During the Winterfest season, the Knight's Kingdom was busy holding meetings to discuss their next moves.
The Empire, meanwhile, was overwhelmed by internal conflicts. Emperor Karl-Franz had canceled most of the Winterfest celebrations, and the remaining festivities had to be conducted under the close surveillance of witch hunters, battle priests, and Reiksguard knights.
At the same time, at least twenty security operations were underway across the Empire.
In Marienburg, the merchant princes were hoarding grain on a massive scale. This year's harvest had been poor, and except for Bretonnia, the entire Old World had seen a decline in crop yields. Grain prices were skyrocketing, and Marienburg had quickly received news that the northern barbarians were gathering in large numbers, preparing to march south.
So, what was the most crucial and valuable commodity at this time?
Grain, of course.
The merchant princes were ecstatic. After purchasing large quantities of surplus grain from the market, they began their game.
The southern realms continued to enjoy their peace, even though many rulers had received reports of several villages near the Blighted Marshes mysteriously "disappearing."
It was a literal disappearance—every person, every building, and every trace of the villages had vanished.
But this did not raise alarms in Estalia or Tilea, where the loose confederation of city-states, duchies, and principalities remained indifferent.
In the north, in Kislev, Louen Leoncoeur and his northern chivalric army, along with the defenders of Erengrad, had begun to notice large gatherings of Chaos forces in the north. Several tribes had already started moving south. After repelling a few scattered Chaos tribes, Louen realized he would soon face a massive Chaos army of thirty thousand led by the Daemon Prince Sorgul.
Louen was deeply concerned. As he prepared his troops for battle, he sent urgent messages to the Empire and Bretonnia, requesting reinforcements.
Meanwhile, in the south of the World's Edge Mountains, in Nagashizzar, a fierce battle was raging within the ancient, massive necropolis.
The sound of dwarven horns echoed across the battlefield as High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer sat on his Throne of Power, commanding the fight.
Around two thousand dwarven warriors were holding their ground in tight formations against the relentless tide of undead. No dwarf could count how many enemies there were. Endless waves of undead poured out from every open gate of Nagashizzar, forming gray rivers that converged into an endless sea. The dark sky of Nagashizzar loomed over the battlefield, with dozens of necromancers directing their legions. Skeletons, zombies, monstrous undead, and dark creatures emerged, obediently following orders as they charged toward the dwarven lines.
Unlike battles against greenskins, there were no WAAAGH! cries, no dirty banners, or chaotic drumbeats. Instead, there was only the disorganized clatter of undead footsteps and the battle cries of the dwarves.
Dwarven cannons and organ guns fired into the undead ranks, while dwarven warriors' axes cleaved through zombie flesh, and hammerers' heavy blows shattered skeletal shields. High King Thorgrim sat on his Throne of Power, silently observing the battlefield.
The Throne of Power had been forged by the dwarven ancestor god Grungni himself. Grungni had prophesied that as long as the Throne of Power stood, the dwarven kingdom would endure. Thus, after Grungni's departure, his and Valaya's eldest son, the first High King Snorri Whitebeard, had ascended the throne.
Four Eternal Guards carried the throne, the highest honor in dwarven society, as it signified their role as the High King's personal protectors. When the High King went to war, the Eternal Guards would stand by the throne, wielding the Axe of Grimnir from its sturdy platform to deliver deadly strikes, while the throne-bearers were skilled at defending against enemy attacks while carrying the throne.
Over the years, the throne had participated in countless battles, witnessing great victories and heartbreaking defeats. Many legends of past High Kings told of them standing by the throne, fighting until the enemy was utterly defeated. The throne, forged with secret techniques, was nearly indestructible, though the intricate carvings depicting past High Kings battling dragons or daemons bore slight dents.
The sound of cannon fire continued behind Thorgrim, his expression stern as he watched the battlefield. Despite the dwarves' bravery, the sheer number of undead was overwhelming. The High King knew that the dwarves would eventually be drowned by the tide of corpses.
"You should not have placed your trust in the pointy-ears, my king," said Grimm Burloksson, the head of the Engineers' Guild and the Chief Engineer of Karaz-a-Karak. He held a long-barreled rune rifle named "Grudge-Raker," a weapon so powerful that a single shot could send a whole group of skeletons flying.
"I do not trust the pointy-ears. This is merely an agreement between us," High King Thorgrim sighed slightly, stroking his white beard. "As recompense for failing to protect their envoy, the dwarves will draw and delay the undead here for two hours."
"Record the fallen!" Thorgrim swung the Axe of Grimnir, decapitating a fell bat. His voice was firm, and behind him, the skull catapults of the Tomb Kings exploded, shaking the throne with the tremors of the earth. Thorgrim's scribe quickly recorded the names of the fallen, for one day, the dwarves would avenge them.
The Eternal Guards raised their shields in formation, their shining rune armor and weapons worth more than an entire human village. The tight shield wall held against the undead onslaught, while ironbreakers threw clusters of grenades, and rangers and thunderers used their firepower to push the undead back.
"Tighten the formation!" Thorgrim continued to command, grieving for the dwarven losses but with no time to dwell on them. The undead attacks came in relentless waves.
Two hours!
While the undead's attention was fully focused on the dwarven army outside Nagashizzar, a elite force of High Elves swiftly infiltrated the depths of the necropolis.
Silver Helms, led by Lieutenant Belannaer, swept through the skeletal shield walls, while Sisters of Avelorn, commanded by Ystranna, unleashed a rain of magical arrows that blotted out the sky. Tiranoc Chariots, led by Princess Alarielle, charged through the enemy lines, their bladed wheels cutting down all who dared to stand in their way.
The Shadow Warriors of Nagarythe and the Phoenix Guard flanked the High Elf army, protecting its sides. The grim Eltharion rode his griffon, Stormwing, battling Mannfred on his zombie dragon in the skies above. Of course, Nagashizzar was the domain of the undead, and Eltharion was at a disadvantage here.
The battle between the Frostheart Phoenixes and the fell bats seemed endless, as the enemy's numbers were overwhelming. Even the magical beasts of Ulthuan could only hold their ground, using fire and magic to fight back.
At the heart of the battlefield, three hundred Swordmasters of Hoeth, led by Archmage Teclis and Loremaster Belannaer, danced with deadly grace. Their greatswords cut through the enemy like whirlwinds, reducing elite Grave Guard and Necropolis Stalkers to splinters that scattered in the air.
It must be said that Tyrion was a military genius. After a month of forced marches, Tyrion's forces joined with High King Thorgrim's army. After a brief assessment, Tyrion concluded that Nagashizzar's defenses were too strong for a direct assault and immediately devised a plan.
The dwarves would launch a feint attack to draw the undead's attention, while the High Elves, using Teclis and Belannaer's magic, would strike from another direction.
This strategy wasn't particularly sophisticated, and Arkhan and Mannfred saw through it. But Tyrion wanted them to see through it, as the undead's focus would be split between the two fronts, allowing Tyrion to lead a small elite force into Nagashizzar to assassinate the necromancers.
Until Krell appeared, no one could stand against Tyrion's might. A dozen necromancers fell to the Sunfang's flames.
As the undead ranks fell into disarray, Teclis and Belannaer unleashed their grand spells. A massive light spell, "Solar Flare," instantly annihilated several undead legions, causing the undead's rear lines to collapse.
Now, all of Nagashizzar was engulfed in the magic of Teclis and Belannaer, as Arkhan and his necromancers engaged in a magical duel with the High Elves' archmages.
In the grueling battle, the Grave Guard's sturdy armor was shattered by the High Elves' runic weapons, and the Necropolis Stalkers' bones were scattered in all directions. Every piece of armor and every bone of these ancient Nehekharan warriors spoke of thousands of years of history.
Mannfred and Arkhan's alliance was on the back foot!
This was a battlefield carefully chosen by Tyrion. No one could defeat the mighty High Elves in such narrow terrain!
"Ughhhh!" Krell's agonized roar echoed through the massive necropolis.
The flaming blade of Sunfang pierced through Krell's chest, delivering the fatal blow.
Tyrion, the Defender of Ulthuan, had defeated the powerful foe blocking his path. The Sunfang's flames danced, turning the entire hall into an inferno as the undead retreated. The Defender stood proudly in the center of the room, his movements so fast that all anyone could see were the flames of Sunfang. Every swing of his blade turned three or four Grave Guard or Necropolis Stalkers into charred remains.
Even vampires could not stop Tyrion. This was nothing short of a massacre! Any undead daring to face Tyrion met the same fate—burning to ash.
However, the Defender was not unscathed. His Aenarion Armor was nearly indestructible, but his neck and arms bore the jagged wounds from Krell's black axe. Hot blood streamed down Tyrion's face and wrists, sticky and thick. Empowered by the blood, Tyrion grew even more ferocious. A Crypt Horror charged at him, and with a single step, Tyrion swung Sunfang in a blazing arc, cleaving the monster into five pieces mid-air.
"Aliathra! Where are you?" The frantic father roared, as undead reinforcements poured in from all directions. Even with the plan's success, the High Elves were vastly outnumbered, and it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.
For a moment, the undead, under Arkhan's command, launched a counterattack. Several Silver Helms were pulled from their horses, their breastplates pierced by sharp bone blades. The noble elven knights spat blood as Arkhan's dark magic exploded in the High Elf ranks, instantly crystallizing six Swordmasters of Hoeth.
Even the High Elf heroes and mages who had followed Tyrion into the depths of Nagashizzar were wounded and gasping for breath. A vampire's necrotic blade pierced the neck of Aemon the Seer, an elite spellsword of the White Tower, who fell to the ground with a scream.
A line of Necropolis Stalkers charged, and Prince Valin of Cothique was impaled by several halberds, his body spraying blood as he collapsed onto the cold ground.
These were the elites I brought with me, my finest warriors!
Undead! Mannfred, I will never forgive you! Tyrion let out a roar from the depths of his soul, and for a moment, everyone saw the beautiful face of Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God, manifest behind the Defender.
Then, Tyrion began his performance. Flames swept through the corridor, and in mere moments, a golden-blue streak of light reached the end of the hall. Every undead soldier gathered to defend the corridor fell, consumed by the flames.
Every undead was killed with a single strike.
Tyrion frantically led his forces through the castle in search of Aliathra. After Krell's fall, nothing but a few vampires could withstand a single blow from Tyrion.
The battle outside continued, with the High Elves holding on desperately to buy time for their lord.
Finally, their efforts paid off. As Tyrion called out Aliathra's name, a snowy owl suddenly appeared before him, guiding him to Aliathra's location.
"Quick! Follow me!" The Defender immediately sensed his daughter's aura from the owl and was overjoyed. After breaking through several courtyards and corridors, he finally reached the door to Aliathra's cell.
Four Necropolis Stalkers were decapitated by Tyrion's blade.
Tyrion swung Sunfang, cutting through the cell door and iron bars. His daughter lay on the bed, her eyes closed, silent.
Aliathra was alive! Tyrion was about to wake her when he realized the Little Queen was in a deep coma. She wasn't dead, but Arkhan's magic had put her in a state of unconsciousness, clearly to prevent any mishaps during the battle.
No matter. Tyrion didn't understand magic, but he had absolute faith in his brother. Teclis would surely be able to wake her!
"We've found her. Let's go!" Without hesitation, Tyrion scooped up his daughter and charged out, with no undead able to stop him.
The Defender and his squad fought their way out with the Eternal Queen in their arms. When the High Elves saw Tyrion carrying Aliathra, they erupted in cheers and roars of joy.
Banners from the Phoenix Court, the White Tower, and the various kingdoms were quickly raised, and Lieutenant Belannaer immediately signaled the retreat. Horns blared and shouts echoed as the High Elf lines shifted with graceful precision. The Lothern Sea Guard formed a steel line that swiftly opened to let Tyrion and his group through before closing again.
The High Elves quickly withdrew from the battlefield, with Teclis and Belannaer bombarding the enemy with spells to cover their retreat. The Shadow Warriors of Nagarythe and the Phoenix Guard fired volleys of arrows into the sky, turning the pursuing undead into scattered bone fragments.
The air was filled with the stench of decay. Seeing the mission accomplished, Eltharion pushed Mannfred back and invoked the name of the Mistress of the Mists, Lileath. A thick fog enveloped him, followed by beams of golden light that forced Mannfred to retreat.
As the High Elves retreated, Mannfred grew frantic. He shouted at Arkhan, "They've taken her!"
"I know!" Arkhan unleashed a purple Dhar sun, which collided with Teclis' Tempest of Magic. The clash of the two grand spells sucked hundreds of skeletons into the void, grinding them to bone dust.
"If you know, then do something!" Mannfred roared in anger. "If they escape with her now, we'll never get another chance. Never, Lich King! We're finished, and the High Elves will raze us to the ground, erase us from the world!"
"...I didn't want to use this, but I have no choice," Arkhan shook his head, sending a mental command to a certain part of Nagashizzar. "I need the power of 'that.'"
Deep underground, several Tomb Kings' technicians received Arkhan's order. "Understood. Initiating activation."
"Prism Core activated."
"Energy charge complete."
"Ready for combat."
As the High Elves retreated, the ground began to tremble violently. Dust filled the air, obscuring the sky as something emerged from the depths.
Three colossal figures, twenty to thirty meters tall, appeared from the smoke. They let out deep, resonant roars, and with a single wave of their staffs and scales, an entire line of Ellyrian Reavers was sent flying into the air.
The Lothern Sea Guard instinctively raised their bows, but when they saw what they were facing, even the fearless High Elves couldn't help but tremble, their hands sweating.
Tyrion, holding Aliathra, turned pale as he saw what stood in their way.
The proud voices of Arkhan's Tomb Kings' technicians echoed across the battlefield, reaching every corner.
"Divine Titan 'Great Beast God,' activated."
"Divine Titan 'Great Death God,' activated."
"Divine Titan 'Great Thunder God,' activated."
"The judgment of Nehekhara has arrived."
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/INNIT
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.