distance away, he raised his weapons and pounded his chest, issuing a formal challenge for a duel.
Belya watched, unimpressed. He gestured to his troops, signaling a feigned acceptance, then drew what appeared to be a white glove.
Flaggnus eagerly awaited the duel.
What he received instead was the sight of thirty loaded muskets aimed his way.
"Fire!" Belya commanded coldly. In an instant, over a dozen bullets struck Flaggnus, who fell from his horse with a scream. The remaining Ulgol soldiers, eager for glory, swarmed over his fallen body, hacking it to pieces.
"A duel? I'm no Grail Knight." Belya shrugged, glancing at Flaggnus' mutilated corpse before raising his hand. "Onward!"
Of the three thousand Norscan cavalry, only a few dozen managed to flee, while Bretonnia's casualties were minimal.
But just as the Bretonnian knights regrouped, an extraordinary event unfolded among the routed Knight Errants. A powerful wind surged, and the air filled with an ancient, holy energy. Green light shimmered across the fields, and amidst vines and swirling leaves, a legendary figure materialized under Bretonnia's sky. Mounted on an ethereal beast wreathed in mist, the Green Knight appeared, his verdant helm concealing glowing eyes.
The legendary hero raised his blade, the Pain of Penitence, and called out, "Bretonnia's sons, to my side!"
"It's the Green Knight!"
"The Lady hasn't forgotten us!"
"Bretonnia, to victory!"
The once-routed knights rallied, their courage rekindled. Gathering around the Green Knight, they reformed ranks, prepared to turn and strike back against the Norscans.
Meanwhile, in the midst of his titanic duel with Carad, Ulfrey caught a glimpse of something dreadful on the horizon.
On the southern edge of the battlefield, a colossal banner rose into view. The red and blue standard bore a golden lion, gripping a grail and sword. Behind it, a host of knights surged forth like a wave of steel, led by a line of Grail Knights and prophetesses of the Lady.
A chill ran down Ulfrey's spine, his confidence suddenly shaken.
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