Lauen and Bertrand had a lengthy conversation. Without a doubt, Bertrand—a former bandit leader—was one of the most iconic figures among the new nobility. No one could have predicted that the head of the Berelak Bandit Gang in the Forest of Châlons would one day rise to the rank of high nobility in the Knightly Kingdom, becoming a representative of the new aristocracy and the chosen champion of Taal, the God of Nature.
Though Bertrand primarily worshipped Taal, he maintained a deep respect for the Lady of the Lake. The setbacks he endured during the Davout affair had once dampened his spirits, but now he was content, his face glowing with health and satisfaction. When Lauen initiated the conversation, Bertrand responded with dignity and shared his perspectives on recent events.
"Can you share some of the urgent military intelligence, Sir Davout?" Lauen then turned to the deputy commander. "What was the emergency? If it's classified, feel free to refrain."
Davout hesitated briefly. He hadn't read the Ice Queen's letter—naturally—but since Ryan had openly discussed its contents in his presence, it clearly wasn't a state secret. Moreover, Lauen, appointed Regent by Ryan himself, was handling many affairs on the King's behalf. Sharing the information seemed harmless.
Thus, Davout summarized Tsarina Katarin's demands succinctly. Lauen shook his head in disbelief, barely restraining himself from cursing her outright. The Regent seethed at the thought: We sacrificed men, resources, and even Karad's health to support Erengrad—dispatching elite troops like Sea God Knights and infantry regiments—only for her to try and claim credit. Where was she when it mattered?
"This mess we're in now? All thanks to that woman," Raymond muttered angrily. The thirty-something veteran of the Old Guard, clad in a pristine ceremonial uniform, looked markedly more dashing than his humble peasant origins would suggest. Years of military campaigns had endowed him with the bearing of a seasoned soldier, and the Old Guard's continuous victories added a palpable sense of pride and authority to his demeanor. Once a serf who would have groveled before a noble like Lauen, Raymond now handed him a black ale with calm confidence. "Facing such a massive invasion, she abandons the cities for open battles, doesn't seek help from the Empire or us… What an idiot!"
"Everyone clings to hope, soldier," Lauen replied. While he didn't care much for black ale, he drank it down without complaint, then casually sliced off a generous piece of roast lamb with his silver knife. "But do you know her greatest failure?"
"Please, enlighten us, Your Grace," Bertrand asked respectfully.
"Her failure was twofold: first, she didn't immediately seek aid from the Empire. Second, at the pivotal moment of the Battle of Zedevka, she didn't commit sufficient forces from the start. When the Slaaneshi legions proved tenacious, she should have personally led her guard into the fray," Lauen explained. "Then, when the Aesling forces arrived, every decision she made was wrong. Now think about how His Majesty Ryan acted during the Three Kings Battle."
"He immediately ordered the Old Guard and all forces to advance, then personally led the charge," Bertrand interjected, nodding.
"Precisely. When outnumbered and at a disadvantage, concentrating your forces on a decisive point is critical," Lauen said. "His Majesty's actions were correct—pushing all forces forward at any cost, appearing where his troops could see him to bolster morale and intensify the assault. That's what Katarin should have done. Instead, she retreated. The moment she did, the outcome was sealed."
"Yes, the outcome was sealed from the moment she retreated," Bertrand agreed. The commander of the Old Guard cast a sardonic glance at the lively banquet hall. "The Middenland folk—have they never won a battle before? They seem more excited than we are."
"Oh, Sir Bertrand, by the Lady's grace, have mercy on Boris Todbringer and his Middenland citizens," said Duke Berchmond of Bastonne, grinning as he tore into a roasted chicken leg. The wealth he'd gained from this campaign was considerable. During the looting, he had personally dismantled a Greenskin idol of Gork and appropriated its massive golden core. "The only victory worth boasting about is the one His Majesty delivered to them."
"Berchmond, has His Majesty outlined our next steps?" Lauen asked.
"Rest," Berchmond replied bluntly, gnawing on his chicken leg. "We'll rest in Middenstag for three days."
"More rest? Shouldn't we press the advantage?" Lauen was dissatisfied.
"That's precisely why we need rest," Berchmond countered. "We're on the brink of Chaos-held territories. Once we move forward, opportunities for rest will be scarce."
"Fair point," Lauen conceded.
---
The next day, in early February of 2515 of the Imperial Calendar, Middenstag was blanketed by heavy snowfall. The once-bloody battlefield outside the town was now hidden under a layer of pure white. Snow weighed down tree branches, and the world seemed hushed beneath the drifting flakes.
In his chambers, Ryan opened his eyes.
The Knight King had reached the summit of the Sanctuary Realm.
On his left lay Teresa, fast asleep. Morgiana was already up, presumably tending to her duties. Veronica clung to Ryan like an octopus, her abdomen's enchanted runes faintly glowing.
Gently, Ryan untangled himself from Veronica, tucking her snugly under the blankets. Teresa stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
"Ryan? Are you getting up?" she murmured.
"What about you, my dear Teresa? Will you get up too?" Ryan smiled, pulling the covers over her.
"I'm too tired to move," Teresa groaned. "I'll sleep a bit longer."
"Then rest well," Ryan replied softly. Teresa's bloodline, which had once propelled her rapid ascent to Legendary status, was now the very thing impeding her breakthrough to the Sanctuary. Her limitations in power often left her utterly drained during certain "exertions," collapsing into slumber almost immediately afterward.
Ryan stretched and rubbed his waist. Dealing with Sulia, Lilith, and Olica remains the most challenging of all, he mused, chuckling as he dressed.
"Darling, where are you going?" Veronica woke up, her voice sleepy.
"To grab breakfast and take a stroll outside," Ryan replied.
"I'll come with you," Veronica said, attempting to rise. Her legs wobbled, and she slumped back down. "Help me, darling. I can't move."
Ryan laughed heartily, his amusement earning him a pillow thrown at his face.
"Stop laughing and help me up!" Veronica demanded.
---
By the time Ryan and Veronica emerged for breakfast, it was already past nine.
Veronica wore a short white dress with a shimmering, gauzy overlay, paired with over-the-knee black suede boots adorned with diamond accents. Her long, slender legs, clad in semi-transparent black velvet stockings, gleamed faintly under the corridor's light. Her ensemble, complemented by golden jewelry gifted by the Emperor, exuded both elegance and allure.
They ran into Aurora in the hallway. The Sanctuary Sorceress, with dark circles under her eyes, glared at Ryan and Veronica. "Where's Teresa? I need to speak with her."
"She's resting in my room. You can find her there," Ryan replied casually. "Veronica and I are heading out."
Aurora scowled but relented. "Fine. But can you keep it down next time? You disturbed my sleep."
Veronica stepped forward, her tone sharp. "Aurora, if you've got something to say, spit it out. Otherwise, don't waste our time."
Aurora, undeterred, retorted, "There's been a discovery of Tzeentch cult activity in Middenstag. Morgiana has already summoned the Grail Knights to handle it. I need Teresa's assistance for this."
"Alright, alright. Let's not fight," Ryan intervened, diffusing the tension. "Aurora, go find Teresa. Veronica and I have other matters to attend to."
Aurora hesitated briefly, then nodded and left.
---
Outside the town, soldiers recognized Ryan and erupted into cheers. They crowded around him, eager to display their spoils and recount their feats. Even young serfs called out their names, hoping to be remembered by the King.
Ryan's prestige had reached its zenith after the Three Kings Battle. His renown rivaled that of Arthur, the first Knight King. From knights to peasants, all revered his strength and leadership.
"They adore you," Veronica said, clinging to his arm. "The people love you. And so do I."
"But we must remain vigilant," Ryan replied, leading her toward the woods. He planned to test the new powers he'd gained at the Sanctuary summit. Holding her lace-gloved hand, he added gently, "You've grown a bit complacent, my dear. Since becoming Head of the Garland, you've let flattery cloud your judgment, haven't you?"
Veronica flushed with embarrassment. "Perhaps… it's hard not to, surrounded by sycophants for so long."
Ryan chuckled, then began singing as they entered the snowy forest, his deep voice resonating through the trees.
"March ahead, facing the cannons of Ulthuan!
Rome's greatness arises through trials of fire!"
Far away,
on the steppes of Kislev, a certain Primarch sneezed.
---
Meanwhile, on the snowfields of the Red-Eye Mountains, a lone traveler trudged forward.
Standing over 2.6 meters tall, the figure's long golden hair was braided into intricate patterns, with a single topknot rising high. He wore ornate Dwarven-forged plate armor etched with runes, adorned with wolf teeth and skulls. A wolfskin cloak draped over his shoulders, and his robe bore the image of a hungry wolf running among stars.
At his side hung a sword radiating icy energy, while a sunlit spear was strapped to his back. Accompanied by a pack of frost wolves and two massive black-and-white bears, the traveler pressed on through the blizzard.
"I'm coming, Oleg. Ryan. I'll be there soon!" he declared.
The two giant bears—striking with their panda-like markings—marched ahead. One encountered a Greenskin war boss, who laughed uproariously at the sight.
"Oi, what's this cuddly thing? Bahaha—"
The bear raised its black paw and swiped.
Smack!
The Greenskin's head spun on its neck. Once. Twice. Thrice.
Then it fell off entirely.
The bear roared triumphantly. Super fierce!
_________________________
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