After a brief moment of excitement, Gorzbad, the savage greenskin warlord, quickly realized a critical issue: he was surrounded by too few warriors. With only a dozen or so boys and a group of goblins, it was neither green enough nor waaagh-worthy!
Time to regroup the tribe!
Gorzbad's decision might have been wise, as it allowed him to escape the barrage from the Sea God's fleet. However, by retreating and abandoning the half-roasted, still screaming snotling, he lost the initiative in the battle. Meanwhile, the Sea God's fleet was slowly making landfall.
Ryan and Belegar led their army ashore.
Belegar, holding Angrond's Hammer and the Shield of Defiance, watched as his Angrond Oathguard carried the runestones that symbolized the honor of his family. The king of Eight Peaks Mountain spoke with a hint of emotion: "Once again, we return to the Badlands. Once again, we face the greenskins. Ryan, brother, can you smell it? The stench of greenskins in the air?"
"I only smell the dryness and the scent of war," Ryan replied, fully armored. His mount, the griffon Impres, was equipped with a full set of armor crafted by the Primarch of the Salamanders, Vulkan. Impres was excited, its claws twitching, eager for the battle ahead.
The army began landing one after another. Bretonnia's knights, vast infantry regiments, new recruits, and dwarf forces all stepped onto the desolate soil of the Badlands. Under their protection, Veronica led the witch coven ashore. The witches, despite the heat and dry air, showed no signs of fatigue. Instead, their faces were filled with excitement.
A slender, beautiful witch approached Calard. "Sir Calard, I am Catherine. My mentor assigned me to assist you. If you have any instructions, please feel free to give them."
"Stay close and protect yourself," Calard replied, drawing his divine sword, Durandal. To Calard, the sword left to him by Ulysses was not just a weapon; it was something more noble and honorable. Holding its hilt, he could feel Ulysses' spirit and will accompanying him.
Now, he was ready for battle.
As the greenskin warlord Gorzbad gathered all his boys, thousands of greenskins formed a massive green tide, ready to confront the enemy. But he froze for a moment.
What greeted him was an allied army of tens of thousands of humans and dwarfs.
The advancing army of Bretonnian knights was perhaps the most beautiful sight in the Old World, with lances standing like forests and exquisitely crafted horse armor gleaming in the sunlight. Hundreds of heraldic designs, representing different noble bloodlines, were on display. This war brought out the finest of the Bretonnian kingdom. A thousand years ago, the greenskins ravaged and nearly destroyed Bretonnia. Now, a millennium later, the knights had returned to the Badlands, launching a counterattack against these ancient and evil creatures.
Faster than the knights, however, was the dwarven artillery. Dozens of dwarf cannons were primed to fire, launching solid cannonballs that roared as they tore through the air, crashing into the savage orc horde in the distance. The artillery bombardment sent up clouds of smoke, rising higher with each blast.
Many of the newly recruited witches and inexperienced serfs, witnessing the overwhelming power of the cannons, couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Some serfs even thought that the greenskins, no matter how savage, would surely be terrified by such a display of firepower. Perhaps this battle wouldn't even require close combat!
The knights and dwarfs, however, remained silent and gripped their weapons tightly.
Seconds later, as the smoke cleared, a deafening chorus of roars erupted from the front lines. Every knight, having trained as a squire, knew that sound. It was something etched into their memories from their earliest days. The greenskins, the ancestral enemies of their people, could be driven back, burned, and shattered a hundred times, yet they would always return.
"Prepare for battle!" Ryan raised his warhammer, Mjolnir, while seated on his griffon. His shout echoed across the battlefield: "Musketeers, longbowmen, ready!"
"Waaagh!"
"Waaaaaagh!"
As the smoke dissipated, a massive wave of savage greenskins appeared. Their red eyes were filled with fury and excitement, their stench mixing with the earthy smell surrounding them. Every savage orc stood over two meters tall, and hundreds of them charged forward with reckless abandon, roaring as their massive forms rushed across the Badlands. The largest of the orcs wore no armor, pushing aside their own companions as they barreled forward.
These battle-hardened monsters, their muscles well-defined, swung crude weapons and clubs adorned with trophies symbolizing their brute strength, surging like a stampede of bulls.
"Fire!"
"Fire!!"
As the greenskins closed in, the army opened fire. Hundreds of muskets discharged in unison, filling the air with smoke as bullets flew from their barrels. Longbowmen from Bastogne raised their arrows and loosed volley after volley into the sky, sending waves of arrows crashing down on the savage orcs. Dozens of orcs fell in the first barrage, their unarmored bodies no match for the projectiles. After three volleys, two or three hundred greenskins lay dead.
But more kept coming!
"Hold! Hold the line!" Ryan noticed the bulk of the greenskin force was focusing its attack on the human troops. Even the savage orcs, in their ferocity, saw the human army as easier prey. The Knight King immediately ordered the serf infantry armed with axes and spears to step forward and hold the line. Many of the serfs, facing such a terrifying enemy for the first time, felt their hands trembling uncontrollably.
"Waaagh!" The first savage orc reached the front lines—a hulking greenskin boss! Its body was tattooed, and it wore necklaces of tusks and the heads of its fallen foes. Two musket wounds smoked on its chest, and two arrows were lodged in its skull, but it seemed to feel no pain! With a swing of its massive club, the first two serfs were crushed into pulp. The axe-and-spear formation was quickly overwhelmed by hundreds of savage orcs in mere moments.
In less than a few minutes, an entire serf infantry regiment was nearly wiped out. Hundreds of serfs were slaughtered, torn to pieces by the savage greenskins, but their sacrifice was not in vain. The initial charge of the greenskin tide had met a violent and gruesome clash. The brutal impact sent both human and greenskin bodies flying, but soon after the collision, the savage orcs lost their momentum and were forced into a fierce melee.
"Fire!!!" The dwarven thunderers quickly took notice of the massive greenskin boss. Angrond's clan chief engineer, Halhav-Goldfinder, pointed at the creature and fired the first shot.
A concentrated volley of musket fire tore into the greenskin boss, leaving it riddled with holes. With a final cry, it collapsed, having taken down five or six serfs with it.
"Lady's Light of Protection!" At that moment, the witches finally shook off their fear. Under Veronica's command, the witch apprentices collectively cast spells, their magical energy bolstering the morale of the wavering serf infantry. A fierce battle ensued across the Badlands.
The dwarf army was advancing from the flanks, closing the trap.
As the front-line serfs fell, the army behind them quickly filled the gap. Serf swordsmen, spear regiments, and halberdiers were thrown into the fray one after another. Meanwhile, the old guard and the elite Beast Butchers of Bastogne remained stationary. Instead, Belegar led the dwarven forces into the battle, flanking the savage orcs entangled with the serf lines.
In the distance, a thick cloud of dust signaled the approach of the savage orc boar riders!
"Take up arms!" At this moment, Calard gave the order and drew his sword.
Behind him, the knights formed a lance formation.
"Charge!" With a piercing war cry, the Bretonnian knights formed a tidal wave of lances, the sound of thundering hooves resembling a mountain crashing down, even though no mountains stood here.
As the two cavalry forces were about to collide, Veronica finally acted. Riding atop a pureblood elven pegasus, the Garland witch raised her Wand of Yndini high, chanting an incantation in mid-air. A blinding light burst from behind the knights, so bright it seemed capable of searing the eyes of any who looked upon it. The savage orc boar riders were blinded, raising their hands to shield their eyes. The intense light was scorching enough to burn the greenskins' vision, covering the entire battlefield!
What followed was a brutal collision. Thousands of knights plowed through the boar riders and greenskins, the sounds of steel clashing with flesh filling the air. Lances pierced through bodies, and greenskin clubs smashed armor.
There was no mercy, no compassion.
Calard, on his mount, single-handedly tore through the thick ranks of the greenskin army. None of the savage and resilient greenskins could withstand a single blow from this sanctuary warrior. Everything around him was swept away by the dazzling, deadly storm of his sword. Any greenskin that tried to stop him either lost its head or was cleaved in two. Durandal whirled through the air, drinking in the blood of the greenskins, the ancestral enemies of Bretonnia Calard's sword, Durandal, spun and slashed, bathing in the greenskins' blood, feasting on the lifeblood of Bretonnia's ancestral enemies. Behind him, the Holy Grail Knights Fedmond and Anthelm fought with equal ferocity, roaring as they cut down greenskin after greenskin. The savage boar riders, filled with rage and excitement at first, gradually shifted to hesitation and then fear. Finally, their lines broke completely under the relentless onslaught of Bretonnia's knights.
"For the Lady! For Bretonnia!"
"For the Lady!"
The battle cries echoed in waves across the battlefield as the knightly charge shattered the enemy. The knights' assault was devastating, akin to a flood breaking through a dam, sweeping away the greenskins by the dozens. Soon, the greenskin horde began to fall in droves before Calard and his knights, their dark blood flowing like rivers across the barren Badlands. Broken bodies littered the ground, remnants of the once ferocious greenskin tide.
Behind the retreating greenskins, the goblin tribes and their wolf riders watched in horror. Terrified by the slaughter, they fled before even joining the battle. As Calard galloped through the battlefield, his sword thrust into the mouth of a savage greenskin boss and then sliced through the head of another, he noticed the greenskin horde was crumbling. Gorzbad, the greenskin warlord, was attempting to retreat into the Giant Tower with his personal guard, desperately trying to escape Bretonnia's overwhelming assault.
A giant was thrown into the fray, initially causing trouble for the pursuing knights. But Calard had already prepared for this. The moment the giant joined the battlefield, Calard called out to a nearby witch protected by several knights: "Mark it, Catherine!"
"Yes!" Catherine, having been prepared for this moment, raised her staff of flaming skulls. An Aksha wind sigil appeared on the giant almost instantly. Following this, the bright flame witch unleashed her long-prepared spell: "Fireball!"
A fireball, nearly a meter in diameter, hurtled toward the giant. Sensing the danger, the giant raised its arms to shield itself, but the fireball exploded upon impact, sending smoke and flames everywhere. The giant howled in pain, stumbling backward, its arms charred, and its right hand rendered useless.
But that wasn't the end. Detecting the magical mark, other witches and apprentices nearby launched their own fireballs. Five or six fireballs, each the size of a basin, sliced through the air and struck the giant.
"Boom! Boom, boom, boom!"
A concentrated volley of fireballs killed the giant on the spot. The greenskins behind it were crushed by its falling body, and the rest fled in panic.
"Well done!" Calard nodded slightly, his expression unchanged. He swung Durandal in a swift arc, beheading a goblin leader in one clean stroke, its blood splattering all over him.
The army continued its advance, and by now, Gorzbad, the greenskin warlord, had felt the grip of true fear. With only two hundred savage orcs—or perhaps fewer—remaining, Gorzbad tried to flee.
But Ryan had no intention of giving the greenskins any chance to escape. The Knight King immediately ordered his Pegasus Knights to descend from the skies and sweep across the battlefield, cutting down everything in their path. Gorzbad quickly realized he was surrounded by attacks from all sides. He brandished a crude battle axe and attempted to break through toward the Giant Tower, but the hundreds of knights charging toward him forced him to turn back. However, on the other side, the Pegasus Knights were slaughtering his remaining forces in a bloodbath.
With a roar of both anger and fear, Gorzbad tried another direction, only to find that he was the last living greenskin on the battlefield. Bretonnian knights and infantry closed in from all sides.
"Waaaaaaagh!" Gorzbad let out one final, furious roar, lifting his battle axe and charging toward the nearest target—Calard. "You tin-can shrimp! I'll get you!"
Five minutes later, Calard contemptuously lifted Gorzbad's severed head high for all to see. Blood, black as pitch, dripped from the warlord's neck onto the desolate, parched earth of the Badlands.
"My king! The first blood of the expedition!" Calard shouted toward Ryan, holding the head aloft.
"Calard! Calard! Calard!" The entire army erupted into thunderous cheers. After their long journey, the chivalric army had begun their expedition with a glorious victory.
"The war is not over!" Ryan nodded in satisfaction. The Knight King raised his warhammer: "Soldiers, our moment has come! Hear my command!"
All eyes turned to Ryan, many of them gleaming with hunger and greed.
"Now! Plunder everything! Whatever belongs to the greenskins is ours!"
"Ahhhhh!"
"Long live the king!"
With the army's roaring cries, the expedition forces surged into the Giant Tower, launching a savage looting and slaughter spree. Driven by their thirst for wealth and freed from the constraints of chivalric virtue, the soldiers ravaged the Giant Tower throughout the day. By nightfall, no living greenskin remained in what was once a major stronghold of the Badlands.
The massive statues of the greenskin gods, Gork and Mork, were toppled and smashed. Anything of value—gold, silver, or anything that glittered—was stripped from the statues and taken. Huge caches of greenskin plunder, wealth stolen in wars with the Tomb Kings, Arabyans, and dwarfs, all became the spoils of the expedition army. The serfs greedily gathered anything they could, while the knights filled their bags with gold, jewels, and treasures.
After a full day of looting, Veronica summoned a great fire that reduced the entire greenskin stronghold to ashes and scorched earth.
"Let them hate, so long as they fear."
—Ryan Malcador, Knight King of Bretonnia
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