A massive Greenskin army has pushed to your doorstep. In this situation, the average Southern Estalian would have two responses:
Optimists take the sea route; pessimists take the land route.
But for Beastmen, having heard news of the enemy and the Everchosen's call to arms, there was only one way—
"BLOOD! FOR! THE! BLOODMOTHER!"
"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
The Khorngor Legion, having rested for a long time, held high morale. War drums, horns—anything that could make a sound was being struck and blown. It echoed through the camp, through the forest, to every corner where the tribe operated.
When the tribesmen heard the horn, they knew their Everchosen had issued the call and was about to lead them into battle.
To humans, this was a massive, nearly terrifying frenzy. It felt comparable only to the "Wild Hunt" launched by the Wood Elves of legend—those who lived in forests, wore clothes made of bark and leaves, and lived a savage yet free life like primitives.
The earth-shaking horns and clamor, combined with the faith-driven fanaticism of every Beastman in sight, made many feel a kind of fear born of bloodline inheritance. A powerful army of fanatical, fearless evil beasts, the blessings and banners of four deities, an Everchosen overflowing with divine favor...
Combining these elements, the mortal realm—which had barely escaped large-scale Chaos erosion a hundred and fifty years ago—couldn't help but trigger collective PTSD.
Yet this frenzy had literally transformed into tangible blades and armor that protected them, severing the savage claws reaching for the refugees. That somewhat shocking and fear-inducing scene gradually replaced certain voids in the people's hearts that should have been filled.
The brave and fanatical Khorngor warriors etched impressions of "powerful," "invincible," and "our protectors" into the people's minds, while the image of the legendary, song-worthy Tercio legions gradually faded.
The four almighty Goddesses had sent down their only biological son to save the mortal realm. That son was undoubtedly, truly their savior and patron in the mortal world—unlike a fake Prince about whom it was said, "even a pig can sit in that position, because a pig can't mess things up and costs much less than a King."
The Mortal Auxilia was also included in this mobilization.
Many mid-to-lower-level officers of the Vanguard Legion were extremely frustrated and confused. They watched these people who, when the Kingdom wanted to conscript them, would rather convert—a near-treasonous act—just to submit to a Great Chieftain among a pack of barbarians.
Yet now, they displayed the virtue of bravery. Holding unified weapons and crude leather armor provided by the Beastlord, they formed squares. They actually marched with an orderly and majestic momentum, puffing out their chests on the assembly ground to receive Al's review.
Khorngor units, Heavily Armored Khorngors, Khorngor Bodyguards; Trolls, Troll-Goblin Bombardiers, Bloodmother Minotaurs, Giants;
Manticores, Griffons, Wyverns, and rare Great Eagles—an aerial monster force totaling nearly triple digits;
Tuskgors, Enraged Tuskgors, Centigor Warriors, and Al's Wolf Packs;
As for the Mortal Legion, after the conscription, Al merged them with the Mortal Auxilia who had already fully converted—those who shouldn't have believed had basically been moved away to separate garrisons. He selected from them, cutting out those whose quality was truly concerning.
Although he held an absolute advantage and wasn't afraid of any ripples, and didn't have to worry about the "unemployed bro seeking re-employment" or "forcing him onto a crooked tree" [suicide/hanging] scenario, Al was still very prudent. He repurposed the retired personnel. These people generally had stable faith, so he formed them into security forces, stationed in settlements with large populations.
The remaining Mortal Auxilia numbered exactly six thousand. Al divided them into three parts: Pike Squares, Ranged Legions, and the most elite, a thousand-man Outrider force. However, horses were currently scarce, so he could only supply about three to five hundred; the rest served as reservists.
It was actually normal for the Vanguard Legion officers to be confused. These people had just fled as refugees, their grain was embezzled, and their whole families were starving. A group that never showed up when they were suffering, only arriving when they had barely settled—hovering on the edge between starving and not quite dying—suddenly came to forcibly conscript all able-bodied men. Even if they were facing the Kingdom's only current authority center, most people would spit on them.
And while Al hadn't exactly stuffed them full, ever since the tribe took over, the average person's ration had increased by at least a third. Moving from "not starving to death" to "not eating enough" was still a massive improvement.
Naturally, he could then recruit soldiers and buy horses.
Moreover, the treatment Al provided was very generous. Family rations, special treatment, pensions, and rewards in coin, plus the core tenets of the Bloodmother's doctrine:
Courage!
Glory!
Battle!
Revenge!
Constant incitement. Once the most basic physiological survival needs were met, there was no shortage of warriors willing to pick up weapons and fight for Al.
The Battle Sisters hadn't yet fully committed to Al's command. They led an eight-hundred-strong warband consisting entirely of devout followers.
Scraping it all together, exactly twenty thousand could set out for war. Adding the five thousand men of the Vanguard Legion—whose combat power had dropped somewhat after this period of turmoil and whose morale was low—that made twenty-five thousand. Facing the Greenskins, he tried to over-estimate the opponent's strength: fifty thousand.
One against two.
Al wore his mask, riding on the Griffon's back.
The Griffon girl was very intuitive. She kept her body tucked low to avoid blocking Al's figure and damaging his image as a rider of a fierce beast. To others, she looked instead like a predator raring to go yet restraining itself, waiting for the moment to pounce for a guaranteed strike.
On the assembly ground, which had been relocated twice and expanded three times, Al reviewed his troops.
The cards weren't many, but they won out in raw numbers!
Two to one, half-cooked rice!
We can fight!
Of course, words are useless; one must succeed in doing it for it to count. Otherwise, it becomes a textbook example of "The advantage is mine..." (ironic failure).
But Al still had:
The certainty of victory!
"War fog fully revealed, plus offensive ambush woodland warfare... can my Beastmen actually lose to Greenskins in the woods?"
Al was full of confidence.
Ley line teleportation, the All-Knowing blessing—with these two massive aids, he just needed a few simple operations and commands. He didn't see how he could lose.
He was just that confident.
But he couldn't be arrogant. He understood the logic that an arrogant army is bound to lose. Do it once or twice, and there will eventually be a day of miscalculation.
He had already communicated with his scions and staff officers. This battle had to focus on being fast, accurate, and ruthless. Crush the Greenskins with swift momentum, hit them where it hurts, and give them no chance for a disorganized WAAAAAGH! boar-rush brawl.
Al's main goal was to make the Greenskins realize the Piña Forest was a hedgehog or a porcupine. It was hard to fight, WAAAAAGH!ing there wasn't fun, and they couldn't chew through it. Let them continue to fight the North instead.
To achieve this, he even planned to give up some areas in the west when the time came, allowing the Greenskins to pass safely. They wouldn't have to worry—at least until they reached the walls of Bilbali—about their retreat being cut off by a sudden attack.
Al had cosplayed the Dwarf's loyalty and grudges before; now he planned to play the Wood Elf: an isolationist guardian. As long as you don't touch his forest or enter it, the Greenskins and humans can fight to the death as much as they want.
Furthermore, he had to use this war to boost the morale of all his people, making them realize that the enemies the Tercio couldn't beat, the tribesmen could!
The people the Kingdom couldn't protect, the tribe could!
The subjects Myrmidia doesn't bless, the Four Mothers could!
To reach this goal, Al had made full preparations. The old rules: pouring every effort into scouting to ensure he always grasped the movement of the enemy's main force. With ley line teleportation, as long as they were in the forest, he chose the battlefield.
Anytime, anywhere, as long as the Greenskin main force entered and showed a weakness...
Al narrowed his eyes and shouted in a booming voice:
"I have heard that Magritta has fallen! The Greenskins have slaughtered the entire city!"
The mortals instantly erupted into an uproar.