"I feel like they're not in a hurry!" Gromril interrupted the Vampire captain's spellcasting, but he couldn't bring himself to be happy. He felt that the enemy didn't seem to be showing any do-or-die determination.
Logically, with the Vampire Pirates abandoning their ships and landing, Bordeleaux's fleet had already blockaded the harbor. If they couldn't conquer the castle, Captain Salazar, relying on his own strength, might consider merely escaping with his life as the best possible outcome.
"Yes, why aren't these guys assaulting the walls with all their might instead of playing a war of attrition with us?" Stringer also noticed that something was off. In the recent skirmishes, the dwarf troops had fought comfortably, but this was clearly abnormal because Captain Salazar had not committed his elite forces.
"We have to take the initiative!" Gromril slammed the armrest of his chair, making a decision.
"We can't fight! If we maintain our current state, we can advance or retreat freely. Once a real fight breaks out and we get entangled, it'll be difficult to disengage!" Stringer's advisor spoke, offering his counsel.
Half of this unit came from Karak-Zfirin. The Dwarf race had always lacked population, and suffering heavy losses for Bretonnia's humans would be a net loss for Breezehold.
"Your Highness, why don't we continue to wear them down with ranged attacks…" The Coast Guard captain was also speaking. Given a choice, who would want to face that giant beast?
"Alas!" Gromril sighed, looking up at the sky. He finally experienced firsthand how difficult it was for the famous generals in his past life's history. Were the dwarf advisor and the human in front of him speaking without reason?
There was no such thing as a completely unreasonable matter in this world; even the Chaos Gods had their own relatively positive authorities!
Gromril knew that as his army grew, there would be even more differing opinions. From different angles and perspectives, they might all be correct, but the final choice still depended on his judgment – as the army's commander.
"We must fight. We can't play by the enemy's rules, or there will be unexpected trouble!" Gromril repeated. The dwarf advisor bowed and stepped back. He closed his mouth, picked up his battle-axe, and faithfully went to perform his duty.
Gromril's orders were carried out. No dwarf, at least no dwarf in this army, would refuse his command, especially with multiple auras surrounding him.
"Creak!" The gate of the low wall opened, and a large group of dwarf melee troops filed out. The shooting units still on the wall reloaded as quickly as possible, buying time for their clansmen to form ranks.
Captain Salazar was stunned for a moment when he saw this. Why were these bare-chested Dwarves also abandoning their advantageous position and charging out?
"Heh! Heh! Dwarves, are you… so eager… to embrace… eternal life?" The captain's lisping voice sent shivers down spines. He stood on the Leviathan's carapace, looking down from above, his imposing presence even greater.
"Follow me! Crush these water ghouls who desecrate the dead!" Gromril wasted no more words. He pointed his warhammer and charged directly towards the Leviathan.
"Overestimating… yourselves!" Captain Salazar's slow, menacing words weren't even finished before the dwarf troops broke through the outermost line of Zombie Deckhands. Their rusty blades and the un-aimed shots from the archers behind them were like scratching an itch through a boot.
"Bang! Bang bang!" Salazar concentrated a beam of dark magic and released it from his eyes, aiming directly at Gromril, who was seated on the anvil of doom.
This was a Vampire spell known as "Nagash's Gaze." In this battlefield, with the Winds of Magic being drawn to the anvil of doom, Salazar hastily chose this lower-cost spell to attack Gromril.
However, Gromril was prepared. He had been planning this since the day he first saw the anvil of doom. Before leaving, he had purchased a rare-quality tower shield, prepared for human customers, from Master Halleck's vault.
This shield, engraved with runes of steel and runes of steadfastness, was taller and wider than Gromril himself. Besides protecting Gromril's entire body from the front, it could even be held diagonally to block incoming projectiles.
The two energy beams were further weakened as they approached the anvil of doom and were easily blocked by the shield.
"Crack! Crack crack!" Before Gromril could celebrate, he was met with a hail of gunfire. The Zombie Gunners aimed various long and short firearms at Gromril, the prominent figure on the battlefield, creating a scene like "large and small pearls falling onto a jade plate."
This passive situation finally improved as the two sides drew closer. Gromril knew this was due to his first time participating in battle on the anvil of doom, causing him to misjudge his positioning. Normally, he should have stayed with the ranged units, providing support for the clansmen in front.
The second layer consisted of those giant Corpse Constructs, which gave the Dwarves some trouble. Compared to when they were alive, their already somewhat clumsy movements were now even slower, but their lethality had also become stronger.
The Ogres' massive bodies, fused with ship parts and the terrifying bodies of sea monsters, combined with the weight of crab claws, anchors, and the tireless, frenzied swings of the undead creatures, made it difficult for the clansmen to get close for a time.
The heavy armor on the Dwarves could effectively withstand slashes from sharp weapons and stabs from pointed ones, but attacks from heavy blunt weapons could still cause them immense damage.
Some conventional tactics for dealing with large units were ineffective against undead Ogres who felt no fatigue or pain. But after using the Iron Dragon Cannon and paying some price, the Dwarves still broke through their interception.
"Those with Rune Weapons, charge with me! Those with two-handed weapons, come closer!" Roggof the Manticore Butcher's battle cry echoed across the entire battlefield. He vowed to either change his title to Leviathan Butcher or find his death.
The bravery of the Butchers further inspired the dwarf warriors participating in the battle. The fearless God of War Grimnir might be watching them; every Clansman wanted to prove their courage to their ancestral god.
Gromril didn't need to say anything more. He once again struck the Rune of Speed, allowing the clansmen to approach the giant beast faster and be more agile when dodging its pillar-thick giant feet and claws.
Roggof's two-handed battle-axe chopped off a section of the giant crab's leg with one strike. He then rolled on the spot, getting under the Leviathan's belly to wildly hack at its weak points.
This undead giant beast had been considerably weakened by the previous divine magic and artillery bombardment. Many gaps appeared in its carapace, and the Dwarves plunged their long weapons directly into them, stirring them around.
Captain Salazar was also stunned. Having roamed the seas, he hadn't expected an enemy to possess such a combination of bravery and combat skill.
He had seen those unafraid of death before: enslaved Dark Elves, Norsca raiders who worshipped the Chaos Gods, and his fellow undead who knew nothing of death. But those guys were just mindlessly hacking and slashing based on instinct, incomparable to the Dwarves before him.
The Corrupted Leviathan wailed, each strike from the surrounding dwarves causing it some damage, but its clumsy attacks often missed. Even when it did hit, it wasn't guaranteed to kill directly, only because some glowing armor absorbed a portion of the force.
Captain Salazar didn't know whether to use the dwindling Winds of Magic to save his mount or to attack the surrounding dwarves. Today, the sky wasn't dominated by the Evil Moon, and the dark magic surging around him wasn't particularly lively.
He tried to use Vanhel's Danse Macabre again to increase the beast's speed and aid its retreat, but Gromril, with the Rune of Fury and Destruction, cut off its escape route in time. All the Winds of Magic gathered by the anvil of doom were used to accelerate the rune's charging speed; now his anvil was glowing red hot, a perfect time to unleash its power.
"Leviathan? Nothing more than that!" As Rogov crawled out of its gaping maw, the already riddled beast collapsed with a crash.
"Victory to the Venerated God Grimnir!" Gromril stood on the anvil of doom, brandishing his warhammer. He found that slaying the Leviathan had granted him a massive amount of experience, and he had finally reached level four.
Just as the dwarves cheered, a tall, well-dressed, and distinctly lively zombie whispered a few words into the ear of Captain Salazar, who had jumped off his mount's corpse.
"Retreat!" The Vampire fleet commander flicked his cloak and turned to leave.
"Where do they think they're running? And where can they run to!" Gromril, standing on the anvil of doom, could see further. He shouted, directing his troops to pursue. The dwarves were all very excited; they hadn't marched for two days, and their stamina had recovered.
In the dwarves' eyes, having slain that giant crab, the battle was largely won. Although Captain Salazar still had some personal guards, they no longer had any numerical advantage.
"Hahaha, trying to run? Do you think our navy only eats seaweed?" The captain of the Harbor Guard caught up from behind. "No, they're not going to the shore. Why is that?"
Gromril and the other leaders had fallen into a small mental trap: pirates wanting to escape didn't necessarily have to run to their ships to sail away. These fellows all had legs and could move perfectly well on land.
Bordeleaux city was built around the harbor. The city had two lines of defense; the inner one was the Duke's own castle, and the outer one, where Gromril and his troops held the outer wall, also served as the dividing wall between the harbor district and the inner city.
Between the dividing wall and the coast lay several hundred meters, filled with low-rise buildings where commoners lived. Although this area was nominally also called Bordeleaux, it was in fact a commoner's castle town.
Previously, the Undead Pirates had charged straight for the inner wall; now they planned to move horizontally within the castle town. Salazar and his group of elite armored soldiers around him jumped onto the Corrupted Plagueclaw and began to maneuver.
"Chase them!"
"These water ghosts are evil; they have plenty of gold and silver treasures!"
"Dead men can't use gold, but it's just right for me!"
The dwarves knew that with their short legs, it was hard enough to catch up to normal two-legged creatures, let alone an eight-legged giant crab. These disciplined professional soldiers stayed put after the enemy's retreat, awaiting further orders from Gromril.
However, the humans were not like this. The Coastal Guard was mostly composed of commoners, at most with some illegitimate children of inner-city nobles. These cutthroats, whose eyes lit up at the sight of money and who dabbled in many shady dealings in private, would not let this opportunity pass.
The captain standing beside Gromril also did not suppress his subordinates' behavior. He himself was an illegitimate son with no inheritance rights in his family, and he was probably thinking about how to skim a portion from his subordinates' spoils!
"Careful!"
"An ambush!"
Brockson, who had been commanding the ranged units, suddenly shouted from the city wall. He seemed to have seen something through his telescope. Gromril noticed that the humans had already rushed two or three hundred meters into the district, and his nearsighted eyes couldn't see that far in the dim night.
"Boom!"
"Bang! Bang bang!"
"Pfft!"
"Ah! Ugh!"
Suddenly, the castle town was filled with screams, explosions, and gunshots.
"Damn it, that Vampire is truly cunning!"
Gromril cursed, directing his troops slowly forward. Before he could even see the enemy, the fleeing Bretonnia humans rushed back towards them.
"Stop, stand still, for manann's sake, what's going on?" The captain's face fell, and he shouted, trying to stop his subordinates' rout.
"Splat!" A projectile hit the flagstone ground at his feet, and the flying stone chips and fragments hit him, leaving him bloody and unconscious.
"Useless!" Watching the performance of these Bordeleaux people, Gromril secretly shook his head. He suddenly didn't have as much hope for a future military alliance with the Knight Kingdom. Although the Knight armies were formidable, their auxiliary troops were a bit too trashy.
"Shields up, advance!" Amidst the clamor, Johnson Strongshield relayed Gromril's command. The dwarves pushed past the fleeing humans and slowly moved forward.
"Poison!"
"Hold your breath!"
The warning came from the front-line warriors, and Gromril couldn't help but frown. Where did this gas come from? He stopped a few fleeing humans and found out the truth.
"A few, green, bloated bodies as big as Ogres, the ones in front, before they even knew what was happening, they, they exploded!"
"Bloated Corpse, sometimes a body might have floated at sea for weeks before falling into the hands of Vampire Pirates. As the internal tissues decay, the corpse swells with toxic gases," the dwarf advisor said after some thought.
Gromril recalled that he hadn't paid much attention to these things in his previous life's game. If they charged head-on, they would be immediately detonated by ranged units, causing significant friendly fire. Salazar's choice to ambush with them against pursuers was indeed clever.
"Ugh!" "Ergh!"
Gromril suddenly heard some painful groans from the front. These sounds from his clansmen were very unusual; in previous battles, the rifles and pistols of the zombie shooters had barely troubled them.
Zombies were clumsy, hardwood-like warriors, lacking the dexterity to wield weapons. Even if some of them could use firearms with the help of residual muscle memory, the pile of old, rusty, and long-past-their-prime weapons in their hands performed poorly against heavily armored units.
"Chosen of the Goddess, the zombies in front are carrying small naval cannons, the brothers need support!" Johnson's loud voice returned.
"Understood, let me!" Gromril said, raising his warhammer.
It is the duty of those with extraordinary powers to resolve situations that regular forces cannot handle. Gromril first cast a speed rune on himself, then unleashed the Rune of Fury and Destruction towards the front of the defensive line, at the very edge of his sight.
As the earth cracked open, Gromril leaped down from the Iron Anvil, shouldering his tower shield. He charged forward, taking advantage of the enemy's disarray and the smoke that obscured his position.
As he ran, he used the system to allocate the newly gained skill points to the second level of Thunder Strike. Simply put, he did not want to engage in close combat with the enemy at this stage and gamble on the chance of triggering Bash.
Although each upgrade provided some enhancement to his physical attributes, considering the poor foundation of this body and the Rune Smith's role as a ranged support, Gromril felt it was better to wait until he had better equipment before allocating spare skill points to Bash.
Blocking a few stray bullets with his shield, Gromril truly felt their power. These projectiles were several times stronger than musket fire, and even with a high-quality shield for protection, being hit at close range still left his bones aching from the impact.
"Die!" After crashing into the enemy ranks, Gromril immediately used Thunder Strike. He smashed his warhammer into the ground, and a shockwave with arcs of electricity radiated outwards from him.
The upgraded skill had gratifying effects; the surrounding undead, already wounded by rune magic, were now shattered to pieces. Gromril was not done yet, swinging his warhammer and shield, hammering left and striking right, killing several who had miraculously survived both rounds of damage.
Looking at the small cannons scattered on the ground, their users slain, Gromril stroked his beard.
"These bastards have such fierce firepower, why didn't that Vampire fleet commander bring them out sooner to exchange fire with us?"
"These small-caliber short cannons have limited range; they couldn't reach us earlier. These things were probably originally mounted on fishing boats or small skiffs!" Brockson caught up, also curious, and squatted down to examine the cannons.
"Can we use them? I feel this weight is within the clansmen's tolerance." Gromril picked one up and weighed it. He felt that the Thunderer's firing power was still too low, performing poorly against large units or numerous enemies.
The dwarves' traditionally conservative designs had not fully exploited the power of gunpowder. Gromril felt he needed a ranged weapon that struck a balance between a musket and a cannon, combining power and flexibility. These small cannons seemed to fit the bill.
"Weight isn't the main issue; recoil is the core limiting factor. The larger the caliber of a weapon, the stronger the recoil—that's a simple truth. The recoil of this thing is more than we can handle; only zombies could use it."
Brockson's words somewhat disappointed Gromril, but that wasn't all. The young engineer fiddled with it a bit more, further criticizing the weapon.
"The barrel is too short, prone to bursting, and the casting process is so shoddy that it's an insult to engineering to even let it leave the factory! Mogrim above, they also lack maintenance…" Brockson began to ramble, the young technical worker very passionate about his field.
"Alright, I know we can't just issue them directly to the clansmen! So, do we have any more powerful firearms?" Gromril interrupted him.
"Yes, a few years ago a colleague applied for a patent, what was it called? The Troll's Hammer Rocket Launcher, I think. It's an modification of the Iron Drake Handcannon, capable of firing a conical rocket, and its power is truly considerable!"
Before Gromril could get excited, the engineer changed his tone, "But it hasn't gone into mass production yet. All those safety tests, adaptability tests, process calibration, and so on—it's really hard for those old guys to come up with so many items!"
Gromril automatically filtered out the latter part. engineers just needed to ensure it existed; as for how to get his hands on it, he would figure that out himself. The Vampire Pirates had already fled on their crabs, and Gromril ordered the dwarves to quickly clean up the battlefield, preparing to withdraw.
As soon as they entered the city walls, a Sea God Knight came galloping up.
"Your Highness, quick, quickly go support the east! The city—the city gate has fallen!"
"What?" Gromril was momentarily shocked and furious. He had just managed to slay the Leviathan and repel the pirates at the harbor, and before he could even rest, he received this 'good news' from the inland defenses.
"What happened? What is Constantine doing? How are my clansmen? How many enemies are there?" Gromril rattled off four questions like an Organ Gun, but unfortunately, the Sea God Knight couldn't answer any of them.
According to him, it happened suddenly. The Regent, upon hearing the news, immediately took the reserve troops to reinforce. He himself knew nothing except that the city gate near the Forest of Chalons had been breached.
"Valaya above! The captain of the Coast Guard has fallen, and Priest Schuman is also injured. You will temporarily take command here! Good luck, and I hope those pirates don't launch a surprise counterattack."
Gromril knew he couldn't divide his forces any further, so he had to take a dangerous gamble. dwarf troops were not as impactful as Bretonnian Knights, who, if they found a good opportunity, could break up large groups of enemies with very few numbers.
However, dwarves usually crushed enemies in grinder-like positional warfare through their own resilience and equipment advantages. Such combat characteristics required enough manpower to form a line.
The dwarves traversed the city along the main road, heading straight for the opposite gate. Along the way, Gromril did not see widespread panic and fleeing civilians, nor did he see streets full of walking corpses. This at least meant the situation was still barely under control.
As they gradually approached the city gate, the shouts of battle became clearer. Gromril saw dwarves and humans forming a joint line, desperately trying to contain the undead creatures constantly pouring through the wide-open gate.
"Grimnir above! Cousin, it's great you've returned! The harbor situation was resolved smoothly, right?" Cousin Tomi came to meet him. As a merchant, he could have stayed in Breezehold to do business, but he insisted on coming to Bretonnia to experience the Knight Kingdom.
Gromril, considering his diplomatic talents and wanting to give his cousin some opportunities, did not refuse. When arranging the defenses earlier, he had entrusted Tomi with the task of commanding the reserve troops. So far, he seemed to have performed his duties very well.
"Indeed, the pirates were repelled by me, and the Leviathan was also jointly slain by us!" Gromril roared. His words greatly encouraged the allied forces who were fighting.
Every participant's heart had been hanging in the balance, but now, with no worries about their rear and with reinforcements arriving, their fighting spirit soared.
"What's going on here? How did those Vampires manage to get in?" Gromril, who had already arrived, was not in a hurry to join the battle; after all, understanding the situation was more important than fighting blindly.
"The Vampires tricked their way into opening the city gates! The Viscount, Minnesil, the former lord of the town, was somehow turned into a Vampire. Then he claimed his city had been breached and, leading some personal guards, fought his way out and requested entry into the city." Tomi recounted the information he had received.
"And then? The humans inside just opened the gates? Did they have no sense of precaution at all?" Gromril grumbled.
"There were Vampire infiltrators among the city guards! They took advantage of Viscount Cameron's interrogation and negotiation at the city wall to directly cut the gate's lock, and then the converted Vampire and some Black Knights with him charged in and cut down Viscount Cameron!"
"An old trick!" Gromril commented on the Vampires' petty schemes and the humans' carelessness. Dwarves were experts among experts when it came to defending cities; gate-tricking was child's play in their eyes.
"Yes, but those dull, short-lived races always fall for it! As soon as I got the news, Constantine and I rushed over to provide support. His elite troops are quite capable, and that Grail Knight is exceptionally brave. You wouldn't believe it, but the mysterious power surrounding him can even directly vaporize lower-level undead creatures!"
Tomi spoke with great enthusiasm; young people were at an age where they admired strength. His cousin was a relatively open-minded dwarf; differences in race and belief were not that important in his eyes.
"The Grail Knights have the Lady of the Lake's divine power and blessings active within them, and this power has a weakening effect on evil, unclean fellows. Even their used weapons and bones after death also have it…"
Stringer's advisor added a detail. The Dwarves of Breezehold had clearly paid close attention to these literal superhumans for nearly a millennium. However, before he finished speaking, shouts suddenly erupted from the city gate!
"It's over! We're finished!"
"Saint Jacob, Lord Saint Jacob is dead!"
"I will serve the Vampires, no, the great Scarlet Lord!"
The two Dwarves stood stunned with their mouths agape. How could the Grail Knight they were just praising have died in battle so directly? Gromril's heart also gave a sudden jolt. His first reaction was also to find a place to retreat and avoid the Vampire's sharp edge.
"We cannot let the routed soldiers impact our front line!" Captain Grenson, the warrior with a white beard trailing to his ankles, was not flustered. He slowly added tobacco to his pipe, encouraging the younger generations around him.
"Indeed, we have no retreat!" Gromril calmed down. Any further retreat would mean going into the sea, and heavily armored, denser Dwarves were least suited for water combat.
"The situation is not yet beyond redemption! Those fleeing common soldiers would only be shouting encouragement if they stayed!"
Gromril roared, standing on an Anvil. Frankly, any dwarf Warrior could easily deal with ten unarmored infantrymen or militiamen whose weapons could hardly pierce armor. If it were Anvil Guards, they could kill until they could no longer wield their battle-axes!
Armor was simply too important in a cold weapon era! In Gromril's previous life's history, there was a law stating, "One set of armor and three crossbows, exiled two thousand li; three sets of armor and five crossbows, executed."
Dwarves did not worship the Lady of the Lake, so naturally, their faith would not collapse due to the Grail Knight's death. On the contrary, many of them were quite excited, believing it was only right for the first recipient of a divine oracle from the God of War Grimnir, who had reawakened after thousands of years, to be a powerful fighter!
The dwarf army dispersed the wailing, fleeing human troops, which was not necessarily a bad thing; at least it prevented them from being killed and then raised to fight against the Dwarves.
"I, El-Shiff, the rightful lord of Aquitaine! I intend to reclaim all that is mine, and my conquest begins anew here!" A figure clad in scarlet plate armor, riding a winged Nightmare beast, appeared on the city walls of Bordeleaux!
A long life had erased his original name, leaving only El-Shiff, an Arabic nickname meaning "Sword of the North," which still lingered in the hearts of the Vampires.
"You all, either submit, or, submit!" He held up the Grail Knight's head, rotated it for all to see, and then threw it down from the city wall.
"Ah ah ah ah!"
"No, this, this is impossible!"
"Lady of the Lake above! Shallya above! Anyone, please save me!"
Upon seeing this terrifying sight, another group of Bretonnians collapsed. They hadn't run before not because they were braver than their peers, but simply because they couldn't believe that the legendary, invincible champion of the Goddess could be defeated!
"This must be, the legendary Red Duke! The Duke of Aquitaine from six hundred years ago. Ever since his brother, the then Knight King Louis the Righteous, defeated him, the shadow of this powerful Vampire has always loomed over Aquitaine!" Stringer's advisor quickly provided intelligence.
As the peasants and temporarily conscripted soldiers fled, the city gate suddenly became empty. The remaining resistance consisted only of the dozens of Knights accompanying Constantine and their hundred or so retainers.
Beyond the Knights, there were also some cult forces and infantry regiments who worshipped Manann, God of the Sea. Encouraged by the Sea God priests, they still maintained their morale. And, of course, there was Gromril and his dwarf army.
The Red Duke was very pleased with the effect of his intimidation. He laughed as he dropped from the city wall to the ground. Captain Salazar, riding a Corrupted Plagueclaw, circled outside the city and also arrived behind the Red Duke.
"Great Lord of Aquitaine, this city is full of wealth! Enough for you to recall your old retainers and achieve new merits, and enough for me to organize a fleet that can rule the seas!" Captain Salazar pointed his scimitar towards the Duke's castle.
"This is my wealth. What does it have to do with you?" The Red Duke grinned at the Vampire Pirates commander.
"What? You, didn't you promise?"
"Promise, promise? Louis, the shameless Louis stole everything that was mine! I am the King of Bretonnia! Ah ah ah! You, you dare covet my wealth!"
The Red Duke seemed to be provoked by a certain word. He suddenly fell into a frenzy, roaring and grabbing Captain Salazar's collar, refusing to let go!
"Unofficial histories record that this Duke of Aquitaine was betrayed by jealous nobles who conspired with assassins from Araby to kill him. Although the Duke defeated his enemies, he was wounded by poisoned weapons and was theoretically certain to die!" the dwarf advisor chuckled.
"And then he was turned into a Vampire by Abhorash, the progenitor of the Blood Dragons, right?" Gromril mumbled, looking at the scarlet plate armor.
"You are truly knowledgeable!" The advisor was also astonished by Gromril's knowledge.
It was undoubtedly rare to have the capacity to understand the situations and histories of other powers in the world, in addition to mastering rune power and the knowledge needed by the Dwarves.
"You must understand, that individual was still a Grail Knight at the time! The power of The Lady of the Lake within him, a mysterious and potent poison that even The Fay Enchantress couldn't resolve, became entangled with the powerful Blood Kiss of the Blood Dragon Vampire progenitor, making this mighty Vampire's mind quite unstable!"
Gromril listened while watching the infighting between the two Vampire faction leaders at the city gate.
A moment later, the Red Duke unexpectedly calmed down, and in that time, Gromril and his troops arrayed their battle lines.
"Greedy Dwarves from the Mountains, how dare you block my path? What wealth have they promised you?" The Red Duke, of course, knew of the dwarf reinforcements; the earlier probing in the abandoned village was initiated by him.
However, he misjudged the Dwarves' motives; Gromril's journey here was not solely for reward.
Gromril sat in his sedan chair and did not reply, and the battlefield fell into a brief silence.
The Dwarves gripped their weapons, awaiting Gromril's command, while most of the Undead on the other side were incapable of speech.
"Hmph! Bordeleaux, a mere youth seeking aid from outsiders! You, obey me, and I shall grant you eternal life!" The Red Duke was an ancient figure from six hundred years ago; he spoke in a clumsy archaic tongue.
Six hundred years was enough for dynasties to change many times for humans, but for Dwarves, it was only about three generations.
Some long-lived current Ancestors could even live to that age directly.
Receiving no reply from Gromril, this somewhat deranged Blood Dragon Vampire swung his sword and launched an attack.
The Red Duke seemed to have fought Dwarves in his long life, knowing that this resilient race did not fear the vast ocean of low-tier Undead, and that using zombies and skeleton warriors would not be very effective, only wasting his time.
It was already late at night!
"Thump, thump, thump!" Hoofbeats rang out in front of the army!
"Dense formation, resist the charge!" Gromril reacted very quickly.
The dwarf warriors quickly formed a shield wall.
A large group of knights clad in black armor charged through the wide-open city gate.
They were all Undead, wearing heavy armor, and the skeletal warhorses beneath them were their mounts from when they were alive.
In Bretonnia, a warhorse was a symbol of wealth and status.
When a knight died, their horse would usually be ritually interred, buried beside its master, to continue serving its master in the next world.
Vampires raised them along with their masters, and the once noble beasts became Undead.
"Boom!"
The two iron torrents clashed, and Gromril was pleasantly surprised to find that the Ironbreakers had withstood the charge of the Black Knights.
This was the real world; such a powerful attribute as "resist all charges" certainly couldn't truly withstand everything.
"So light, not even as good as green mushrooms!"
"Oh, young young'un, green mushrooms indeed! They're even worse than the Pointy-ears!"
"Bony frames, put some effort into it!"
The clansmen shouted; these Black Knights looked very impressive, clad in armor and carrying shields, appearing very mighty.
Coupled with the unique evil aura of Undead creatures, they even made the Dwarves a little nervous.
But their performance upon actual contact was not ideal.
These Undead riders, both man and horse, were like parchment, without much weight.
And impact force is the product of an object's mass and acceleration; they had speed but lacked mass, so they couldn't break through the Dwarves clad in full meteorite iron armor.
Their weapons might have been decent in their day, but after years of erosion, they were already old and blackened.
Although generally speaking, the Black Knights were more than ten times stronger than ordinary skeleton soldiers, they still struggled to effectively counter the Dwarves.
The Red Duke clearly hadn't expected his cavalry charge to make no splash at all, and after the cavalry attacked, he immediately brought up his subsequent troops.
These guys, who followed closely and charged in, not only failed to slaughter wildly through the gaps in the line torn open by the cavalry as expected, but instead blocked the Black Knights from disengaging, pulling back, and reorganizing for another charge.
Gromril's subordinates quickly attacked these entangled skeleton riders, combining axe swings with shield bashes to put the skeletons to rest once more.
While the melee units were engaged, the ranged units were also busy.
Originally, the Red Duke had no ranged firepower; this legendary Lord, who was a Grail Knight in life and resurrected as a Blood Dragon Vampire, also refused to use ranged weapons such as bows.
However, Captain Salazar and his subordinates filled this deficiency.
Seeing the Black Knights nearly wiped out, the Red Duke fell into a brief contemplation; the dwarf forces before him were tougher than he had anticipated.
But soon, bloodthirsty desire took over.
He waved his hand from atop his Nightmare Steed, and a bald, pale, emaciated, hollow-eyed figure walked up from the rear of the formation.
Gromril felt the strong aura of the Wind of Death emanating from that person from afar.
Clearly, this was a Necromancer, and his power was greater than that of the one Gromril had slain in the village earlier, combined with the one captured in the city during the day.
Necromancy is believed to have been developed by Nagash, the Lord of the Undead, by combining the magic of the Dark Elves with the power of Shyish, the purple Wind of Death; thus, its function is contrary to Death magic, which brings rest to the deceased.
This mentor among Necromancers rode a corpse cart pulled by several Crypt Ghouls; in front of him was an evil brazier, from which eerie flames flickered.
This Necromancer, protected by a small contingent of elite Undead infantry clad in rusted armor, approached the front line.
The corpse cart, filled with dark power, would re-coalesce shattered spirits and repair mangled bodies.
Therefore, the Undead fighting around the corpse cart became even more fanatical.
The Red Duke's combat experience was very rich; through the earlier probing by spirits in the village, he had found a way to deal with the dwarf heavy armored shield wall: combining Cairn Wraiths with Crypt Ghouls.
Crypt Ghouls possessed relatively agile movements and a fanatical bloodlust; although they also struggled to break through dwarf heavy armor, they could create more trouble than zombies and skeletons.
Their interference and attacks prevented Gromril from easily gathering clansmen with runic weapons as he had in the village, and the incorporeal Cairn Wraiths took this opportunity to wield their ghostly scythes, attacking Gromril's subordinates.
These brave Dwarves futilely swung their weapons, only to find their attacks passing through the Wraiths' shadows.
Stringer tried to unleash his runes but suddenly let out a pained grunt.
"What's wrong?" Hearing a muffled grunt beside him, Gromril looked down to see Stringer squatting, covering his mouth and nose.
"My, my Rune power flow is, is being interfered with! Be careful, cough, cough!"
Gromril frowned upon hearing this. To be honest, he wasn't thoroughly familiar with the Vampires' unit types, only able to accurately identify the high-level ones.
But the current situation didn't allow for hesitation. The ethereal beings were unilaterally attacking his clansmen. As a leader, he had to step forward and buy some time.
Gromril slowly injected the Rune power within him into the anvil of doom. Sure enough, he felt some resistance. With Stringer's prior experience, he didn't rush to activate the Rune but instead followed that force to trace its source.
Gromril quickly focused his attention on the Corpse Fire Brazier on the Corpse Cart; the dark flames burning within it were not simple.
The smoke released by these flames, which used burning corpses as fuel, was also mixed with warpstone fragments. This combination of blasphemous powers could temporarily drive enemy mages into mental confusion.
"I need to deal with that thing first!" Gromril muttered.
"Take this, hammer!" He suddenly roared, launching a Stormhammer.
The Necromancer had been secretly wary of this move from Gromril. He had been present at the ambush in the desolate village before and knew that this dwarf leader, riding in an open carriage, possessed a flying hammer trick that could even harm ethereal beings!
"I anticipated this move!" The bald Necromancer was secretly pleased, thinking Gromril was too impatient. He immediately jumped off the Corpse Cart, crouching under the physical protection of the surrounding guards.
Necromancy focuses on summoning corpses and malicious curses; its direct killing power is generally low, and self-defense spells are almost non-existent. One only needs to look at Lord of the Undead Nagash, who was defeated again and again, fleeing to the underworld to await resurrection.
Those who disturb the rest of the dead are like rats scurrying across the street everywhere. This Necromancer was able to grow amidst the encirclement of the Cult of Sigmar, The Lady of the Lake Cult, and so on. His ability to perceive danger and preserve his life was top-notch, to say the least.
However, he waited for a long time but didn't see the hammer fly overhead. Cautiously, he looked up and found the Corpse Fire Brazier on the Corpse Cart shattered on the ground. Gromril had never been so confident as to believe he could take the head of an enemy chieftain amidst an army; anyone who made a name for themselves in this world was not simple.
Without the interference of the Corpse Fire Brazier, Stringer calmly released the Rune of Fury and Destruction again to harm the ethereal beings. Just as Gromril was about to activate his own Rune, he heard an unusual sound from above.
Seven or eight slender, winged humanoid beings swooped down from the sky, heading straight for him! These creatures had red fur and were several times larger than humans.
"Only Bloodthirsters?" Gromril breathed a sigh of relief looking at these creatures. The Vampires' army had plenty of flying monsters; he couldn't hope to only face dire bats.
Gromril released the Winds of Magic contained within the anvil, temporarily imbuing the weapons of nearby allies with magical energy before jumping down. The flying monsters that ambushed him also pursued him closely.
These Bloodthirsters were once Vampires, lording over undead slaves. But they were eventually twisted by their craving for blood into irrational but bloodthirsty predators.
Relying only on their crimson claws and long fangs, these creatures, despite their madness, still couldn't break through the Dwarves' sturdy shields and iron armor. Instead, their naked bodies were slashed with wounds deep enough to expose bone.
The Red Duke quickly ordered them to ascend again, but in the brief contact, two had already been cut down by the Dwarves. Brockson directed the ranged units to quickly organize another volley against them. The Bloodthirsters' wings were thin, bat-like membranes; once damaged by projectiles, they would lose their ability to fly.
By the time the Bloodthirsters retreated with their strange cries, their numbers were only half of what they had been before setting out. Seeing Gromril climb back onto his seat, preparing to release his Rune power, the Red Duke finally could no longer hold back.
Seeing the Vampire lord in the distance pull back his nightmare beast, preparing for a charging takeoff, Gromril secretly applauded his strategic decision. He knew that if he hadn't released false information to make the Vampires rush their attack, they would have had ample time to sweep through the various ancient battlefields and charnel pits of Charonsenri.
If that had happened, Zombie Dragons, Terrorgheists, and Blood Knights would have blotted out the sky. What ran on the ground would likely not be low-level Corpse Carts, but possibly Black Coaches pulled by ethereal beings and Mortis Engines sealed with evil souls.
"Cowardly dwarf, dare you fight me?"
Seeing that the flying units' surprise attack had achieved nothing, and the ground units were not gaining an advantage in the confrontation, the Red Duke, with a lance in one hand and a sword in the other, hovered in mid-air, pointing his lance at Gromril, challenging him.
"Hahaha, why wouldn't I dare? But Your Grace, as you can see, I am wide and stout and cannot fly! Why don't you come down? We can have a good spar!"
Gromril stood before his seat, laughing heartily. The Red Duke was a Blood Dragon Vampire with no spellcasting ability, so he wasn't worried about a Curse of Years or anything else being directly hurled at his face.
In Gromril's opinion, the Red Duke's tactic of resorting to personal duels to solve problems when his units couldn't gain an advantage in a battle between armies was simply too old-fashioned. With the example of Grail Knight Jacob, Gromril had no intention of playing to his opponent's strengths.
As the two exchanged taunts, the front-line dwarf forces gained an advantage after some adjustments and fighting. With Gromril destroying the Corpse Fire Brazier on the Corpse Cart, Stringer, unimpeded, used his Runes to provide buffs to the troops.
His efforts bought the Dwarves with Rune weapons time to concentrate. Once the Cairn Wraiths were contained, the undead's offensive momentum was curbed.
Upon reaching the front line, the Necromancer first cast Incarnate of Fear on his side to increase combat power, then continuously tried to use Dark Despair and Soul Blight to reduce the Dwarves' fighting will and combat effectiveness.
But the Dwarves were already firm-willed and highly resistant to magic, and because of their proximity to Gromril's anvil of doom, the magic's effects were also weakened. He exhausted his magic reserves but still couldn't stop the decline of his forces.
The longsword in the Necromancer's hand was covered and entwined with dense Winds of Death, and his horizontal and vertical slashes could indeed inflict considerable casualties on Gromril's subordinates.
However, this life-preserving individual was merely going through the motions. Most Necromancers who made themselves into un-human, un-ghost beings did so because they realized the brevity of human life and sought immortality. He and the Red Duke were using each other and he didn't want to fight to the death for the Vampires.
"Cowardly dwarf, your weakness shames your ancestors!"
"Oh, you old bone, you're afraid of my military might and dare not land, but you could at least lend me a winged Nightmare Steed!" Gromril didn't want to duel personally, but with the advantage in hand, he refused to concede verbally.
Seeing his challenge go unanswered, the Red Duke, mounted on his Nightmare Steed, grew anxious. He still had some elites under his command, but organizing them for another charge wouldn't significantly increase his chances of victory.
As for directly landing in the dwarf army formation and 'dueling' Gromril, that was completely out of his consideration. Although this legendary Vampire was somewhat crazed due to the interaction of various forces, he didn't want to be re-sealed right after escaping his confinement.
"Red Duke, it's not your place to be arrogant in front of Fatis of Carcassonne! Today, in the name of the Lady, I will utterly purify you!"
Suddenly, a loud shout came from the human lines, and Questing Knight Fatis charged forward on his horse. He carried a greatsword on his shoulder and rode his beloved steed.
"Don't!"
"Don't throw your life away, man!"
"You're not his…"
Both the Bretonnians and the dwarfs from Everpeak cried out. Even those who hadn't heard of the Red Duke's formidable reputation from a century ago, having witnessed him slay a Grail Knight, knew that Fatis stood no chance.
Fatis was highly skilled in combat and a very straightforward and upright person. Throughout the journey with the caravan, he always rushed forward first when encountering strong enemies, and then stepped back when it was time to distribute rewards. His excellent drinking capacity also helped him make many dwarf friends.
No one wanted this Knight to perish. If a living saint who had drunk from the Grail was no match, how could he, a mortal, be?
"Caw! Excellent! Prove your worth, and if I am satisfied, I may grant you a blood kiss!" The Red Duke let out a strange laugh. He appreciated the Knight's courage, but he would only know his true strength after a fight!
"Clap!" As the two sides were still entangled on the front line, there was no space for a Knight's duel. The Red Duke spurred his mount to leap over the dwarf army from the air, landing on the paved road behind them.
The Red Duke subtly gestured with his lance, and Fatis was also very pleased to engage in a Knightly duel. Thus, he too turned his horse around, rode out from the rear of the formation, and came to face the Vampire.
"Sigh! This fellow, perhaps he's tired." Captain Grenson lit his pipe, watching Fatis's back to the dwarfs, and sighed.
Gromril understood what the Longbeard Elder meant. Fatis had traveled the Old World in search of the Grail, even coming to the chosen of the dwarf Goddess Valaya for inspiration.
Perhaps he was moved by passing through places where he had once fought, or perhaps he was spurred by Earl Kailu's earlier words. This battle-hardened warrior might have lost faith in receiving the Goddess's forgiveness and the chance to drink from the Grail.
Noticing that Fatis was using a greatsword instead of a lance, the Red Duke seemed to recall something. He bared his teeth, perhaps intending to smile, but in reality, his lips merely twitched.
Then he hung his crimson lance on the 'victory hook,' which refers to the hook-shaped weapon rack mounted on the saddle. The Red Duke then drew a golden-glowing greatsword from its scabb. Unlike the straight swords commonly used by Bretonnian Knights, this was a curved blade.
"The Blade of Leaping Gold! The Red Duke captured it from an Araby commander during the Great Crusade! It is said that this sword can grant its wielder extraordinary speed and vigor!" the dwarf advisor reminded. He wasn't speaking to Fatis, but rather to the two young Princes.
As they spoke, the man and the Vampire had already taken their stances, and their mounts were no ordinary beasts. The distance of several tens of meters vanished in an instant.
"Clang!" The two horses passed each other, and the Knights' swords let out a crisp clang.
Fatis's strength could not contend with the Vampire's. As Vampires age, their strength grows. Imbued with dark power, the Red Duke's body was even stronger and more agile, possessing the power to tear a man in half in half a move, yet still swift as the wind.
In their first contact, Fatis nearly couldn't parry. Facing the Vampire's monstrous strength, he was almost knocked directly from his horse. Fatis shifted twice before regaining his balance in the saddle with the cooperation of his mount.
"Heh, again!"
The Red Duke spurred his Nightmare Steed to turn around, and the two riders charged at each other again from opposite directions.
This time, facing Fatis, the dwarfs saw even more clearly. He had obviously adjusted to the Vampire's monstrous strength, attempting to evade the initial blow before counterattacking. But unfortunately, he also had no advantage in speed or experience, and was struck in the ribs by a sword.
"The blood of a brave man is truly sweet!" The Red Duke extended his unnaturally long tongue and licked Fatis's blood from the Blade of Leaping Gold. This undoubtedly added a sinister air to the duel.
"Hoo, hoo!" Fatis panted in the winter night, his warm breath forming a mist before his eyes.
This time, without waiting for the Red Duke to make the first move, Fatis launched an attack. He swung his greatsword as if to cleave downwards, but as the Red Duke raised his sword to parry, Fatis suddenly twisted his blade, changing from a chop to a thrust, aiming directly for the Vampire's chest.
The Red Duke's movements were faster, but he was still reacting. Parrying was too late, so the Vampire simply plunged his own greatsword into Fatis's chest in the same manner, hoping to force the Questing Knight to actively defend.
"Oh my God!"
"Oh, no!"
The spectators cried out in shock and sorrow. Fatis, incredibly, did not dodge or evade, allowing the curved blade to plunge into his own chest, determined to plunge his greatsword into the Red Duke's chest.
Fatis's face instantly paled, and he began to tremble in pain, but the Red Duke remained composed. Gromril narrowed his eyes and observed carefully, noticing that almost no blood flowed from the Red Duke's wound; instead, Fatis's blood flowed down the Blade of Leaping Gold towards the Red Duke.
"May his Goddess protect him!" Gromril lightly touched his chest. When Fatis charged out, his fate seemed already sealed. Gromril, who had read many literary works in his previous life, even guessed that Fatis might attempt to take the Red Duke down with him.
But Gromril also knew that his chances of success were slim. The Red Duke had no obvious wounds after slaying Grail Knight Jacob. This either meant his power completely overwhelmed the living saint, or he was capable of rapidly recovering from injuries using a unique Vampire ritual.
Either way, Fatis's plan would be stillborn. But Gromril did not stop him, nor did he have time to stop him. In this world, everyone has something they pursue. If you cannot give it to him, by what right do you block his path?
"Prepare to move! We must retrieve Fatis's body! Such a brave warrior cannot be desecrated after falling in battle!" Gromril whispered to his clansmen, and the Thunderers began loading their ammunition in an orderly fashion.
Just then, a strange whinnying sound suddenly appeared in the sky. Gromril keenly sensed that something was amiss. The sound carried a holy and ethereal aura, seemingly not a creation of desecration.
A plume of liquid, rich with divine power, rained down from the sky. The liquid had completely opposite effects on the two knights who were harming each other:
The two wounds on Fatis's body quickly stopped bleeding and healed, while on the Red Duke, it was like concentrated sulfuric acid. His body was rapidly corroding, and his crimson armor, stimulated, released a large amount of red and black mist to counteract the power in the liquid, but it was clearly losing ground.
"Ah ah ah!" The Red Duke let out a wail like a wounded beast. He pulled the Blade of Leaping Gold from Fatis's chest, spurred his Nightmare steed, and, ignoring the rest of his troops, ascended into the sky and fled in disarray!
"Praise your bravery, warriors of Bordeleaux! Now, let these poor souls rest in peace!" An ethereal female voice rang out, followed by a pure white Unicorn descending from the sky.
"For the Lady!"
"For the Lady!"
Upon seeing the true face of the woman on the Unicorn's back, almost all the Bretonnians cheered! The woman had a beautiful face, a flowing white dress, a wreath of lilies on her head, and her dress was adorned with lily patterns.
She held a single-handed sword radiating divine light in one hand and a golden cup in the other. However, Gromril knew that it was just a replica of the Grail, named the Potion Grail, but it still possessed immense power.
"The Fay Enchantress, it is rumored her name is Morgiana! The Lady of the Lake's spokesperson in the mortal world, she has the authority to command all Grail Knights. For nobles who revere The Lady of the Lake, her orders carry more weight than those of the Knight King! She once deposed King Louen the Brave and exiled him from the country!"
While everyone's attention was focused on the beautiful woman descending from the sky, the dwarf advisor secretly reminded the two princes.
"Why is she barefoot?" Gromril suddenly asked, out of nowhere.
"What? Perhaps, perhaps her magic allows her to walk on air without riding the Unicorn? I heard…" The dwarf advisor didn't expect Gromril's focus to be so strange. He interpreted this as a test from the erudite prince and began to ramble in his explanation.
"According to a famous work from my previous life, shouldn't she be wearing stockings? Cathayans shouldn't lie to Cathayans!" Gromril shook his head, looking at Morgiana's bare feet.
It wasn't that he specifically wanted to look; The Fay Enchantress was riding a Unicorn, and this sacred creature was taller than an ordinary warhorse. Given the dwarf's height, he couldn't help but look!
"Don't just stand there, get to work, kill those Vampires!" Gromril saw Captain Salazar about to flee again and quickly gave the order. Originally, the dwarves couldn't catch the fleeing Vampires, but three more Grail Knights arrived from outside the city, blocking the Vampires' escape route.
These three living saints alone might not be able to stop all the undead, but behind them was a group of Battle Pilgrims. These were peasants who believed in The Lady of the Lake.
In Bretonnia, most peasants dedicated their faith to other deities such as Taal, God of Nature, Manann, God of the Sea, Shallya, Goddess of Mercy, and so on.
Because many knightly nobles did not allow peasants into Grail Chapels, and The Lady of the Lake herself would not, or almost never, respond to peasants' prayers to her.
But there were still some peasants willing to dedicate everything to The Lady of the Lake; they would choose to follow the Grail Knights. These living saints were the Goddess's champions, and considering they served the Goddess directly, serving them was also indirectly serving the Goddess.
These pilgrims had quite good combat power, even surpassing that of professional infantrymen. This was because Grail Knights went wherever danger was, and those who could follow them all the way had very good skills.
They could also scavenge spoils from the opponents killed by Grail Knights to arm themselves; many things overlooked by the living saints were treasures to commoners.
The Vampires, who had originally advanced from both sea and land, were now encircled by the dwarves inside the city and the humans outside. Captain Salazar and his Deep Guard showed quite extraordinary combat prowess, and the Necromancer was also struggling fiercely.
These guys, fighting with their backs against the wall, caused no small amount of trouble for the allied forces, especially since the Vampires could heal themselves by draining the blood of their victims.
But the three Grail Knights were not to be trifled with, and The Fay Enchantress Morgiana was also an extremely powerful sorceress. She could use the Lores of Heavens, Life, and Beasts, in addition to powerful divine magic derived from The Lady of the Lake.
As Captain Salazar was jointly slain by the Grail Knights, the dwarves overwhelmed the Necromancer, and The Fay Enchantress dragged an Arcane Comet onto the battlefield, eliminating the fleeing Banshees and Cairn Wraiths, this great battle finally drew to a close.
"Fatis of Carcassonne, step forward!" As the sky began to lighten and the warriors started to clear the battlefield, The Fay Enchantress, who had maintained a mysterious demeanor since her appearance, suddenly spoke.
"Th-thank you," Fatis stammered, clearly guessing what was about to happen. Fate was so strange; when he was in despair, what he had been seeking appeared before him.
"She says you have proven your nobility and courage, and the merits you have established are enough to wash away your past sins! Come with me!"
Morgiana said, then walked directly into the Duke's castle. No one had the right to stop her; on the contrary, everyone, including Constantine, cheered and pushed their way inside. Gromril, rarely in such a situation as an observer, found this to be a rare experience.
"Inside Bordeleaux Castle is one of Bretonnia's first Grail Chapels! This is also one of the few holy sites second only to the legendary Sacred Lake in the Forest of Chalons. It was built by Marcus, one of the Grail Companions, then chieftain of Bordeleaux, and later the first Duke, in the hall where The Lady of the Lake appeared."
The dwarves all knew that The Lady of the Lake was about to manifest. If Gromril, the chosen of the Ancestor Goddess, were not present, many of them would have wanted to go in and watch the spectacle; it would be excellent conversation at the ale table!
But now, they wouldn't court trouble. The Vampire Pirates had a lot of loot, worth a good scrape!
Gromril and his clansmen were immersed in the joy of post-battle scavenging.
This was the greatest harvest he had reaped since his transmigration, after so many battles big and small; it could even be said to be more than all his previous gains combined.
This was unavoidable, as Gromril had previously fought within the Mountains, battling either Skaven or Greenskins.
The Skaven were not without money, but most of the wealth of the entire Skaven Empire was in the clutches of the Great clans that held a seat on the Council of Thirteen.
The smaller clans were exploited; they had to use the meager resources they painstakingly acquired to trade for expensive war beasts and equipment, lest they be annexed by other clans.
As for the Greenskins, there was even less to mention; they didn't even have the habit of collecting valuable metals, and many of their weapons and equipment were imbued with special abilities by the power of Waaagh, making them useless to ordinary people.
Guided by the Artifact Vault System, Gromril accurately unearthed the dwarf Collar from Captain Salazar's relics.
This item could be synthesized with the Spark Gem to form Latton's Beast Taming Collar.
This artifact was developed by a dwarf engineer named Latton, who, with the support of the Engineers Guild, realized his dangerous and radical ideas.
However, when he traveled to Lustria to capture beasts, he was killed by a giant beast in the rainforest, and the collar's whereabouts became unknown.
By a strange twist of fate, one of its components fell into the hands of a Vampire Pirates captain, and was eventually recovered by the dwarves.
In the game, it could directly place a Harnessed Dread Saurian into the elite recruitment pool, but in reality, Gromril would need to capture the monster himself.
Gromril believed this change was more beneficial than detrimental, as there were plenty of giant beasts more powerful than Dread Saurians in this world!
Wouldn't finding a flying one be better?
As for what to capture, Gromril would have to wait until the other component, the Spark Gem, was in hand before pondering it.
Gromril gained approximately 20,000 gold coins from cleaning up the battlefield, with Captain Salazar's plunder at sea accounting for the majority.
The other part came from the Red Duke's spoils after breaking through Viscount Meneshire's town.
Of course, Gromril had no intention of returning this money.
The poor original owner had died twice; could it be returned to the taxed peasants?
As previously agreed, these spoils of war belonged to the dwarves.
However, Gromril still needed to split it fifty-fifty with the Lord of Weifeng Fort (Breezehold).
Gromril had leveled up and acquired another artifact component from this battle, putting him in a good mood.
He simply took half of his 10,000 gold coins and began distributing rewards on the spot.
The humans' cheers for the Lady of the Lake in the castle could be heard from the city gates, and Gromril, the chosen of the dwarf Goddess, also wanted to make a show of it.
Under Stringer's gaze, which was half reverent and half surprised,
"Generous Gromril!"
"Praise the Ancestor Goddess!"
Such cheers, thanks to the loud voices of the clansmen, almost competed with the humans' singing.
That evening, after resting, Gromril sat in his room and listened to his clansmen's report on the losses and situation from the previous night.
Excluding the Slayers who sought death, the dwarves lost over fifty clansmen in this battle.
They mostly suffered at the hands of the Corrupted Leviathan and the spirits.
This directly reflected the two biggest weaknesses of the dwarf army: a lack of anti-large unit capability and rare magical damage, apart from the Slayers.
These characteristics were related to the dwarf style; in defensive operations, large units on the ground could be dealt with by artillery, and within the geomantic network, they were simply immobile.
As for spirits, they were almost non-existent among the dwarves' main adversaries.
Gromril was determined to make adjustments, at least to find a way to improve their anti-large unit capabilities, as he knew that simply hunkering down in the Mountain Stronghold would not be enough to resolve the Chaos threat.
Actively leaving the Mountain Stronghold to fight in the field, as they did this time, was precisely a good opportunity for large units to perform.
The facts proved that relying solely on low-level war machines like ballistas and cannons was quite arduous.
Their projectiles were decent for fighting monster infantry the size of Trolls and Ogres, but they were somewhat lacking when dealing with true giant beasts.
Another thing that puzzled Gromril was the unusually grand scale of Fatis's Grail Knight ascension ceremony.
According to information the dwarves gathered from taverns, the Lady of the Lake not only appeared directly before all the nobles of Bordeleaux but even spoke a few words of encouragement.
According to widely circulated epics, the process for Grail Knights drinking from the cup typically went like this: a vision, visible only to him, would appear in his mind, guiding him to a nearby forest, where the Green Knight would appear and challenge him to a duel.
This was the final test of the Questing Knights' journey to find the Grail, but it seemed to be for the purpose of sparring, serving more of a ceremonial role, as there was no record of any candidate failing at this stage.
Subsequently, the Goddess, holding the Grail, would emerge from a small lake, well, or some other body of water, silently tilting the Grail slightly to allow him to drink from it, and the ceremony would conclude.
Such a ceremony seemed to embody a sense of privacy, but Fatis's ceremony this morning was grand in scale, likely because the Lady of the Lake wished to achieve other effects beyond this.
Gromril once confidently suspected that the Elf Goddess wanted to display her power, and after impressing him, take the opportunity to recruit him, creating some kind of Grail dwarf for fun.
But on second thought, setting aside whether he had caught her eye, even if she truly wanted to do so, it seemed unnecessary to go to such trouble.
While he was pondering, the guard delivered an invitation to the humans' celebration feast, which perfectly suited Gromril's wishes.
After nearly ten days of marching and fighting, rest and relaxation were indeed needed.
This celebration feast, unlike the previous small-scale welcome banquet, was held in the Duke's castle hall.
Almost all the prominent figures in Bordeleaux City attended.
Since many nobles were still away on campaign, this banquet was relatively less focused on etiquette and had fewer restrictions.
The protagonists of the gathering were naturally Regent Constantine, Gromril himself, and the newly ascended Grail Knight, Fatis.
Fatis looked much younger; all the scars and weariness from his trials had been removed, transforming him from a somewhat dejected middle-aged man into an energetic strong man.
Like all Grail Knights, he had become taller and stronger, and his voice was more resonant, but he was still immersed in the joy of his unexpected good fortune, constantly offering blessings to everyone who toasted him.
Constantine, however, concealed something else beneath his outward joy.
The young man tried his best to hide it, but he was still inexperienced and revealed a little.
Gromril knew without asking what he was thinking; simply put, it was still a matter of faith.
The very thing his father and brother had yearned for, traveling thousands of miles to seek, was obtained by an outsider right on their doorstep.
Anyone would have some thoughts.
Human alcohol was still not strong enough, even though the wine at this banquet was of very high quality. Gromril had to drink a lot of rum with the captains and sea merchants present to reach a state of semi-intoxication.
Returning to the inn under the protection of his guards, Gromril had no desire to sleep since he had woken up late in the afternoon. Just as he opened his locker, preparing to pass the time in the traditional dwarf noble way – counting gold coins – the door suddenly opened.
"Master Gromril, a Scholar named Pukel Te requests an audience with you. He wouldn't say why he came. Do you wish to see him?" asked the Eternal Hammer Guard on duty.
"Please, why not?" Gromril nodded; he was precisely at a loose end.
"Greetings to you, Prince Gromril-az Thorson of Everpeak! Your illustrious name echoes even beyond the Mountains! You have taken another great step forward on your path to recovering artifacts and reclaiming the Mountain Stronghold!"
The visitor was a man in a black cloak, leaning on a staff. He removed his hood and bowed slightly. The Scholar looked quite old; he was bald, and his pale face was etched with many wrinkles.
"Ah, welcome, Scholar! May I ask why you visit so late at night, and what wisdom you wish to impart?" Gromril was somewhat surprised by the human's thorough knowledge of him, but he figured it was normal for someone nicknamed a Scholar.
"I have come to resolve your doubts, Prince!" Pukel Te smiled, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite Gromril. Gromril poured him a cup of coffee.
"But before we discuss the topic on your mind, I have a piece of news worth a thousand gold pieces that I wish to tell you!"
"So, an information broker, then!" Gromril thought to himself. Indeed, no one visits without a purpose.
"The Sons of the Mountains lack no wealth. If your news is truly worthwhile, a thousand gold pieces is not out of the question!" Gromril was never stingy with information fees; at worst, it could save him a large sum in compensation.
"Around this time yesterday, Cunningham, the eldest son of the Duke of Bordeleaux, died! The Duke himself only has two legitimate sons with inheritance rights!" Pukel Te didn't keep him in suspense, his words startling!
"What?!" Gromril nearly spat out his coffee. Gromril had only briefly learned about this when he arrived in Bordeleaux City to discuss his plans. Even for an albatross, specially trained as a messenger, it would take nearly three days to fly from there.
Although he didn't know how the human in front of him managed it, this timely news was indeed worth a thousand gold pieces to him. Viscount Meneshire, the other valid heir to the Duke of Bordeleaux's position, had already died in battle. Even if his descendants survived, they would hardly be a match for Constantine.
"How did he…?" Gromril asked impatiently, also trying to gauge the veracity of the news.
"This is related to what you are pondering. Sir Cunningham died under the divine wrath of Manann, God of the Sea! A raging storm swallowed him and his ship." Pukel Te's words were shocking.
"Valaya above? Manann, God of the Sea would directly punish his followers?" Gromril was stunned.
"There are many Manann, God of the Sea followers among the Bordeleaux people, but not the Duke of Bordeleaux himself or Sir Cunningham. The Duke is more diplomatic in his dealings with deities, but Sir Cunningham was far less so, which brought great disaster upon him!"
"How so? Did he perhaps shout, 'Let the storm rage on'?" Gromril joked.
"Worse than that, Prince. That young man was doing some inappropriate things with the holy maiden serving him on the ship, all while proclaiming his loyalty to The Lady of the Lake!"
Pukel Te also laughed. The Manann, God of the Sea had been watching the Duke of Bordeleaux's family. Engaging in such activities in the domain of the sea and the Sea God, there were truly few gods who could save him.
"I suddenly understand!" Gromril pondered, connecting it with what happened on the battlefield that night. Perhaps The Fay Enchantress didn't come specifically for the Red Duke, nor for Fatis; she most likely came for Constantine!
Just as Gromril was imagining the possible divine conflicts in the void, the Scholar slowly spoke again.
"The gods of the Old World can roughly be divided into two categories: Old Gods and New Gods. They are separated by Sigmar's ascension to godhood. Gods born before this were incarnations of nature, stemming from the fear and worship of intelligent races towards nature!"
Gromril nodded; he understood this. Ulric, the White Wolf God, Taal, the God of Nature, and Manann, God of the Sea were all in this category.
"After Sigmar, many heroic and powerful humans also gained godhood through the worship of their followers. They are called New Gods. Their power varies according to the number of followers, but they are often not as strong as the former."
Gromril knew that Myrmidia, the Goddess of War, Ranald, the God of Wealth, and others he had vaguely heard of were in this category.
"Think of a beast. If you feed it enough, it won't eat you, and might even give you prey it can't finish, or shed teeth. But if you can't feed it, it will feed on you."
The Scholar used a metaphor, and Gromril understood his meaning: sacrificing to the Old Gods, who represent nature, was like feeding a beast.
"New Gods, however, are different. They are born within society and possess social characteristics. If you treat them well, they will reciprocate; if you don't honor them, you simply go your separate ways! The Lady of the Lake is also of this nature, but you know, for certain reasons, although she was born only a thousand years ago, her power is no less than any Old God!"
"On one side, there's coercion with a big stick, along with some capriciousness; on the other, there's enticement with a sweet date. Who among normal people likes to be threatened!" Gromril finally understood.
For the laborers, they directly made a living under the Old Gods' authority, having no choice. But for the rulers who collected taxes from them, they would certainly lean towards the latter.
The Lady of the Lake's blessings, in addition to conventional supernatural powers, also included extended lifespans, which was an unparalleled attraction for those in power.
Gromril's confusion about the faith in the Duchy of Bordeleaux, and even the entire Knight Kingdom, was instantly resolved. The successive dukes of Bordeleaux increasingly sided with The Lady of the Lake, a result that finally angered Manann, God of the Sea.
This powerful, fickle, and easily angered deity decided to act directly to have Bordeleaux choose a leader who favored him. The Lady of the Lake could not directly confront the Manann, God of the Sea in the sea, so she took a softer approach, sending her mortal representative to shake Constantine's faith.
"But, you know, the help of these New Gods is never without cost. Although sometimes they are willing to advance blessings, they will take much more in the future." The Scholar's words were not finished. "I also know of a deity whose power is as deep as the abyss and as vast as the sea, and who never demands anything from his followers!"
A smooth transition, immediately followed by the next part.