The emperor's urgent decree plunged the entire city of Brunswick into chaos. Nearly all standing armies were mobilized, and the gates of the Reiksguard's castle, rarely opened, now swung wide as squad after squad of Reiksguard, including new recruits, were called into action.
Every military camp was assembling under the orders of imperial generals and captains, even conscripting active-duty soldiers and veterans who had retired just a year or two prior. The streets were flooded with a massive military presence, sparking waves of speculation and confusion.
The Imperial Royal College of Wizards was also disrupted by the emperor's messengers. Wizards, deep in their research or lectures, were forced to halt their work and prepare for battle under the emperor's command. Many apprentice mages would receive their first practical combat lessons on the battlefield.
In contrast, the Grand Cathedral of Justice in Brunswick seemed lifeless. The heavy losses suffered during the martyrdom battle at Talabheim left Grand Theogonist Volkmar unable to support Emperor Karl-Franz, despite his desire to do so. However, the Grand Theogonist managed to allocate 7,500 gold marks from the church treasury as emergency military funds.
Brunswick's armories were also fully mobilized. Dozens of war machines and cannons were rolled out of the factories, and storerooms were opened to transport stockpiled firearms and ammunition. Only essential engineers remained to maintain production.
The emperor sent messengers to the dozen or so knightly orders in Reikland, though it was unclear how many could arrive in time. Karl-Franz could no longer wait. After half a day of frantic preparation, the emperor announced their departure!
The capital was roughly a thousand kilometers from Black Fire Pass. Time was of the essence! If the greenskins reached the pass in three weeks, the Reikland army would need to march 50 kilometers daily to intercept them.
Even if supplies could be arranged along the way, and even if the roads from Reikland to Averland were relatively well-paved with cobblestones or granite, a daily march of 50 kilometers was still a tremendous strain. Emperor Karl-Franz could only hope that the forces of the Badlands and the Border Princes could hold out longer, slowing the greenskins' advance. Alternatively, his often erratic Elector Count and close friend, Marius Leitdorf, might find a way to delay them.
Damn it! Why had 100,000 greenskins suddenly appeared to attack Black Fire Pass? Did this make any sense?
Karl-Franz didn't dwell on it. The gates of Brunswick were thrown open, and after half a day of urgent preparations, an army of several thousand stood ready.
It wasn't much, but more would join later.
Rows of Reiksguard, clad in golden helmets and silver armor with griffon cloaks symbolizing the emperor's lineage, stood at the forefront. Behind them were three steam tanks—steel behemoths ready for battle. Following them were the Brunswick Royal Honor Guard, the Franz Guard Corps, several Brunswick garrison regiments, and a host of knightly orders: the Sunset Knights, the Panther Knights, the Sable Knights, and the Sun Knights. All were prepared for the march.
Amid hymns praising Charlemagne, the founding emperor, and Ludwig the Savior, the sons of the Empire set forth.
The emperor raised Ghal Maraz, the divine warhammer, and addressed his army and his people.
"Steel!"
Spears stood like a forest, and armor gleamed like mountains as rows of knights roared the Empire's battle cry.
"Gunpowder!"
Steam tanks belched white smoke, and war machines of all kinds stood ready. Rows of gunners aimed their black-barreled firearms at the unseen enemy.
"Faith!"
With these words, the army marched out through the open gates of Brunswick.
As the Empire's defender, Karl-Franz's political acumen surpassed his diplomatic skills, which in turn outshone his military prowess. However, underestimating his military capabilities would be a grave mistake. The emperor had proven his mettle in countless wars, and his personal bravery was renowned throughout the Old World.
It was only in comparison to the dazzling military achievements of the Sun King next door that Karl-Franz seemed slightly overshadowed.
The army moved swiftly. After leaving Brunswick, they followed the Reik River's main road, with new forces joining along the way. Within days, the emperor and his army reached the famous eastern town of Grunburg.
There, he received both good and bad news.
The good news was that Duke Ivan and Count Anton of the Griffon Order had arrived with the majority of the Griffon Knights. Among the nearly 400 knights, two dozen were elite riders on griffons, while the rest rode demigryphs. Their arrival bolstered the emperor's confidence in the upcoming battle. The Griffon Knights were a cornerstone of the Empire's military might, and their timely arrival not only increased the chances of victory but also greatly boosted morale.
The bad news, however, was that the forces of Nuln refused to mobilize. The reason was simple: much of Nuln's court and military command were in Bretonnia, attending the River Festival. With Countess Emmanuelle, Grand Marshal Aldebrand Ludenhof, and Baron Frederik all absent, Nuln's armies could not be placed under the emperor's command.
Only a handful of generals and court nobles remained in Nuln, and upon receiving the emperor's decree, they refused to send troops. Their reasoning was clear: if the emperor failed to hold Black Fire Pass, Nuln would need its forces to defend the city, just as it had during the invasion of Tamurkhan.
The emperor struggled to maintain his composure upon hearing this. He knew all too well that without Nuln's heavy artillery, war machines, and gun regiments, facing this massive greenskin Waaagh! would be unprecedentedly difficult.
Messengers attempted to negotiate with Nuln's city council, but the council remained adamant: they would mobilize only upon receiving a signed order from the Countess.
The problem was that sending a message to Emmanuelle and waiting for her response would take far too long. Even with magical communication, the round trip would take at least five to six days.
No wonder Manfred von Carstein had thanked Leon for his "help." By drawing away Nuln's forces and the command structure of the Eight Peaks Dwarfs, the Sun King had inadvertently become the MVP of this crisis.
"Without Nuln's forces, we can only rely on ourselves, Your Majesty," said Count Anton of the Griffon Order, now a middle-aged man in his fifties. Though no longer young, his fervor and bravery remained undiminished. "If we include the forces from Averland, we might muster around 25,000 troops."
"With Gelt's forces, we could reach 25,000, plus Averland's 15,000, totaling around 40,000," Marshal Helborg analyzed, pointing at a large map spread on the table. "The greenskins number 100,000. Worse, after such a forced march, I doubt our soldiers will even be able to lift their weapons by the time we reach Black Fire Pass."
"But we must hold Black Fire Pass!" Karl-Franz slammed his fist on the table. "If this greenskin Waaagh! breaks through into Averland's plains, the entire year's harvest will be lost!"
"The Empire is weak," Duke Ivan said gravely, turning to Marshal Helborg. "What about Stirland? Can Haut-Andernach provide timely support?"
"Barely," Helborg shook his head. "Stirland's forces are only good for garrison duty and city defense. Their numbers are limited, and they still need to guard the Sylvania border."
The group discussed further, but no immediate solutions presented themselves.
After a tense dinner, the emperor barely remembered what he had eaten. Restless, he decided to take a walk outside, accompanied by his standard-bearer and champion, Ludwig Schwarzhelm, along with a detachment of Reiksguard.
Passing fences and wheat fields, windmills and trees, the emperor noticed a group of soldiers gathered around a fire. They grumbled about the weather and cursed the quartermaster.
The rations were meager: hard bread, stewed beans, cabbage, a cup of cheap beer, and a bowl of greasy soup. Three men shared a single sausage.
"My feet are blistered from all this marching!"
"At least you still have boots! Mine are worn through!"
"Damn these greenskins! May Charlemagne curse them!"
"Can't the quartermaster do better than this? Even pigs wouldn't eat this slop!"
"It's not the emperor's fault! It's that damned quartermaster, Rod! He's the one skimming off the top!"
The emperor's expression darkened as he and his retinue hurried away in the rain. "Bring Rod to me!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Minutes later, Quartermaster General Rod arrived, looking disheveled. "Your Majesty, you summoned me?"
"What happened, Rod?" The emperor's tone softened as he noticed the general's injuries. "Were you attacked? Are there enemies nearby?"
"No... just some incidents," Rod shook his head.
"Tell me the truth, General," the emperor's demeanor shifted instantly, his voice stern.
"Some soldiers complained about the rations. For four days, it's been nothing but soup, with only two meals containing meat, and even then, it was mixed with cabbage and carrots. They came to the supply depot to protest," Rod explained helplessly. "But we've done our best, Your Majesty. In such a rush, it's impossible to gather more provisions."
"Didn't I order you to send out foraging parties?" the emperor asked, puzzled. "Surely Reikland has enough supplies?"
"We sent them, but the results were poor, Your Majesty," the quartermaster replied with a bitter smile. "Last year's harvest in Reikland was bad, and most households have little surplus. Your Majesty also strictly forbade us from requisitioning by force. Moreover, local farmers say this year's weather has been strange—unusually cold, with frequent hailstorms and excessive rain. The crops are waterlogged, and this year's harvest will likely be poor as well."
The emperor frowned deeply. Since last year, the Old World had seemed cursed. In just a few months, the Empire had faced a dozen Beastmen incursions, widespread plagues, crop failures, and rampant Chaos cult activity.
Reikland, with its large population of freeholders, was particularly affected. While freeholders were self-sufficient, well-armed, and highly effective in combat, requisitioning their grain was challenging. Unlike serfs or tenants, freeholders prioritized feeding their own families before selling any surplus. Forced requisitioning would severely damage the emperor's reputation.
The Empire had previously relied on large grain imports from Bretonnia for military provisions. However, for reasons unknown, the Sun King, Leon, had recently adjusted his policies, drastically reducing grain exports to the Empire. Rumor had it that his ally, the Purple Phoenix of the New World, had placed a massive order, leaving the Empire's military supplies strained during this critical period.
The Empire was weak, the emperor realized.
Strange, why hadn't Bretonnia experienced the same climate changes, plagues, and Beastmen activity?
No, that was Leon's problem, not mine.
I must not falter. The army must not falter. The Empire must not falter.
"Reiksguard!"
"At your command!"
The emperor quickly scribbled a note. "Take this to Duke Grunburg and have him open his private storerooms!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
The Reiksguard departed. This move would undoubtedly anger the nobility, but it would provide the soldiers with much-needed nutrition, ensuring they didn't collapse during the forced march.
By Sigmar, protect your Empire and see us through this crisis!
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