Upon a hill far from the battlefield.
A squad of knights gazed out over the plains where the dust had finally settled.
The Greenskins had smashed everything non-Greenskin in sight to pieces. From time to time, wailing human casualties were dragged out from the piles of corpses by Goblin Boyz and locked up together. Whether they survived or not would depend entirely on their individual luck.
There were actually some doctors among the pirate crews tailing the Greenskin horde to scavenge. They had been commissioned by the Great Warlord Gorkamorka Wyvern to follow behind the Greenskins and take over the captives.
After all, no one knew the thick skulls of his own kind better than Gorkamorka.
Captives were very useful; they were crucial to the Great Warlord's grand WAAAAAAGH!:
If anyone dared to slaughter the captured prisoners indiscriminately, the Goblins would be crushed to death by the Big Uns; the Big Uns would get their heads twisted off by the Warbosses; and if a Warboss led the slaughter, his head would be twisted off by the Wyvern Guard.
It was a simple principle. Slaughter a few clueless Boyz, and the rest of the Greenskins would vaguely understand.
The fallen, unarmed Human 'Umies were wanted by the Great Warlord, so they wouldn't smash their skulls in.
After sweeping the battlefield and looting every single scrap and trinket, the Greenskins, having just enjoyed a satisfying bout of choppin', gleefully followed their Warbosses further north.
With the Human 'Umies' army routed, there was no longer any force that could be called a main army in the entire southwest. The Greenskins could WAAAAAGH! wherever and whenever they pleased.
A portion of the defeated army retreated toward the Tombs of the Ancient Kings in the southwest of Estalia, using the Guadaz River and the hills spread across the southwestern plains after crossing the river as a natural defense line. The rest either scattered into surrounding towns and villages or crossed the river to flee back north along the highway.
Ever since landing and besieging Magritta, the Greenskins had barely encountered any massive battles. After having a great WAAAAAGH!, they joyfully chased after the retreating army, heading out in all directions to find any opportunity to chop people up or get chopped.
This unit, composed of nearly five thousand Greenskins, was sweeping north along the Guidos Highway. They destroyed all organized forces and villages they encountered, planning to WAAAAAGH! all the way to a Human 'Umie city called Veling, raze it to the ground, erect an idol of Gork and Mork, and then return the way they came with their loot and the Boyz—checking to see if there was anything left to chop on the way back.
Previously, the Greenskins were too focused on sweeping the battlefield to notice a group of horseback Human 'Umies spying on them from afar. After they left, only a few cunning Goblins remained, desecrating the corpses. They actually intended to grab a bite of the Big Uns' leftovers and scavenge for shiny trinkets.
Waiting patiently a little longer and seeing that the Goblins still hadn't left, the lead knight blew a whistle and took the lead, charging down on horseback.
After cresting a few low hills, they reached the vast plains. The cavalry spread out widely; the open field of vision ensured they wouldn't be suddenly ambushed by any enemies from the ground.
By the time the Goblins spotted the mounted humans, it was too late. The lead knight had superb marksmanship, able to accurately take down a Goblin with a short pistol even while riding a galloping horse.
With no Big Uns around and lacking the advantage of numbers, the remaining Goblins scattered in an uproar, scurrying away like rats. They were easily run down by the already fanned-out cavalry and slaughtered with firearms, spears, or swords.
A devastatingly chaotic battlefield.
A place of heartbreak for the Estalians.
The knight on the white horse dismounted near the first corpse they approached and removed her helmet. Her radiant blonde hair was a rare ray of sunshine in this gray, bleak land.
Celestine cradled her helmet in her arms, thrust her short sword into the ground, and knelt on one knee.
The other knights followed suit, praying for the fallen.
Perhaps the world could accuse them of being short-sighted, making command errors, being under-prepared, and marching rashly, ultimately suffering defeat at the hands of the enemy.
But every warrior who fought for Order, for their race, and for their homeland until their dying breath deserved their admiration.
The gloom left by that night in the temple could no longer be seen on the female knight. As if nothing had happened, after finishing her prayers for the dead, she directed the cavalry to collect and transport the bodies.
The human corpses were to be brought back to the towns, where perhaps families would claim them, or funerals would be held to soothe their souls; the Greenskin remains had to be burned. Otherwise, after a season passed, this fertile plain soaked in blood would sprout patches of green mushrooms hatching Snotling Boyz, followed by Orc Boyz, Big Uns, Shamans, and Warlords.
Asexually reproducing Greenskins held a terrifying advantage over humans in both numbers and growth speed. They couldn't allow these creatures' spores to spread and take root wildly; otherwise, these Greenskin pests would become an incurable plague in the Southern Realms.
By the time dusk approached, the humans had finally finished sweeping the battlefield once more. The piled-up Greenskin corpses were as high as several small hills.
The female knight cast her gaze toward two mysterious hooded figures. One stepped forward, removed their cloak, and called upon the power of the Wind of Aqshy. Flames coalesced and shot out, igniting the oil-drenched piles of Greenskin corpses.
Amidst the roaring flames, everyone remained silent and solemn.
Leaving a portion of the outriders to scout and ensure the fire continued to burn until the Greenskin bodies were reduced to ash, the female knight mounted her horse and led her troops retreating eastward.
Given the Greenskins' speed of smashing and looting along the way, they could quickly detour, get ahead of them, and retreat back to Veling.
On the road, someone finally couldn't stand the deathly silence and took the lead to break the gloomy atmosphere.
"We need reinforcements!"
A knight spurred his horse to catch up with the white horse rider, slowing down to ride half a horse-length beside Celestine.
"Lady Celestine, first I must thank you for everything you've done for our nation. Your martial prowess and virtue make me feel as if I'm looking at the legendary Saint of Righteous Fury herself."
"But Lady, you have seen it too. The Kingdom of Estalia is being ravaged by these savage bastards! Right now, we need the Empire, we need the big brother and leader of humanity to lend us a hand!" The Estalian knight's words carried a tone of deep anxiety.
Up to now, it had been nothing but bad news:
The Goddess had long given no response. Magritta was still under siege. Amidst severe disagreements, the southern factions had finally scraped together a legion only to suffer a crushing defeat on the frontline. The northern council angrily rebuked the noble councilors who had advocated for an early advance, accusing them of squandering their strength and bringing disaster to the nation.
The beastmen horde outbreaks that happened every few years had erupted; corrupted beasts poured out of the Athel Loren forest to attack Quenelles and Carcassonne. The Round Table Council temporarily lacked the capacity to help their southern neighbors.
Meanwhile, in Ulthuan where the Elves resided, the quinquennial National Consultation Citizens' Assembly was being held. The New World faction and the Homeland faction were arguing bitterly. Over the issues of tariffs and the distribution of racial rights, the colonial faction—composed of former Dark Elves and other Elven sub-races—and the Homeland faction, led by the High Elves, were on the verge of turning the Citizens' Assembly into an all-out brawl.
Mages of the White Tower and Sorceresses swung their staffs in melee combat; Swordmasters and Black Guards drew their blades in a standoff outside the gates. Island Lords and Colonial Tycoons pulled in their respective supporters to clash with each other. One moment the Homeland faction accused the Colonials of privately mobilizing the Black Arks to unknown destinations; the next, the Colonials accused the Homeland faction of awakening the Dragon Air Fleet without assembly discussion, questioning their intentions...
They almost forgot that the original topic was merely about an import-export tariff for the newest colonies.
Although during the Great War they finally achieved the unification of the three races, packing up their entire families and wealth to run off to the Athel Loren forest, and later participating in the Council of the Eight Winds of Magic to launch a desperate counterattack in the final battle of Middenheim, ultimately winning the End Times.
Later, the Elven pantheon, who had been AFK playing dead for ages, finally put in some effort and did something useful. Teaming up with the God-Emperor Sigmar, they completely beat the crap out of Slaanesh—who had split off the new god, the Reveler—forcing it to vomit out all the Elven souls it had devoured during the End Times, allowing them to be reborn in the mortal realm. However, because the orthodox Phoenix King ascended to godhood not long after taking the throne, dumping secular power to his subordinates, there hadn't been enough time or intense pressure to forcefully heal the rifts between the three races (mainly the High and Dark Elves).
It was perfectly normal for a single topic in the Elven Assembly to be argued over for months or even years.
The Estalians' plea for help...
Not long after it was placed on the Phoenix King's council table, they got busy arguing about tariffs and digging up old grudges. By the time they got around to discussing sending aid, the Southern Realms might have already fallen before the Elves snapped back to reality.
Celestine was also pondering these endless troubles, considering a way out for the increasingly disadvantageous war situation for humanity.
Her cousin Rein's original intention leaned toward the steady stance of the northern faction. But as a guest army coming to accept Estalian leased land to build a forward fortress, completely ignoring the disasters befalling their hosts would be unjustifiable. It would offend the Estalians, causing potential complications for the land lease even if they won the war, especially since the land was originally designated in the central-south where Magritta was located.
After a round of discussions with his staff, Rein decided to dispatch a portion of the army, mainly cavalry, to advance with the southern forces first, while the main body temporarily rested in Bilbali.
Ignoring the objections of her cousin and Old Hart, Celestine resolutely joined the vanguard.
Whether out of sympathy, pity, an inability to ignore the suffering of a fellow human civilization, or seeking redemption, salvation, or even an honorable death in battle due to her dark past... it was unknown.
As Al led his army south, planning to march out of the forest, Celestine's unit detoured to the northeast, closely overlapping with the Everchosen's destination.
Having sent Celestine back to the human camp, when breaking out of the valley later, Al could never have imagined that in less than a year's time.
He was about to once again meet the one who had left him conflicted and torn, the one who remained a knot in his heart, casting a lingering shadow over his mind.
"Mother."
They would meet.