Imperial Year 2520. A decisive battle began ten kilometers outside Newland, amidst the swamps.
The skies continued to pour rain. Harold Grimson's barbarian army, long accustomed to Obien's relentless rainy seasons, seemed unfazed. As the two forces assembled and prepared to engage, neither side initiated an attack.
The battlefield's center was a vast, muddy swamp with no clear paths. Any side advancing first would face immense difficulty.
Further complicating matters, Harold's army included numerous warbeast warbands. These feral but powerful units, combined with the Chaos Sorcerers accompanying Tzeentch's forces, gave Harold more magical firepower than Ryan's chivalric army.
With the swamps rendering the Bretonnian knights' flanking maneuvers impossible, a direct confrontation was inevitable—a scenario Harold desired. In close combat, the barbarians held the advantage.
Across the battlefield, Ryan, riding his griffon Impreus, studied Harold's deployment.
"The barbarians have formed a two-line formation," Ryan noted to his marshals. "Their center is a tightly packed shield wall. Warbeast warbands hold both flanks, while their elite champion warriors and Tzeentch sorcerers are positioned at the rear."
"If we launch a frontal assault, we'll face their fortified shield wall and Chaos magic head-on," François said. "Even if we breach the shield wall, we'll have to contend with the barbarians' superior hand-to-hand combat skills. This does not favor us."
"Indeed, Your Majesty, this terrain heavily favors the enemy," Karad agreed.
Ryan observed Harold's formation. The Obien terrain and erratic weather neutralized much of the chivalric army's strengths, including artillery and cavalry charges. Harold had chosen his ground wisely.
However, the chivalric army still had its own advantages.
First, most of Ryan's soldiers were professional or semi-professional troops. Even the peasant infantry had fought in numerous battles and were experienced.
Second, Bretonnian equipment was vastly superior. Where most barbarians relied on cloth or leather armor, even peasant infantry wore breastplates and leather armor. Elite units had chainmail and scale armor, and all soldiers wore iron helmets.
Though firearms were ineffective in the swamp, Ryan's army included thousands of archers and crossbowmen, as well as a dozen mobile mortars. Additionally, Ryan held a trump card: divine scrolls crafted by Morgiana.
One of these scrolls held the Eighth-Circle divine spell: Fleet of Clouds.
With his plan set, Ryan divided his forces into three groups. François commanded the left wing, Karad the right, while Ryan's Royal Guard and Davout's Mousillon regiment held the center. The army adopted a three-line Roman-style formation: archers at the front, infantry behind them, and heavy cavalry and the Old Guard at the rear.
As rain continued to drizzle over the fog-shrouded battlefield, Ryan's attention turned to the Nordland Marines.
This elite unit wasn't necessarily stronger than Bretonnia's forces but had a unique advantage: they specialized in fighting on beaches, during storms, in rain, and in swamps—conditions that defined Obien. It was for this reason Ryan specifically requested their assistance.
The Nordland Marines' general, Sigurdsson—nicknamed "Big Cannon of Nord" for his ferocity in battle and explosive temper—stood among his troops. The grizzled veteran, with frost lining his temples, seemed unmotivated as he prepared his second line.
"You seem unenthusiastic about this battle," Ryan said, descending from the sky on Impreus. "Do you think we'll lose?"
"We won't lose," Sigurdsson replied, shaking his head. "I'm just tired. Very tired."
"Tired? But we're well-rested. The barbarians marched 120-150 kilometers in four days to reach us, while we've had four days of rest, and your men have had two. How can you be tired?" Ryan asked casually.
"For one battle, we're fine," Sigurdsson sighed, his beard soaked by rain. "But as Nordlanders, we've been fighting these damned barbarians long before you Bretonnians arrived. We don't need your orders to know how to win this war."
Ryan sighed, unsure how to respond. Marshal Rokossovsky approached and spoke calmly.
"We're the same, Your Majesty. Kislevites and Ungols have fought the barbarians for over a thousand years, just to survive."
"But before this!" Rokossovsky suddenly drew his sword and pointed it at Sigurdsson's throat, his expression severe and hateful. "Nordlander! I won't allow you to speak to the great Sun King this way!"
"What? Ungol! You want to kill me?" Sigurdsson retorted, drawing his own sword. "Try it! I know who you are—Konstantin Konstantinovich Rokossovsky. Nord remembers your name. So, do you dare?"
"Enough, General Sigurdsson," Ryan interjected with a glance. His cold, commanding tone carried a palpable aura of authority. "Obey my orders. I won't repeat myself."
An overwhelming sense of dread washed over Sigurdsson. The veteran knew Ryan's threat was real—the Sun King would kill him if he disobeyed.
"Have your marines await my command," Ryan ordered icily.
Reluctantly, Sigurdsson nodded.
The morning sun broke through the clouds as Ryan gave the signal.
The battle began.
Bretonnian peasant archers, longbowmen, and crossbowmen advanced cautiously through the swamp, their formation slightly scattered but disciplined.
Opposite them, the barbarians had formed one of the most tightly packed shield walls ever seen. Round shields covered the front and top, creating a formation resembling a small, impenetrable fortress.
"Fire!"
"Loose!"
Arrows rained down on the barbarian shield wall, but most bounced harmlessly off the sturdy defense. The archer assault was ineffective.
"Cease fire," Ryan ordered. "Advance the infantry."
"Veronica! It's your turn," Ryan called to the sorceress.
Standing atop her Light Mage's platform, Veronica began channeling spells. Due to the terrain, her platform had not yet been upgraded to a land cruiser, which Ryan was thankful for—it would have been useless in Obien's swamp.
Meanwhile, the dozen mortars began firing. Fragmentation shells arced through the air, landing amidst the barbarian ranks.
Boom! Explosions tore small gaps in the shield wall, but the barbarians held firm. Chaos Sorcerers bolstered their defenses with magic, while hundreds of magical bolts rained down on the advancing Bretonnian infantry.
As Veronica's sorceress brigade countered with spells of their own, a fierce magical duel erupted in the skies above.
The infantry, shields raised, trudged through the mud. Covering 200-300 meters in the swamp took nearly half an hour. As they closed in on the barbarian shield wall, tension rippled through the enemy ranks. Berserkers and warriors itched to charge but were restrained by Harold's strict orders.
Instead, the barbarians hurled javelins and axes at the advancing Bretonnians, felling many in the vanguard. Undeterred, the infantry pressed on, shields deflecting projectiles.
Finally, swordsmen, pikemen, and halberdiers closed the gap. With a united push, the Bretonnians slammed into the barbarian shield wall.
The swampy battlefield turned into a brutal melee. Weapons clashed against shields, steel bit into flesh, and halberds split wooden shields. Barbarian axes left deep dents in Bretonnian breastplates. Across a 2-kilometer front, the two sides became entangled in a grueling contest of attrition.
"This Harold must've served in a Roman palace as a guardsman," Ryan quipped to Rokossovsky. "He's mastered the tortoise formation."
Though unfamiliar with Roman references, Rokossovsky understood the concept. "The formation works in specific conditions, but our steady pressure will eventually break them."
The battlefield echoed with the Marseillaise, gradually drowning out the barbarians' Chaos chants. After half an hour, the Bretonnians began to gain the upper hand. François and Karad directed their veteran soldiers methodically, forcing the barbarians to retreat. Mortar shells caused dozens of casualties with each explosion.
Elite barbarian champions armed with greatswords and axes briefly turned the tide, but François dispatched the Unicorn Guard. The duchy's elite speared and hacked the champions into pulp.
"Skull of Flames!" Veronica unleashed a fiery skull that incinerated an entire row of shields. Her sorceress brigade suppressed the Chaos Sorcerers, tipping the magical duel in their favor.
"Meteor Swarm!" A massive meteor exploded amidst the barbarian ranks, shattering their formation.
Discipline faltered. Berserkers and younger warriors, ignoring Harold's commands, broke ranks to charge recklessly. Their futile assaults only disrupted their own lines, leaving them vulnerable.
Ryan observed this with satisfaction. The barbarians' impulsive bloodlust had sealed their fate. Just as he prepared to order the finishing blow, a dragon's roar pierced the air.
A Chaos dragon emerged from Obien's mist and rain, diving toward the Bretonnian army.
"Dragon!"
"It's a dragon!"
The Chaos dragon's dark red breath scorched hundreds of Bretonnians, reducing them to charred remains.
Tzeentch's Champion, the former Imperial Light Wizard Egrimm van Horstmann, had arrived on the battlefield, riding his Chaos dragon.
Laughing maniacally, Egrimm unleashed his magic. A rainbow-colored storm incinerated an entire line of Bretonnian halberdiers. His attack created chaos in the once-orderly ranks, giving Harold's forces a moment to regroup.
But before Egrimm could cast another spell, Ryan, atop Impreus, confronted him.
Azure psychic energy surrounded Ryan. A star dragon emerged from the void, its claws ablaze with white flames. With a single swipe, it struck the Chaos dragon aside.
Egrimm shrieked, unleashing a thousand spectral ravens and a hundred chains of Tzeentchian flames at Ryan.
Ryan caught the chains effortlessly, his hand sizzling as they burned his flesh. Channeling his psychic power, he purified the flames, transforming them into radiant energy. White eagles soared from Ryan's aura, preying on Egrimm's ravens.
Realizing his chains were useless, Egrimm dissolved into three illusions, merging with the Warp's mist.
Ryan chanted an ancient incantation. Three Old One runes materialized, suppressing the winds of magic. Tzeentchian flames recoiled as bolts of lightning and starlight struck Egrimm's soul, dissolving his illusions one by one.
"No… this can't be!" Egrimm screamed as Ryan's spear of pure psychic energy pierced him. His body and soul disintegrated into nothingness.
The Chaos dragon fled, sensing it could not defeat this divine enemy.
With Egrimm eliminated, Ryan raised his hammer, summoning a psychic pillar of light that pierced the heavens.
The rain ceased. Sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating Obien.
The battle continued. Ryan ordered the second wave and Davout's Mousillon regiment into the fray, followed by Sigurdsson's Nordland Marines.
"You, attack the right flank!" Ryan commanded Sigurdsson. "You're permitted to lose, but not to win!"
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