Magritta. Whenever people mentioned this city, the first impression was always wealth, prosperity, and open passion — a paradise for mercenaries and adventurers, a hub for colonizers and merchant ships.
Countless riches and news converged here and then flowed out to the entire world. The tranquil harbor swallowed goods from every corner: Cathayan silk and porcelain, exquisite artifacts said to rival the work of the gods; elven potions and artworks; Bretonnian grain and specialties; Questing Knights; Dwarfen forged goods; Imperial gunpowder weapons…
The Invincible Armada had swept the Estalian coastline clean, while on land the warriors faithful to Myrmidia, Goddess of War, had crushed every threat — except for neighboring Tilea, which also worshipped the Goddess.
Pirate ships came here to accept commissions. Ogre mercenaries wandered in and out of taverns and eateries. Dwarfen rangers, elven scholars, even Cathayan warrior-monks and Indan tiger warriors could all be seen here. Without doubt, this was the most prosperous civilized city in the southern Old World!
Although this title of "most prosperous" had always been fiercely contested with neighboring Tilea's capital, Miragliano, at least the Estalians themselves believed it.
Estalia had once been divided into six kingdoms, each centered around a major city-state: Novarro, Bilbali, Oberg, Avila, Magritta, and Contonnia.
Among them, the capital Magritta was the largest, while northern Bilbali was the second-largest city.
During the Great War (the term most Southerners preferred), the loosely organized city-state system of Estalia had nearly been swallowed by successive beast-tides and rat-tides. Fortunately, under the fleet of the Immortal Emperor Settra — whose full list of titles included but was not limited to Great Emperor, Immortal Emperor, Khemri-Khemra, Nehekhara's Emperor, King of Kings, Road-Builder, Bearer of the Sacred Flame, Punisher of Nomads, Great Unifier, Commander of the Golden Legion, Divine Countenance, Bringer of Glory, Father of Hawks, Founder of Cities, Guardian of Two Worlds, Holder of Time, Chosen of Ptra, Supreme Master of the Horizon — and with the help of a passing hot-blooded Blood Dragon ancestor named Abhorash leading a band of Blood Dragons, they held on.
Additionally, the War Goddess Myrmidia descended for the third time in her divine form to walk the mortal world, leading the surviving Southern forces of Order in a desperate resistance. They held against the rat-tide until the tide of the war in the Empire turned decisively. The nameless, almost forgotten Eternal Champion was slain in Middenheim.
Then the Horned Rat vanished. The Thirteen Lords fell into panic and leaderless collapse. The chained reaction led to total defeat. The Skaven capital was burned and salted with blessed salt to purify the corruption.
A portion of the Blood Dragons stayed behind to guard against any Skaven resurgence, while the followers of the War Goddess also dispatched a group to form the Night Watchers order,专门 patrolling the Blighted Marshes for signs of corruption.
From then on, realizing that their previous loose organization had nearly led to their destruction by outside forces, the Estalians reflected deeply and decided that a bit more centralization was necessary.
Thus, the surviving royal houses (city lords) of the six kingdoms gathered under the witness of the Goddess to discuss great matters. They announced the abolition of the old six-kingdom titles. From now on, Estalia would elect only one "Prince" as the sole and highest secular ruler.
Of course, it was still one vote per city.
However, because Magritta was the wealthiest and enjoyed the full support of the Myrmidia Church, for the past one hundred and fifty years after the Great War, six consecutive city princes had been chosen from Magritta, with only one exception falling to the northern great city of Bilbali.
This unique and most noble title was called:
Chosen of Myrmidia on Earth, the one and only supreme and inviolable ruler of all Estalian cities…
"City Prince"
No matter where the City Prince was, he had to exercise his rule from either Magritta or Bilbali, so as not to be too far from the political, military, economic, religious, or cultural centers.
Apart from Bilbali, no other city in Estalia could compete with Magritta for these positions.
At this moment.
Magritta Palace.
Luxurious, resplendent halls filled with treasures. Elven-style gardens decorated with artistic statues and horticulture. Cathayan-style pavilions filled with precious porcelain, walls and floors covered in silk.
A grotesquely obese man wearing extravagant clothing, the long train of his robe dragging behind him, requiring several servants to carry it.
He wore high-heeled shoes, and his crotch had a deliberate slit stuffed with soft padding, making it look from the outside as if his manhood was massively bulging.
If Al saw this, he would definitely call it eye-searing.
In truth, even the people of Magritta themselves found this flamboyant style hard to accept, but this bizarre fashion had spread from Marienburg all the way through Bretonnia and into Magritta. It was said that even in Altdorf, quite a few upper-class nobles had begun to adopt it.
By comparison, Myrmidia making her high matriarch dress like a priestess of the Goddess of Love was already quite normal — at least both men and women could appreciate the charm.
The influence of Chaos's recession touched every aspect of life. In the past, the pursuit of novelty and beauty had been suppressed by fear of Chaos corruption and rational restraint. After the Great War, human nature broke free from those chains, leading to a hundred flowers blooming.
Of course, weeds grew among them too.
But the City Prince was the highest authority — at least within the court — so no one, not even the most rigid and serious war leaders of the Myrmidia Church or the Southern Eagle, would criticize the secular ruler's appearance to his face, unless there was a publicly acknowledged act of extreme impropriety or blasphemy.
"Ah~ Rose, for whom do you bloom?"
The Prince spun around, his overly fat body for a man requiring the servants to scramble and hold up the long train.
He extended one leg, lifted the foot, straightened it, then bent the back leg behind the front one. The Prince gracefully bowed and gently pinched a red rose bud with the two fingers of his right hand.
A nervous gardener held out small flower shears with both hands to a guard, but the Prince waved a hand to push them away.
"The rose says: 'For love! For a heart poisoned and tormented by love~!'"
The Prince sang in a theatrical voice. His singing was excellent, not at all inferior to the tenors who performed at court.
Every Estalian knew that this particular Prince's main hobbies were poetry and theater. He would often write and rehearse plays in the palace, then secretly take people outside to perform, hiding in the audience or playing a minor role himself to observe the reaction.
If a new play received unanimous praise from the audience, he would joyfully remove his disguise, step onto the stage, and have servants carry out chests of gold and silver to shower upon the people.
Although it was absurd, his popularity was quite good. At least the people of Estalia liked a ruler who had no major faults and could enjoy himself with the common folk.
The ruling class — including the Church, nobles, and rich merchants — also liked it.
No one disliked a ruler who didn't interfere in their affairs and let them do as they pleased.
But no matter how perfect a person seemed, there would always be someone — or something — that disliked him.
For example.
(Buried, buried properly! Yes, yes, big thing!)
Two cloaked, hunched figures that looked like pigs were communicating in the sewers.
Above them was the Magritta Palace.
(The Horned Rat, the Horned Rat watches over us!)
(One Gxso!)
They slipped deeper into the complex sewer pipes — the most remote and unnoticed part of the city. Unless there was a serious blockage, almost no one would ever inspect this place.
The complacent Estalians might have forgotten how those creatures who liked to build another city beneath the surface had nearly destroyed their kingdom.
More and more cloaked rat-like figures appeared. Occasionally a long, tough tail and the dagger or curved blade clutched in it would slip out from under a cloak, revealing their identity.
The most mysterious assassin clan of the old Skaven Thirteen Lords, long thought vanished from the Old World.
Clan Eshin.
A leading rat with many gray-white stripes on its cloak nimbly climbed a small mound made of several armored corpses that had rotted heavily.
(Humans, human-things are right above!)
(Kill, kill the human-things, take back the rat-city!)
The gathered ratmen hissed in low voices. (Take back! Take back the rat-city!)
(Thirteen Lords endure!! Endure!!)
(One Gxso!)
The ratmen scattered, rushing up to the surface along pre-planned routes.
A silent massacre descended upon the Magritta Palace.
And the far-seeing Eagle Goddess gave no reaction.
Until the first outer guard who sensed something wrong gathered his courage and stepped inside the palace.
A earth-shaking upheaval swept over Magritta like a raging tidal wave and rapidly spread across the entire Southern Kingdoms.
The City Prince had been strangled to death by his own robe's long train and hung from a beam carved with Cathayan cloud patterns. His fat, naked body dangled in the air.
His servants had also been slaughtered. Their corpses were neatly piled together, without the Prince's special treatment — almost all bore sword and knife wounds.
The only clues left by the assassins in this conspiracy were a chalice pattern surrounded by flowers with a longsword, and a message written in Bretonnian and blood condemning the people of Magritta for indulging in pleasure and corruption, calling them a cancer upon Order.
The people of Magritta quickly traced the pattern's origin:
A group that had been actively operating across the land, sometimes using force and extreme measures to pursue their goals — the restoration of Bretonnia's order, peace, and stable life from before the Great War — the Cult of the Flower, Sword, and Grail.
A year earlier, after they had robbed foreign merchants (most of them Estalian), claiming that treacherous merchants chased profit and destroyed Bretonnia's peaceful life and the people's simple emotions, the Round Table of Couronne had ordered the entire cult to enter the Forest of Chalons to purge corrupted beasts and undergo penance in seclusion. They had suddenly vanished, reportedly dissatisfied with the Round Table's weakness and corruption, and had collectively rebelled.
Dozens of furious letters were sent to Estalia and even to neighboring Tilea.
The Magritta court quickly impounded all Bretonnian merchant ships docked in the harbor and interrogated anyone from Bretonnia.
Several stern letters were sent to the Round Table of Couronne. The acting Magritta court used a solemn yet tragic tone, written in the style of a refined drama.
With masterful use of indirect language, they described the tragic conspiracy that had occurred in the palace, along with the grief or fury shown by the people of Magritta and all Estalian city-states.
Finally, they demanded that the Grail Knights of the Round Table of Couronne, in accordance with the virtues they upheld and their faith in the Lady, guarantee that they had no connection to this assassination.
And that they fully assist in capturing the members of the Flower, Sword, and Grail Cult — currently the prime suspects.
Not long after the letter was sent, a reply arrived.
The words were sincere and very concise.
After expressing pain over the tragedy and stating their willingness to help pursue the members of the Flower, Sword, and Grail Cult, the Round Table responded to Magritta's arrogant demand that Grail Knights swear upon their faith regarding a palace assassination that occurred in another country's capital:
"Fuck off!"
The people of Magritta were furious.
You Bretonnian mud-legs! Without Estalian trade, your grain and specialties will rot in the fields!
You earn our money, and asking you to swear an oath on your Grail is too much? Really?
The rhetoric escalated, carrying accusations and threats.
At the same time, the Northerners could not sit still. Bretonnia's biggest trade partner with Estalia was the second-largest city, Bilbali. They strongly suspected that Magritta was deliberately using this unsolved assassination to provoke conflict with a friendly neighbor, thereby striking at Bilbali, which had developed rapidly under the seventh (previous) City Prince and now threatened Magritta's position as the foremost city.
Both sides began cursing each other internally and externally.
In the morning the Round Table of Couronne received a friendly letter from Bilbali saying it was all a misunderstanding between neighbors. In the afternoon they received a condemnation from Magritta.
Both sides argued with words outside and with fists inside. The council turned into an all-out brawl.
After half a month of chaos, with zero progress on solving the murder, they finally had to face a very serious matter.
The City Prince was dead.
Shouldn't they elect the next one first?
The people of Magritta naturally argued that the late Prince (whose posthumous title was "Rose of Love," since he loved writing tragic plays centered on romance) had died in office, violently murdered, so the next prince should still come from Magritta. Otherwise, they should form a provisional council, and the seat should still remain in Magritta.
Bilbali told them to piss off.
Back when they had discussed great matters and agreed on one vote per city, Magritta had enjoyed heaven-sent advantages and made money fast. The other four cities could basically buy votes with cash, while only Bilbali stood firm on its own principles, though it was still difficult to resist alone.
The seventh prince had developed the economy and built infrastructure — achievements obvious to all. Bilbali also had excellent rulers.
Besides, didn't you Magrittans accuse us of colluding with foreigners? Fine then — let a Bilbali man take the throne. We will be meticulous and responsible, spare no effort to catch the real culprit, uncover the truth, avenge the eighth generation, and satisfy all Estalians. How about that?
Of course that was impossible, so the bickering continued.
In the end, after an unhappy breakup, Magritta presided over the announcement that the session was adjourned. At the same time, the council proposed reviewing important personnel suspected of foreign collusion — a clear jab at Bilbali. The North exploded in rage, pulling their supporters and walking out.
Magritta pressed their advantage. Although they dared not declare victory with only three votes present, they intended to use the opportunity to reassert the city's authority. They dispatched the famous pike-square legions to station along the Gadaiz River bank, from where they could advance northward along the Gwyndor Road into the southwestern Pina Forest region.
Bilbali refused to yield and sent their own legions and allies southward to confront them.
Another half month passed. Nearly two months had gone by since the assassination, with no progress on the case, yet Estalia's situation had grown tense enough to risk civil war.
Meanwhile, the War Goddess remained completely silent toward mortal affairs. The war leaders could not receive any divine guidance and could only assume this was the Goddess's "neither approval nor disapproval." Apart from declaring the Church neutral, they could only work from the sidelines to try and reconcile the sides.
The Round Table of Couronne, however, generously stepped forward and sent envoys to mediate with both sides, stating that there had been many misunderstandings and they did not wish to see neighbors come to blows.
Yet on the very day the envoy delegation arrived in Magritta, they were assassinated. This time the scene left traces of gunpowder and rapiers — a dueling weapon common in the Southern Kingdoms — and one Grail Knight had died.
Even counting the retired ones, the total number of Grail Knights in all of Couronne barely exceeded fifty.
The people of Couronne responded with a very clear "Fuck you…"
They had done all they could. You Southerners can handle your own shit. We're going home, closing the door, and living our lives. We won't starve even if we do less trade.
Thus the situation remained tense. This time both sides reversed course and accused each other of murdering the Round Table's envoys and Grail Knight. Estalia truly seemed on the verge of tearing itself apart.
Only when the Southern Eagle could no longer stand it and led the war leaders to intervene collectively did both sides withdraw their troops. Civil war was narrowly avoided.
But the anger did not subside. First Magritta imposed punitive tariffs on northern goods and merchant ships. The North immediately retaliated. A series of conflicts erupted.
North-south division grew severe. Hostile sentiments also appeared among the common people, and organized attacks on foreigners even broke out. For a time, Estalia was in turmoil.
Until the true tide came crashing in.
It started small, then grew larger — masts, prows, banners gradually appearing on the horizon.
Then came countless dense black dots.
On the flagship's mast flew two savage faces.
One brutal and cunning, the other cunning and brutal.
A massive, hulking brute stood on the prow, facing the now-visible land and the port of Magritta, and let out a frenzied roar:
"Waaaaaaaaaagh!"
Then from countless ramshackle but somehow still seaworthy ships came countless more "Waaaaaaaagh!" cries.
Magritta's naval patrol fleet was the first to spot this terrifying, vast greenskin armada that looked like a tidal wave about to swallow the land. They desperately sent signals and rang the alarm bells.
Warning the people on shore:
Greenskins! No — the Green Tide!