"What? You said you attacked the tin cans in the rain and darkness, but bad luck struck, and the river flooded, and the tin cans were fully prepared? Impossible! What really happened?!" Skarsnik was in disbelief when he heard that his goblin wolf cavalry had been completely wiped out. Initially shocked, the warlord quickly refused to believe it—after all, it was a force of over 12,000, including many light cavalry, which should have easily been able to retreat if things went wrong.
But standing in front of him, goblin warlord Git Sourbelly was telling Skarsnik the truth. The goblin wolf cavalry was truly annihilated! Over 12,000 goblins—gone!
"It's true! The river cut off our retreat, and the tin cans were everywhere! So many of them!" Git Sourbelly shrieked. "We charged in the night, but the tin cans repelled us wave after wave. Then more came—so many of them! From the east, the west, the north—they overwhelmed us, drove us into the river, and washed us away. I-I jumped into the water, escaping along the river!"
"You mushroom-brained fool!" Skarsnik grabbed a wooden stick and struck Git Sourbelly's head, blood splattering. The goblin warlord was knocked dizzy by the blow, and Skarsnik kicked him to the ground, seething with fury, his head practically steaming. "Did you even figure out how many enemies there were? How many tin cans?"
"I-I don't know, boss!" Git Sourbelly scratched his head furiously, covering himself in black blood, and hurriedly replied, "There were just so many! So, so many!"
"How many is 'so many'?!" Skarsnik was growing increasingly impatient. His beloved pet Gobbla, a massive squig, had sensed the tension. This giant red squig, which resembled a huge ball of meat with an enormous mouth, was eyeing Git Sourbelly hungrily, drooling.
Gobbla had devoured countless enemies and allies alike and was the only thing Skarsnik truly trusted. It had saved his life multiple times in dangerous situations and had eaten hundreds of greenskins, Skaven, and even dwarfs, having swallowed Belega twice, though the dwarf's magical shield and hammer had forced Gobbla to spit him out.
Trembling uncontrollably, Git Sourbelly knew even the fiercest black orc warlords feared Gobbla's jaws—so what chance did a goblin like him have?
Desperate, Git Sourbelly blurted out, "I-I didn't get a good look, boss. It was raining and dark, but I'd guess there were at least... tens of thousands!"
Yes, that's it! If I say the number is huge, then it's not my fault!
It wasn't our failure—it was the tin cans being too cunning!
"Tens of thousands of tin cans?!" Skarsnik, hearing this absurd number, suddenly calmed down. A grin spread across the warlord's face, curling like a crescent moon. "Really? Tens of thousands of tin cans?"
"Absolutely!" Git Sourbelly replied, putting on a look of utmost sincerity.
"Very well, looks like you're not completely useless. Come here, I've got a surprise for you," Skarsnik said with a bright smile.
Git Sourbelly breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he had passed the test. He stepped forward with a hint of anticipation.
In the next instant, Gobbla's massive mouth opened wide, and before Git Sourbelly realized what was happening, half of his body was already inside the squig's jaws. The squig's sharp teeth pierced through his armor, shredding flesh and metal alike as Gobbla happily devoured the goblin warlord.
Blood splattered everywhere as Gobbla tore into its meal. Skarsnik watched with sadistic pleasure, grinning from ear to ear. Nothing pleased him more than seeing Gobbla well-fed.
But soon, Skarsnik's laughter faded.
So how many tin cans had really shown up?
It was impossible for there to have been tens of thousands. Skarsnik, who had earned his fearsome reputation across the Badlands and even tamed black orcs, was known for his cunning and strategic brilliance. He knew the knights' kingdom could never muster such numbers.
But how many had actually arrived? If there were a few thousand, this battle could still be tough.
Sitting on his throne in Eight Peaks, Skarsnik, usually confident and calculating, now found himself restless. He was facing a difficult dilemma.
Just beyond the Titan's Gate, the expeditionary army at Streamwatch Outpost was poised to attack, and Skarsnik knew Belega well enough to expect an assault soon. The dwarf lord was undoubtedly planning how to breach his defenses.
If the tin cans had truly sent a large force of reinforcements, waiting for them to unite with Belega would be suicide. But if Skarsnik took the offensive to crush the Streamwatch Outpost, the underground Skaven of Eight Peaks would likely rise up against him.
On the other hand, if Skarsnik led his forces against the tin cans' reinforcements, would that leave Titan's Gate vulnerable to attack? If the gate fell, he'd lose everything.
Skarsnik banged the handle of his sword on the ground, mentally running through various strategies, but none seemed foolproof. The far-off tin can reinforcements, the nearby dwarfs and tin can coalition, and the Skaven lurking beneath Eight Peaks—each posed a significant threat.
What to do? Skarsnik pondered for a while and concluded that the key to solving this problem lay with the tin cans' reinforcements.
If there really were so many of them, Git Sourbelly's defeat wasn't surprising. But... what if it was a trap?
Skarsnik knew much about the Bretonnian knights. Their heavy cavalry was formidable, but many knights had already come under the leadership of that hammer-wielding giant Ryan. How could they now send thousands more? Wouldn't their kingdom be left defenseless?
The goblin warlord felt something was off. Recalling Git Sourbelly's final words:
"The tin cans attacked from all sides."
"I didn't get a clear look; it was raining and dark."
"There were just so many! So, so many!"
That idiot Git Sourbelly! Had the tin cans tricked him?
Still doubtful about the supposed tens of thousands of tin can reinforcements, Skarsnik finally made a decision.
He would personally go and investigate the Foulwater River!
Without hesitation, Skarsnik began gathering his forces, ordering his goblin warlords to hold their positions. He led a smaller force to continue probing the defenses of Streamwatch Outpost, while he and his elite black orcs and Night Goblin guards, the Eight Peaks Berserkers, set out through the subterranean tunnels of the Badlands.
He would see for himself whether the enemy's numbers were truly overwhelming or if it was all just a ruse.
And so, without anyone knowing, the warlord of Eight Peaks mounted his squig and vanished into the night.
——
After days of rapid marching, Skarsnik arrived at Foulwater River. As a renowned warlord of the Badlands, his journey was unimpeded, with greenskins along the way either following him or clearing the path. By the time he reached the site of the battle, his force had grown to several thousand goblins and orcs, in addition to his own elite troops.
Upon reaching Foulwater River, Skarsnik found the battlefield mostly cleared. The bodies of the greenskins had been piled and burned, and even the tin cans' camp had been thoroughly dismantled. Skarsnik could gather little information from the scene.
He spent hours examining the muddy banks, trying to discern the direction of the attack, but the rains that had followed the battle had washed away any useful tracks.
It seemed like Git Sourbelly hadn't lied after all. Skarsnik couldn't be certain, but the evidence didn't fully support his claims either.
He was still deep in thought when a goblin wolf rider, bloodied and with smoking wounds, rushed up to him, collapsing at his feet. The rider struggled to rise, gasping, "B-boss... tin cans! So many of them! Everywhere!"
"So many? You saw them with your own eyes?" Skarsnik snapped to attention.
"Patrols everywhere! And flying ones, those buzzing dwarfen gyrocopters! They're everywhere!" the goblin wailed, pulling a bullet from a smoking hole in his side, yelping in pain. "Look, boss!"
"Let's see for ourselves," Skarsnik growled.
——
As they approached the tin can encampment, Skarsnik faced a new challenge.
Patrols were everywhere!
The plains surrounding the camp were teeming with knight patrols, each led by knights and their squires. Skarsnik counted four separate patrols on his approach, making it impossible to get close.
Though most of the patrols consisted of regular knights, Skarsnik also saw kingdom knights and expeditionary knights among them. He couldn't make out who exactly was in the armor, but there were no repeating banners among the patrols.
It seemed that Skarsnik's fearsome reputation had forced the tin cans to muster all their knights. Was Ryan truly using his entire kingdom to fight him?
Aside from the mounted patrols, there were also flying enemies. Dwarven gyrocopters from Sea Gate flew above, and Pegasus knights were not uncommon either, scouting the area from high above.
If they spotted any goblin scouts, they would dive down and immediately attack, leaving no enemies alive.
For a day and a half, Skarsnik couldn't find any opportunity to approach the camp. He tried various methods to get closer, but the endless patrols thwarted his every attempt. Eventually, one of the patrols spotted his forces. Skarsnik and his swift cavalry managed to escape, but the knights gave chase for a while before giving up.
After observing the knights' shift changes and patrol rotations, Skarsnik did some calculations. "In a day and a half, we've encountered twelve patrols, each with about 100 men. That's 1,200 knights. If they switch shifts every three to five days, with one day shift and one night shift, and ten patrols at a time… that means… they really could have tens of thousands of knights!"
The warlord of Eight Peaks felt immense pressure. The situation was worsening by the minute.
Skarsnik could almost feel an invisible net closing in around him. If the tin can reinforcements reached Eight Peaks, it could very well mean his end.
With his wolf cavalry wiped out, Skarsnik no longer had a mobile force to stall these reinforcements. Even now, he still found it hard to believe that the Bretonnian kingdom had sent such a large army to face him. Something felt off, but he couldn't pinpoint what.
Just as he was about to conduct further reconnaissance, another goblin wolf rider came with urgent news: "Bad news, boss! Bad news!"
"What now?" Skarsnik snapped.
"It's the Wood Elves! The Wood Elf prince and several of their pointy-eared lords!" The scout had ridden across the barren Badlands to bring this chilling news. "The green pointy ears have joined the tin cans and shorties! They attacked our lands and we were routed!"
Skarsnik's eyes widened. Upon hearing this, he raised his sword. The heavily armored black orc legion and his Night Goblin bodyguards immediately halted, standing at attention. These two units were his elite forces, his trump cards.
Skarsnik pressed the tip of his sword to the goblin scout's throat. "Did you kill all the pointy ears?"
"N-no, boss! The pointy ears shot at us and ran away like cowards!" The scout trembled, both in fear and an attempt to sound braver than he was. "J-just a bunch of weaklings, not worth chasing!"
"Fool!" Skarsnik no longer had time to ponder the exact number of tin can reinforcements or whether they really numbered in the tens of thousands. Years of experience and cunning told him that with the Wood Elves now involved, he was teetering on the edge of disaster.
A few minutes later, Skarsnik reopened his eyes. "Go to Dragon's Spine Fortress!"
"Go to Dragon's Spine and request reinforcements from Gorrick Bonebreaker. Have them head to Eight Peaks immediately!"
"Got it, boss!" the wolf rider quickly left.
"Take this, and go to the Great Gut tribe!" Skarsnik issued a second command, handing over the Eight Peaks crown. "Hire the ogres to come to our aid right now!"
"Yes, boss!" Another goblin rider sped off.
Still not enough. Skarsnik knew that even with these two reinforcements, it wouldn't be enough!
He needed to force a decisive battle against the expeditionary force at Streamwatch Outpost before the tin can reinforcements reached Eight Peaks.
Closing his eyes in deep thought, a tempting idea began to form in his mind. Perhaps… there was one more army he could rely on.
After several minutes of careful deliberation, Skarsnik made up his mind. He raised his sword high.
"Pointy ears!"
"Tin cans!"
"Bearded scum!"
"Eight Peaks will be their grave!"
"Are you ready to Waaagh, boys?!"
"Waaaaaaaaagh!!!"
The mountains echoed with the roars of Skarsnik's elite forces.
War was coming.
——
Several hours later, in François's camp…
The knight's camp was eerily empty, with fewer than 300 men remaining. François had sent most of his knights out on patrols to maintain the illusion of a larger force. The camp itself was so deserted that even rats could roam freely. To keep up the charade, the knights were on constant rotation, exhausting both men and horses. Many of their mounts were beginning to look underfed.
"My lord! The Pegasus knights and the Sea Gate Dwarfs have confirmed sightings of Skarsnik. He lingered near the area for several hours before retreating!" A squire hurried over to François in the empty camp. "What are your orders? Should we continue the ruse?"
"No need. The Lady has sent me a dream. The patrols can stop now. Everyone has worked hard enough," François said, his tone relaxed as he strolled through the empty camp. "Now, it's up to Ryan and the others."
"Yes, my lord!" The squires were visibly relieved. The constant patrols had worn down both knights and their steeds.
François walked alone in the quiet camp, deep in thought about what more he could do to help Ryan and the others. Suddenly, he heard two voices behind him: one raspy and low, the other smooth and rich in tone.
"Ah-ha, I didn't think anyone could actually fool Skarsnik. What an impressive feat."
"Indeed. The Duke of Winford's name is known across the Old World."
"Who's there?" François turned around, his expression one of mild surprise. "Ah, so it's you two…"
"It's an honor to meet you, Duke François of Winford. Though we arrived late, may we offer our assistance, or perhaps… does the Kingdom of Bretonnia need our help?"
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