The chivalric army held its war council in Newland.
Bertrand stood before the map, detailing the current situation.
"Scouts report that from the east and north, a force of approximately 20,000 to 30,000 barbarians is advancing toward Newland," Bertrand, his face framed by a thick beard, stated in a deep voice. "Judging by the circumstances, the enemy is vastly inferior to us in both numbers and quality."
"Based on Newland's intelligence and the reconnaissance from Lawn's previous campaign, the enemy commander is likely Harold Grimson, the self-proclaimed King of Obien," Bertrand continued. "He's a formidable warlord at the early Sanctuary level. A very strong opponent—at least for some of you."
"Hahaha!" Laughter echoed in the command tent.
Among those present, Ryan and Olica were both at the peak of Sanctuary, François was also at the peak, Karad was at high-level Sanctuary, and Veronica, Bordric, and Bertrand were mid-level Sanctuary. There were several other low-level Sanctuary individuals, such as François's courtier, Zahith Morningstar.
The barbarians' strongest unit, according to reports, was Harold's personal guard—a group of Norscan heavy champions, numbering around 300 to 400. Yet in terms of quality, they were no match for the Old Guard, the Grail Knights, or even the elite troops under the various dukes.
As for legendary-tier fighters, they were abundant on Ryan's side. Over thirty Grail Knights, dozens of Expedition Knights, and Kingdom Knights were all of legendary rank. The Old Guard alone boasted nearly 200 legendary fighters.
Ryan recalled that the entire Nord Kingdom once had only 20 to 30 legendary fighters and just two at Sanctuary level.
It's like Sanctuary warriors are as common as grass, and legendary fighters are nothing special.
Ryan knew this wasn't true—it was just that his perspective and experience had broadened significantly.
"Where do these barbarians get their confidence?" François sneered. "A force of at most 30,000 daring to challenge our righteous army? Let me personally greet this so-called King of Obien and see what treasures his fortress holds."
"I've heard the Beast Mountains are rich in minerals. Let's make sure to plunder them thoroughly," joked Duke Bordric. "It's been a few years; let's see what stockpile the barbarians have built up."
"Don't underestimate them, everyone," Ryan interjected. Olica stood behind him, and the Sun King addressed the group from his seat. "In my view, we should aim to fight the barbarians in the open field, rather than defend from within the fortifications."
"Your Majesty, defending is to our advantage," Marshal Rokossovsky queried, puzzled. "Why abandon that?"
"Defending is passive; open-field battles give us the initiative. In warfare, controlling the battlefield is vital," Ryan explained calmly. "Besides, Newland lacks proper walls or deep defenses. Choosing to defend would also reveal our exact troop strength and expose the Empire's actual combat capabilities."
Ryan continued, "Instead, I propose this: we take the initiative. Leave a small garrison, combined with Imperial forces, to defend Newland. This way, we can create a pincer movement. If we lose the initial engagement, the garrison can reinforce or support us. If the battle is stalemated, the defenders inside Newland will remain a strong deterrent, capable of demoralizing the enemy."
"You mean we adopt the stance of a tiger in the mountain, waiting to strike?" François was the first to grasp Ryan's strategy.
"Exactly," Ryan affirmed. "There's no need to commit our entire force. The fog and rain in Obien make large numbers less advantageous and could even hinder our command."
Planning for defeat before considering victory, huh? Rokossovsky frowned, recognizing the depth of Ryan's strategic thinking. If it were up to him, he would have committed everything to a swift and decisive victory.
Each marshal had their own approach, and their styles varied widely. François favored precision and stability, while Rokossovsky leaned toward high-risk, high-reward strategies, often gambling everything on a single plan. Their differences left them at odds.
"Scout reports indicate how long until the barbarians reach Newland?" Ryan asked Bertrand.
"Hard to say, probably three to five days," Bertrand replied instinctively. "Additionally, Newland covers a vast area, and we cannot be certain where or when the enemy will attack."
"No matter. Let them choose the battlefield; we'll decide the timing," Ryan said with a cold smile. "This is our first battle in Obien. Although we have the numerical and qualitative advantage, this is all the more reason to remain vigilant. We must win decisively to set the tone for the campaign."
"Yes, sire!"
With the strategic plans in place, Ryan didn't idle. Accompanied by Olica and Veronica, he set out to investigate Obien's stone circle.
Veronica had donned her combat attire—a fiery red leather outfit paired with high boots. The Speaker of the Sorceresses looked both striking and captivating. Her tightly fitted leather accentuated her graceful figure, and she clung to Ryan's arm, complaining along the way, "Rain, rain, and more rain! It's been nothing but rain and fog for days. Darling, did you pick the wrong person for this? Teresa and Aurora should have come to this cursed place instead of me. I'm so fed up!"
"If you're so annoyed, you can go back. I'll accompany my master," Olica said, holding an umbrella behind Ryan. The dark elf wore her usual black-and-white maid uniform but had added a pale cloak adorned with black floral patterns. For the first time, she carried a navy-blue staff emanating frigid energy. At its top, a blood-red gemstone contained countless tormented souls, crying and pleading in anguish.
The sight unsettled Veronica. She could sense the power within the staff, filled with enslaved souls, some of them exceptionally strong, all under Olica's dominion.
Olica's maid's cap had transformed into an artifact-like crown, absorbing the surrounding light. Its stark white hue had a faint purple tint, radiating divine energy. The crown bore the symbol "♀."
The immense power of the artifact made Veronica instinctively cling tighter to Ryan.
Unfazed, Ryan led the group to the stone circle.
The Obien Stone Circle, a prehistoric relic, stood as a monument to the Old Ones' brilliance and perseverance. Known by many names—Salisbury Stone Ring, the Sun Temple, and Stonehenge—it consisted of massive stones, each weighing approximately 50 tons. Arranged in a ring on the green plains, the stones' alignment matched the summer solstice sunrise and the winter solstice sunset.
The Old Ones built the stone circle to maintain the Great Vortex's stability. After their abrupt departure, the caretakers, known as the Truthsayers, maintained it. However, centuries of inbreeding and isolation within Obien's mists eroded their knowledge. They retained only basic maintenance rituals, forgetting its true functions. After the Be'lakor incident, the Truthsayers split, with some turning to Chaos, and most eventually abandoning Obien.
Ryan nodded to Veronica and Olica, then stepped alone into the stone circle's center. Psychic energy radiated from him, forming glowing rings that seeped into the ground.
Lightning cracked in the sky. Thunder roared as torrential rain fell. Dust and debris rose from the ground, and six-pointed and eight-pointed stars lit up beneath Ryan. His psychic energy flowed along the intricate lines, infusing the massive stones, which glowed with ancient symbols.
Ryan's consciousness delved deep into the magic circle.
A disturbance rippled through the vortex. From another realm, a voice, ancient and frail, responded to the stone circle's power.
"Child of the Old Ones, you've finally arrived," the voice said, dry and withered.
"Who are you?"
"I am Lionel, true son of the Emperor. I was not killed by the Inquisition; the Grand Inquisitor betrayed me. He conspired with the Ecclesiarchy and the High Lords to imprison me in the Warp! Without me, humanity's ruler is doomed to fail. Guilliman will prevail in the Emperor's election. Child of the Old Ones, I need your help! Pour all your power into the stone circle so I can escape the Warp and gather my forces on the Pampas Plateau. In return, I will enroll you in the Commissar Academy and appoint you as Supreme Commissar of Catachan!"
Ryan: "???"
The Sun King was utterly confused. He froze.
What nonsense is this?
"Hurry, Child of the Old Ones, time is short!" the voice urged, filled with urgency and determination. "Victory or defeat depends on this moment!"
"You're not him!" Ryan snapped out of his daze, his eyes sharp. "I know who you are! You're Enkali, the first Greater Daemon of Slaanesh!"
The voice paused for a moment before laughing, its tone seductive and twisted. "Impressive, Child of the Old Ones. Many have seen through my disguises, but none as quickly as you. Strange—I even integrated fragments of your psychic memory. You shouldn't have seen through me so easily!"
Ryan thought to himself, I can't tell you that those memory fragments include Malcador's knowledge and even the Emperor's teachings. Hell, the name Lionel reminds me of a footballer from my past life. How could this fool me?
"Stand firm, young man! Don't trust it!" Another voice, weary and weak, called out. A spectral image of a High Elf Archmage appeared. "The Great Vortex grows weaker. Enkali's power is already influencing realms beyond it. Knight King! Deliver this message to my last bloodline, Imrik of Caledor!"
"What message?" Ryan's psychic energy formed a silver sword, severing Enkali's arm. Purple blood sprayed, colliding with Ryan's purifying psychic power, which evaporated it. The Slaanesh daemon let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a scream before withdrawing its arm and severing the connection.
"Don't covet… what is not his…" the Archmage gasped. "The Phoenix Throne… is not an honor… it's a… (inaudible)… since the beginning… (inaudible)…"
BOOM! A massive explosion rocked the stone circle, throwing Ryan backward.
"Ryan!"
"Master!"
Veronica and Olica rushed to his side, helping him to his feet.
"Master, are you alright?" Olica pressed Ryan's face against her chest to comfort him.
"I'm fine." Ryan shook his head, struggling to stand. Looking at the stone circle, he sighed. "Damn it. I was hoping the Old Ones left something useful here. But it seems this place has decayed, its only function left is maintaining the Great Vortex."
"What now?" Veronica asked, relieved Ryan was unharmed. She glanced at the stone circle, now damaged by the explosion. One of the pillars was cracked and teetering.
"What else can we do?" Ryan chuckled bitterly. "At least we gained something."
"Something?" Veronica asked curiously.
"A way to solve the weather problem," Ryan replied. "Alright, let's leave this for now. We have a battle to prepare for."
Four days later, Ryan-Malcador personally led 35,000 soldiers, joined by 1,300 Nord Marines, for a total of 36,300 troops. They met Harold Grimson's force of 26,000 barbarians at Hastings Hill, about ten kilometers northeast of Newland.
Harold, a seasoned barbarian warlord, had chosen his ground wisely. The hill in the middle of a swamp hindered Bretonnia's powerful cavalry, while the elevated position provided a defensive advantage.
Heavy rain and muddy terrain severely hampered the Bretonnian army. Cannons and trebuchets were bogged down, forcing Ryan to leave most artillery behind in Newland, bringing only mobile mortars. In the downpour, only the finely crafted Dwarf-made muskets were usable. This left Ryan with little to counter the barbarians from a distance, save for the Old Guard's rifle grenadiers.
Thus, the first battle of the Obien expedition was nearly a decisive engagement right from the start.
On the misty slopes of Hastings Hill, the war to determine the fate of Harold, King of Obien, began in the morning.
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