After dinner, a light rain began to fall in the Claw Forest. In April, the forest was in full spring bloom, and the fine drizzle nourished the land, causing water droplets to splash off the lush leaves. The sound of rain filled the camp, and soldiers, who had been relaxing or entertaining themselves, retreated to their tents to avoid getting wet. The knights also abandoned their outdoor activities, seeking shelter under roofs or inside their tents.
Fortunately, the engineers and craftsmen from Clan Angrund were well-versed in camp construction. They had built drainage ditches, and the camp was on a hillside, so there was no risk of flooding.
In this rainy setting, Ryan and the Lady of the Lake strolled through the expedition camp, one walking ahead of the other. All the rain that approached them mysteriously arced away, avoiding them entirely. The two walked through the camp in the gentle rain, creating a serene atmosphere.
The ground beneath the forest was somewhat muddy, but neither Ryan nor the Lady of the Lake were hindered by it. Mud splattered around them but never touched their clothes.
"You run a tight ship. I know about the recent issues, and you handled them well. The spirit of chivalry is the foundation of Bretonnia. No one can argue with your decision when viewed through that lens." The Lady of the Lake affirmed Ryan's choices. "Over the centuries, chivalry has decayed, and during war, it is especially important to maintain strict discipline. I support you. If such matters arise again, tell the knights that this is my will."
"Thank you," Ryan's expression relaxed. His unique advantage as king was having the unconditional support of the Lady of the Lake. While he knew she backed his decisions, hearing it directly from her gave him added reassurance.
As they spoke, the two arrived at the Old Guard's camp. Despite the rain, the atmosphere remained stern and disciplined. As Ryan approached, several patrolling Old Guard soldiers, unable to see clearly through the downpour, raised their guns. "Who goes there? Name yourself, or we'll fire!"
"Which company are you from?" Ryan called out loudly.
The Old Guard consisted of four companies: a pike infantry company, a greatsword company, a musket company, and a dragoon company.
"We're from the Old Guard musketeers… ah, it's His Majesty!" The soldiers quickly recognized Ryan's voice and snapped to attention, saluting. "Your Majesty, we'll open the gate for you immediately!"
"Good." The wooden gates of the temporary camp swung open, and Ryan signaled to the guards not to make a fuss. "After you, my lady."
"Very well," the Lady of the Lake responded, her gaze lingering curiously on Ryan's elite soldiers. Almost all the Old Guard were former peasants or freemen. These battle-hardened veterans stood tall, full of energy. Despite their surprise at seeing the Lady of the Lake, they remained disciplined, saluting both Ryan and the goddess with awe, yet never leaving their posts.
Ryan waved them aside, and he and the Lady conducted an informal inspection of the camp.
Everything was in good order. The Old Guard, composed of commoners, was strictly disciplined. They understood how rare it was for former peasants to rise to the status of "honorable freemen" or even earn knighthood. Ryan had not neglected discipline, balancing strict military governance with reasonable recreation.
As they toured the camp, most of the Old Guard were either resting in their tents, maintaining their equipment, or enjoying simple meals like skewers or stew. Some gathered to play cards, chess, or darts, but none overstepped the rules. There was no drinking, and the guards on patrol remained vigilant. The camp was free of women, further pleasing Ryan. The Lady of the Lake nodded approvingly as they passed Bertrand, who was praying to his deity, Taal. After praying, Bertrand used the time to read and study. He knew he lacked formal military training and made every effort to educate himself, which had significantly improved his knowledge over the past decade.
Meanwhile, Raymond was digging for worms in a camp corner, taking advantage of the rain. It was something he had learned as a child—digging worms to use for fishing, a common practice among peasants to improve their diet. The knights usually turned a blind eye to peasants fishing. When Raymond noticed Ryan and the Lady, he jumped in surprise. The Lady of the Lake kindly encouraged him and even healed a head injury he had been nursing with a simple spell.
"You should arrange a marriage for Bertrand," the Lady of the Lake said with a knowing smile after they left the Old Guard camp. "Or perhaps I should handle it?"
"Let's discuss it after this expedition," Ryan replied. He understood her meaning; after all, he himself had been drawn into the system in this way. However, his relationship with the Lady of the Lake had become a deep alliance, so there was no need for formalities. "My lady, should we check the other camps?"
"Let's take a look at the knightly camps, the peasant infantry, and Blackheart Rep's Independent Regiment," the Lady said with interest. She then lightly cast a spell. "Let's move a little differently. And on the way, you can tell me more about the Strigany woman's prophecy."
"Very well." Ryan nodded, as he had intended to inspect the army as well.
Under the cover of the Lady's magic, the two moved invisibly through the entire expedition camp.
The camp stretched for several kilometers, and even with the two walking briskly, it took over an hour to tour the whole area. Along the way, the Lady of the Lake linked her arm with Ryan's as they observed everything in the misty rain.
The best-disciplined troops were the Sea God knights of the Duchy of Bordeleaux. Federmond had inherited his father Duke Bohemond's strict military traditions. The Grail knights dined alongside the regular knights, and under Federmond's example, the Bordeleaux troops maintained a silent, orderly camp with constant patrols.
Next in order were the troops of the Duchy of Bastonne under Calard and the forces of the Duchy of Montfort under Anthelm. These camps were also well-organized. The main difference was that the Red Dragon Knights, a Grail knight brotherhood, were drinking and feasting together, while Anthelm allowed small vendors into his camp to trade goods.
The worst discipline was found in the army of the Duchy of Brionne. Ever since Duke Theodoric had been in prolonged confinement, Brionne had operated semi-autonomously. After finally driving out invaders from Estalia, the army lacked leadership, and discipline had deteriorated. Women were present in the camp, patrols were lax, and many knights were gambling.
Blackheart Rep's Independent Regiment was not much better. Ryan noticed several Strigany women—who should have been expelled—still mingling with the soldiers, providing entertainment and services. The men were cursing and joking about the witch coven. Ryan could only shake his head. Blackheart Rep was a mercenary at heart, running his army like a rough band of brothers. His regiment had assimilated into the border princes' style after their time in the region.
By contrast, both the knights and the Old Guard under Ryan had a unified sense of discipline. They fought for their kingdom and goddess, carrying a strong sense of honor and belief. Their armies had a tight structure. If a commander fell, the next in line by rank and skill would immediately take over, minimizing the risk of collapse.
After finishing their tour, Ryan and the Lady returned to the royal tent at around nine in the evening. Olica had already prepared the bed, laying down thick carpets. The Lady of the Lake gently placed the golden chalice on the table before gracefully sitting on the bed. Her long golden hair flowed like a waterfall across the white sheets. She lifted her leg slightly, expertly removing her delicate black-stockinged foot from her silver high heels, then smoothed out the wrinkles in her stockings. It was an enchanting sight—her legs looked even more alluring wrapped in sheer black silk, her toenails painted a soft pink.
Ryan couldn't help but swallow hard, his resolve faltering. Trying to keep his expression serious, he asked, "My lady, what are your thoughts on the prophecy?"
Outside, the rain pattered softly against the tent. The Lady of the Lake noticed Ryan's reaction, amused by the man she had spent nearly twenty years grooming into her champion. The sense of accomplishment filled her heart with joy.
After this expedition, she thought, she would finally marry him. The thought left her feeling sweet inside. She beckoned Ryan to sit beside her. "Come closer, my champion. There's no need to be so formal."
"Hmph, this witch..." Olica, standing nearby, rolled her eyes. Not one to be left out, she kicked off her heels, climbed onto the bed, and wrapped her arms around Ryan's neck, resting her head on his back. "I'm listening too, Master."
And so, the two women and the king began to analyze the Strigany woman's prophecy.
"The two kings are clearly you and Belgar," the Lady of the Lake began softly. "As for the green tide of destruction, it's undoubtedly the Greenskins. That much is certain."
"Then what do six o'clock, twelve o'clock, and three o'clock refer to? Are they times?" Ryan pondered, rubbing his chin. He realized that after so long at war, his face was covered in stubble.
"No, my champion, think carefully. 'An ancient door will open for the king, and the power of the ancestors will seep into the mountains
and the seals.'" The Lady pointed delicately into the air. "Think about it. The door, the land of the ancestors, the seals, and the mountains—what could that be?"
"Valaya's Heart! The Door of Valaya!" Ryan exclaimed, realization dawning on him. He tried to stand but realized Olica was still clinging to his back, so he remained seated. "Yes, Belgar mentioned it before. Valaya's Heart has a secret ancestral passage leading to Eight Peaks and contains the secrets of the goddess Valaya, one of the three main dwarf deities. But unlocking the runic puzzle takes time, so Belgar hadn't planned to use it unless absolutely necessary… I understand now! While we open the passage, the Greenskins will ambush us from behind!"
"Six o'clock, twelve o'clock, and three o'clock are directions, not times!" Ryan exclaimed.
"Exactly. That's the first part of the prophecy," the Lady of the Lake continued. "As for Morrslieb's curse, it doesn't really matter. Whether it's Skaven, the Chaos Moon tribe, or Beastmen, they're all enemies. You don't need to focus on that."
Ryan nodded in agreement. "Next is the second half—who is the Huntress, and who is the Blood Queen?"
"Whether the Huntress and the Blood Queen are the same person or not is secondary. Let's focus on the Huntress first. A huntress must have prey."
"The prey can only be two things: either your and Belgar's heads, or the secrets within Valaya's Gate," the Lady explained. "Victory going to the Blood Queen suggests that she'll be the ultimate victor. So now we need to figure out which enemy could know the secrets of Valaya's Gate and arrive at the critical moment. Who could be called the Blood Queen?"
Ryan's mind raced through all the knowledge he had. His eyes lit up. "I think I know how to counter this."
"Good." The Lady, seeing that Ryan had figured it out, giggled. She playfully pointed at him. "Now, my champion, go clean up your beard."
"Huh?" Ryan wondered why none of the women in his life liked him having a beard.
"Go shave it. Otherwise, it'll prick me and hurt."
"Alright then."
——— I'm the Beard-Pricking Divider Line ———
In the year 2512 of the Imperial Calendar, May, in the High King's Hall of Karaz-a-Karak, the capital of the dwarves.
The High King of the Dwarves, Thorgrim Grudgebearer, was eating fish.
Dwarves weren't typically big on fish, but Thorgrim was an exception. In his younger days, he had traveled through the human realms under the name Thorgrim Ironhelm. He had been jailed in Middenheim (for beating up an elven merchant), worked as a blacksmith in Couronne (hired by the knightly lords for a hefty sum), and fought in wars against Beastmen and Greenskins. He had developed a fondness for the Twin-Tailed Morose fish of the Reik River, a delicacy known for its tender meat and few bones.
The High King's Hall, filled with countless treasures, was beyond opulent. Its wealth dwarfed even that of the entire palace of Altdorf. Only the treasure hoard of Karak Eight Peaks could rival it.
Surprisingly, the hall's ceiling was still adorned with decorations made of sapphires and diamonds in the elven style, as well as ancient elvish runes and murals—a testament to the friendship between elves and dwarves before the War of the Beard. Although no dwarf spoke of it, and none had destroyed the artwork, it remained a silent reminder of a long-gone era.
At the table, Thorgrim carefully picked at the fish with silver cutlery, ensuring his white beard didn't get stained with broth or fish meat. These fish had been a gift from Altdorf, and Thorgrim intended to savor the rare treat.
"My High King, the Engineers' Guild is requesting funds again," said an aide. "They report that many of the watchtowers and cannon positions around Everpeak are in disrepair and need to be replaced. The main gate's cannons, flame cannons, and the dragon's mouth carvings also need restoration. Furthermore, they're proposing a new squadron of gyrocopters."
"Mmm," Thorgrim grunted in acknowledgment.
"My lord, the rumors about the Empire's invasion of Norsca have been confirmed. The army of Ostland, aided by human pirates, plans to attack Norsca's coastal outposts first, then move inland to destroy the Norscan settlements."
"Understood," Thorgrim said, waving the messenger away.
"My High King, King Barundin Stoneheart of High Pass has announced that their expedition to Karak-Varn was a great success. They retrieved a large amount of gromril from the depths of Blackwater Lake. The new war machine and forge workshops will ensure production for decades. The construction of steam trains and lava fire cannons has begun. The entire mountain kingdom is abuzz with the news, and many say that the engineers of High Pass will surpass Everpeak's."
"Barundin, that lad is barely 500 years old, leading an expedition to Blackwater Lake. He's got guts, I'll give him that," Thorgrim muttered. "Serendine died too soon. Now Barundin knows nothing of tradition or caution. He's bound to cause trouble one day… but never mind. You're dismissed."
Thorgrim continued eating his fish.
"My High King! My High King!" Suddenly, a dwarf ranger rushed in, breathless. "Terrible news, my king! Ironrock has fallen!"
"Hmm?" Thorgrim's white beard trembled. "What did you say?"
"Belgar Ironhammer and Ryan Macador's expedition army have taken Ironrock! They slaughtered the entire Greenskin fortress, seizing a large amount of obsidian from the lava lakes beneath. The head of Gronok Ironclaw now hangs from Belgar's banner!" the ranger reported. "The remnants of the Ironclaw tribe have fled into the mountains. Belgar said that he's avenged a great grudge on behalf of Everpeak!"
"What!!?" Thorgrim stood up in shock, his face flushing red. "By Grimnir's axe! Belgar, does he think he's me, settling my grudges? Him?!"
*Cough, cough* Thorgrim's outburst caused him to choke, forcing him to pause. After a deep breath, he roared, "Double the scouts! Find out everything you can about this expedition's movements!"
"Yes, my king!" The dwarf ranger hurried off.
"And bring me the Great Book of Grudges! By Grungni's forge! If Belgar and his knightly allies lose, I'll have a whole new grudge to record!"
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