"Forward, in the name of Ursun and Tor!"
When the Royal First Guard Lancers, under the command of Marshal Rokossovsky, charged into the battlefield, the Beastmen's defeat became inevitable. Surrounded on three sides, their animalistic instincts kicked in—panic and chaos spread like wildfire, and the herd began to crumble.
The Lancers were a sight to behold: their finely crafted armor gleamed, tall winged helmets soared, and their ornate chest plates and capes billowed as they surged forward. The wings on their backs fluttered like banners in the forest, their lances leveled for the charge. The thunder of hooves echoed across the battlefield, blending with the roar of the soldiers' unified cries—a symphony of discipline and defiance. Nothing inspired a human army's morale more than the glorious sight of a winged cavalry charge, their precision a testament to human courage and pride.
"Forward! Forward! For the Ursun and Thor!" Rokossovsky shouted, raising his saber high into the air. Hundreds of lances aligned perfectly, the red-and-white banners fluttering near their lance tips. This was a painting brought to life, a scene of valor that stirred the soul. The Marshal led the charge from the front, his curved blade catching the sunlight as he slashed through a charging Bestigor's axe, his blow striking deep into its spine. The Beast roared in agony as a lance pierced its shoulder, and the thunderous hooves of the Lancers trampled it into pulp.
The charge tore through the Beastmen's center, cleaving their army in two. Though the remaining Beastmen numbered fewer than a thousand, they fought with the desperation of cornered animals. Bestigors, Gors, and even Minotaurs rallied under their Beastlord, thrashing wildly in their final stand.
Meanwhile, in the rear of the Bretonnian army, a familiar song began to rise, growing louder as reinforcements marched forward.
The Beastmen's primal instincts stirred—a fear deeply etched into their very essence.
When the soldiers of the Old Guard appeared, their blue-and-red uniforms and bear-pelt hats unmistakable, even the most elite Beastmen hesitated.
The men sang as they marched into the fray, their voices steady and resolute:
"I love fried onions; oh, what a treat!"
"I'll eat my onions, sweet and neat!"
"Comrades, forward! Onward to fight!"
"Into the fray, with honor and might!"
The Old Guard advanced, their gleaming halberds and greatswords cutting through the Beastmen like scythes through wheat. These hardened veterans, armed with dwarf-forged weapons and unyielding discipline, pushed the Gors and Bestigors back step by step. The sheer weight of their relentless advance, combined with the Beastmen's mounting fear, turned the tide.
The Beastlord, Skarl Bloodfeast, roared with rage and threw himself into the battle. His black-rune-etched greataxe cleaved through armor and shields, his four great horns plowing through the Old Guard's ranks. Five halberdiers were hurled into the air, their bones shattered, and two more were cleaved in half by his axe.
Raymond, captain of the halberdiers, charged forward to face the Beastlord. His finely-crafted runic halberd clashed with Skarl's greataxe, sparks flying. The impact left Raymond's hands numb. Dropping his halberd, he drew a pistol and fired point-blank into the Beastlord's face.
The bullet struck Skarl's iron-hard skull, producing only a shower of sparks. The Beastlord laughed mockingly, raising his greataxe for a killing blow.
But the laughter was short-lived.
From two hundred meters away, a single black arrow, imbued with the fury of Taal, streaked across the battlefield. It passed through three Minotaurs before curving in mid-air and striking Skarl directly in the right eye.
"GAAAAH!" The Beastlord let out an agonized howl, clawing at the arrow lodged deep in his skull. Blood and black ichor gushed from the wound as the Beastlord's remaining eye rolled back into his head. He collapsed to the ground with a deafening crash, his monstrous body convulsing before lying still.
Two hundred meters away, Bertrand, the commander of the Old Guard, lowered Taal's Bow. He nodded toward Raymond before turning his attention to the next target.
On another part of the battlefield, the Grey Knight recruits faced the Bray-Shaman Dar Soulshatter. Pétain raised his weapon high, chanting a prayer of judgment. The recruits' psychic powers surged, empowering the soldiers around them with enhanced strength and resolve. With a synchronized strike, the three recruits—Pétain, Joffre, and Foch—brought their blades down upon the Bray-Shaman, reducing it to ash under the purifying light of the Emperor.
The Beastmen's army was shattered. Their Beastlord and Bray-Shaman were dead, and panic spread through their ranks. Victory was within reach for the Bretonnians.
But just as the Bretonnian soldiers began to cheer, a scout burst into the command post, shouting in alarm:
"Bad news, my lord! The rear!"
"What about the rear?!" Bertrand demanded, his face paling.
"A large force of Dragon Ogres and Centigors is flanking us! Over three thousand of them, less than two kilometers away!"
Bertrand felt a chill run down his spine. If this new force struck from the rear, the Bretonnian army would be caught in a pincer attack. The hard-fought victory could turn into a devastating defeat.
"What do we do?!" Bertrand glanced toward Rokossovsky, who was still leading the Lancers in the frontlines. The Old Guard commander struggled to maintain his composure, but uncertainty clouded his mind.
At that moment, Raymond emerged from the battlefield, bloodied but resolute.
"Why have we stopped attacking, Marshal?" the halberdier captain asked, gripping his halberd tightly.
"There's a large cavalry force flanking us—Dragon Ogres and Centigors, over three thousand of them!" Bertrand explained quickly. "We can't afford to be caught in a two-front battle."
"Damn it all!" Raymond cursed, his armor splattered with Beastmen blood and gore. After a moment of thought, he made a decision.
"Marshal, give me the Old Guard halberdiers and the Waywatchers. I'll hold them off. And if possible, send me four cannons."
"Raymond…" Bertrand's voice faltered. He understood what the captain was implying.
"Mountains do not move," Raymond said firmly, gripping Bertrand's hand. Determination burned in his eyes. "Marshal, I have a request."
"Speak." Bertrand returned the handshake, gripping Raymond's hand tightly.
"If I fall here, please take care of my mother and younger brother."
"If that day comes, your mother will be my mother."
"Thank you." Raymond nodded silently and issued his orders.
The halberdiers, renowned for their discipline, immediately disengaged from the main battle. The Waywatchers followed under Daith's command. Four Sunfire Cannons were repositioned to support them.
In a clearing amidst the trees, Raymond's makeshift force of five hundred prepared for the incoming horde of Beastmen cavalry. The soldiers knew the odds were grim, but they stood firm. These battle-hardened veterans had long accepted the possibility of death.
As the thunder of hooves grew louder, Raymond found himself uncharacteristically calm. Beside him, Daith silently nocked an arrow, ready for the fight.
"Mountains do not move…" Raymond muttered to himself, repeating the King's teachings. "Mountains do not move… Mountains do not move…"
Suddenly, inspiration struck him.
"I've got it!" Raymond shouted, rallying his men. "Stand your ground! Consider yourselves already dead! No matter what, do not move!"
"Yes, sir!"
The halberdiers formed a double line, their halberds braced for the charge. The Waywatchers took their positions, bows drawn. Not a single man wavered.
When the Centigor horde and Dragon Ogres finally emerged, their leader, Gorrul Hoofbreaker, hesitated.
Before him stood the legendary Old Guard, their ranks unwavering. Not a single soldier flinched, even in the face of overwhelming odds.
Suspicious, Gorrul ordered his forces to halt and assess the situation. Through the dust and smoke, he could make out only two lines of infantry.
Arrows began to rain down from the Waywatchers, followed by the deafening roar of Sunfire Cannons.
"This is a trap!" Gorrul realized, his primal instincts screaming danger. Reluctant to commit to a frontal assault, he ordered a retreat. "Fall back! Humans… deceitful! Gorrul… not fool!"
The Beastmen cavalry withdrew under a hail of arrows. Some Waywatchers instinctively moved to pursue, but Raymond roared:
"Hold your positions! DO NOT MOVE!"
The soldiers obeyed, remaining rooted in place.
Convinced that the humans had a larger force hidden in the forest, Gorrul led his army in a full retreat.
When the scouts confirmed that the Beastmen had fled, Raymond finally relaxed, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion.
The battle of Arden Forest ended in a resounding Bretonnian victory. The army successfully escaped the Beastmen's encirclement with minimal losses.
Bretonnian Casualties: 700 dead, 2,000 wounded.
Beastmen Casualties: 7,000 dead, including one Beastlord and one Bray-Shaman. No survivors or prisoners.
As the army marched home, they passed a Lady of the Lake shrine near Mousillon. A radiant light burst from the shrine, illuminating the gray winter sky. The Lady herself emerged, clad in a shimmering silken gown, cradling the Holy Grail in her hands.
All the soldiers fell to their knees, praising the Goddess for their victory.
But the Lady shook her head gently, a serene smile gracing her lips. Pointing toward the Old Guard, her glowing hand singled out a bloodied halberdier captain.
"Raymond de Montbatten, step forward."
"With your courage, wisdom, and virtue, you have proven yourself worthy of the Knightly Code. Now, come forth."
"I grant you, Raymond de Montbatten, the highest honor of the Holy Grail!"
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