"My King! Leave this to me! You need to fall back!" shouted Calard, fighting side by side with Ryan on the frontlines. With reinforcements bolstering the crumbling defense, the breach in the line had been plugged for now. Calard swung his sword, cutting down another orc boy and a hulking Black Orc as he yelled, "The army can lose a warrior, but it cannot lose its commander!"
"I understand!" Ryan answered, smashing a massive Black Orc with his warhammer, Thor's Hammer, crushing its chest cavity. The Knight King then raised his hand, releasing two psychic storms. One swirled like a vortex, enveloping a group of Black Orcs, though it couldn't kill them, it caused enough damage to slow them down. The second storm, like a sharp blade, sliced through the green horde, creating a temporary opening. The Old Guard rushed forward to protect their king, pulling him back to the central lines.
"Advance!" The peasant infantry surged into the breach, wielding halberds, shields, or swords, led by their knightly lords. But they immediately realized they were outnumbered by a much larger enemy force.
Ryan, bloodied from battle, barely had time to catch his breath. The battle was rapidly changing.
The left flank's halberd formations had collapsed earlier, leaving a gaping breach in the line. Skarsnik, the cunning warlord, ordered his Black Orcs and Arachnarok Spiders to charge into the gap. Ryan had fought to hold the line himself, but now that he had pulled back, Calard, despite his prowess, couldn't cover the whole area. He could cut down ten or twenty orcs, but he couldn't stop the endless tide of greenskins.
The first row of peasant infantry fell, and the next group immediately stepped forward to form a new defense with their bodies.
The greenskin horde smashed through the peasant ranks again, led by brutal Black Orcs and giant trolls swinging massive weapons. One entire regiment of peasant infantry was utterly shattered.
Despite their exhaustion, the Old Guard, wielding their finely crafted greatswords, charged into the fray, shouting the names of their king and Queen Surya as they cleaved through the greenskins and plugged the breach once again.
But then the Arachnarok Spiders attacked again, accompanied by an entire squad of night goblins. The giant beasts overturned the Old Guard's efforts, their armored shells battering through the ranks of greatswords. Night goblins, hopped up on hallucinogenic mushrooms, swung their massive iron balls with deadly force, smashing through the Old Guard's half-plate armor. Even these seasoned veterans had to momentarily retreat in the face of such chaos.
Taking advantage of this, the greenskin forces once again broke through, and Black Orcs and trolls stormed into the human lines.
"Antelm! Lead your men forward!" Ryan bellowed.
"Yes!" Antelm, covered in blood from the brutal fighting, had just repelled another attack. Hearing Ryan's command, the Grail Knight shouted, "Quenelles Champions, follow me!"
"Oooh!" Several Grail Knights and dozens of Questing Knights, many of them exhausted and in tattered armor, regrouped for another charge. Though many knights had already fallen, the remaining warriors rallied once more, charging into the breach with their two-handed swords.
Meanwhile, Ryan ordered, "Dugan! Fire the cannons!"
"Fire!" Dugan Ironhand and his black powder guild opened fire, dwarf cannons booming across the battlefield. The explosions provided vital support for Antelm and his knights as they fought to regain control of the breach. The Questing Knights waded into the melee, locked in brutal combat with Black Orcs and the massive Arachnarok Spiders.
Ryan kept issuing commands: "Send the reserve forces into battle immediately!"
"Yes, my lord!" A knightly squire relayed the order.
"Deploy the Dragoons to support Antelm and his Quenelles Champions!"
"Where are the Knights of the Lionhearted? Send them to reinforce King Belgar's forces!"
"Where are the Montfort Watchmen? They need to assist the Bastogne Beast Slayers!"
"Tell Estel to focus fire on the trolls and orc warriors, ignore the goblins!"
Ryan was sweating profusely as he assessed the battlefield. Behind him, Veronica and Olica continued casting spells with the Witch Sisters, their magic nearly depleted. After hours of battle, even the powerful Veronica and Olica were exhausted, their faces pale from overuse of their magic reserves.
"Sire, the longbowmen have run out of arrows!" a squire shouted.
"Then have them switch to melee combat!" Ryan roared. "Send them to support the army from Carcassonne!"
"Yes, my lord!" The knights of Carcassonne, along with their peasant infantry, were holding the line against waves of greenskins. Every knight was supported by a dozen peasants, fighting desperately to survive.
"We're out of bullets!" Dugan Ironhand, the dwarf engineer, also yelled, holstering his smoking gun and pulling out a battle axe. "Now, we fight with steel!"
"For Belgar! For Karak Eight Peaks! For Grungni and Valaya!" The dwarf thunderers threw down their firearms, charging into the fray with their axes, determined to hold back the tide of greenskins.
One by one, the dwarfs fell, but they took many more greenskins with them. The battle raged around a single breach, with the dwarfs and men fighting back wave after wave of orcs, goblins, and trolls. When one regiment of peasants was broken by the goblin assault, a fresh regiment of freedmen would take their place, only to be trampled by trolls and Black Orcs. Then the knights would charge in, holding the line for a time before being overwhelmed again. Then the Grail Knights would step in, pushing back the greenskins once more.
The battlefield had become a meat grinder, a place where flesh and steel were churned into a bloody mess. Corpses piled high across the once-proud halls of the dwarven ancestors, forming grotesque mounds of bodies. Both sides showed no signs of stopping.
Many knights had already broken several weapons. Some were now picking up discarded weapons from the corpses around them to continue fighting. Ryan, with his orders stabilizing the battle for now, barely had a moment to catch his breath before he grabbed his hammer and charged to another breach where the army of Brionne was collapsing. His presence alone lifted their spirits, helping them push back the green tide once again.
Ryan scanned the battlefield, his eyes searching for Skarsnik's next move. The key to this battle lay in the breach at the high platform of Valaya's Gate.
Would Skarsnik finally commit his elite Black Orcs and Eight Peaks Fanatics?
But Ryan was disappointed. The cunning warlord of Eight Peaks had no intention of deploying his best troops.
Skarsnik kept his focus on the uncommitted Pegasus Knights, the Swift Spear and the Spear of Palaon. The warlord had made up his mind: as long as the Pegasus Knights stayed back, his Black Orcs and Eight Peaks Fanatics would remain in reserve.
Skarsnik's plan was simple—let the humans and dwarfs throw everything they had into the breach. See whose forces would run out first: the Bretonnian army or his Waaagh!
Meanwhile, King Belgar's center was nearing its breaking point. The Dwarf King still stood proudly on his Oathstone, wielding his hammer, Angrund's Oath, to crush any greenskin that dared to challenge him. Despite his right flank being heavily assaulted by the Skaven, Belgar remained unshaken.
However, the Angrund Clan was nearing its limits. With the right flank crumbling, Federmond was forced to pull back his surviving troops toward the center. Now, the dwarves had to face both greenskins and Skaven simultaneously, nearly shattering their lines. Had it not been for the presence of Valaya's blessing and Queek Headtaker's hesitation to fully commit to an all-out assault, the story of Belgar and his Oathstone Guards might have ended today.
The Skaven's decision to withdraw gave Federmond and Durant a much-needed reprieve, but they were soon besieged by both greenskins and Skaven. With no arrows or bullets left, the dwarf quarrelers and thunderers joined the melee, axes in hand. The cannon and organ gun crews, having exhausted their ammunition, also charged into the fray, chanting the names of their ancestors as they fought.
The war dragged on. While the expeditionary forces battled both greenskins and Skaven, the rats and goblins were locked in their own savage conflict. Goblins clashed with waves of Skavenslaves, each side fighting with tooth and claw. When the Skaven outnumbered the goblins, the greenskins would temporarily retreat, but the cowardly Skavenslaves never gave chase. Instead, they would stop to feast on the corpses of the fallen greenskins, considering the rancid meat a delicacy.
When the goblins regrouped under Skarsnik's orders, they would charge back in, breaking through the Skaven lines once more. The Skavenslaves and Clanrats couldn't hold back the goblin onslaught and would soon retreat, leaving their corpses as a feast for the goblins, who would eat, defecate, and fight all at once. The battlefield became a grotesque feast of carnage, bloodshed, and excrement—a nightmarish spectacle of death.
Meanwhile, trolls charged into the fr
ay, their massive clubs smashing through the Stormvermin ranks. Warpstone flamethrowers scorched the troll's flesh, burning it down to the bone, yet the massive creatures continued their advance, bellowing in pain. One troll lifted its club high, smashing down on a Stormvermin, sending it flying.
In response, the Stormvermin pressed their warpstone flamethrower to the troll's belly, burning its innards until yellow bones were exposed. The troll vomited corrosive bile onto the Skaven, causing the warpstone weapon to malfunction.
An explosion ripped through the battlefield, incinerating the troll and the Skaven in a fiery blast. Goblins and rats alike rushed into the breach, gnawing at the remains of their enemies in the blood-soaked muck of the battlefield.
Amidst this horrific war, another force made its entrance. In the corner of the hall, the great stone gate had opened completely, and from the depths of the tunnel, an army of the dead marched onto the battlefield.
Skeleton warriors and undead monstrosities charged into the goblin and Skaven lines, tearing through their ranks with ruthless efficiency.
The entire battlefield froze in shock. Skarsnik, Queek, Ryan, and Belgar all realized at once that a new and terrifying enemy had joined the battle.
A chill wind swept through the hall, carrying with it the sound of ancient horns, echoing with a twisted, hateful melody. Death itself had arrived.
The first to charge was a Terrorgheist, its sulfurous breath incinerating goblins and Skaven in waves. Mounted atop the beast was a Strigoi Ghoul King, its monstrous form twisted by madness and hatred for the living. It cast powerful spells, blasting a Stormvermin to pieces as it muttered to itself, "The people mourn for my Strigoi Empire."
Skeleton warriors, ghouls, grave guard, and crypt horrors poured into the battlefield, tearing apart greenskins and Skaven alike. A unit of heavily armored wights followed close behind, bearing a golden banner adorned with the sigil of a crowned jackal.
Finally, a lavish palanquin, borne by the souls of its ancient worshippers, glided into the fray. Accompanying the palanquin were dozens of women, dressed in extravagant gowns, their eyes glowing blood-red. Each wielded weapons or extended deadly claws, their beauty marred by the terror they inspired.
"The Witch Queen's throne," Ryan muttered, cutting down two more Black Orcs as he stared at the new threat. His gaze locked onto the latest arrival. "The Blood Queen."
Seated on the throne was Neferata, Queen of Lahmia, the first vampire, beloved of Arkhan the Black, former wife of Vlad von Carstein, Queen of the Tomb Kings, ruler of Silver Pinnacle.
"Drive out these foul greenskins and rats!" Neferata's voice rang cold and commanding. "And then, kill every dwarf and human. Enslave them."
"The secrets and treasures of Valaya's Gate belong to me, Neferata!"
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