After that, Duanmu Huai arrived at the main encampment just outside the city of Mordheim. Judging from the setup, the camp had once housed quite a few people, but now it looked desolate and bleak. Though soldiers were still present, it was obvious — without needing to ask — that morale was anything but high.
As a warband, Duanmu Huai was assigned a camp as a supply station. But to be honest, it wasn't of much use to them. Duanmu Huai could open a gate to the Holy City at any time and enjoy delicious food and a soft bed over there, rather than freeze and starve in this place.
However, before the group could even take a proper break, a messenger summoned Duanmu Huai to attend the planning meeting for the next stage of the assault.
"Alright, I know you all have plenty to complain about. I do too."
General Paste Roland blew his mustache and looked particularly gloomy — whether it was due to the weather or his mood, no one could tell.
"But headquarters has issued new orders. His Majesty the Emperor is very, very, very unhappy with our current progress. So, he's assigned me another army. Next, we will learn from the failures of the previous operation and reorganize the plan!!"
Amidst the grumbling and protests of the others, Duanmu Huai finally pieced together what had happened.
As it turned out, the first attempt to retake Mordheim had been a complete failure, partly due to inadequate preparation and partly because of incompetent leadership. The operation had been led by a noble loyal to the Crown Prince — a man so full of himself that he didn't even take the mission seriously. He issued a straightforward and idiotic command:
March the army straight in and occupy the city in one go.
And that was the end of it.
Because the army spread itself too thin at once, it was quickly attacked. As mentioned before, Mordheim was crawling with Skaven, cultists of all sorts, vampires, and necromancers. Before the army could even establish a foothold, these enemies struck with coordinated surprise assaults, shattering the formation and cutting off Imperial forces from one another.
Under such conditions, the Imperial army couldn't do a damn thing — and let's not forget, the Crown Prince had only dispatched a reserve force here, none of whom had ever witnessed such terrifying horrors. The disjointed army collapsed immediately, most of them wiped out on the spot. Only a lucky few managed to escape with help from mercenaries.
Fortunately, that brain-dead noble also died in the chaos. As for who took him out—well, let's just say he died "heroically in battle."
It was better that way for everyone.
Now, aside from mercenary warbands like Duanmu Huai's, the camp also housed members of various Imperial factions — such as the warrior-priests and templars of the Church of Sigmar, witch hunters, and the wolf spirit priests from the Church of Ulric. And then, of course, there were the regular Imperial troops.
General Paste rambled on endlessly, but it boiled down to this: learn from the disaster of the previous reckless charge and proceed cautiously this time. The warbands would advance first, engaging and disrupting enemy forces. The city would be divided into sectors, each assigned to a different warband. Once the frontlines stabilized, the main army would follow, securing and rebuilding the area from the rear.
After all, in urban combat like Mordheim, numerical superiority was nearly useless. A few elite troops were often more effective than a massive army.
No one objected to this. They were mercenaries, after all — they knew what they were being paid to do.
But then came the issue.
When General Paste mentioned he'd already contacted the Sisters of Sigmar inside the city and arranged their assistance, the representative of the Church of Sigmar immediately exploded with outrage.
The Church's reason was ridiculous — the Sisters were a Sigmarite sect based in Mordheim. Perhaps due to Sigmar's divine protection, they suffered the least damage during the twin-tailed comet's disaster. But instead of seeing that as divine favor, the Church of Sigmar viewed it as heresy and demanded they be purged...
In other words, because you weren't punished, you must be guilty... Duanmu Huai couldn't begin to understand the idiocy of the Church's logic.
Fortunately, General Paste stood firm. They lacked the manpower to retake Mordheim on their own and needed allies. The Sisters were native Sigmarites, familiar with the city, politically loyal, and the Church's internal disputes weren't his concern. The truth was, they couldn't afford to be picky, so cooperation was non-negotiable.
In the end, the Sigmarite representative stormed off in fury. No one else commented, but their expressions made it clear they weren't thrilled either.
The meeting moved on. General Paste assigned tasks to each warband.
From the map, Mordheim was an oval city surrounded by walls, split east-to-west by a river — shaped a bit like a pair of buttocks, if one were being crude.
The northeast housed the market district, the southeast the slums. The northwest was the noble quarter, and the southwest the military zone.
Bridges connected the eastern and western halves. Overall, it was a sealed city.
The comet's impact site was in the slums — the most dangerous area in all of Mordheim, teeming with mutated horrors, utterly inaccessible. But that didn't mean the rest of the city was safe...
"Your objective is simple."
Pointing at the map, General Paste barked out his orders.
"You'll enter through the breach in the eastern wall. Your targets: the Temple of Sigmar, the Town Hall, and the Market Square! Clear a path for the main force! Eliminate all threats — monsters hiding in the ruins, cultists, vampires, whatever filth you find! The Sisters of Sigmar will dispatch a squad of Battle-Sisters to assist you in cleansing the Temple's corruption! The following warbands have been selected for this mission!"
He grabbed a list and began reading names.
"Eagles of the Empire, Black Claw, and..."
He paused, staring hard at the parchment like it had grown flowers.
"...Pink Bunny Brigade?? Who the hell is Pink Bunny Brigade??"
"That's us."
Duanmu Huai stepped forward. Seeing him, General Paste's mouth opened slightly. He looked at the list, then back at the towering armored warrior before him...
"You're up! Don't screw it up!!"
In the end, General Paste said nothing more. Perhaps he didn't know what to say.
After the meeting, the three warbands assembled quickly.
The Eagles of the Empire were a traditional mercenary band made up mostly of warriors. Black Claw was led by witch hunters and included clergy from both the Church of Sigmar and Church of Ulric.
All of them looked like hardened veterans, their equipment and presence exuding experience and confidence.
And then there was Duanmu Huai's group: four beautiful young women in elegant, lightweight outfits — honestly, they didn't look ready for battle at all.
"Hey there, brother. Looks like we're in this together. Let's get along."
The Eagles' leader was cheerful and sociable, flashing Duanmu Huai a grin and a wave. Duanmu Huai nodded in return. The witch hunter beside him remained completely silent, standing like a looming shadow.
"Well then, let's move."
They were professionals — no grandstanding, no petty insults before the mission began. Everyone understood the stakes. Either complete the mission, or die trying. There was no room for pointless chatter.
Weapons in hand, they slipped through the cracked wall into Mordheim—
The Cursed City.
The moment they stepped inside, a gray, suffocating pressure slammed into them. Duanmu Huai looked ahead — the whole city was in ruins. Buildings were shattered, streets crumbled. It was hard to even find a fully intact structure.
And worse still, rotting chunks of meat-like matter clung to the ground and walls — some of which twitched with embedded eyeballs rolling beneath their surface.
"Some of you might be seeing this place for the first time, so let me warn you in advance."
The leader of the Eagles of the Empire turned, his expression grim as he spoke in a low voice.
"Never underestimate this city. Anything here could kill you…"
He pointed to one of the fleshy blobs on the ground.
"Like these things — don't step on them, and don't get too close. They'll spit out toxic, disgusting gas that'll leave you drooling like a lunatic. And those boards over there…"
He raised his sword and pointed to some broken planks lying beside a half-smashed wagon. At first glance, they seemed like nothing — just worn-out wood. But strange symbols were carved on them, faintly glowing.
"That's a Skaven trap. If you trigger it, all you can do is pray for mercy — and the Skaven aren't exactly known for kindness."
"...Excuse me, what are those?"
Lorena asked quietly, staring at the fleshy growths hanging from rooftops and walls like some grotesque organism. The Empire captain shook his head.
"I don't know. From what we've gathered, they were once the corpses of this city's residents. But under Chaos's influence, they turned into... that. What they are now... even they probably don't know."
"...…"
No one responded. The Empire captain gave them a small smile and spread his arms.
"Well then, everyone — welcome... to hell."
(End of Chapter)