"Alfred, Alfred, wake up."
In the darkness, Alfred struggled to move his hands, but it was futile.
He couldn't move at all.
It was as though something had shackled his body and mind, leaving him with nothing but pain.
Am I already dead? the Archbishop thought bitterly.
Faint memories of his final battle—the Martyrdom at Tal Fjord—began to resurface.
From the outset, everyone knew that this battle would be exceptionally difficult. Emperor Karl Franz had recently led the Imperial army in a brutal engagement at the Bloodpine Forest, leaving the army fatigued and the Emperor himself recovering from injuries. Without the support of the central Imperial forces, the Church of Sigmar was left to face the Chaos threat on its own.
No help could be expected from Middenland's forces either. The long-standing rivalry between the Ulrican and Sigmarite faiths meant that the Ulricans were already being generous by not actively sabotaging the Church's efforts.
Nuln's aid was similarly limited. The Countess of Nuln, Emmanuelle von Liebwitz, adopted a deliberately ambiguous stance, refusing to take sides in the Church's internal power struggles. While she provided a token contribution in the form of a single artillery company and 20 Blackstone Guard, her focus was elsewhere—namely, on her son. Despite being only a teenager, her heir, young Frederic, had already been told that Nuln's University could no longer offer him any meaningful education. The boy needed practical experience and adventure.
Though reluctant, Emmanuelle had no choice but to allow Frederic to undertake a series of military exercises and expeditions to the southern reaches of Wissenland. Under the protection of Nuln's Ironclad Regiments, young Frederic was commanding small units in skirmishes against goblin tribes. The nobles of Nuln viewed this as an important step toward molding him into a capable heir, much like King Ryan's own meteoric rise.
Thus, the Church of Sigmar could only rely on the reinforcements promised by Talabheim.
This was precisely what worried Alfred. When scouts reported that the Chaos forces were massing in the Shadow Forest, just beyond the Talabec River, Alfred was one of the few who managed to stay calm. When Grand Theogonist Volkmar the Grim ordered the army to cross the recently thawed Talabec River and immediately attack the Chaos army, Alfred openly voiced his opposition.
As one of the few who dared challenge Volkmar, Alfred argued that the army was exhausted from its long march. The weather was miserable, with continuous rains turning the roads into muddy quagmires. Supplies were stretched thin due to the seasonal shortage of crops, and the lack of sufficient firearms severely weakened their combat potential.
Volkmar, however, ignored Alfred's concerns. After ordering the army to advance, he later explained his reasoning to Alfred during the river crossing. The Grand Theogonist acknowledged the logistical challenges but cited two reasons why retreat or delay was not an option: first, the immense pressure from within the Church itself, and second, his growing fear that the ancient seals binding the forces of Chaos within the forest were deteriorating at an alarming rate. If they moved too slowly, not only could the Church splinter, but far worse dangers could emerge from the seals breaking entirely.
Despite this explanation, Alfred remained deeply skeptical about the prospects of the battle. His years of fighting alongside Ryan had taught him to read the flow of battle and identify potential weaknesses. To Alfred, everything about this engagement felt wrong. The Church forces, meant to fight a defensive battle, were now forced into an offensive position. Worse still, they would have to fight Chaos forces in the treacherous terrain of a rain-soaked forest.
After crossing the Talabec River, the Church army soon encountered the Chaos main force. Grak'sor Fire-Axe, the Khorne warlord leading the 14,000-strong Chaos army, was already assembling his forces. Against him stood the 11,000 troops of the Sigmarite army, weary and poorly equipped.
Volkmar, aware that Talabheim's reinforcements and Cardinal Puxilok's 7,000 troops were still days away, decided that the battle had to be fought immediately. He feared that if the Chaos army retreated deeper into the forest, it would become a nightmarish game of cat and mouse. Thus, he ordered the army to engage.
Rain fell incessantly as the exhausted Sigmarite forces marched through the forest. They managed to rout the Chaos vanguard but found themselves in an increasingly precarious situation as they set up their lines for battle.
Grak'sor Fire-Axe quickly realized that the Sigmarite forces were incomplete. He adjusted his strategy, withdrawing some of his heavy-armored Chaos Warriors and marauders from his stronger right flank to bolster his center. He then arranged his troops in a U-shaped formation, creating a deadly trap for the advancing Church army.
Volkmar stood atop the Sigmarite War Altar, observing the enemy's movements. He saw through their plans but remained resolute. Declaring that all evil must be purged in the name of Sigmar and Charlemagne, he divided his forces. He sent Cardinal Vogelthamer and 3,000 men to assault the enemy's right flank, while Alfred was tasked with leading 1,000 troops to attack the left.
Unfortunately, the dense forest and relentless rain negated much of the Church army's advantage. The cavalry struggled to gain momentum, and the infantry's formations were disrupted by the uneven terrain. Both flanking maneuvers stalled under heavy resistance.
To make matters worse, the Church army's central forces lost discipline. Hearing the sounds of battle on the flanks and eager to prove their devotion, the fanatical Flagellants and penitents launched an unauthorized charge. Over 5,000 troops surged forward in a disorganized mass, directly into Grak'sor's trap. They were swiftly encircled and annihilated by the Chaos forces. Among them, General Preithel and Cardinal Konz led 2,000 men to their deaths, not a single one surviving.
The chaos of the early engagements left Volkmar in a desperate position. Yet even as the situation spiraled out of control, the Chaos warlord could not resist his bloodthirsty instincts. Grak'sor committed additional marauder regiments and monstrous warbeasts to a direct assault on Volkmar's position, hoping to decapitate the Sigmarite leadership in one swift strike.
Here, the Church army's discipline and superior organization came into play. Rallying around Volkmar, the knights of the Order of the Fiery Heart and the Hospitaller Knights launched a counterattack. They managed to encircle and destroy several Chaos regiments, temporarily halting the enemy advance.
Finally, Cardinal Puxilok's reinforcements arrived. Volkmar saw an opportunity to counterattack and ordered a full advance. But the exhausted troops could not maintain cohesion. They stumbled directly into Grak'sor's encirclement once more, triggering another brutal melee.
What followed was a horrifying war of attrition. Amidst the rain and the blood-soaked forest floor, neither side could retreat. The outcome would be decided by pure willpower and endurance. Fanatical penitents welcomed death, seeing it as the ultimate liberation. The battle raged from dawn until well past dusk. By 9 p.m., Grak'sor himself engaged Volkmar in single combat, their duel lasting over 20 minutes. In the end, Volkmar wielded Sigmar's holy hammer to deliver a fatal blow to the Chaos warlord.
At last, by 10 p.m., the Chaos army broke. Only 800 survivors fled the battlefield, leaving Volkmar and his remaining 500 combat-ready soldiers to declare victory.
The cost of this victory was staggering—95% of the Sigmarite army had perished.
"The Talabec River ran red with blood. Every minute, corpses floated downstream. The battle lasted 14 hours."
—A hunter from the Talabecland region.
Alfred recalled the battle vividly as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He remembered his final confrontation: a monstrous Chaos Spawn had seized him, preparing to devour him whole. Exhausted beyond measure, Alfred had somehow drawn his pistol and fired it directly into the creature's maw. The heat of the blast burned his hand, and he collapsed to the ground, only for a Chaos Warrior's great axe to cleave into his back, severing his armor and spine.
Falling into the Talabec River, Alfred felt his strength fade. The icy waters engulfed him as he tumbled downstream, a broken man who had given everything in service to his faith and duty.
Darkness consumed him.
Moments later, Alfred jolted awake, coughing up blood and gasping for air. He was alive.
Barely.
His body was battered, his chest pierced by a strange sword that pinned him to a stone slab. Strangely, the sword's blade seemed to sustain him, its magic preventing him from succumbing to his wounds.
Around him, the forest was eerily quiet. The night sky was filled with stars, and the damp scent of rain-soaked earth lingered. Alfred tried to move but found himself immobilized.
He turned his head and saw two figures standing on either side of him.
One was clad in crimson armor, his face obscured by a red-plumed helmet. A flowing azure cape trailed behind him. He stood silent and imposing.
The other was a woman—an elf, judging by her pointed ears. Her hair was shaven at the sides, with the remaining strands tied into a half-circle adorned with intricate eight-pointed runes. Dressed in a tight-fitting red-and-black suit marked with strange symbols, she radiated a cold and menacing presence.
Seeing Alfred awake, the elf-woman approached. She yanked the sword from his chest in one swift motion, causing him to cry out in pain.
"You're awake?" she asked, her tone detached.
Alfred looked at the blade in horror. It was spotless—untainted by blood. His stomach twisted.
"Where… where am I?" Alfred croaked, his throat parched.
"The doorstep of hell," the dark elf replied without emotion.
"Am I dead?" Alfred chuckled weakly, his sunny disposition somehow intact despite the dire circumstances.
"Next time, you will be," she snapped coldly.
"Next time?" Alfred was confused.
"The power of Yena can only save you once, human," she said icily. "Next time, there will be no miracles."
"Regardless, thank you," Alfred managed to say, hastily binding his wounds with whatever scraps he could find. Miraculously, his injuries seemed to be healing—his chest and back no longer felt as grievously damaged as they should have.
Staggering to his feet, he located his waterskin near the stone slab and gulped down the diluted Bugman's ale within. Sighing in relief, he bowed deeply to his mysterious saviors.
"There's no need for thanks," the dark elf said dismissively. "Your people are regrouping 3.5 kilometers downstream. If you're not dead yet, I suggest you go."
She opened a small, ornate fan and waved it nonchalantly. "Our mission here is complete."
"It's time to claim our reward."
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