Originally, Duanmu Huai had planned to get there early, crush that idiot Mallobaude, and end Bretonnia's civil war once and for all.
But what he didn't expect was that, by the time he arrived on the battlefield, Mallobaude was already dead—and the one who killed him wasn't anyone else but the "Love is a light so green it blinds you" himself—the Green Knight!
Now that he thought about it, how the hell had he forgotten about that guy?
Watching the Green Knight proudly holding up Mallobaude's severed head for all to see, Duanmu Huai smacked his forehead. He'd heard earlier that the Lady of the Lake's saint had gone missing, so he just assumed the Green Knight had disappeared along with her. He hadn't expected the guy to suddenly pop up now—let alone reveal himself as Bretonnia's founding king or whatever.
Truly unexpected.
Still, with this, the whole Bretonnian mess was finally wrapped up. The king himself even promised Duanmu Huai that once the civil war was settled, he'd lead his troops to the Empire to aid in the fight against the Chaos legions.
But Duanmu Huai's mission wasn't over yet.
The Green Knight also asked him to check the situation in the southern provinces—rumor had it the rat plague was spreading there, and disease ran rampant. The Green Knight didn't want to see Bretonnia's southern flank eaten out by vermin either.
Of course, the southern provinces were independent territories, technically outside Bretonnia's rule.
Same excuse as the Emperor. Maybe that's just how kings and emperors all are—self-righteous but conveniently helpless.
Fortunately, Duanmu Huai already considered the rat infestation the greater priority. If not for Bretonnia's nonsense, he would've gone there long ago. Now that the Green Knight was handling cleanup duty, Duanmu Huai was more than happy to dump the problem on him and take his own team south.
Only…
"Damn… this is miserable."
Standing at the city gates, everyone wore expressions of shock.
Outside the gates, the market stalls were deserted. Rotten fruit and vegetables littered the ground. The whole city was eerily silent. The streets were filthy and slick with mud; everywhere they looked, doors and windows were nailed shut. The stench of decay filled the air, nauseatingly thick.
"It's the plague," Duanmu Huai said grimly.
"Plague?" Lorena asked.
"Yeah. The rats' favorite trick—and one of the most annoying."
He gritted his teeth. The Skaven's most common tactic was to unleash swarms of rats carrying disease, spreading infection and rot through every corner of a city.
Humans could kill rats, but they couldn't kill a virus. As sickness spread, the number of able-bodied soldiers would dwindle, and once the city's defenses collapsed, the Skaven would burst forth from the shadows and obliterate what was left.
"Master, why do some of the doors have white crosses on them?"
Curled up in Duanmu Huai's arms, Bambi pointed curiously at a nearby house. Many of the doors had large white X's painted across them.
"That means there are sick people inside," Duanmu Huai explained. "They're locked in and left to die."
"What?! But shouldn't the priests be helping them?" Lorena asked in disbelief.
"There's nothing to help," he replied flatly. "You're a cleric yourself—you should know divine power has its limits. You might be able to heal a few hundred people a day, but what about thousands? Tens of thousands?"
"Then why not ask the gods for help?"
He shrugged. "That's something only they could answer."
The Skaven's method, after all, was also the classic approach of the followers of Nurgle, the Plague God. It worked the same way everywhere: when the limits of medical care were exceeded, systems collapsed—whether through faith or science. Even in advanced star-faring civilizations, pandemics could overwhelm entire worlds. In a medieval world like this one, it was hopeless.
More than a few planets had been subjected to Exterminatus because of situations like this—burned to cinders by Inquisitors before they could fall into the Plague God's hands.
(Heh, you wanted me to heal you? Too bad, I'll just nuke the whole place—see how you like that.)
As for another question… well, Duanmu Huai had always wondered the same thing.
Why were the so-called "righteous gods" always so stingy with miracles?
By contrast, the Nine Divines in Skyrim were downright generous. Their statues stood openly in every city; anyone could come, pray, and receive a blessing. Sure, the blessings weren't earth-shattering, but they worked—and people could feel the gods' presence.
That's why the Nine Divines had more believers than the Daedric Princes—when given a choice, most mortals preferred the light.
Provided, of course, that they had a choice.
The gods of this world, though? Miserly and aloof. They stayed silent even in times of crisis, pretending to be dead.
Honestly, Duanmu Huai had been worried about Bretonnia before. With the Lady of the Lake missing and her saint vanished, even if he'd crushed the rebels, someone else would've eventually risen up. But now that the Green Knight had taken responsibility, that was his problem, not Duanmu Huai's.
In his view, believers generally came in two types:
The first were those who never prayed until disaster struck.
The second… were basically people paying spiritual insurance premiums.
They gave offerings regularly, hoping that when something terrible happened, their "divine policy" would finally pay out.
But when you've paid in faith your whole life and the "heavenly insurance company" tells you your claim isn't covered—well, it's no wonder some people start smashing the altar.
That was how most heretics started out.
Which was why, in many cases, unreliable gods were worse than no gods at all. By contrast, Lorena's Holy Church was actually a well-run religious system. When something went wrong, their gods acted; their believers prayed and expected answers—not miracles, but actual help.
Like calling the police when there's trouble, not begging for a miracle.
That kind of faith system was far healthier.
The unhealthy kind looked exactly like what they saw next.
"Burn him! Burn the heretic!!"
As they walked into the town square, they saw a crowd gathered—peasants clutching torches and pitchforks, with a few soldiers among them. In the center, a priest in tattered robes was being pelted with rocks, his face covered in blood.
"We don't want your Sigmar! Get out!!"
"Sigmar is our protector!" the priest shouted back. "He is our savior!"
"Protector?!" a farmer's wife screamed, hurling another stone that struck his shoulder. "If your god protects us, then why did my daughter die?! Where was Sigmar when the plague came?! Why didn't he stop it?! He doesn't care about us at all!"
More people shouted in rage.
"You brought this plague here!"
"You doomed the city! Burn him—burn the heretic!!"
"Sir Knight," Lorena whispered uneasily, "shouldn't we… do something?"
Bambi hid behind Duanmu Huai, trembling. Augis, perched lazily on his shoulder, couldn't care less—she wouldn't have blinked even if the priest were burned alive before her eyes. Odelle stood silently behind him, her expression unreadable.
Only Lorena looked visibly disturbed. As a fellow cleric, she couldn't bear to watch a priest die like that.
"All right," Duanmu Huai sighed. "I'll handle it."
He stepped forward, cleared his throat, and roared.
"ENOUGH!!"
His voice thundered across the square like a storm. The mob froze. When they turned and saw him—towering, armored, terrifying—they went pale as sheets.
Then came the screams.
Men and women scattered like rats, tripping over each other to flee. Some even fainted outright from sheer terror.
On the bright side, Duanmu thought, this wasn't too different from a superstar making an entrance—there were always a few fans who passed out from excitement.
If anything, his charisma was practically at celebrity level now.
He chuckled inwardly and walked over to the bloodied priest. The man wiped the blood from his brow, eyes widening as he recognized the Grail sigil on Duanmu's chest. He quickly bowed.
"I never thought I'd see a Grail Knight here."
"Nor did I expect to see a priest of Sigmar here," Duanmu replied dryly. "This isn't Imperial territory."
The southern provinces bordered Bretonnia; Duanmu's presence was understandable. But a Sigmarite priest? That was strange.
"I heard of the plague spreading in these lands," the priest explained earnestly. "So I came to preach the glory of Sigmar. But as you can see, the people here have been poisoned by the pestilence—they can no longer tell right from wrong. If only they'd show true faith, Sigmar's light would save them…"
Duanmu rolled his eyes.
That right there was the problem.
If Sigmar could actually perform a miracle and purge the disease, the townsfolk would all become his devout followers overnight. But this priest expected faith first, salvation later—and for people who'd already lost everything, that demand meant nothing.
"Anyway," Duanmu said at last, glancing around. "Let's find somewhere to talk."
Because from the looks of it, the situation here was far worse—and far more complicated—than he'd imagined.
(End of Chapter)