The sight of the Bretonnian knightly army advancing across the plains was awe-inspiring. Hundreds of family banners fluttered in the wind, vibrant cloaks and robes stood out against the sun, and shining armor reflected the light, arranged in perfect formation. Many enemies were intimidated just by witnessing this terrifying spectacle.
The Bretonnian knights took great pride in their noble lineage. Each knight could loudly recite their family genealogy, proudly recounting which legendary hero they descended from, how many Grail Knights their family had produced, and the glorious deeds they had accomplished. Their prized Bretonnian warhorses and enchanted armor were cherished possessions, many passed down and carefully maintained for centuries. Recently, much of this ancient equipment had been sent to the Angrund clan's blacksmiths for reforging. The dwarven smiths always managed to restore the armor to its former glory, polished and gleaming while preserving its original design.
However, long marches were not always done in full armor. Apart from the infantry, the knights and their squires, unless in the vanguard or serving as scouts, often marched without their armor, as wearing it for extended periods drained both their strength and their horses'. Most of the time, the knights walked or rode packhorses, donning their full armor only when battle was imminent.
The army set up camp at Fangwood, at the foot of the World's Edge Mountains. The region was typical of a subtropical steppe, with high elevation, making it easier to find water and establish a camp. After more than a month of marching, everyone—knights and peasants alike—was exhausted, except for the dwarves. Ryan decided to lead a small scouting party of knights, a few army wizards, General Ivan's Ungol horse archers, the Old Guard, and Belgar's dwarves to investigate the nearby Steelrock.
Ryan refrained from riding his griffon, Impriss, since its large presence would draw too much attention. The King wanted to remain inconspicuous.
However, once the group set out, Ryan quickly realized that "low profile" was impossible. The knights, eager to impress their king, dressed in resplendent armor and rode proudly like peacocks, determined to show off their prowess.
By April, the temperature in the Badlands had risen. Bright sunlight bathed the steppe beyond the forest, and signs of Greenskin raids littered the landscape. Rough statues of Gork and Mork were scattered across the plains. Each time they encountered one, Veronica or the accompanying wizards would hurl a fireball to obliterate it. These statues were known to amplify the Greenskins' Waaagh! energy, and as Belgar explained, if the energy grew too strong, the statues could come to life and join the fight. Therefore, any statue had to be destroyed immediately.
As they left the forest, the towering World's Edge Mountains came into view, their peaks piercing the sky. The group followed the base of the mountains, passing many colossal dwarven statues that had withstood the test of thousands of years of wind and rain. However, Greenskin vandalism had shattered many statues or damaged important features. Even the surviving statues bore signs of loneliness and desolation, marked by the graffiti of the Greenskins. It was a stark reminder that the golden age of the dwarves had long passed, and their civilization was slowly dying.
"Steelrock is just ahead," Belgar pointed to a road leading deeper into the mountains. The King of Eight Peaks carefully examined the various filth and signs of Greenskin activity on the steppe. He made a suggestion: "We should rest here. If we go any further, we'll encounter fighting soon."
"Very well. All troops, dismount and rest. Set up patrols and stay vigilant. No one is allowed to remove their armor!" Ryan commanded. The scouting party rested in a corner of the valley. Ryan dismounted and reached out to help Veronica down from her horse, drawing envious glances from some of the army wizards. The knights, noticing this, awkwardly tried to mimic the gesture, only to be sternly rejected by the wizards, leaving the knights embarrassed.
"I wish I could charge into Steelrock right now and kill every last Greenskin," Calard said as he dismounted. After handing the reins of his steed to a squire, the Grail Knight was met by Lightfire Wizard Catherine, who offered him a waterskin and a blueberry pie she had made. "Sir Calard, you've worked hard. Please, have some."
"Thank you," Calard smiled politely, taking the waterskin from Catherine. "You've worked hard too, Miss Catherine."
"No, this is what I should do," Catherine responded with a graceful bow. She watched as Calard drank and then offered him her pie again. "I made this blueberry pie myself. If you don't mind, could you give me some feedback? It's a bit cold, though."
"Hah, having pie during a march is already a luxury. Thank you, Miss Catherine, you're very considerate," Calard replied with a slight surprise. The usually proud wizards didn't seem so difficult to approach after all. Since Catherine was being so kind, Calard knew it wouldn't be polite not to accept.
Nearby, Ryan and Veronica had noticed this interaction. Ryan gave Veronica a playful look, while she glared back at him, though it was clear from her expression that she didn't mind. "Better than dealing with those damned Strigany," she muttered.
Ryan chuckled.
After discovering the Strigany camp remnants earlier, Belgar had correctly guessed that the tribe hadn't gone far. Sure enough, as the army neared Steelrock, they encountered a small tribe of Strigany. These nomads had been wandering for 2,000 years, their caravans bearing them across the Badlands. They seemed to possess a magical ability to evade Greenskin detection. Upon seeing the human and dwarven armies, the Strigany initially reacted with excitement, followed by shameless demands for "aid" and "mercy," seeking free food from the expeditionary force.
The Strigany had sallow skin, long, narrow faces, high cheekbones, and sharp chins. They had long eyebrows, large almond-shaped eyes, and tall, straight noses. Most of them had cold, indifferent expressions as they looked at the army.
Naturally, Ryan refused their requests. The army's provisions were hard-earned, and there was no way Ryan would distribute military rations to people still living in the delusions of the Strigoi Undead Empire.
The Strigany were peculiar in many ways. These remnants of the undead empire never settled anywhere, nor did they farm. They followed their caravans, living a nomadic lifestyle across the Old World. They didn't integrate into any societies or attempt to understand others. They spoke their own language and lived in isolation, resisting any local laws. When the Old World's religious orders distributed relief grain, the Strigany would rush to seize it, only to loudly praise their "Vampire King" after taking it, declaring that one day their god-king Ushoran would return to restore their empire.
Moreover, the Strigany were known for kidnapping children and petty theft. They despised paying taxes and farming, believing such duties were beneath them—obligations for slaves and the lower class. They idolized stealing and freeloading, considering these as gifts bestowed upon them by Ushoran. They spread vampire myths and legends, glorifying a bygone era.
As a result, the Strigany were unwelcome everywhere in the Old World, disliked by everyone from churches and merchants to nobles and peasants. When local crimes lacked clear culprits, the Strigany were the first to be blamed. Often, they were burned at the stake before their innocence could even be proven.
Only Kislev tolerated the Strigany because of their magical expertise and shared struggle against marauding tribes.
Whenever the Strigany felt unwelcome or could no longer sustain themselves through hunting and gathering, they simply moved on to the next place, continuing their endless cycle.
When their plea for food failed, the disappointed Strigany offered labor in exchange, while their women provided tarot readings and other more questionable services. The passionate and flamboyant Strigany musicians and their brightly dressed women quickly found a market among the soldiers.
Ryan initially found this amusing, but during one of the performances, Blackheart Rip came to inform him that he had caught several Strigany stealing provisions, valuables, and even attempting to lead off Bretonnian warhorses.
Feeling betrayed and deceived, Ryan ordered the execution of all the captured thieves and expelled the rest of the Strigany from the camp. Even so, some provisions, a few bags of gold and silver, and two Bretonnian warhorses were missing.
"It seems Francois knew them best. These people… they never change. They're still living in the fantasy that one day they'll return to their old way of life," Ryan said, crossing his arms before letting out a long sigh. "I think I now understand why there are so many 'Roman obsessives.'"
"'Roman obsessives'? What's that?" Veronica asked, confused.
"Never mind," Ryan replied, shaking his head. "It's just a term for people who constantly dwell on the past, like the Strigoi vampires and the Strigany."
Veronica, sensing Ryan didn't want to elaborate, wisely chose not to press further.
Ryan thought of Rome. Why did so many people obsess over Rome? Why did they become "Roman obsessives," endlessly debating whether the Holy Roman Empire, the Third Rome, or even some imagined future empire could be considered the true successor to Rome? Why did they always dream of restoring Rome in games and stories?
Because they refused to admit that civilizations can die.
They longed for the return of Rome like
a flash of lightning that had already struck more than 500 years ago, but that return never came. Roman civilization, as a living entity, had been utterly wiped out. Istanbul would never again be Constantinople, and the world had made that clear.
Likewise, the Strigoi Undead Empire was gone. The ruins of Mourkain would never be rebuilt, and even if the undead somehow reclaimed the Badlands, it wouldn't be Ushoran or his Strigoi Empire leading the charge.
Civilizations fall.
Whether it's the insane Flesh-Eater Courts of the Strigoi vampires or the stubborn Strigany, they all refused to accept this truth. Their strange, desperate behavior was an attempt to resist this reality, to soothe the subconscious pain of knowing that the Strigoi Undead Empire was dead.
Kingship is not eternal. Even civilizations are not eternal. Everything has its day of decline.
But Chaos is eternal.
That is the ultimate tragedy. Compared to the countless powers that once ruled the universe, human history is laughably short. The Old Ones, who once mastered the stars and ruled the galaxy, still met their inevitable end.
Like the flickering light of civilization, humanity's future wavers in the wind, surrounded by darkness. The Chaos gods laugh as they watch mortals repeat the cycle of growth, peak, decline, reform, and collapse. They wait patiently for mortals to weaken, preparing to sound the horn of the apocalypse once more.
Many times.
Each time, great heroes have stood to confront the darkness—Aenarion, the first Phoenix King; Kroak, the ancient Slann mage-priest; Emperor Charlemagne; Arthur, the first Knight King; Mandred, the Rat Slayer; and Ludwig the Savior—all fought and sacrificed to drive back the demon hordes into the blasphemous realm that birthed them.
But Chaos is eternal, and mortals are fleeting. Mankind will never be free from the threat of Chaos.
Never.
Ryan sat deep in thought, contemplating all of this. He appeared lost in his reflection, seated on a small stool. No one disturbed him, as the others used the opportunity to rest and recover until Belgar suddenly stood up and shouted, "Prepare for battle! Warriors, get ready! I can smell the Greenskins—they're nearby!"
"What?!" The knights and soldiers, many still chewing their rations, were startled.
Fortunately, Belgar's experience and deep understanding of Greenskins earned him the trust of the group. No one questioned his warning. The knights quickly stood their ground, taking up their swords and shields, while the Old Guard and dwarves formed a defensive formation. General Ivan's Ungol archers drew their bows and aimed warily at the surrounding area.
But everything remained quiet. Nothing seemed to happen. The valley was still and empty. Ryan instinctively drew his sword, *Vengeance*. The Knight King didn't use his Thunderhammer, as it was better suited for breaking armor than slicing through Greenskin flesh. Recovering from his deep thoughts, Ryan glanced around but saw no enemies. He was about to use his psychic powers to sense the surroundings when Belgar's voice rang out again: "Above!!"
Everyone looked up just in time to see a barrage of stones and gliding Goblins raining down from the sky! The shrieking Goblins flapped their makeshift wings, diving straight toward the Bretonnians and dwarves below.
"Arrow Ward!" Veronica quickly raised her hand, summoning all her magical power. In an instant, a five-meter-high, thirty-meter-wide white barrier formed. Thousands of ancient Elven runes and magical glyphs spun across its surface, blocking the incoming stones and Goblins. Everything shattered against the barrier, leaving the soldiers behind it unharmed.
The Old Guard reacted swiftly, closing ranks around Ryan and Veronica, forming a protective line.
"Look up! The cliffs!" Belgar shouted. "It's the Araknarok spiders! They're coming down from above!"
"What?" The knights were still scanning the area when a massive spider, at least five meters long and four meters wide, descended from the cliffs, laden with Goblin archers and spearmen.
In the next moment, the colossal beast crashed down right where Ryan stood.
Dust filled the air.
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