Despite his indulgent and hedonistic lifestyle, Prince Sigvald the Magnificent, champion of Slaanesh, was not devoid of basic military acumen. He was well aware that his army, still reeling from the devastating losses at the Battle of Zedefka, was now composed of reinforcements whose quality could not compare to the elite troops he had originally brought from the Kurgan steppes.
Moreover, Sigvald harbored a vague unease regarding Archaon the Everchosen. While Sigvald could not pinpoint exactly what was missing in the new champion of Chaos, he wondered if it was the unwavering resolve, the unshakable determination, or the grand strategic vision that seemed to be lacking.
Perhaps it was none of these things—or perhaps it was all of them.
As a chaos champion, Archaon was undoubtedly exceptional, having fulfilled his purpose of bringing pain and hardship to the mortal world. Yet Sigvald felt that Archaon's obsession with vengeance had hindered him from capitalizing on the invasion's early successes. Instead of exploiting opportunities to ravage the Nordland heartlands, raid Bechafen, or march down the Talabec River toward Talabheim or even Altdorf, Archaon had fixated on Ostland.
This fixation had led Archaon to squander chances to mobilize beastmen forces under the newly resurrected Gorthor, rally the Chaos warlords in the Brass Keep, or even disrupt the Empire's heartlands directly. Instead, he pursued two objectives: Von Zhukov Castle and Wolfenburg.
To Sigvald, this was incomprehensible. Von Zhukov Castle, while fortified, had no significant strategic importance beyond its symbolic value. Storming it had cost Chaos over 100,000 warriors—an expenditure Sigvald deemed wasteful. Wolfenburg, situated in a valley and originally a dwarven stronghold, was another bizarre target. It lacked strategic value, sacred relics, or a major temple of any rival deities. Pursuing vengeance at such cost seemed absurd.
Sigvald couldn't relate to Archaon's vendetta. He sneered at such notions, thinking, Why waste time on futile revenge? Why not embrace the Chaos way—scattering into raiding bands, plundering, reveling, and holding grand feasts amid the carnage?
But Archaon's orders were absolute, and Slaanesh himself had commanded his beloved son to obey. Begrudgingly, Sigvald complied, leading the siege of Hergig with no intention of making a decisive stand. His plan was to let the beastmen delay Ryan and his forces while the Slaanesh army retreated to the Central Mountains.
That plan unraveled when Ryan's mere presence caused thousands of beastmen to flee without a fight, leaving half their number dead in the chaos of their retreat.
"Idiots!" Sigvald stood on a hill outside the city, cursing at the sight of his plans crumbling. "Just twenty minutes! These beastmen couldn't even hold for twenty minutes! Even if there were 8,000 pigs, Bretonnians would take hours to catch them all. But here, they're routed in less than thirty minutes!"
"Prince of Pleasure," murmured Azazel, a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh, who stood by Sigvald's side, "their numbers are overwhelming, and their experience is vast. Our forces are not prepared for this. Ryan Valmont is the brother of the Phoenix of Ulthuan, Fulgrim. I've faced Fulgrim and barely survived. Ryan may be even more formidable."
"Of course, I know that!" Sigvald snapped. "But it's too late to retreat now."
He was right. The Bretonnian knights, led by Ryan, were advancing like a tide. Unlike the followers of Khorne, who fought ferociously, or those of Nurgle, who excelled at attritional warfare, the Slaanesh army required precision and timing to maximize its effectiveness.
Sigvald adjusted his strategy, positioning Kurgan and Norscan marauders in tight formations at the front to absorb the Bretonnian charge. He regarded these barbarian warriors with disdain, seeing them only as fodder. As expected, they crumbled under the knights' assault, scattering like frightened dogs.
"Fools!" Sigvald laughed mockingly. "Their only purpose is to die beautifully. Watching them is amusing, but true artistry lies in my Chaos Warriors and chosen champions."
Recognizing that the battle hinged on his own efforts, Sigvald turned his attention to his reflection in his shield. "Who is more beautiful, me or Ryan?"
"None in the North can match you, my prince," fawned Baglai, a champion of Slaanesh.
Sigvald smiled smugly, then asked Azazel, "And you? Who is more beautiful?"
"None but the gods themselves surpass your beauty," Azazel replied, twisting his serpentine tongue.
Satisfied, Sigvald drew his silver sword, admiring his radiant visage in its polished blade, before leaping into battle.
Meanwhile, Ryan and Morgiana led the charge deep into the Slaanesh army's ranks. Behind them, the Holy Grail Knights and White Wolf Knights followed closely, with Boris Todbringer and his Teutogen Guard joining the fray. The old Bretonnian Guard advanced in disciplined formations, protected by a barrage of cannon fire and a hail of rockets from the Sunburst Rocket Battery.
The gryphon Imprius led the vanguard, tearing through Chaos warriors with its talons while bolts of lightning erupted from its beak. Bretonnian knights, inspired by their king, thundered across the battlefield, their lances shattering shields and bodies alike. Meanwhile, Morgiana unleashed chained lightning and summoned thorny forests to disrupt enemy formations.
However, the Slaanesh army retaliated fiercely. Azazel unleashed a devastating spell, driving hundreds of knights into madness. They tore at their own flesh in despair, pleading for salvation. Their prayers were answered when the Lady of the Lake descended, her radiant presence dispelling the magic and restoring their minds.
Amid the chaos, Aldebrand Ludenhof led the Drakwald Patrol Regiment out of Hergig to support Ryan's forces. Before departing, he ordered the gates sealed, vowing, "I may fall, but the city must never."
The Empire's cannons joined the fray, tearing through the Slaanesh ranks with devastating precision. Yet, the Slaanesh Daemonettes sang their beguiling songs, momentarily halting the Bretonnian advance.
Seeing the battle's precarious state, Ryan drew his flaming sword, Nemesis, its golden light illuminating the battlefield. The Lady's blessing coursed through his army, healing wounds and bolstering spirits.
"For the Lady and the King! For Bretonnia!" Ryan roared, leading his troops into the heart of the enemy.
The Slaanesh forces faltered under the combined assault. Azazel, desperate to avenge his past defeat, launched himself at Ryan. The Daemon Prince's speed and ferocity forced Ryan onto the defensive, his warhammer barely deflecting the onslaught. Yet Ryan, a Primarch and chosen champion, unleashed a psychic vortex that consumed Azazel, banishing him back to the Chaos Realm.
Exhausted but undeterred, Ryan faced Sigvald.
"I recognize you!" Sigvald declared.
"And I recognize you," Ryan replied, catching his breath. "It seems we're destined to duel."
"Our duel is too perfect!" Sigvald exclaimed, his body glowing. "So perfect, in fact, that I can't waste it all in one go. I'll savor it later!"
Before Ryan could react, Sigvald's Mirror Guard unleashed a blinding light, forcing the knights and Imperial forces to shield their eyes. When the light faded, Sigvald and his guards were gone.
Sigvald's army, abandoned by their leader, broke and fled toward the Central Mountains.
Ryan stood amidst the battlefield, stunned.
"He ran?" he muttered. "What happened to the grand, dramatic duel?"
The prophecy, it seemed, had not accounted for Sigvald's peculiar priorities.
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