"Burp~" The Butcher King belched loudly, having completely lost count of how many mugs of beer he had downed. Agrim Ironfist swayed unsteadily in his seat. "Oh ho, I see her! That Lake Woman is coming out of the waves, with her fishy smell—heh heh heh—carrying her foot-washing water!"
"No~ burp~ no, that's Lileath! Lileath is guiding me! She's taking me away from the mortal world!" Araloth, the Wood Elf hero, was equally drunk, hiccupping between his slurred words. "She's stepping out of the moonlight to lead me away!"
"What~ moonlight? It's broad daylight!"
"No, it's pouring rain outside, isn't it?"
One after another, the Butcher King and Araloth collapsed to the ground, their drinking contest ending in a draw.
Meanwhile, King Ryan was seated at a long makeshift table, surrounded by his closest allies. At the head of the table sat Ryan and Morgiana. To his left was Veronica, and next to her was Aurora, who had forced herself to attend despite her exhaustion—an opportunity to expand her influence was never to be missed by the Supreme Sorceress.
"Your Majesty, there seems to have been an incident at the porridge distribution site," a soldier reported. "All fifty barrels of porridge have been distributed, but many people didn't get any and are furious. A few thugs appear to be secretly stirring up the refugees, inciting them to storm our camp."
"Inform Elector Count Vamir von Zhukov immediately!" Ryan commanded the soldier firmly. "Tell him that if he doesn't handle his people, we Bretonnians will prepare to withdraw our forces."
"Yes, sire!"
Ryan continued enjoying the warm, sweet maple croissants. Beside him, Veronica clung to his arm, leaning close to whisper, "My dear, this is probably as far as I can accompany you."
Ryan immediately understood what she meant. "You need to return?"
"Yes." Veronica seemed reluctant but nodded.
The Garland Council, now reduced to a sorceress collective, had lost its long-established organizational structure following its near-destruction. Despite Ryan's full support, the collective could no longer operate independently, forcing Veronica to personally oversee most matters.
Furthermore, all of the collective's senior leadership—Speaker Veronica, Vice-Speaker Aurora, and Theresa—had joined Ryan on this campaign. Leaving the collective without its leaders for too long was bound to cause operational issues. Even during the Council's heyday, former Speaker Margarita rarely left the Sky Dome Fortress, as her presence was critical to its functioning.
"With Spring Sprout Day approaching, I've just purchased over a hundred young girls with magical talent from the refugee camps," Veronica explained awkwardly. "You know how dangerous it is to leave them untrained. Without proper guidance, their uncontrolled magical potential could create disturbances in the Winds of Magic, leading to all sorts of bizarre phenomena. Left unchecked, it could even draw Chaos corruption, opening portals and summoning daemonic incursions."
Ryan nodded thoughtfully. He realized that this unexpected lull in the campaign, resulting from the swift downfall of the Chaos forces, had given Veronica the time to recruit so many talented girls. While he regretted her impending departure, he couldn't argue with the necessity of her work. "When do you plan to leave? Will Aurora and Theresa go with you?"
"It's best if we all return," Aurora interjected, her voice weary. The Supreme Sorceress had depleted her magical reserves during the summoning of the Greater Ice Elemental Lord and was still recovering. "Theresa will accompany me; I'll need her as my assistant during my two or three months of bed rest."
"You've worked hard," Ryan said sincerely, deciding not to press further.
At that moment, a black bat flitted into Ryan's tent. Perching on a beam, it let out two sharp cries. Ryan untied a small scroll from the bat's leg and quickly scanned its contents.
Morgiana entered the tent shortly after, her expression one of concern. "What is it, Ryan? What's that?"
"Do you remember Vampire Baron Hal Harris?" Ryan handed her the scroll, his face relaxing slightly. "The one from Mousillon?"
"I remember. Didn't you strike some sort of agreement with him back then?" Morgiana read through the note, her expression darkening. "It says that Blood Dragon Grand Master Walach Harkon and the last Vampire Count, Mannfred von Carstein, were both lurking in the Shadow Forest, waiting for an opportunity to strike. But now, they've decided to retreat?"
"Walach Harkon is a member of the Blood Dragon lineage," Ryan explained. "He and Luthor Harkon were supposed to lead Blood Dragon's legacy after their progenitor, Abhorash, left. However, Luthor became the Vampire Pirate King, leaving Walach to shoulder the Blood Dragon mantle. As for Mannfred... well, you're quite familiar with him, aren't you?"
"Familiar?" Morgiana's voice dripped with venom. "If hatred counts as familiarity, then yes, I'm very familiar with Mannfred. I'd appreciate it if you avoided such poor attempts at humor in the future, Ryan, or I might demand you double the time you spend with me."
Ryan chuckled awkwardly, pulling Morgiana into a gentle kiss on her forehead to placate her. "Apologies, I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that you know Mannfred's tendencies well."
The relationship between the undead and Chaos was as complex as it was antagonistic. The undead sought to establish a kingdom of the dead, ruling over the living. Chaos, on the other hand, aimed to destroy all existence, plunging everything into the void. Thus, conflict between the two factions was inevitable and unresolvable.
According to Hal Harris's message, both Walach and Mannfred had been biding their time, hoping for a bloody confrontation between the Chaos forces and the human armies. Once both sides were severely weakened, the undead planned to sweep across the northern Empire, annihilating both Chaos and humanity to establish a realm of the dead.
However, the unexpected turn of events had thrown their plans into disarray. With Archaon's suicide, the Chaos army was routed, while the human coalition, though battered, remained strong—especially with Ryan present.
The mere mention of Ryan's name was enough to deter Walach and Mannfred. Furthermore, the two undead leaders represented vastly different ideologies. The Blood Dragons valued martial honor, oaths, and valor, while the von Carsteins were known for their cunning, scheming, and mastery of court intrigue. Their inability to unite their forces made any hope of defeating Ryan futile.
Ultimately, both decided to retreat. Mannfred would withdraw to Sylvania, while Walach would return to the World's Edge Mountains, lying in wait for another opportunity to rise.
"In any case, this is good news," Ryan said, smiling. "We can now focus entirely on eliminating the remnants of the Chaos forces."
His strategy for the next phase of the campaign was already crystal clear.
By the time Ryan and Morgiana returned to the banquet, it was midday.
The Lady of the Lake had taken Ryan's seat at the head of the table. Around her knelt dukes, Grail Knights, and Old Guard soldiers, all paying homage to her divine presence. As Ryan and Morgiana approached, the goddess cast a playful yet reproachful glance at Ryan before signaling for the ceremony to proceed.
On the grand stage, amidst the radiant light of the goddess's divine aura, the ceremony began.
"Bertrand, Commander of the Old Guard, Wartime Marshal, Baron of Nottingham, and recipient of the Exceptional Grail Medal—step forward." The Lady's voice was gentle but commanding as she gestured for Bertrand to approach.
The Old Guard commander, resplendent in his formal uniform, marched briskly to the stage. His black coat, adorned with gold embroidery, gleamed under the light. Every inch of his attire, from the silk cravat to the oak-leaf and fleur-de-lis motifs on his cuffs, exuded opulence.
Bertrand knelt on one knee before the goddess, tears streaming down his face. "My Lady... I never imagined..."
"You've always made the right choices, Bertrand," the goddess said warmly. "You've contributed greatly to our cause time and again. You are a hero of Bretonnia. Your arrows have pierced the hearts of our enemies and brought victory to our people. Now, I bestow this upon you."
Taking the Lady of the Lake's Highest Honor from a silver platter, she pinned it to Bertrand's chest. "Rise, my hero."
Amidst thunderous applause, Bertrand descended the stage, the envy of all.
But there was another medal on the platter.
"Bretonnia has another hero," the Lady announced. "One who has achieved countless miracles and legendary feats. He turned the impossible into reality, delivering a decisive victory against overwhelming odds. For his unparalleled contributions to this war, I have prepared a second medal."
"Unfortunately, he is not present today. This medal will be kept safe until your triumphant return to Couronne, where I will personally present it to him during the next ceremony."
The audience buzzed with excitement. Everyone had a pretty good idea of who the second recipient would be.
Ryan, however, smirked wryly. *This goddess... she's always stirring the pot. She didn't mention this second medal to me at all
.*
Still, he had to admit, if Bertrand deserved the honor, then so did the other recipient.
For now, Ryan decided to let it be. Balancing everyone's expectations was part of the job.
The festivities ended in jubilation, solidifying the morale and unity of Bretonnia's forces. More importantly, the celebration showcased Bretonnia's cultural and military strength to their allies.
Three days later, François arrived with a southern Bretonnian army of 15,000 troops, including 80 cannons and ample supplies.
The arrival of this fresh force marked the beginning of a new chapter in the campaign.
Standing before a grand map of the Empire's northern territories, Ryan unveiled his next strategy.
"Operation March Storm begins now," Ryan declared, his voice steady but filled with resolve. "Our goal: to retake Erengrad from the hands of Chaos. We will establish a new Kislevite government under our protection."
"The Old World's north must have a buffer zone!"
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