Before dawn broke, the entirety of Wolfenburg was already bustling with activity.
The Bretonnians, especially the peasant soldiers, were the first to rise. They had gone to bed early the previous night in anticipation of this special day. Livestock were slaughtered, massive cauldrons and ovens were lit, and people gathered, singing and dancing (albeit awkwardly). They celebrated with stories of the heroic and legendary adventures of the Grail Knights (though not particularly well-sung). Today marked one of Bretonnia's two most important festivals—Grail Day.
The origins of Grail Day have been discussed previously, so let's not repeat them here. Suffice to say, Grail Day, along with the Lady of the Lake Day, are official public holidays in Bretonnia. The Lake Church mandates that these two festivals require at least three days of holiday, no exceptions. Even the most reluctant knights must grant their peasants time off, as well as demonstrate their "generosity" and "benevolence" by distributing food. Doing so is regarded as an act of devotion and respect to the Lady.
With the reforms introduced by Ryan, the rigid class barriers between knights and peasants had gradually begun to dissolve. Nevertheless, Grail Day and the Lady's Day were carefully preserved traditions, and the emerging city-dwelling middle classes also eagerly welcomed the opportunity to celebrate.
In massive ovens supervised by the Lake Priestesses, batch after batch of freshly baked jam pastries were pulled out. These pastries were filled with jams made from figs, dates, lemons, pomegranates, apples, and pears. For the peasants, sugar and honey were luxury items, and fruit served as the primary sweetener in their diets.
Besides the pastries, meat took center stage. Beef, chicken, duck, pork, venison, lamb, hare, boar, swan, and even herons were prepared for the feast. As expected, the more affordable meats like chicken, duck, hare, and pork were allocated to the peasant infantry and freemen, while knights enjoyed higher-quality cuts like beef, lamb, venison, and boar. However, under Ryan's leadership, the lines between these dietary classes had blurred significantly, with only venison remaining exclusively for knights.
Every Bretonnian could expect a steaming bowl of hearty meat stew with large chunks of meat, as well as a serving of roasted meat weighing between 200 to 250 grams.
As for drinks, every soldier could choose between a large mug of Imperial beer or a smaller cup of wine. Most soldiers naturally opted for the beer, much to the delight of Imperial suppliers—after all, this was a lucrative market!
"Good! Excellent!" Duke Berthold and Duke Louen strolled together through the camp, marveling at the festive atmosphere. Both were visibly pleased. "This is how Grail Day should be celebrated—this is the Lady's festival!"
"A thousand years ago, we rose to prominence on the western side of the Grey Mountains. A thousand years later, our knightly kingdom not only endures but is enjoying a golden age of prosperity!" Louen was in high spirits. As the kingdom's regent, he felt a deep sense of pride in his contributions to this era of glory.
Berthold stopped to inspect an oven, observing as trays of jam pastries were brought out. He couldn't help but feel his mouth water at the tantalizing aroma. Unfortunately, the pastries weren't quite ready yet. He showed far less interest in the stews and roasted meats being prepared in the nearby cauldrons.
As the two dukes continued their walk, the sun fully rose. Their path eventually led them to the Old Guard camp.
There, the elite soldiers were also busy with their preparations. Under the guidance of a Lake Priestess, they were baking maple croissants. The soldiers' ornate uniforms and disciplined demeanor now carried an air of festivity.
The two dukes even spotted a bald-headed field chef grilling a dozen large trout simultaneously, his apron emblazoned with the words "Master Griller" and "King of Trout." The aroma of the freshly seared fish wafted through the air, enticing their appetites.
"I'm getting one of those fish later," Berthold muttered, salivating at the sight.
"My lord, I heard from Lady Morgiana that the Lady herself will appear today to personally award the Lady of the Lake's Highest Honor. I wonder who the recipient will be," Louen remarked casually.
"Don't you already know?" Berthold scoffed. "Who has shone the brightest during this Chaos invasion?"
Louen nodded. Deep down, they both knew who would receive the prestigious honor.
Yet envy was difficult to suppress.
The Lady of the Lake's Highest Honor was crafted from 80% pure gold, with the remainder made from mithril and vibranium, adorned with diamonds. It symbolized the highest level of glory and status within Bretonnia!
Moreover, Ryan had made it clear that medals were more than just tokens of recognition. Each one came with tangible benefits and privileges:
Annual stipends from the royal treasury, currently set at a generous 350 gold crowns per year. Even in the recipient's death, their family would continue to receive support from the Lake Church for up to three generations. Free access to food, lodging, and blessings at any Lake Church chapel, monastery, or sanctuary nationwide. A large estate—at least 300 square meters—complete with personal guards and complimentary public transportation. Comprehensive healthcare, with all medical expenses covered by the royal court. Invitations to major national events, including personal audiences with the Fay Enchantress, the Knight King, or even the Lady of the Lake herself. The medal could only be revoked by the Lady of the Lake herself, and only under the gravest circumstances.
"Bretonnia will never let its heroes bleed and cry," Ryan had famously declared.
These unparalleled privileges rivaled those once enjoyed by the founding twelve Grail Knight families.
Both Berthold and Louen felt a mix of emotions. Ryan's reforms were extending the royal hand deeper into the nobility's core institutions.
But what could they do? This was the Lady's will. Opposing her would be unthinkable.
Fortunately, the benefits applied only to the medal's original recipient and did not pass to their descendants, making it somewhat palatable. After all, such honors were rare, reserved for monumental achievements that warranted the Lady's direct intervention.
No one could have imagined that Bertrand—once the leader of a ragtag bandit group in the Chalons Forest—would one day stand among the kingdom's greatest heroes.
While the Bretonnian camp was lively and festive, the Imperial camp was markedly less so. Elector Count Boris Todbringer, Elector Count Vamir von Zhukov, and Reiksmarshal Helborg watched the proceedings with mixed feelings.
"The act of charity is commendable," Boris remarked. The White Wolf Elector Count glanced at the makeshift porridge stations, where fifty large barrels were being filled with steaming hot porridge. "At least the refugees will have a warm meal."
"Charity is one thing, but this is too little—just fifty barrels? How many can that feed?" Vamir von Zhukov's face bore the deep lines of grief and exhaustion, his once-robust frame now gaunt from the loss of his son and the devastation of his lands. "Our renowned ally's generosity seems... limited."
"Exactly. Fifty barrels of pig organ porridge? Let's do the math. If one barrel holds thirty pounds, that's enough for 240 people. Fifty barrels would feed only 12,000. There are 380,000 refugees in Wolfenburg!" Helborg growled, his irritation barely concealed. "Boris, you know Ryan well. Tell him to add fifty more barrels."
"Are you providing the extra grain, Helborg?" Boris shot back, fixing the Reiksmarshal with his one good eye. "This isn't Ryan's decision; it's likely Morgiana's. If you have complaints, take them up with her."
Helborg winced. He knew Morgiana's reputation as a temperamental, high-level dual-element mage and the earthly representative of the Lady of the Lake. Diplomacy wasn't his strong suit, and he had no desire to deal with her.
Just then, Ryan appeared alongside Morgiana, making their way to the central stage.
The Knight King was fully armored, his face clean-shaven, reminiscent of his younger days in Nordland. His confident demeanor radiated authority, and the Bretonnians erupted into cheers at his arrival.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live the Fay Enchantress!"
Ryan raised a hand in acknowledgment, smiling as he absorbed the adoration of the crowd. He thought to himself: This is the allure of power—man's ultimate adornment. It's easy to see why so many lose themselves in its grip. I must remain true to my purpose.
Morgiana stood silently beside him, her emerald eyes reflecting her deep affection for the King.
"Today, on Grail Day, I, Ryan-Marcado, wish all Bretonnians, our Imperial allies, and our dwarven brothers a joyous celebration!" Ryan's amplified voice echoed across Wolfenburg, reaching every corner of the ruins.
The Knight King delivered a brief but stirring speech, concluding with a promise:
"By noon, the Lady herself will appear to bestow the Lady of the Lake's Highest Honor upon a deserving hero."
With that, the festival began in earnest.
The air filled with the
scent of roasted meats, fresh pastries, and the sound of joyful revelry.
Meanwhile, at the porridge stations, the Old Guard distributed steaming bowls to long lines of refugees.
Among the recipients was a woman with no bowl, forced to use her hands to receive her portion.
"Where's your bowl, ma'am?"
"I... I don't have one."
Moved by her plight, the Old Guard lent her a new bowl, which she clutched tightly as she walked away.
But her relief was short-lived. Two thugs accosted her and snatched her food.
Before they could enjoy their stolen meal, a shadow loomed over them.
"You dare to steal from the King's table?"
Leaping into action, Leman Russ, the Primarch of the Space Wolves, delivered a kick so powerful it shattered their ribs.
"The King's pig-organ porridge—is it tasty, scum?"
The Wolf King's fury was palpable as he unsheathed his Spear of the Allfather.
"Mercy!"
"No mercy for filth."
The thugs' screams echoed across the camp.
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