The Battle of the Gates of the Titans ended with the retreat of Skarsnik, the Warlord of Eight Peaks, and the escape of Queek Headtaker.
Out of the sixty thousand greenskins from the Crooked Moon tribe that had participated in the battle, less than a third managed to follow Skarsnik into the Gates of the Titans. Skarsnik's elite Black Orc regiment was entirely wiped out by Ryan's forces, and less than 20% of the Eight Peaks Marauders survived. Skarsnik himself had been injured by Raymond and the Old Guard Dragoons' firepower.
But this wily warlord was nothing if not tenacious. After being shot in the leg, Skarsnik managed to remount his beloved squig, Gobbla, and launched a countercharge, fending off the pursuing Ughol Horse Archers. Then, using pre-planted explosives, he collapsed the ancestral dwarf statues at the Gates, making his escape.
The Skaven from Clan Mors had brought fifty-five thousand rats to the fight, but only around ten thousand managed to flee the battlefield. Their elite forces, including poison-wind globadiers, ratling gunners, plagueclaw catapults, and rat ogres, were all annihilated. Of the three Stormvermin legions, only Queek's Crimson Hunters survived, but they too had lost more than 60% of their numbers. Queek himself narrowly avoided death, saved only by summoning a Skaven Lord of Calamity.
Dragon Crag's eight thousand greenskins fared no better. Warlord Gorrik Redtooth showed his face, only to lose his head, and the fate of the survivors was unknown, as Gotrek and Felix had yet to return.
On the human side, the knightly army had suffered three thousand casualties, with more than two thousand coming from peasant soldiers. The Old Guard had recently been reinforced to 1,100 men, but after the battle, only around 900 remained. Over 300 knights were killed, including 99 of the 100 who had followed Ryan in the charge against the Black Orcs. The only survivor, besides Ryan himself, was Leofrick Caral, the future champion of the Knights' Tournament following Sulia.
Clan Angrund lost more than 400 warriors, while Iron Peak's forces suffered minimal casualties, with only a few dozen dwarves wounded.
After this battle, the knightly army had dwindled from forty thousand to twelve thousand.
Now, amidst the devastation of the battlefield, cries of victory echoed beyond the Gates of the Titans. The expeditionary force celebrated, raising their arms in triumph. Some soldiers eagerly sought out wounded enemies to finish off, while others shouted their victorious chants.
Corpses littered the plain. Craters left by cannons and the stench of smoke filled the air. The bodies of greenskins, Skaven, humans, and dwarves were scattered everywhere. Ryan, wielding his warhammer Thor's Hammer, surveyed the damage. Seeing the heavy casualties among the peasant infantry, the king could only sigh. The best he could do was ensure the soldiers' families were compensated and reward those who had distinguished themselves in battle.
Wars have never been bloodless, and even the knights, who led the charges, suffered significant losses—how could the peasants expect any less?
"Ryan." As the king frowned, a calm, refined voice came from behind him. Ryan knew immediately who it was. He turned and nodded slightly. "Francois, you've arrived just in time."
"Just in time? I handed the army over to Jerrod and led the Pegasus Knights here myself, racing ahead using a map Gotrek and Felix gave me," Francois said, sheathing his Unicorn Sword. The Duke of Winford walked up behind Ryan and, about to pat him on the shoulder, hesitated and withdrew his hand. "The Pegasi are exhausted—each one is underweight and will need at least two weeks of rest."
"Thank you for your efforts," Ryan said, turning around, his brow still furrowed. "But it's unfortunate that Skarsnik and Queek escaped. As long as those two are alive, this war isn't over."
"I almost cornered Queek," Francois stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "But… what was that thing?"
"A Skaven Lord of Calamity." Before Ryan could answer, Belegar appeared. Covered in blood and grime, the joy of victory and his recent promotion to the Sanctuary realm were written all over his face. The King of Eight Peaks addressed Ryan, "That was Queek's trump card. He's used it once before. The Skaven Lords of Calamity are avatars of their rat god, incredibly powerful but limited by time. Without a massive ritual, they can only exist in the mortal world for two or three minutes."
A Skaven Lord of Calamity? Ryan thought to himself, amused by the comparison to "Ultraman."
"No wonder," Francois said, understanding now. "That ghostly figure could have killed everyone except me, but it vanished so quickly."
"My brother Angron once killed one of those Lords of Calamity in the Chalons Forest," Ryan said with a wry smile before his expression hardened. "It looks like it's my turn now."
"We must eliminate Skarsnik and Queek!" Ryan continued, turning to Belegar. "Even if we take back Eight Peaks, neither you nor your people can rest easy until they're dealt with."
"Agreed." Belegar nodded, the joy on his face fading. If retaking Eight Peaks had been easy, he wouldn't have failed three times already.
Skarsnik and Queek had proven to be incredibly resilient foes, but Belegar wasn't surprised. After all, he had survived his own brushes with death—he had been swallowed by Gobbla twice and nearly killed by Queek twice but had always come out alive. It made sense that these two foes were equally hard to kill. Otherwise, their three-way conflict over Eight Peaks wouldn't have lasted for decades.
As for why the Skaven Lord of Calamity appeared? Well, if Belegar could summon the ancestral spirits, why couldn't Queek call upon the Great Horned Rat?
"Ryan…" Francois hesitated, clearly wanting to say something.
"Speak freely, my duke. You're Sulia's father—we're family," Ryan said gently.
"Count Cuileux, a Grail Knight and Sulia's cousin, Anthelm, has fallen." Francois's voice was heavy with sorrow. "He fought against the Black Orcs, was grievously wounded by an axe, and then had his head crushed by a Night Goblin's flail. I… I am proud of him."
Anthelm had fallen? Ryan was taken aback, unsure how to process the news. Sadness, bitterness, and a quiet anger filled his heart. He took a deep breath.
Belegar lowered his head in respect, knowing that Ryan had sacrificed much to help him reclaim Eight Peaks.
The cold November wind at Eight Peaks felt like steel cutting across exposed skin. Belegar, Ryan, and Francois stood in silent contemplation.
"He was a true knight. I'm proud of him too," Ryan finally said. "I'll personally hold a memorial for him."
Francois sighed deeply, tears streaming down his face. "I will forever be proud of him."
Their somber moment was interrupted by the arrival of King Kazador Dragonhammer of Iron Peak Fortress and Runelord Thorek Ironbrow, who led the Black Hammer Guard and the Anvil Brotherhood. Thorek surveyed the battlefield and shouted joyfully, "Oh ho, Belegar!"
"Hey! It's Kazador and Thorek!" Belegar composed himself and warmly greeted the two dwarven leaders. "Brothers, what took you so long? Hahaha!"
"It took some time to convince Kazador to join the fight, but fortunately, we weren't too late. Just like the flavor of Bugman's ale—just right," Thorek said, a rare smile breaking through his usual stern demeanor.
"Haha! Let me introduce you," Belegar said. "This is Ryan Macard, the King of the Knights and the Lady of the Lake's chosen champion. And this is Duke Francois, Ryan's father-in-law." Turning to the dwarves, he continued, "This is Kazador Dragonhammer, King of Iron Peak Fortress, and Thorek Ironbrow, Runelord of Iron Peak. In terms of rune craft, only Master Krag of Karaz-a-Karak can boast a longer beard."
Ryan shook hands with the dwarf lords. "Honored to meet you, King Kazador, Master Thorek."
"I've heard of you," Kazador said, his gaze stern as he stared intently at Ryan. Francois and the nearby knights felt the tension rise.
After a minute, the old king finally spoke. "You've done well, but don't grow complacent. The war isn't over."
"Hahaha! Thank you for the advice, King Kazador. I won't forget it," Ryan laughed heartily.
"Belegar, this was a hard-fought battle, but these greenskins and Skaven are endless," Kazador said, turning back to Belegar. "You need a plan."
"Agreed." Belegar stepped forward. "We need to head inside and kill Queek, that rat bastard."
"But first, we have a score to settle with the pointy-eared ones!"
–––
Two hours later, at the expedition's headquarters near the Stream Outpost.
Ryan had dismissed most of the attendants, leaving only Araloth, Belegar, the White Dwarf, Veronica, and himself in the room. Even
Olica had been asked to step outside.
The dwarves and wood elves were in a heated argument, hurling insults at each other's ancestors (though the elves had only been around for three or four generations). Belegar and the White Dwarf were the most furious, and it took Ryan and Veronica's combined efforts to keep them from coming to blows. Despite their efforts, the White Dwarf still managed to punch Araloth in the eye, giving him a black eye and nearly knocking him out.
Despite Ryan's best efforts to mediate, even going so far as to take responsibility for sending Araloth to the Stream Outpost to deal with Queek, Araloth stubbornly refused to apologize. He insisted that he was right and had done nothing wrong.
"Damn dwarves! You actually hit me! Even Lilith has never hit me!" Araloth shouted furiously, leaning on Ryan's shoulder for support. "I told you! I warned you to hold the fort! You didn't listen, and now you've been beaten. Serves you right! The Asrai won't waste their lives for you short-sighted fools! You're all idiots!"
"That's your excuse for desertion? Pointy-eared scum, despicable, vile, disgusting!" The White Dwarf raised Grimnir's Rune Axe, and if not for Ryan standing between him and Araloth, he would have cleaved the elf in two. "You make me sick! By Grungni's beard, if I don't teach you a lesson today, I'm not the White Dwarf!"
"You owe us an explanation!" Belegar, barely containing his fury, stepped forward. Knowing that Araloth was Ryan's ally, the King of Eight Peaks forced himself to remain calm. "Kneel! Apologize to the spirit of Harthaf Golddigger! Apologize to Clan Angrund! Compensate us double—no, triple—for the losses, or this isn't over!"
"I told you, I did nothing wrong! The Asrai never…" Araloth stubbornly refused to back down, his attitude turning Ryan's face pale with frustration.
It's over, Ryan thought. The alliance is going to break down!
Just then, a brilliant light filled the room, illuminating the entire hall. In the glow, the Lady of the Lake, Lilith, appeared, wearing a reflective green gown that shimmered in the light. Her divine presence caused the White Dwarf to let out a cold snort. "What's she doing here?"
"I've come to settle this matter!" Lilith held the Grail in her hands, her eyes blazing with anger. The veins in her forehead bulged, and she gripped the Grail so tightly that it creaked. She strode over to Araloth, who was still reeling from the shock, and said through clenched teeth, "Ryan, step aside. White Dwarf, King Belegar, I need to speak with him in private."
Belegar and the White Dwarf exchanged glances before reluctantly agreeing. Veronica let out a sigh of relief and quickly returned to Ryan's side.
"Understood." Ryan released Araloth, who by now had a sense of foreboding. The Lady of the Lake wasn't giving him her usual kind smile. Instead, she was glaring at him, her face filled with rage.
"Come with me!" Lilith snapped.
"Y-Yes…" Araloth, realizing something was terribly wrong, followed her into a nearby room. As soon as the door closed, he began to protest. "Lilith, this isn't my fault! I was right! I told them—"
In the next instant, Lilith slapped him across the face.
Araloth was sent flying, crashing into the decaying furniture and debris scattered across the room. He looked up in disbelief, clutching his face. "L-Lilith?"
"Araloth! Look at the mess you've caused!!!"
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