To prove oneself by slaying a dragon, like his ancestor Gilles, was the long-cherished wish of every generation of Dukes of Bastonne. However, von Deycke was even more enthusiastic about it than his ancestors.
This warrior spent more than a decade traveling throughout the Old World in search of dragons. Along the way, he slew many monsters and accumulated a formidable reputation. However, when he finally found the evil dragon, for some reason, the dragon did not engage him and simply flew away.
Having neither ranged weapons nor a Pegasus at the time, the Duke could only sigh in dismay. This spectacle was widely spread by witnesses as von Deycke making the dragon fear him, causing it to flee with its tail between its legs.
But this Duke, who had admired his ancestor's demeanor and diligently practiced dragon-slaying techniques since childhood, was still not happy. He ultimately had to slay a nest of wyverns as a substitute before drinking the Water of the Grail and inheriting the ducal title.
After becoming Duke, von Deycke's desire to slay dragons remained unchanged. He learned from his experiences and specifically organized a team of Pegasus Knights, and also offered a high bounty to anyone who could provide him with dragon sightings.
His obsession with dragons led to a proverb in the Old World: "Found a dragon? Go tell von Deycke of Bastonne!"
According to Gromril's understanding, the predicament faced by the Duchy of Bastonne was actually present throughout the entire Knight Kingdom, but the strong knightly spirit here amplified the problem.
Firstly, there was a lack of talent for internal affairs management. Many Knight Lords were busy improving their martial skills, fighting in various campaigns to pursue higher titles and more achievements. They often had no time and were not adept at managing their territories.
At this time, the task of management would fall to landless younger sons, illegitimate sons, and village elders. Among them, those who received noble education and those who gained experience from life had their own pros and cons in their work. If they complemented each other well, it was still possible to manage things quite well.
But in Bastonne, lords could almost only rely on village elders, because of the strong knightly atmosphere, almost all noble children would choose to receive a warhorse and a set of knightly equipment upon reaching adulthood to become Errant Knights and establish their achievements, rather than ensuring logistics for their fathers and brothers.
Secondly, there were different pursuits among the nobles. Von Deycke himself had no intention of running for Knight King. Having reached the pinnacle in both secular and knightly paths, he could be said to be without desires.
But his subordinates, Errant Knights wanted to obtain fiefdoms, Kingdom Knights wanted to advance their titles, and high-ranking nobles wanted to find the Grail! Several times, the Duke had just promoted capable Knights, hoping they could make achievements in managing the territory. As a result, that person immediately put down his lance, picked up a greatsword, and embarked on a Quest.
Even though the Lady of the Lake showed a slight favoritism towards the people of Bastonne, the proportion of those who took the Questing Vow and ultimately drank the Water of the Grail still saddened the Duke greatly.
What saddened von Deycke even more was that not every Grail Knight was willing to return and serve him. Many living saints preferred to take on the responsibility of guarding the Goddess's sacred places, dedicating their lives to their Goddess.
Among the various Duchies of Bretonnia, Bastonne had the closest relationship with the Dwarves, for no other reason than the greater need for armor and weapons!
Bastonne had the most Errant Knights, Questing Knights, and Grail Knights, and the former two were undoubtedly high-risk professions. To achieve their goals, they rushed wherever danger lay, leading to a very low rate of equipment recycling due to accidental deaths.
Such a situation created a greater demand for money and land. Buying equipment required money, and ennobling Knights required land. Every year, the Duke himself worried about these two matters. Sometimes, he even had to take his subordinates to work as mercenaries to increase income.
The issue of land plagued every lord in Bretonnia. In the absence of family planning policies, even as standards increased year by year, more and more Knights were eligible to acquire or expand their fiefdoms.
For this reason, Bretonnia always hoped to expand outwards. King Charlemagne's expedition to clear out the Greenskins was one aspect, but coveting the land of the Border Princes was also another objective, wasn't it?
Before this, the Knights had made many attempts at expansion, the most famous of which was the expedition to Araby.
A thousand years ago, the then Knight King sent troops to Estalia in the south, assisting local armies in resisting the invasion of Sultan Jaafar of Araby. After a fierce and bloody battle, the Sultan was defeated and eventually driven back to Araby.
However, the Knights did not give up. They formed a coalition with the Imperium of Man and sailed across the sea to Araby, located south of the Old World, on the edge of the Land of the Dead, Nehekhara.
After a series of major battles, they slew Sultan Jaafar. Subsequently, they controlled some cities and strongholds in Araby under the names of "Crusaders" and "Expeditionary Forces." These are the Bretonnia factions that appear on the Eye of the Vortex map.
However, distant water still couldn't quench immediate thirst. Araby's natural environment was already harsh, and apart from limited oases, it was covered in yellow sand and difficult to develop. It was precisely because of this that the Sultan himself sought to expand into the Old World!
The thirst for land even caused friction between the various ducal territories within Bretonnia. As for Bastonne itself, its neighboring territory, the Duchy of Montfort, which stretched along the Grey Mountains, narrow and barren, would occasionally try to cross the border and encroach on some fertile pastures.
Gromril displayed his diplomatic skills, which far surpassed those of his clansmen. After an analysis of the pros and cons, he reached an oral agreement with Duke von Eyk to send troops to the Badlands in the future to reclaim Karak-Eight-Peaks, and then jointly develop the Badlands.
The Duke could not think of a reason to refuse; doing so would solve two of his major problems at once. The Mountain Stronghold of the Dwarves was not lacking in wealth, and Gromril orally promised to share the spoils of war with the Knights, though the specific amount would depend on the circumstances.
As for the land, although the Badlands earned its name from being "bad," it depended on what it was compared to. Compared to Araby, which was even further away and had an endless desert, calling it a treasure land would not be an exaggeration.
If they could work together with the Dwarves, completely control that land, it would be possible to divide it into many Knightly domains.
Both parties were very satisfied with this oral agreement. Although Gromril knew he was still a long way from reclaiming Eight Peaks Mountain, he didn't even have his own base yet!
But as a transmigrator who understood the course of history, he also knew that the Knights couldn't find a better solution, and Duke von Eyk, as a transcendent who had drunk the water of the Holy Grail, had a longer lifespan than ordinary people, and still in his prime, he could afford to wait.
In the Duke's opinion, the dwarf before him, favored by the gods and given divine decrees, had a strong desire to reclaim that mountain, a sufficient motive, and the probability of success seemed to exist beyond mere theory.
And the Dwarves were a race of order who kept their promises, so there was no fear of being stabbed in the back when cooperating. More importantly, he didn't have to pay anything now, so what harm was there in agreeing?
With both host and guests thoroughly pleased, the Dwarves left the castle and returned to their settlement to rest. Given a choice, they preferred to stay in the dwellings of their own clansmen.
When they set off early the next morning, Gromril's Team now included an additional 120 local Dwarves. Gromril could not refuse these enthusiastic clansmen, and although there was some selection—based on at least one member from each family—their equipment was still uneven.
Some relatively wealthy clansmen brought out their most exquisite heirloom treasures, vowing to achieve the victory foretold in the oracle under the witness of their ancestors. Relatively poorer clansmen even joined the team with their daily work tools.
Gromril found it difficult to immediately break them up and integrate them into the existing troop types based on their varied equipment, so he could only designate them as a separate special detachment to command.
The dwarf army continued forward, marching for another day. This time, there were no suitable strongholds for the large army to rest. Villages with only simple wooden fences were best avoided; otherwise, the roles of who protected whom would inevitably be reversed.
To enter Bordeleaux's territory by noon, they set off at dawn. The border between these two friendly duchies was merely a maintained treeline, with a Kingdom Knight's domain on each side to ensure that farmers wouldn't flee back and forth to evade taxes.
"Our first stop is a Viscount's castle. He should have absorbed the surrounding farmers back into it. So, we have no supply points along the way, but I'm not sure what the exact situation there is!" Constantine's demeanor was noticeably more serious now that he was back in his homeland.
"I understand! Exposing farmers to those who desecrate corpses is practically providing them with fresh recruits!" Gromril nodded from atop his rock ram. The Vampires' cannon fodder primarily consisted of skeletal warriors made of bones and zombies derived from fresh corpses.
These things were clumsy and fragile, almost crumbling at a touch, but they had the advantage of being cheap and plentiful. More importantly, if the farmers suffered heavy casualties, development would be difficult for a long time to come.
It was currently winter, and moving farmers during the off-season was not difficult. After passing an empty but seemingly undisturbed village, the large army arrived at a town at dusk.
"My Lord! You've finally returned!" Seeing Gromril's troops approaching from afar, a Knight and a middle-aged man dressed as a steward quickly opened the gate and rushed out. They ran to Constantine's horse as if they had seen their savior.
"Where is Viscount Meneshire?" Constantine's face changed drastically as he looked at the people who rushed out.
"The Viscount, the Viscount he..." The steward began to babble incoherently.
"What happened to him?"
"Viscount Meneshire left the city early yesterday morning and hasn't returned yet!" The Knight, however, was very calm. He knew he had to quickly inform the regent who had brought reinforcements of the situation.
"Why didn't the Albatross carry his head away? I specifically warned him before I left! Don't leave the city, don't leave the city!" Constantine was furious, partly because of the Viscount's foolishness, and partly because his authority had been questioned. It was clear that the Viscount had not taken his orders to heart.
"Tell me here! Where did he go, and why?" Constantine exercised his regency power in his own territory.
"That village to the south!"
"Lady Manet said there was a holy relic in the village's Grail Chapel that wasn't taken out by the retreating villagers, and she didn't want that item to be, to be desecrated by the Bloodline."
"So? Viscount Meneshire just took his few men and went?" The steward and the Knight said in unison, but Constantine directly interrupted them.
"A holy relic in a village, what kind of stinky shell could be in a village?" The regent grumbled, but he couldn't stand by and watch a tragic outcome unfold.
"Which one is Lady Manet?" Gromril asked the Sea God Knight with a smile as Constantine and Viscount Meneshire's men exchanged words. He was very curious about this woman who could influence the town lord's decisions and make him risk leaving his castle.
"Viscount Meneshire is His Grace the Duke's brother, and the Lord's uncle. As for that woman, she's a Saintess who serves The Lady of the Lake, but whether she truly deserves that title is debatable."
Gromril nodded. Ordinary Bretonnian women lacked political and military influence, but the priests of The Lady of the Lake were different. These individuals were all women, divided into three ranks: The Fay Enchantress, Prophetess, and Saintess.
The Fay Enchantress would keep an eye out for any child born with magical talent within Bretonnia, visiting them before they reached puberty and taking them away for training.
Except for a small number from particularly wealthy families who knew some insider information—these fortunate ones would be sent to the Empire across the mountains to learn magic.
These boys with magical powers were said to have never reappeared. After a period, the girls would return to Bretonnia as Saintesses, having mastered supernatural powers derived from The Lady of the Lake.
"We must go there and see! Viscount Meneshire is my uncle." Constantine turned his horse and suggested to Gromril.
"How far is it?" Gromril calculated, watching the sun gradually disappear on the horizon.
"Less than two hours by horse. He hasn't returned for so long, something must have happened to the Lord!" The butler anxiously chimed in.
"How many men does he have?" Gromril asked again.
"Two Knights, seven or eight mounted squires, and that lady." This time, the Knight added.
"By Venerated God Grimnir!" Gromril cursed inwardly, making it difficult for him to assess the situation. In his previous life, ten people would basically be dead, especially after two days and a night.
But now, those were ten elites, with a spellcaster helping. If they had suitable defensive terrain to rely on, it wasn't impossible to hold out. If his misjudgment led to the death of a high-ranking noble and a spellcaster, it would still be difficult to explain.
"Less than two hours by horse, we'll get there at midnight!" Stringer was also calculating, the Prince getting excited by the scent of war.
"I think it's better if we go first thing tomorrow morning. According to our ancestors' records, we have no advantage fighting the undead at midnight, and we've already marched for a day. If we rush over now, the warriors will be very tired!" Stringer gave his assessment, which was undoubtedly a safe idea.
"They can hardly hold out for another night..." Constantine knew Stringer's influence over the army, and he quickly began to refute.
Gromril tugged at his beard. Both sides were speaking the truth. If the Viscount had already perished, there was no reason for the enemy leader not to attack the leaderless town. But it was also possible they were doing it deliberately to lure in reinforcements.
"If only I had Pegasus Knights or helicopters now!" Gromril thought again. He disliked situations where the map was completely black, and he had to rely on his own experience and war instincts to make judgments.
However, he knew he couldn't delay. The movements and future fate of this dwarf army were basically in the hands of him, his ancestor's chosen one. He needed to make a responsible decision as quickly as possible.
"Send two Sea God Knights. Get more horses from the town and take turns riding to scout!" Gromril narrowed his eyes and gave his order.
"It will take a round trip..."
"Take this!" Gromril pulled a Rune Transmitter from his pocket and threw it over. "That little bit of magical power you have is enough to activate it. If the Viscount is still holding out, send long-short-long. If he has already perished, send three shorts in a row and then come back quickly!"
Gromril demonstrated as he spoke. The Sea God Knights looked at the two glowing squares and nodded. They mounted the brought-out warhorses and galloped away.
"Inform the warriors, do not disarm, eat and rest on the spot!" Gromril issued another order. Soon, the Viscount's butler brought out several carts of food and drink. If his master died in battle, he would not escape some blame.
Amidst orderly eating and anxious waiting, as the sun completely set, the Rune Transmitter lit up with a long-short-long message. "They're quite resilient, let's go, we're going to save them!" Gromril sprang up and gave the command.
After a clanking of armor, the dwarf army quickly prepared for battle. "Bring me my anvil." Gromril sat down in his chair. This item was bought with heavy money; it was fine not to use it normally, but not using it during battle would be overcorrecting.
"The victory in Venerated God Grimnir's oracle is ahead! Comrades, advance!" Gromril sat on the stone chair, pointed with his hammer, and the army moved out.
Twirling the one-handed warhammer in his hand, Gromril suddenly felt a bit awkward. The hammer swing seemed to lack something. Perhaps wielding a sharp weapon would be more incisive? The King of the Hills was originally dual-wielding; an axe seemed good.
The dwarf army advanced rapidly in the night, the light of the benevolent moon Manasleib illuminating their path. A full day of marching was not enough to slow down these resilient fellows.
"Someone's ahead!" Constantine suddenly said. As soon as he spoke, a warhorse galloped from the road ahead.
"The Viscount is still resisting in the Holy Grail Chapel. The vampires have desecrated the village's cemetery, and there are thousands of low-level undead. We can only observe from the periphery." The Sea God Knight reported, he and his warhorse covered in sweat.
"Artillery, prepare!" Gromril roared. Artillery was efficient against cannon fodder. "We'll go straight into the village. Kill the leader, and those summoned creatures will crumble without anyone to maintain them!"
Against this group of undead, capturing the leader was a very reasonable choice. They couldn't even handle ten people, so they would have no resistance against such a large army.
The dwarf army charged directly through the wide-open wooden gate. The entire village looked like a scene from Resident Evil. Fresh zombies with flesh still on them; skeletons that were just bone; and things in between, with bits of flesh still hanging on, roamed the village.
Fortunately, these creatures had no decent weapons or armor. Relying on rags, farming tools, and kitchen utensils, they posed no resistance to professional soldiers. Gromril's army quickly broke through what could hardly be called a defense line, heading straight for the center of the village.
The dwarves saw a small chapel enveloped in a faint glow, preventing the surrounding undead from damaging the building itself. At the only entrance, a group of more formidable creatures was trying to force their way in.
"Fire! Fire at will!" Gromril commanded, looking at the cluster of undead. Artillery was the quickest and most convenient way to deal with them.
With a rumble, the cannons fired. Eight shells from two Organ Guns landed in the enemy ranks. Gromril didn't order the cannons to fire, partly because there was no need to use a sledgehammer to crack a nut, and partly to minimize damage to the small chapel.
After all, even though the thin light surrounding it was flickering under the siege, who would be so idle as to challenge the might of a god?
"Charge! Don't let the leader escape!" Gromril roared, standing up from his seat. Once the summoner was dealt with, the undead energy supporting them would dissipate, and the creations of necromancy would turn into nothing but decaying dust.
The dwarf troops quickly advanced, scattering the zombies and skeleton warriors, who were disoriented by the artillery barrage, with overwhelming force. Then they encountered some hideous crawling creatures. Their skin was filthy, an unhealthy yellowish-brown.
"Crypt Ghouls! Watch out for their claws! They're covered in filth and decaying flesh from the crypts. Even a scratch could poison you!" The clansmen of Breezehold, knowing that most of their kin from the World's Edge Mountains hadn't seen these things before, shouted warnings.
These things were, or once were, living people, but had been transformed into this state by necromancy. As the name suggests, long-term consumption of carrion made them exceptionally robust and tenacious.
These creatures charged madly at the dwarf warriors with their sharp claws and weapons scavenged from corpses, but their bloodlust and madness simply couldn't compensate for the huge disparity in equipment and numbers.
Soon, leaving a trail of shredded flesh, the dwarfs reached the chapel. A skinny, pale-skinned fellow was kicked down, disarmed, and dragged by the front-line warriors to Gromril's Anvil.
"Bah! dwarfs, you're also serving those Elven whores..."
Gromril looked down from the Anvil at the man, who was forced to his knees and still cursing. "Ho! Is this a living person?"
"A Necromancer! A bunch of desecrators of the dead!" Stringer's advisor pushed his way through from behind.
"Respected Master Gromril, judge him in the name of the Venerated God Grimnir!" The surrounding clansmen shouted, waving their weapons. The brothers in the back rows hadn't even engaged yet, so they could only vent their anger by shouting.
"You, do you have anything to say? Confess honestly and you'll get a swift end! Otherwise..."
"Heh! My master will have his revenge, he will resurrect me, and you, even in death, will be my cattle and horses!" The Necromancer was incredibly arrogant; he seemed to have been deluded by his master, or perhaps "resurrection" didn't mean continuing to exist in a "human" form.
"Squeeze him!" Gromril ordered Johnson Strongshield. "Bring the people inside out. How can Bretonnia have male spellcasters? The Lady of the Lake isn't doing her job well!" Gromril mumbled, stroking his beard.
"Water! Water!" A hoarse cry came from inside the chapel. The surrounding dwarfs and humans exchanged glances; none of them wanted to enter the chapel. To prevent the castle from being attacked in the interim, Gromril not only didn't withdraw any troops but even left some elderly warriors to assist in defending the city.
The chapel was the most direct territory of a god in the mortal world. These people were not only not followers of The Lady of the Lake but also had other faiths. Entering rashly might be seen as a provocation.
"Throw it in, or rather, roll two buckets of water in." Brockson carried two wooden buckets from the carriage and rolled them into the chapel entrance.
All sorts of strange sounds came from inside the chapel. After a while, several men, supporting each other, emerged, followed by a hooded woman.
"It's good that you're alright, Uncle. We'll talk about it later." Constantine was very sensible; he didn't criticize the Viscount's actions on the spot.
Gromril immediately turned his troops back. Although marching at night might be risky, the village's dilapidated thatched houses wouldn't provide any extra sense of security.
As for that Grail Chapel, not to mention whether The Lady of the Lake was willing to protect these non-believers, even if she was, there wouldn't be enough room! It was better to return to the sturdy castle to rest peacefully.
Viscount Meneshire fell asleep on the cannon carriage. The team reached the castle near dawn. Although Gromril was also very tired, he still pushed through to re-arrange the originally very weak city defenses before going to rest.
It was afternoon when he woke up. Balin placed a document on Gromril's desk. The document was somewhat messy, with a splash of blood on it, literally "bloody."
"Cousin, that Necromancer was very stubborn. He answered evasively, then spent half the time boasting about his master before committing suicide in a strange way."
"What do you mean?" Gromril rubbed his eyes, reading the document. "His master is a Vampire."
"Yes, most Necromancers, except for a few self-taught ones who used certain forbidden books, are disciples of Vampires. They have firsthand information on necromancy."
"And then? He and his master want to resurrect a, a Dark Lord? Hahahaha!" Gromril burst out laughing as he read the document. He thought he already knew who the Necromancer's mysteriously revered Dark Lord was—the Lord of the Undead, Nagash.
"Cousin, why are you laughing? Is this also among the Ancestor Gods' prophecies?" Balin was somewhat puzzled; he suspected his cousin might have relapsed.
"I'm laughing because that Vampire's power is mediocre. If he could already traverse the continent on his own, why would he bother finding a master to ride on his head? I reckon he just found a copy of the Nine Books of Nagash somewhere and thinks he's the chosen undead!"
Gromril was very pleased with his analysis. Nagash's resurrection was still after the Everchosen's southward march, which was still far off. That Vampire's dream was destined not to come true, so he could relax.
"But..." Balin was about to say something more when Gromril interrupted him.
"Call the others. We need to discuss what to do next. The Vampire will sense the death of his servant. We might already be exposed."
Soon, the army's administrators gathered. They decided to accelerate their march, deploying more scouts, and reach Bordeleaux Castle as quickly as possible.
Everyone knew that Vampires did not lack aerial units, so once exposed, they would always be in a state where the enemy was hidden and they were visible. At this point, it was best to reach their destination as quickly as possible. The Duchy of Bordeleaux was a small peninsula, with little room for strategic maneuvers.
"It's still a day and a half's journey to the castle from here, so we'll have to spend the night in the wilderness along the way."
"Isn't it just one battle? Those skeletons can't even leave a scratch on our armor!"
"If you want to talk about excitement, it has to be orks. Back in the day…"
A simple victory made the dwarves somewhat relaxed; this was their nature. If Gromril hadn't deliberately suppressed them, a celebratory feast might have already begun.
"If it's a day and a half, we can walk a bit slower, find a village to camp for a night, and reach the castle before the second night, right?" Gromril pondered, looking at the map.
"Then let's do it that way!"
In the early morning, the army set off once again. Gromril looked back at the castle, which appeared serene in the winter mist, and a premonition of ill omen suddenly welled up in his heart.
"Perhaps I didn't rest well?" Gromril shook his head, dismissing the thought.
"Master Gromril, I'm afraid those bastards who desecrate the dead have already discovered us!" Just as they were having lunch, several Rangers acting as scouts came running back with a report.
"What a huge bat!" Brockson exclaimed, looking at a bat the Rangers were carrying, which was about the size of an adult dwarf's torso.
"Vampires view Dire Bats much like Bretonnia lords view their prized falcons!" Stringer's advisor explained.
"It's to be expected!" Gromril mumbled, "There might even be ones as big as Dragons. Get the ballista and ranged units ready for battle!" He turned and ordered.
A large part of the reason simple war machines like ballista are still maintained in the dwarf's combat order is their ability to fire at high angles, which is very effective against aerial units.
As the army continued to advance, almost all sharp-eyed dwarves noticed the large bats, darker than midnight, in the sky. They circled the formation, and although marksmen occasionally shot down one or two, new ones quickly emerged from the forest.
In the afternoon, the dwarves arrived at the village on the map. The villagers had already been gathered in the capital, leaving only empty buildings.
"Sure enough, that Vampire figured we'd be spending the night here!" Gromril sighed, looking at the obviously damaged walls and the buildings that were now just ruins. This is what marching was like when they had completely lost air superiority.
"The graveyard has been desecrated, and the well has been poisoned!" The Rangers brought back two more pieces of bad news.
"Pass the word around: don't touch the well, and don't touch any leftover food in the village. Repair the walls slightly, and get the artillery in place!" Gromril issued a series of commands. He had gained some experience in commanding an army of this size along the way.
"Stringer, let's go take a look at the graveyard! Everyone else, rest in shifts. We probably won't get any sleep tonight, and we still have to continue marching tomorrow."
Under the protection of the guard, the two Rune Smiths arrived at the graveyard next to the village. It was a mess, with overturned coffin lids and toppled gravestones everywhere.
"Those who disturb the peace of the dead should be wiped from the face of the earth without exception!" Every dwarf was furious at the sight. Who would want to be driven by their enemies even after death?
"Heh, look, just like it says in the military texts!" Gromril said to Stringer, pointing at some graves. Along the way, he had studied some of the experiences left by the Karak-Zfirin ancestors in fighting Vampires.
"Indeed, he didn't raise all the corpses, but left some to be raised during the battle to catch us off guard!" Stringer jumped into a grave pit and peered around. He was very happy to learn through these opportunities.
"Come on, Hearth and Home Rune, it can suppress the occurrence of such desecrating rituals." Gromril rubbed his cheeks and began his work. The sunlight combined with the winter wind had made his skin rough.
"I should just get a nickname like 'One-Brow Daoist Priest'!" Gromril couldn't help but want to laugh as he looked at himself, covered in dust, drawing runes in the graveyard.
The graveyard was not large, and the two of them quickly finished carving the runes. Gromril simply found a building with a roof to rest. As night fell, the number of bats in the sky increased.
"Cousin, they're here!" Balin woke Gromril, who was feigning sleep.
"Keep some distance from me, my colleague!" Gromril stood on the anvil of doom, reminding Stringer. He felt that the enemy might use flying units to ambush him, the commander.
Through the low walls, Gromril saw a group of skeletons and zombies emerging from the forest, slowly approaching the village.
"It's the same old trick, using cannon fodder to deplete our stamina and ammunition! But we Sons of the Mountains are not like the Man-lings!" Captain Grenson thumped his breastplate.
Since the Dark Ages, the dwarves' main opponents had shifted to Green-skins, primarily Goblins, and Skaven. They had thousands of years of experience in defensive tactics against hordes of cannon fodder.
Gromril was also very relieved; these mindless cannon fodder units could not cause any harm to his subordinates. They only needed to continuously swing their weapons to defeat them.
After a brief engagement, the Vampires lurking in the forest had already lost hundreds of summoned creatures, but this was still a controllable cost for a probing attack.
"Ah! Awoo!" A piercing and eerie wail suddenly rang out. Gromril felt as if he heard the doomsday bell of Helmgart again. Although his own magic resistance was very high, Gromril still felt uncomfortable.
"A Banshee? I thought it was a Terrorgheist!" Gromril looked at a female spirit, glowing green in the moonlight and wearing a long dress, rapidly floating towards them in the air with a strange, twisting posture.
"She's a spirit! This poor soul has almost no physical form. Apart from magic and enchanted weapons, conventional weapons can hardly harm her!" Stringer shouted. The Rune Smith picked up his newly acquired warhammer, preparing to join the fight.
"There are similar ones at sea, though their energy feels a bit weaker than hers, but they usually appear in swarms!" Constantine added. Gromril knew he was referring to Deep Sea Sirens.
"There are more behind us!" The warriors in front shouted with all their might to make their voices heard over the Banshee's shriek.
"Grave Guard! Get the warriors with runic weapons to gather!" Gromril shouted, looking at a group of spirits behind them, holding two-handed scythes and with cloaks fluttering.
He suddenly felt that the Vampire Lord was a little stronger than he had estimated. These two types of ethereal Undead creatures were not easy to find. Only those with powerful souls in life—usually individuals with some ability to manipulate the Winds of Magic—could form them after death.
Looking at the drifting ghosts, the dwarf warriors from the World's Edge Mountains felt a chill in their hearts, as they had never seen such things before. Fortunately, Gromril's command came in time.
Soon, clansmen with Runic weapons gathered from all directions. They brandished their weapons at the Banshee. However, the Banshee, being a spirit, was very agile. She weaved through the dwarf crowd, enduring only a few attacks over two or three rounds.
"Let me!" Stringer pushed through the crowd. The Stone Golem Wraiths moved slower than the Banshee, creating some distance. Seeing his subordinates struggle to deal with the Banshee, Stringer decided to act.
"Unleash your fury!" He activated his Rune of Fury and Destruction. The Stone Golem Wraiths were blasted, stumbling in all directions, but none were dispersed. After all, these were considered high-level Undead, and Stringer's Runes were not yet very strong.
"A bit troublesome, that thing seems to be able to directly harm souls!" Two or three clansmen were pierced by the Banshee's spectral longsword. Their shields, not enchanted with Runes, offered no protection and were directly penetrated. They had no visible wounds but fell straight down.
"By Valaya! captain, lead your men to put this wailing soul to rest!" Gromril saw the distant Wraiths shakily getting back up, approaching the village with their scythes again, and commanded.
"Yes!" The Eternal Hammer Guard charged forward in unison. They were different from the clansmen who had temporarily gathered, lacking coordination.
Seven or eight two-handed warhammers, each inscribed with three ordinary Runes, struck the Banshee from all directions, completely blocking her escape. Just then, as if receiving a command, she let out a sharp shriek and spun into the air.
"dwarf, my master says that while you are not big enough, two of you put together can still make a Skeleton Warrior!" The Banshee uttered a threat and then tried to retreat.
"Come when you want, leave when you want? Do you think this is your grave?" Gromril roared from his Anvil. He activated a skill, unleashing a Stormhammer.
The warhammer, trailing the glow of Runes, streaked across the night sky like a meteor, striking the Banshee in mid-air. Although the warhammer itself passed through her, the extraordinary power attached to it still caused considerable damage to the Banshee.
The warhammer directly punched a hole in the Banshee's spectral body, but since the Stormhammer primarily relies on the hammer itself to cause damage, it did not directly kill the Banshee.
The Stone Golem Wraiths, without even engaging in combat, covered the Banshee's retreat. The dwarfs cheered for their victory, but Gromril suddenly hammered the armrest of his seat.
"What's wrong?" Balin asked softly.
"This is the enemy's probing, our gains are negligible, but they have largely achieved their goal! Our elite troops and extraordinary powers are completely exposed!"
Gromril blamed himself. This was an open scheme; even if he had seen through it before, facing those spirits that could not be killed by physical means, he still had no good solution. The most he could do was expose a little less.
"Don't relax your guard, the Vampires have flying units, they might organize another attack at any time!" Gromril looked at the cheering clansmen outside and reminded the surrounding commanders.
Perhaps believing they didn't have enough forces to overwhelm this dwarf army, the rest of the night passed peacefully. The next day, under the watchful eyes of bats, a tall and prosperous castle appeared in sight.
"We've arrived! Everything seems normal!" Constantine's hanging heart finally settled. His journey for aid was a rapid gallop on the way there, but on the return, with the army, he couldn't ride a horse and could only fret internally.
"Let's enter the city. We'll have a formal dinner tonight!" After parting ways at the city gate, Gromril settled his army and then headed to the dwarf settlement here. Along the way, Gromril felt the prosperity of Bordeleaux.
With the help of its natural harbor, maritime trade here was very developed, and a large number of merchants from all over the world gathered here. The wealth of the Knight nobles deeply attracted them.
Although there were still many ports in the northern Old World, the Claw Sea was constantly under the threat of Norsca raiders. Relatively speaking, unloading cargo here was safer for ocean-going merchants.
"Is this silk?" Gromril rummaged through goods at a stall.
"Honorable Elder, you are truly knowledgeable. This comes from the Cathay Empire in the Far East, where people weave them with wondrous magic. It's a metamorphosis from a cocoon to a butterfly..."
This merchant was from the Southlands. He clearly knew that dwarfs had plenty of gold and actively promoted his goods to Gromril. However, when he quoted the exorbitant price of one hundred gold coins, Gromril decisively refused.
After renting a hostel in the settlement and taking a short rest, the dwarfs headed to the Duke's mansion. This was a city within a city, nestled against a cliff. If the outer city were breached, they could still organize a defense using the terrain.
Walking all the way to the banquet hall, Gromril felt that Bordeleaux Castle had a little less historical depth but a bit more grandeur than the previous Bastogne Castle. Constantine, dressed in formal attire, welcomed his helpers at the door.
Aside from a Grail Knight who was originally guarding a holy site and came to assist upon hearing the news, all the human attendees were followers of Manann, God of the Sea. They were the High Priestess Ms. Schumann, the captain of the harbor guard, and Sir Ramos, the head of the Maritime Merchant Guild.
The Maritime Merchant Guild, though named a guild, was actually more than that. It was a semi-official organization supported by the Duke of Bordeleaux behind the scenes, used to indirectly control various industries under Manann's authority. As the Duke's representative on this side, Constantine himself also held some positions within it.
"Thank you, dwarf friends, for coming all this way to lend your strong support!" With simple opening remarks and introductions, the banquet quickly began. Everyone present had matters on their mind. Gromril had traversed three duchies to get here, certainly not just for a dinner, so everyone ate quickly.
"Gentlemen, we are gathered here mainly for two major matters!" As the attendees gradually put down their knives and forks, Constantine raised his wine glass. In Bordeleaux, having a drink before discussing serious matters was a custom.
"At sea, filthy Vampire pirates are lurking! Half of our fleet sailed out to transport military provisions, and the remaining forces can only prevent them from rushing into the harbor, and this still relies on the magical assistance of Ms. Schumann and her followers!"
"And in the shadows of the Forest of Chalons, evil is brewing! News of desecrated graves and profaned temples comes from almost every village near the forest!"
Constantine, the Regent, was not idle while the dwarf army was being reorganized and stationed. He quickly grasped the military and political situation during his absence, and his summary of the situation was very accurate.
"My warhammer and I serve you!" Gromril raised his wine glass and directly expressed his stance. It didn't cost much to say some nice words at this point. Constantine was his employer, so he couldn't let him lose face.
"I propose we deal with those greedy pirates first! The arrival of our friends from the Mountains can free up my lads!"
It seemed there had been prior communication, as the captain of the Coast Guard spoke first. His formal attire showed his noble status, but it was clear he was a coastal noble who worshipped the God of the Sea.
"Indeed, due to the harassment of those things, my men have suffered no small losses and can now only rest in port. You know, the waves won't stop for this! Our losses are increasing daily!" Sir Ramos immediately stood up, speaking for all who lived by the sea.
"I feel manann's wrath," Ms. Schumann said out of nowhere, but her status was such that no one dared to doubt the weight of her words. Gromril noticed she wore large earrings and some pearl adornments symbolizing her status. There were large tattoos on her exposed skin.
"I have to say, darkness is constantly brewing under the canopy of the Forest of Chalons! The saintesses who went to investigate never returned, and allowing the darkness to expand will only make the short-sighted regret it!"
The Grail Knight, whose age was indiscernible, spoke. Yes, The Lady of the Lake's divine grace, in addition to giving knights greater strength, also prolonged their lives. Although he was alone, his voice was still loud under The Lady of the Lake's blessing.
"Map!" Constantine ordered, and soon a map of Bordeleaux was hung up. Half of the map was ocean, and the land portion only included Bordeleaux and a small part of its borders, but it was drawn with great detail, even marking country roads.
"Where do those pirates anchor?" The Regent stared at the marked islands and reefs outside the bay.
"The albatross told me that those undead, who should have provided nourishment for sea creatures, have appeared in these locations!" Ms. Schumann lightly tapped the map several times with her scepter.
"What about the Vampires in the Forest of Chalons then? Hunters, lumberjacks, do they have any news?" Constantine shook his head and continued to ask.
"Not that I know of. After the corpses in the cemeteries of several logging villages rose again to attack the villagers, they retreated, and since then, we've had no news from the woods," another person in knight's attire walked in from the doorway.
"This is Viscount Cameron, our City Defense Chief. He is responsible for the land-facing city walls," Constantine added.
"Then we can say we're like rats in a mine!" Gromril, after listening for a long time without much clue, uttered a dwarf proverb.
In fact, it is indeed difficult to effectively gather intelligence when facing the undead. They have air forces and the ethereal units encountered before, making it hard for conventional scouts to be effective, and many disguises and evasion methods are useless.
Another way to obtain intelligence—bribing informants or arranging agents to infiltrate—is also unavailable, as undead armies, apart from their leading commanders, are basically mindless corpses, and their leaders are mostly die-hard, non-human entities.
"We must first resolve the threat at sea!"
"The ocean is the foundation of Bordeleaux!"
"Stinky fish and rotten shrimp that dare not come ashore won't amount to anything! Those in the forest will destroy the entire Duchy!"
In the banquet hall, arguments erupted once again. Gromril suspected that such disputes had broken out many times before. His arrival wouldn't change anything, because, in the eyes of both sides, Gromril and his dwarf army were beneficial to their respective plans.
"The dwarf reinforcements can replace my port guard, and with my men, the navy will surely defeat those water ghouls!"
"With our dwarf friends, we can march into the forest and prevent the Vampires from desecrating The Lady of the Lake's sacred land!"
In this world, there is almost nothing absolute, nor is there any so-called absolutely correct choice. It is the leader's task to guide people with intertwined but not entirely consistent interests to make decisions that are relatively more beneficial to the overall situation within a limited time. Of course, this is a test for them.
If one's prestige is high enough or power strong enough, then a leader can certainly suppress all dissenting voices and drive the chariot in the desired direction. However, Constantine is not yet at that point.
"Gentlemen, besides the power we have at hand, do we have any other opportunities to win?" Gromril, seeing the humans arguing endlessly, decided to offer some guidance within his capabilities.
"Three days ago, the Duke sent back a message via albatross that he would return with his fleet soon. He needs to bring back the spoils of the expedition, the wounded who need recovery, and then transport supplementary supplies back to the front lines." The humans, talking over each other, relayed this news to Gromril.
"Then, with an inside-outside attack, can't we solve the Vampire Pirates?" Gromril asked curiously.
"We could, but that would still take about half a month. The people's losses would increase daily, many orders would be overdue, and fresh goods couldn't be stored for so long."
"After the New Year, spring plowing is imminent. If the farmers keep hiding in the castle, who will train the land?" The inland nobles also had reasons to want the threat removed as soon as possible.
Gromril looked at the young Regent opposite him. He knew this young man also yearned to resolve the crisis through his own efforts rather than passively waiting for his father and brother to lead troops back in support.
"Then the water ghouls are also in a hurry. It's true we can't gather intelligence on them, but we can release false information to them. There are so many bats in the air, they're bound to see it!" Gromril's mind quickly turned, and he offered a brilliant plan.
"Brilliant, truly brilliant!"
"As expected of someone favored by the gods!"
The attendees were all intelligent people with some experience and ability; they understood immediately and reacted quickly. Soon, orders were transmitted from the Duke's castle.
Overnight, the news that the Duke would return with his fleet in three days spread throughout Bordeleaux. Initially, citizens didn't believe it, but profit-seeking merchants quickly reacted.
They began to systematically convert some hoarded goods into cash, and employees who had been delayed from returning to work due to the war were called back. The news of the Duke's return was like a spring breeze, reviving the entire city from winter.
Rumor had it that besides many local products from the Border Princes, the Duke also brought back a large amount of gold and jewels plundered by the Knightly Order army—the foolish and vulgar Greenskins disliked these shiny treasures, using their teeth as currency.
In addition to the goods brought back, the Duke's demands were also widely circulated and credible: the front lines urgently needed food and medicine, and the prices of related products in Bordeleaux had already soared.
Many 'well-informed' small merchants even began to plan to risk the threat of Vampires to acquire some from other duchies for resale, and these commercial activities enlivened Bordeleaux.
All of this was observed by the bats in the sky. After dispatching more scouts from the dark clouds to confirm, the Vampire Pirates outside the bay grew anxious.
The human forces, however, did not relax their vigilance due to the false information. They intensified their training to ensure that no one harbored ill intentions towards the 'huge wealth' that was about to arrive.
"They're here! They're here!" On the second night after the news was released, the high-ranking officials in the castle heard the report they desired.
"Let's go, we'll watch from the terrace!" Constantine dramatically swept his cloak and led the way out of the meeting room. The Duke's castle was exceptionally well-located, and with the clever design assistance of the dwarf artisans, the entire port could be overlooked from the building's towers and terraces.
"This scale of forces doesn't look like an all-out attack, does it?" Gromril, looking through a telescope at the several skeleton ships that seemed to emerge from a horror movie, tried to assess the enemy's strength.
"Those aren't 'ships' in the narrow sense; they are merely vehicles driven by dark magic. The number of enemies on them is hard to estimate, and no one can say there aren't more beneath the water."
"Boom!" "Boom!"
When the Vampire Pirates' ships approached a bit closer, the Bordeleaux navy in the harbor opened fire. Although the first volley of cannon fire missed in some places, it still slowed the pirates' speed.
"You use cannons too?" Brockson asked the question Gromril wanted to ask.
"Hahaha, what's the difference between cannons and bows and arrows? As long as they aren't in the hands of knights, it's fine. Can you really form a great lance formation to charge on the sea?" Constantine laughed again.
Immediately after, a whirlpool suddenly appeared beneath the Vampire warships, and these ships of the dead began to spin in the water. Everyone knew this must be the work of the manann priests.
The sudden spell bought the human side time for another reload. This time, as they were stationary targets, the accuracy of the naval cannons improved significantly. They successfully punched several holes in the Vampire warships, and many slow-moving zombies who couldn't shift in time fell into the sea.
"Beautiful!"
"Hahaha, they flounder in the water like landlubbers!"
The commanders on the terrace laughed joyfully at the sight, but the Vampires quickly reacted. After a brief period of confusion, some zombie gunners, under command, shakily took their positions, and the previously anchored Bretonnia warships quickly began to move.
A Vampire Pirate wearing a general's uniform emerged from the command room on the bridge. With a wild wave and guidance, he used the power of dark magic to dispel the whirlpool beneath his ship.
As both sides' warships began to move simultaneously, a new round of mutual cannon fire commenced.
"They can't just have this much ability, can they?" A moment later, Gromril, who had been observing the battle, spoke. The harbor was currently in a stalemate; although the Vampire zombie crews were clumsy, they were fearless, and neither side gained an advantage in the exchange of cannon fire.
For Bordeleaux's warships, inflicting casualties on the enemy while minimizing their own losses was an excellent situation, but for the attacking Vampires, this was unacceptable.
Using the time bought by the naval exchange of fire, the port guard, under the command of their captain, rushed out of the barracks and deployed along the city walls and fences used for tax collection on the shore. These civilian warriors had already been on alert, so they took their positions very quickly.
To avoid being sunk, Bordeleaux's warships gradually moved outwards, while the Vampire Pirates' fleet slowly approached the port, but still remained several hundred meters from shore.
Just as the dwarves wondered if these animated corpses had their brains soaked by seawater for advancing so little distance at the cost of enduring many more cannon shots, the situation suddenly changed.
Suddenly, a vast, sky-darkening swarm of bats surged from the skeleton ships. In the darkness, these creatures looked even more frenzied and seemed to be more than a circle larger.
"Why are they flying so slowly?"
"There's something underneath!"
"Boarding party! Archers, prepare!"
The boarding party consisted of bloodthirsty ferocious bats and zombies wielding weapons. The zombies unconsciously hung from the claws of the ferocious bats. In mid-air, they attacked the humans on shore with their muskets. Although their aim was poor, they made up for it in sheer numbers.
At the same time, a group of Corrupted Plagueclaws surged from the sea. They were as tall as adult humans and had large, scissor-like pincers capable of dismembering humans.
Some zombies holding muskets were seated on the backs of some Plagueclaws, and at the very front of the formation, a Vampire fleet captain wearing a wide-brimmed hat served as the commander. The Plagueclaw beneath him was also a size larger than its counterparts.
Other smaller units struggled to fight and move in the shallow water, but the aquatic race had an advantage in this regard. The Plagueclaws' speed was not much slower than the aerial boarding party. As the peasant archers scattered in disarray facing the projectiles raining down from above, they quickly rushed onto the shore.
"Hold them! Hold them for me!" The commander positioned a regiment of spearmen at the entrance of the low wall, supported by some sailors equipped with a mishmash of weapons, primarily scimitars and pistols.
These men fought bravely to defend their homeland, but they lacked armor protection, and their inferior weapons struggled to penetrate the thick carapaces of the Corrupted Plagueclaws.
Facing deadly arthropods the size of a car, scurrying and rampant across the battlefield, their resistance seemed somewhat futile. After a brief engagement, many humans were torn to shreds by the huge pincers, and their defensive line gradually began to retreat.
"It's time for your troops to step in!" Constantine said to Gromril as the battle gradually spiraled out of control. With a command, the already prepared dwarf troops took over the human defensive line.
"After witnessing their multi-unit coordination in the Empire, I must say, with the rise of the dark forces, Bretonnia needs a stronger infantry force to cope. I've brought this up with my father many times, but unfortunately, our funds seem to have more urgent uses."
While Constantine sighed over his suggestions not being accepted by his ducal father, the dwarf troops and the Vampire Pirates engaged in battle. Currently, not all of the dwarf army was participating, only half of its strength.
Judging by the forces the Vampire Pirates had just revealed, these warriors were sufficient. The remaining troops still needed to be held back to deal with potential schemes and tricks.
The rampaging Corrupted Plagueclaws quickly realized something was wrong. This new group of short-statured opponents was infinitely more troublesome than the tall ones who had shattered easily before. Their naturally formed claws and appendages struggled to pierce the finely forged meteorite iron plate armor.
These undead creatures—yes, the Corrupted Plagueclaws were not living beings; they were also victims of the Vampire captain during their lifetime.
Because they were relatively common in their known habitats and performed very well on the battlefield, they were often hunted, resurrected, and then incorporated into the ranks of the Undead Pirate Fleet.
They originally had little intelligence, and after being resurrected, they had almost completely lost even the biological instinct to avoid danger. They fought fiercely with the dwarves; the thick hides of these creatures were the most difficult to damage the clansmen had encountered on their journey.
When the Ironbreakers' one-handed battle axes struggled to inflict effective damage, the Iron Hammer Guard and the Iron Drakes pushed forward. They launched deadly attacks against these Plagueclaws from the gaps left by their comrades.
The boarding party had also disintegrated by this point. Even if the ferocious bats were bloodthirsty and strengthened by the erosion of dark magic, it didn't change the fact that their entire skeletal structure was light.
These monsters were naturally unable to bear heavy loads; flying a short distance with zombies was barely manageable, but staying airborne continuously was beyond their capabilities. These bats tried to pursue the human troops, but the professional soldiers, after disengaging from combat and regrouping, didn't give them many opportunities.
The zombie sailors who landed quickly found their final rest. In front of the overwhelmingly superior dwarf army, their performance was as vulnerable as those encountered in the village before.
The Vampire captain had no prior experience fighting dwarves. By the time he reacted, his troops were already in decline. The fellow only had time to cast a Curse of Nehekhara on the Corrupted Plagueclaw he was riding.
As the terrifying syllables from Nagash, the Lord of the Undead, were chanted, the Corrupted Plagueclaw's severed limbs miraculously regrew before the dwarves' astonished eyes. It carried its master and quickly fled the battlefield.
"What a pity, Gromril, that you didn't participate in the battle, otherwise it would have surely died under Stormhammer!"
"That coward ran fast!"
The surrounding authorities began to flatter Gromril. As his prestige grew further, Gromril gradually felt a slight discomfort. He knew he couldn't indulge in it.
With the defeat of the landing party, the Vampire Pirates' offensive for the night ended. They lingered briefly in the shallow waters to rendezvous with their retreating comrades, then prepared to sail out of the harbor.
At this point, the advantage of the Undead ships became apparent. Even if they were leaking everywhere and their masts were broken, maintained by dark magic, they still moved freely. At most, the resistance from the seawater was a little greater.
Bordeleaux's navy was unwilling to miss this opportunity. They outflanked from both sides, attempting to block the Pirate ships. Just then, an unexpected situation occurred.
A giant beast rose from the shallow sea. It looked somewhat similar to a Corrupted Plagueclaw, but it was several times larger in size. The creature's carapace was at least ten meters across, covered with some seaweed and shipwrecks, which made it look even more massive.
"Leviathan!"
"manann above!"
"That Vampire can actually control such a monster!"
The administrators standing on the castle terrace all cried out in alarm, not to mention the sailors directly facing it! When the Corrupted Leviathan struck a heavy blow with its large claw, creating a large hole in the hull of a warship, the pursuit abruptly ceased.
"This thing is truly rare. Many old sailors who have battled the winds and waves at sea for a lifetime have only seen them a few times. These creatures, living in the deepest parts of the ocean, rarely rise to the surface to attack passing ships, but most of those attacked never returned."
Constantine sighed with some regret, unsure if he was lamenting the victory that had slipped away, or if he also wished to control such a powerful giant monster of nature and travel the seas.
"There were even foolish people who worshipped them as a foreign god due to their powerful destructiveness, not knowing that wherever the ocean covers is the domain of our God!" Ms. Schumann added, which also indirectly illustrated the Leviathans' immense power.
"Fortunately, we also eliminated some difficult-to-replace war beasts and forced out one of the Vampire Pirates' trump cards. Let's prepare in advance for how to deal with that giant beast!"
Gromril made a concluding statement. This was the first giant beast he would directly confront since his transmigration, if one didn't count the Twilight Sisters and their forest dragon mounts. He himself was quite looking forward to it. As his level increased, the experience needed for leveling up grew more and more. When would the endless killing of zombies ever end?
Naval matters were not for Gromril to worry about. No one would ask heavily armored dwarf warriors to work on a ship; if they fell into the water, they couldn't be pulled out.
Gromril and his subordinates spent the daytime inspecting the city defenses and rooting out Vampire spies. He used the anvil of doom as a detector for magical reactions. Given Bretonnia's national situation, spellcasters without official backing were highly likely to be minions of Chaos.
After catching a low-level Vampire and a Necromancer serving Vampires, Gromril contentedly took them back for severe interrogation. These deluded individuals were confident they could be resurrected, so their mouths were very tight, repeatedly spouting the same nonsensical, mumbling words.
The dwarves originally intended to give them a quick end, but Ms. Schumann sent two Sea God Knights to take them away. This high priestess of manann was in need of such sacrifices with some spellcasting ability and stronger souls.
"Tonight will surely be a fierce battle!" After reaching a consensus, the administrators of Bordeleaux City gathered directly in the customs building closer to the harbor defense line.
According to the false information they released, the Duke was returning with his fleet tomorrow. If they didn't want to be caught in a pincer movement and trapped like turtles in a jar, the Vampire Pirates would launch a full-scale attack tonight.
As the moon rose into the sky, the Undead fleet roared in once again. This time, their warships were half again as numerous as last night, and the holes previously made by cannon fire had been simply repaired. There was also a huge shadow beneath the ships; needless to say, it was the Corrupted Leviathan.
"Their objective must still be a beach landing!" Constantine observed the situation and stated with certainty. No one disagreed with this point. What else would be the purpose of pirates attacking a city if not to plunder it?
"Boom!" "Boom!"
A new round of cannon fire began, and this time, the Bretonnia side was at a disadvantage. The sailors had to keep moving to maintain a certain distance from the Vampires' ships, lest they be sunk by the corrupted Leviathan underwater.
Therefore, the Vampires approached the shore much faster tonight. With several "Bang!" "Bang!" sounds, the shore-based artillery also opened fire. These fixed coastal defense cannons were much more powerful than ship cannons, and a single volley actually sank one ship.
"Those ghouls won't be drowned again!" a naval commander reminded, and indeed, the fallen undead pirates began marching on foot along the seabed.
"My God's wrath will devour them!" Ms. Schumann smiled, which caused her tattoos and ornaments to jingle.
The manann priests, who had prepared in advance, released a large group of sharks to harvest the undead whose movements were restricted on the seabed. manann was an Old God born in nature from the very beginning, and most marine creatures, besides humans, revered him.
Driving sea beasts was one of manann's divine spells, but how powerful a beast could be driven depended on the priest's own magic power and the quality of the offerings.
"Puff!" With several muffled thuds, the Vampire ships directly crashed onto the shore. This time, the pirates did not probe; it was a full-scale assault.
The corrupted Leviathan also crawled ashore from the seabed. The Vampire fleet commander leaped from the flagship's command room and landed on the giant beast's back.
"Hahaha, you pathetic short-lived wretches, kneel down and accept the blessing of eternal life I, Captain Salazar, bestow upon you!"
The fleet commander's voice was hoarse, indicating he hadn't spoken for some time. For these fellows, most of whose subordinates were undead, daily speech seemed indeed useless. When he did speak, it was rarely to intimidate enemies.
The shore-based artillery once again showed its power. To deal with the corrupted Leviathan, the gunners had prepared some sharp armor-piercing projectiles to replace the original shrapnel rounds designed for wide-area damage.
However, this volley did not achieve the desired effect. The fleet commander had accumulated a lot of experience in controlling giant beasts in battle during his long life. He had pre-deployed a bunch of cannon fodder troops in front, using those zombie sailors as flesh shields.
"A bit difficult to deal with!" Watching the endless stream of undead disembarking from the ships and forming ranks, while the attacks of the peasant archers were almost entirely absorbed by the cannon fodder troops.
Although the zombie sailors fell like mown wheat, no experienced old seaman was happy. They knew that if the Vampires found an opportunity, they could raise many more in a short time.
"Let's go, we have to join the battle!" Gromril picked up his warhammer and stepped onto the ready anvil of doom. Currently, the Vampire Pirates had not brought out a Terrorgheist, so he was not yet worried about threats from the air.
"Pay attention to the land portion! I guarantee they are not acting alone!" Before setting off, Gromril did not forget to turn back and remind the humans. In his opinion, the unknown was the most terrifying.
As Gromril appeared on the low wall, riding the anvil of doom, the morale of the dwarf warriors greatly increased. Fighting under the gaze of an Ancestor God—this was a glory not seen for thousands of years since the Dark Ages!
"Fire!" Gromril pointed his warhammer, and the dwarf ranged units, already reloaded, unleashed a volley. The power of the Thunderer and dwarf heavy crossbows was much greater than the longbows of peasant archers, and their accuracy far surpassed them.
Some ammunition was lobbed by the dwarves onto the less cannon-fodder troops in the back ranks, but Captain Salazar also made adjustments. He arranged another batch of even larger undead creatures as meat shields.
"Those, seem to be Ogre corpses?" Gromril observed through a telescope from the anvil's base.
"The sailors call these giants 'Walking Corpses.' Rotting Ogre bodies fused with ship wreckage and sea monsters, forming truly twisted abominations. If there isn't a strong enough individual to fight it, then one is enough to slaughter an entire ship!" The Coastal Guard commander explained these enemies to the dwarves.
After a brief adjustment, a cannon and Organ Gun carried by Gromril's army fired along with the coastal defense artillery. Since the land portion of the city wall lacked more ranged firepower, Gromril did not deploy all of his artillery on this side.
This volley cleared an entire fan-shaped area, but the Vampire Pirates still seized the opportunity to spread out their formation.
"Free fire, they're not fast, try to inflict as much damage as possible!" Gromril commanded from his seat.
Compared to Skaven, the Vampire cannon fodder troops were more troublesome. They would not lose morale and flee due to taking losses, effectively absorbing their firepower.
Before he finished speaking, a surge of dark magic suddenly erupted from Captain Salazar. "Vanhel's Danse Macabre!" He injected a burst of magical energy into the corrupted Leviathan beneath him. The giant beast's speed suddenly increased, bypassing the front-line troops and charging directly towards the city gate!
"Why do all Vampires have spellcasting abilities!" Gromril cursed, then activated the Rune of Fury and Destruction on the anvil of doom. The ground along the giant beast's path cracked open. The Leviathan, due to its massive size, almost completely absorbed the rune's damage. It was shaken to the ground, struggling to rise again.
"Praise manann, for he holds all salty waters in his hand!" Ms. Schumann's altar was placed far from Gromril to avoid being affected by the anvil of doom.
But the lady's voice was loud, perhaps because rituals to manann were often held during storms, and it was not easy to make attendees hear her voice in harsh weather.
This choice was partly to appease the ocean's wrath, as manann was not a benevolent deity. On the other hand, when storms arrived, the faithful couldn't work, so attending the ceremony became logical.
She was seen taking out the lungs of the two Vampire minions captured earlier that day as offerings, then pointing her scepter at the giant beast, which was waving its appendages and preparing to rise.
Through divine power, Ms. Schumann gained control over the fluids within the Leviathan. The normally calm bodily fluids suddenly became violent, surging wildly within the giant beast, frantically destroying the tissues inside its carapace.
The Leviathan, let alone getting up, began to convulse, rolling and crushing many surrounding zombies. Captain Salazar, who was standing on it, was also thrown off.
"Praise manann!"
"The raging waves will surely drown them!"
"What a pity, that thing was enslaved by necromancy after death, otherwise, with that divine spell, it wouldn't even have a chance to struggle!"
The surrounding humans cheered, but Captain Salazar's reaction was not slow; he immediately cast Nico's Curse on his mount, attempting to heal its injuries.
The two mages began to duel from a distance, one trying to completely destroy the giant beast, the other trying to save it. In terms of magical power, Captain Salazar, with his long accumulation, was certainly stronger, but Ms. Schumann had prepared in advance, and with the help of sacrifices, she could barely hold on.
"Are these people fighting or watching a show?" Gromril muttered to himself. The surrounding humans and his own clansmen had stopped shooting and started watching this rare magical duel, and the army of the dead, without a commander to drive them, also stopped in place. For a time, the battlefield fell into an eerie stillness.
Gromril stood up from his seat, selected a skill, and swung his arm, launching a Stormhammer. Considering the Corrupted Leviathan's thick hide and tough flesh, he didn't expect this hammer to secure a kill, so he aimed at the undead captain who was currently casting spells.
"You despicable dwarf, you actually tried to ambush me!" The warhammer, trailing a brilliant glow, flew straight towards Salazar's head, but he reacted quickly, ducking to avoid the blow.
"Come back!" Gromril didn't wait for the hammer to land and immediately activated the Master-level Flight Rune. The warhammer spun in mid-air and turned back. Salazar was unprepared for this move and was struck in the back, interrupting his spellcasting.
"Pfft!" Ms. Schumann also spat out a mouthful of fresh blood and fell to the ground. The consumption of casting such a divine spell was directly proportional to the amount of liquid manipulated, and the Leviathan's massive size was clearly an overload.
"What are you waiting for? Hit them hard!" Gromril roared. He suspected that his comrades around him had watched many knightly tournaments and had a unique passion for such duels.
"Artillery, prepare! That thing's vitality is truly tenacious!" Seeing the Corrupted Leviathan struggle to its feet after being healed by another Vampire and advance towards the low wall again, Gromril issued new orders.
Just then, screams came from the shore battery positions. "Air forces attacking long-range? What are the covering archers doing?"
Considering that he was, after all, a guest army, Gromril had not specifically assigned tactics to the Bordeleaux defenders, basically letting them perform according to the conventional tactics they had repeatedly practiced, but he had not expected the quality of these garrisoned troops to be so poor.
"Those Coast Guard and Navy units are not much stronger than infantry regiments! They lack the most crucial thing—armor, which makes these people almost incapable of resistance when facing things with strong lethality or numbers that can overwhelm them!"
A realization dawned on Gromril. He had previously felt that Bordeleaux's non-knight units were better in combat experience and morale than other duchies he had passed through, and thus had high expectations for them.
But these could not compensate for the fact of their inferior equipment, whereas in the Mountains Kingdom, this was a relatively less concerning issue. The poorest dwarf would wear a full suit of plate armor into battle.
And this was something only the highest-level infantry found in Bretonnia—foot squires—possessed. Reserve knights were almost impossible to integrate into a single force to resist highly impactful enemies; most of them were leading an infantry squad or a group of peasant archers.
"No, it's not flying units!" A Sea God Knight ran over in a panic, his plate armor bearing several terrifying scratches. "A group of monsters, only upper bodies, no one, no one knows where they came from!"
"I'll go take a look!" Gromril nodded. The importance of artillery was self-evident, and his Anvil Guard's lethality was limited, so their presence here wouldn't be too significant.
First, he struck the Hearth and Home Rune to awaken courage in the troops on the low wall, then struck the Speed Rune to buff his guards. Gromril, riding on the accelerated anvil of doom, headed straight for the bunker where the artillery was placed.
"What are these things?" Gromril looked at the several creatures in the bunker, feasting, with long arms, almost no lower bodies, as thin as razors, and covered in frost-cracked bones.
"Ghasts. These things are more common north of Karak Kadrin." captain Johnson, with his broader knowledge, took over from Balin, who hadn't come to the front line, to expand Gromril's knowledge base.
"I heard the bartender over there say that unfortunate souls who get lost endure long hunger and mountain cold, and at the same time, they are exposed to the most insidious influences of the Winds of Magic. The weak are directly torn apart by the mighty forces of nature, while those strong enough and with firm enough wills mutate into such devilish bodies."
"They're not spirits after all!"
Although they were communicating, the dwarfs didn't stop their actions. They surrounded and enveloped the Ghasts, blocking their sharp claws while attacking.
Despite their terrifying appearance, they still had physical bodies, which made them relatively much easier to deal with. After spending a few minutes tearing apart these creatures that had attacked the artillery position with their eerie stealth abilities, Gromril rushed back to the main battlefield.
"Grimnir above, may you have a good place in the Ancestors' Halls!" Gromril witnessed a heartbreaking scene: the Corrupted Leviathan was advancing, enduring the interference of long-range fire. Many butchers, delighted by the sight of the giant beast, rushed forward, but they found death almost instantly.
"Don't rush, the initiative is on our side!" The Coast Guard captain was directing the battle. Currently, this was indeed the case; as the distance closed, the ranged units found it easier to aim at the giant beast itself, and the cannon fodder units, originally serving as meat shields, had instead become obstacles.
"Something's wrong! What is that Vampire preparing again!" Gromril saw the Vampire captain from last night again, riding a large Corrupted Plagueclaw. A surge of the Winds of Magic was gathering around him.
"Move closer, suck it up for me!" Gromril directed the Anvil Guard to move closer, then he struck the anvil of doom's built-in Mana Decay Rune.
As the complex runes glowed with mysterious light, spellcasters on the battlefield all felt a portion of the Winds of Magic detach from their control and converge on the city wall. The Vampire who was preparing to cast a spell was the first to be affected.
His strength was inferior to Captain Salazar's, and his control over the Winds of Magic was weaker. The blood-colored power he had painstakingly gathered immediately went out of control, and he himself was blasted away.