Alfred did not immediately leave Ryan's ducal castle. As Ryan's de facto vassal, Alfred not only needed to report to Ryan but also had to pay his respects to Sulia, the Queen of Bretonnia.
Compared to the approachable Ryan, Queen Sulia was much harder to deal with. Alfred had little personal relationship with her, and under her no-nonsense demeanor, he was required to present detailed reports about his expedition's forces, the management of his territories during his absence, and the plans for addressing any issues that might arise.
There was no room for shortcuts or vague answers. Alfred carried his meticulously prepared report to Sulia in her office.
As if by luck—or misfortune—Alfred found not only Sulia but also the Lady of the Lake in the office. The goddess was holding Sulia's hand, smiling and chatting with her. When Alfred entered, the Lady turned to him with a playful smile.
"Alfred's here! So, you're off on an expedition too?" the goddess teased.
"Uh, yes," Alfred replied awkwardly, unsure whether to kneel or stand.
Fortunately, the Lady of the Lake did not make things difficult for him. She merely asked about the size of the forces he was taking on this expedition.
Alfred's forces were substantial, as this was a summons by Grand Theogonist Volkmar. He was leading all his finest troops and most of his active soldiers:
15 Templar Knights (including Alfred himself) 12 Hospitaller Knights 6 Warrior Priests 22 Greatswords A regiment of halberdiers, a regiment of sword-and-shield infantry, and a regiment of crossbowmen from the Freyja Cathedral district Two regiments of Templar Squires and two regiments of Flagellant zealots A small number of support staff
With each regiment averaging 90-120 soldiers, Alfred's army numbered over 800 men—virtually all of his best troops.
After his explanation, Alfred could sense Sulia's displeasure. These forces, after all, were essentially Bretonnian troops, which she clearly wasn't thrilled to see marching off to an Imperial campaign. The Lady of the Lake, however, seemed unconcerned. Straightening the hem of her gown, the goddess nodded indifferently and said, "Well then, safe travels!"
"Yes!" Alfred, feeling as if he'd been granted a reprieve, quickly bowed and left the office.
Without delay, Alfred returned to prepare his forces. Within a few days, his army set off from Mousillon, marching along the Grismerie River, through Gisoreux, and into Montfort.
At Montfort Castle, Alfred had the rare opportunity to meet Duke Ford. Thanks to the thriving trade between the Empire and Bretonnia, Montfort's customs revenue had repeatedly set new records. Duke Ford, whose family historically maintained good (if not always friendly) relations with Reikland, generously waived the border toll for Alfred's troops.
After spending a night in Montfort, Alfred's army crossed the Axe Bite Pass and reached the Imperial border city of Helmgart by late February. This city, once devastated by plague, had been completely rebuilt and was now one of the most important trade hubs between Bretonnia and the Empire.
At Helmgart, Alfred unexpectedly encountered Witch Hunter Abel, a man who had crossed paths with Ryan many times before. Hearing of Alfred's expedition, Abel and his six Witch Hunters decided to join him on the journey to Altdorf.
March, Reikland, Reikwald Forest
"I thought Witch Hunters wandered forever," Alfred said with a smile, riding his white warhorse beside Abel. "I didn't expect you to settle in Helmgart."
"I haven't settled there," Abel replied. Now a Witch Hunter Master, years of fighting Skaven and rooting out corruption had aged him considerably. His hair had turned white, and his once-sharp demeanor had mellowed into a more subdued presence. With a wry smile, he explained, "I've tried to establish my order in Helmgart. After the plague and devastation, the city's residents and nobles needed someone to help them deal with evil and clear out monsters."
"That sounds like a good arrangement," Alfred said, his silver armor gleaming in the dim forest light. The Archbishop's sunny disposition and enthusiastic smile remained unchanged. "A win-win situation."
"For now, yes," Abel said, carrying two swords on his back and a flintlock pistol at his waist. He looked tired. "But it won't last. If we completely eradicate the monsters, the people will stop welcoming us. If the evil persists, they'll think we're ineffective. And if we maintain a balance for too long, rumors will start—accusing us of breeding monsters to sustain our power. Eventually, they'll hate us."
"Still, Witch Hunters are indispensable. Without your tireless efforts under the Lord's light, rooting out corruption and destroying evil, the Old World would face even more mutations," Alfred said, though he was equally frustrated by the challenges of their work.
"Mutations in the Old World are like diseases—contagious, destructive, and terrifying," Abel replied. "Every year, new mutant infants are born. People are quick to throw an unfamiliar mutant child into the fire. But when the corruption affects their own loved ones, they falter in their duties and make shameful choices: they hide them."
"It's a cruel and heartless reality," Alfred admitted with a bitter smile. "And villagers certainly don't welcome outsiders coming into their homes to take their children."
"Which is why leaving Helmgart is only a matter of time," Abel said, resigned to the inevitability. "I've grown used to it."
"According to the map, there's a village up ahead, Your Grace," one of the Templar Knights reported in the mid-afternoon. "Perhaps we can stay there for the night."
"No village can accommodate an army of over 800," Alfred replied sternly. "And few could feed us all. Do not disturb the locals! This isn't Bretonnia, and these are not our lands. Dismiss any thoughts of taking food from the villagers. Water, bread, and salted meat will suffice until we reach the next town."
"Yes, Your Grace!" The Templar Knights, though chastised, accepted his reprimand with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. The atmosphere among the troops grew tense and conversation dwindled.
Alfred sighed deeply. He prided himself on maintaining strict discipline, but he knew he couldn't hold his men to Ryan's exacting standards. Ryan's logistics were famously well-managed, and the rations of the Old Guard were the envy of the world. Alfred, however, lacked Ryan's resources. Providing beer, barley bread, and salted meat for over 800 men was already a significant expense.
The Church of Justice had not been free of scandals involving clergy or knights exploiting the populace.
As dusk fell over the dark, ominous Reikwald Forest, an unsettling presence seemed to permeate the area. Witch Hunter Abel's expression shifted.
"There's blood in the wind, Your Grace! Beastmen are near!" he warned.
"Not just a few Beastmen—a horde!" Alfred's face grew grim. He signaled for his troops to prepare for battle. "Soldiers! Stay sharp! We're facing Beastmen!"
The army quickly assumed a defensive formation. Though somewhat disorganized and underprepared, Alfred's troops were no strangers to combat, having fought Beastmen and undead remnants in Mousillon.
Halberdiers formed a phalanx, sword-and-shield infantry lined up in ranks, knights drew their swords, and Witch Hunters loaded their firearms.
Alfred gripped his twin-tailed comet-adorned, flame-wreathed warhammer tightly, murmuring prayers to the God of Justice and the mortal god Charlemagne.
The Beastmen arrived with deafening roars, emerging from the forest in a chaotic tide. They were led by a massive Bray-Shaman riding atop a heavily scarred Gor. Around 300-500 Beastmen charged toward Alfred's formation.
"Too many!" Alfred muttered. Beastmen hordes rarely exceeded a few hundred warriors. This scale was highly unusual.
"Fire!" The crossbowmen loosed their bolts, cutting down waves of charging Beastmen. Ungor archers retaliated with bone and wooden arrows, but their chaotic ranks clashed head-on with Alfred's shield wall.
In the ensuing melee, halberds pierced Beastmen flesh, shields blocked rusted weapons, and swords slashed through hardened hides. Despite their frenzied attacks, the Beastmen found themselves up against disciplined troops and a determined leader.
As the larger and more armored Bestigors joined the fray, they began to break through the human lines. Their heavy axes shattered shields, and their sheer brute force disrupted the defensive formation.
"By the God of Justice! Smite them!" Alfred raised his blazing warhammer, unleashing a radiant explosion of platinum light. Beastmen recoiled, their fur catching fire as they screamed in agony. Seizing the moment, Alfred ordered the Greatswords and knights into the fight. Supported by Templar Squires and Flagellants, they counterattacked with devastating force.
Even the strongest Bestigors faltered against the Greatswords' massive blades and the knights' precision strikes.
The Beastmen's Bray-Shaman tried to cast spells to rally his troops, but Witch Hunter Abel hurled a firebomb at him. The explosion marked the shaman, and Abel shouted, "He's vulnerable! Take him down!"
Alfred charged forward on horseback. Ducking under the shaman's swing, he brought his warhammer down on the creature's skull, smashing it in a burst of fire and black blood. The horde panicked and fled, leaving over 200 dead.
"This doesn't make sense," Alfred said to Abel. "Why are so many Beastmen here?"
"They must've been feeding," Abel replied grimly. "There's a village nearby—likely under attack. We must hurry, or we'll find only ashes and bones."
Alfred quickly consulted his map. "The nearest village is... Grinsdorf!"
"Leave the baggage train behind. Fifty men stay with the wounded. The rest, follow me to Grinsdorf!" Alfred ordered.
An hour later, the army reached the village. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest glowed with flames, and smoke billowed from the burning settlement.
Anger welled in Alfred's chest. Were they too late?
The distant clash of weapons and human cries reached their ears. Relief flickered across Alfred and Abel's faces—they weren't too late. The villagers were still fighting!
But what they saw next stunned them into silence.
Golden flames erupted across the village, hurling Beastmen into the air and smashing them to the ground. Amidst the chaos stood a young man, shouting above the din of battle.
"For Charlemagne! For the Empire!"
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and no older than 17 or 18. His golden hair framed a face filled with righteous fury. Clad in a blacksmith's apron and wielding two massive forging hammers, he charged directly at the Beastlord leading the attack.
"That boy's insane!" Alfred thought, preparing his men to rescue the villagers. Yet a part of him lamented the loss of such a promising youth in his first battle.
Moments later, Alfred's view of the world shattered.
The boy moved like a meteor, his hammers whirling with blinding speed. Beastmen disintegrated in his path, torn apart by golden fire and radiant light. The ungor spear formations were obliterated, shamans' staffs shattered, and bodies incinerated in moments. Within minutes, the boy stood face-to-face with the massive Beastlord.
The Beastlord swung its great axe at the boy, aiming to cleave him in two. The boy deflected the strike with one hammer, grunting under the force. With the other, he raised his second hammer, blazing with fiery trails like a comet, and brought it down on the Beastlord's skull.
The Beastlord's head exploded in a burst of golden-red light. Its body shattered like glass, scattering into the burning village.
The Beastmen horde broke and fled, quickly slaughtered by Alfred's army.
All eyes turned to the young man.
"The Twin-Tailed Comet?!" Alfred muttered in disbelief. "The prophecy... Charlemagne returning with the comet in the Empire's darkest hour? Could it be...?"
Galloping toward the youth, Alfred dismounted and approached with respect. The boy stood amidst a mountain of Beastmen corpses, unscathed.
"Thank you for your help, righteous priest," the young man said, smiling with pearly white teeth. "Your men saved us. Grinsdorf is in your debt."
"And you are...?" Alfred asked, bowing slightly out of respect for what he believed to be a Sanctuary-level warrior.
"Me? I'm just a villager from Grinsdorf!" the young man replied cheerfully, slinging his hammers over his shoulder. He took a long drink from his water pouch, his bright blue eyes filled with gratitude.
"Oh, right. My name's... Voten."
"Voten?" Alfred repeated, stunned.
The boy's apron shifted, revealing a distinctive birthmark on his chest—a perfect depiction of the Twin-Tailed Comet. In the fading twilight, it shimmered with an ethereal glow.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/INNIT
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.