To ensure the success of this offensive, the Great Warboss moved his tribes most adept at forest warfare to this location:
A group of Forest Goblin tribes that had scurried out of the Somobla Forest—nestled between the Inara Mountains and the Abaska Range northeast of Magritta—responding to Great Warboss Gorkamorka Wyvern's WAAAAAGH!
They had tamed a massive number of spiders to serve as their auxiliary force. After the Great Warboss landed and besieged Magritta, Skaven envoys arrived at the perfect time, inciting these rare local Greenskins and Chaos-touched Beastmen to emerge from the forest like a bestial plague, sweeping through the eastern part of the kingdom.
The local Greenskins lacked any powerful figures; they all submitted to the Great Warboss himself. Thanks to Somobla Forest's connection to two major mountain ranges, its rich surface and subterranean resources, and the vast tunnel network left by the Dwarfs, the Forest Goblins had flourished and grown numerous.
Under the Great Warboss's command, there were nearly twenty thousand Goblin troops, half of whom had their own spider mounts.
Ten thousand cavalry.
Even as a combination of Goblins and spiders, this was a force that could not be underestimated.
Moreover, during their long period of isolation from other Greenskins, this group had gradually begun to add another object of worship to their faith in Gork and Mork—much like the ancient Forest Goblins in the Empire who first began taming, or rather, cooperating with spiders:
The "Spider-God."
Or the Giant Spider God, the Colossal Spider, the Super-Invincible-WAAAAAGH!-Over-Humans-and-Orcs Great Spider, and so on.
They spent their days in the company of spiders. Over time, even the legendary Greenskin resilience could not eliminate the spider venom eroding their bodies. These spider-riding Goblins became delirious and incredibly dangerous. Even a Greenskin passing by them might be suddenly attacked by these peculiar Goblins acting like spiders hunting prey. Except for their mount partners and fellow venom-soaked Goblins, others found it difficult to interact with them in a normal Greenskin manner.
Fortunately, the orders of the Great Warboss and his generals could still command them. Gorkamorka Wyvern didn't particularly like these crazed little things, so he decided to stuff them all into the forest that didn't yet belong to him to cause chaos. Even if their losses were heavy, he wouldn't feel the sting.
The vanguard of the Greenskin vanguard consisted of three units of a thousand Spider Riders each. Under the Warboss's instructions, the generals let these toxin-infected, odd-minded runts eat and drink their fill. They even specially brewed vast quantities of the spider-Goblins' favorite concoction—a liquor mixed with spider blood, venom, and all sorts of random mushrooms.
Normal Greenskins wouldn't touch the stuff, but the Goblins drank it joyfully. After the pre-war rewards, their morale soared. Excluding those who succumbed to the toxins and collapsed on the spot, three thousand—now slightly fewer than three thousand—Goblin riders did not cheer. They were as silent as if they were one with their mounts, vanishing into the forest and fully adapting to the environment.
The Greenskin General, Bald Beast, had suffered a significant blow to his reputation and strength after the failure at the walls of Veling. However, Gorkamorka Wyvern was not as brutal as other Warlords; while he meted out slight punishment to his failing subordinate, he maintained Bald Beast's status as his right-hand man, leading the "Good Boyz" to fight for the Warlord.
But this time, Gorkamorka didn't let him lead an independent army; he served only as a deputy general reporting to the tent.
The one responsible for commanding the northern army—the Piña Forest vanguard—was a Greenskin commander from Gorkamorka's Wyvern Guard: Tank Bone-Club.
A veteran guard from the Great Warboss's rise to power, Tank was hulking and robust even by Greenskin standards; perhaps only Trolls or the legendary Grom the Paunch could rival him.
More importantly, within his head—which lacked the typical Greenskin traits of cunning, belligerence, and brutality—existed something very special for an Orc: Loyalty.
No matter how weak the Great Warboss might seem, or how long he refrained from personally crushing the heads of human "stunties" to prove his prowess during his long rise, Tank's loyalty to Gorkamorka never showed a hint of wavering.
He didn't even follow the "natural law" of Greenskins where, upon becoming strong, one must challenge the boss—and if they fail, they are either crushed or continue working under him.
He was consistently loyal and obedient.
But he showed no mercy to Greenskins who tried to challenge his position, even comrades from the same Guard. He defended his status as the true right hand of the Great Warboss through action and strength.
Gorkamorka felt he could rely on Tank. Tank had been learning and emulating human knowledge, and he deeply understood his race's nature. He did not follow the crowd; wanting to change the status quo meant he was destined to clash with Greenskin traditions.
To Tank, the abilities of his subordinates were perhaps not the most important; rather, this "loyalty" attribute, which seemed so strange in a Greenskin, was the most relevant.
Though vigilant and attentive, in his heart, he didn't truly place much importance on a faction emerging from a small forest.
After all, the South—with an area nearly seven or eight times that of the Piña Forest and a population of millions—had been easily swept and conquered by his army. He was already using the strength of a lion hunting a rabbit, intending to flatten the forest in one breath. If possible, he could use the Piña Forest to head directly north, cut off the Thomas River, and attack Bilbali.
The main task now was preparation for the subsequent northern march.
The Great Warboss was inspecting the fallen city of Magus. Supplies were piled high here in preparation for the northern advance, and a continuous stream of "tribute" and "peace taxes" from across the South was being delivered here.
He wasn't stingy with money; after all, that stuff was meaningless to the current Warlord.
He scattered coins by the fistful. Scoundrel pirates, Ogre mercenaries, Vampires, Necromancers... anyway, all the scum and villains in the South who were willing to serve a Greenskin Warlord were hired and summoned through the pirates from all over the South.
This created a foul atmosphere everywhere. The Southerners, who had only surrendered to the Greenskins for a few days, were furious but dared not speak out. They could only hope that this group of underworld scum—exposed cockroaches and rats that everyone wanted to hit—would hurry north with the special Greenskin Warlord and ravage their northern neighbors.
A piece of not-so-good news was sent back to Magus, the Warlord's headquarters, via a Wyvern messenger.
The Spider Riders he sent into the Piña Forest were ambushed. The enemy was well-prepared, and their losses were heavy. Fortunately, under the support of the reinforcements led by Tank, the enemy was unable to hold their ground and retreated first.
A tough target.
Just how tough could not yet be determined.
The Great Warboss stroked his non-existent beard on his chin, a habit of his.
Bald Beast's twenty thousand-plus "Good Boyz" had been clumsily defeated; in that battle, the enemy numbered at least ten thousand (according to the Greenskins). Three thousand Goblins weren't swallowed in one bite, so it seemed the ambushing army wasn't particularly large.
He scratched his chin and ordered the messenger to ride a Wyvern to give Tank orders: let him play it by ear, get a clear grasp of the situation, and be cautious before considering whether to beat them up or not.
Tank Bone-Club's loyalty manifested here as well.
Whether abroad or at home, he would always find a way to quickly report important situations to the Great Warboss before making a decision.
The Great Warboss made a rough estimate: Tank had thirty thousand, maybe close to forty thousand Boyz?
This number was constantly fluctuating; even the Warlord himself found it hard to pin down.
Plus ten thousand—this should be accurate—ten thousand human "stunties." If they played it safe, beating up the beast things in the woods shouldn't be a problem. If they could make them submit and help the Orcs cross the forest to beat the northern stunties, that would be best.
Al's face wasn't very pleasant, though no one could tell behind his mask.
This was the first time he had encountered such a situation. The time at Magus didn't count; then, he had torn a hole in the encirclement and the Greenskins scattered. His adoptive mother, Alina, had decapitated the Greenskin general, and while the remaining Greenskins didn't immediately retreat, they didn't dare attack this unknown, powerful army for a while, just scattering and watching the Beastman legion escort the Magus residents eastward from a distance.
He couldn't win.
When the ambushers Al arranged clashed with the Greenskin vanguard—a group of weird Goblin runts riding spiders—Al suddenly realized this problem.
He silently watched the development of the battle. Soon, his second vanguard also approached and joined this encounter that both sides had anticipated.
Two against three.
Slightly at an advantage.
The Goblins and spiders were barely an equal match for the Khorngors. It was mainly because the delirious, venom-soaked Goblins had sky-high morale, and their spider mounts were also perfect woodland creatures. The lush forest was a bonus for the Beastmen, but it was also a unique advantage for these Spider Goblins.
Fortunately, the Beastman side had the magical advantage provided by the Shamans.
"Master-Slayer" made those vicious cold-blooded creatures turn back to bite their riders; "Feast of Crows" summoned magical avatars that could pass through stone, wood, and steel—masses of killer crows to tear and attack their enemies; "Petrified Flesh," "Storm of Rebirth," "Pan's Toughened Fur"...
The Shamans, who worshipped both the All-Father and the Loving Mother simultaneously, could now use a highly mixed array of spells from two, three, or even more Lores.
Under the environment of the Piña Forest, which had begun to transform into a magical forest like Athel Loren, the Winds of Magic were almost always abundant and flowing here, provided they were guided in advance.
For this battle, Al had once again given up a significant amount of his own blood to water the avatar of the Genesis Herdstone. Using this divine relic—which had passed from the mortal realm into Chaos and been refined and tainted for untold ages before returning to the mortal realm, bestowed by the Four Mothers into the hands of their shared son—he constrained and enhanced the magical winds of that land. When Al needed to use them, they would turn into a violent torrent, poured ruthlessly over the heads of his enemies.
But in the end, it wasn't used much.
When the Greenskin reinforcements arrived, Al was almost too excited to contain himself. He wanted to let the two armies tangle, activate the ley line teleportation, and send his prepared-and-waiting tribal army into the battlefield to crush the Greenskins who had ventured into the forest and turn them into Piña's nutrients.
But Al restrained himself. After assessing the disparity in strength between his forces and the enemy's, he abandoned the desire to crush the Greenskin vanguard in one battle and issued the retreat order.
The unified vanguards, with the Shamans joining forces, released a massive Swamp Spell, turning the ground in a certain area soft and sunken to help the vanguard units retreat in an orderly fashion.
The loss ratio for this battle was estimated to be around 1:5 or 1:6.
It stung a little.
Because Al suddenly realized that even if he hid his true strength as much as possible, as long as he didn't truly want to cede territory and move his family to hide in the deep mountains, leaving the hard-won forest clearings for the Greenskins to ravage, he couldn't let the Greenskins feel he wasn't a threat.
If he did that, the Greenskins would highly likely become obsessed with flattening the nearby Piña Forest first. No matter the final outcome, that would be extremely unfavorable for Al.
Dammit, wouldn't it be better for hundreds of thousands of Greenskins to head north and beat the Bilbalians? Instead, they're plunging into my woods.
Winning would be a Pyrrhic victory, and losing would be GG, leaving him with no choice but to run with his entire tribe—the "Second March of Misery."
If he beat the Greenskins too hard and they lacked the strength to attack the North, then Al would have to act himself in the end, personally bearing that infamy.
Chivalric Army [1/70]
So Al considered his options.
Show weakness. He had to show weakness first.
It was too early to make a rash decision; the time wasn't right.
At the same time, Al kept "dialing" the other side, starting to call for backup.
"Mom!"
Having already tasted enough benefits of being the Everchosen and the shared son of the Four Gods, yet not satisfied and wanting more served up quickly, Al had completely forgotten how he had once proudly and stubbornly declared under the Four Gods' gaze: "I have only one mother, the United Earth Government!"
He smoothly transitioned to:
"I have been orphaned since childhood, with nothing to rely on... drifting for half my life without meeting a loving mother. Now, if the Great Gods do not reject me, I am willing to take the Four Gods as my parents!"
Calling "Mom" and "Mother" came so smoothly.
In his "inter-mom/daughter/wife" roleplay sessions with his harem—the goat mom, centaur girl, and the widow—he didn't shout it as much or as naturally as when he was looking for the Four Mothers.
But Al was already used to it. The child who lacked motherly love now had the care of motherly love (lots of it), and the lonely widows who lacked the nourishment of filial piety now had the service of a filial son.
Win-win!
From Chaos to the mortal realm, there are few stories so happy for all involved.
This time, the Bloodmother didn't respond, and the Reveler Mom didn't reply either.
But the All-Knowing One and the Loving Mother responded together. Right after Al made the decision to withdraw the troops, the wills of the two Goddesses arrived one after another.
And arriving with them was an existence Al hadn't expected.
Lileath!
The Elven Goddess who had pressed the boy's head bang bang against the ground and forcefully established this mother-son relationship.
[How is it, my child?]
[Are you going to seek help from your mother now?]
Lileath's voice was always as clear and pleasant as a mountain spring. Wisdom, holiness, mystery, foresight... her believers would instantly conjure up many beautiful descriptions and praises, and it sounded the same to Al, but he only found it slightly grating.
Lileath?
Just a stepmother, not familiar at all.
The Four Mothers are the real ones...
Al didn't speak, intending to wait for the All-Knowing Mom and the Loving Mother to speak. However, the two Goddesses remained silent, seemingly intentionally letting Al communicate with Lileath.
As if knowing what he was thinking, Lileath's voice took on a hint of irritation.
[If you truly want to achieve your goal, do not expect everyone to obey your arrangements like chess pieces; you need help to complete this scene.]
[The way to make those Greenskins leave your forest and go north to mess with the Estalians—do you want to know? Beg me, my child.]
Al's gaze turned sharp, his eyebrows raised, his expression serious.
He placed a hand over his chest and knelt on one knee in the palace before a shrine to Lileath, which he had taken from the knights and used as a mere decoration until now. His words were sincere.
"And you, the great Goddess Lileath, my powerful, merciful, and broad-minded mother, will help me solve this difficulty!"