"So, you two aren't Estalians."
Al pinched the bridge of his nose, crossing his legs as he looked at the two suspicious individuals captured and brought back by the wolf packs.
They looked like scouts at a single glance.
One of them was sprawled on the ground, vomiting endlessly, sour bile and spit pooling on the dirt. The Shaman of the All-Father stood coldly to the side, while a creature that looked like a spider—or some other bug—crawled along the Shaman's large, filthy robes and slipped back inside his clothes.
The Shamans who coexisted with nature possessed unique spellcasting abilities. The Lore of the Wild, derived from the Wind of Beasts, allowed them to command insects and beasts; depending on the local environment, they could manifest the wild or tranquil aspects of the Jade Wind; and most uniquely, the Lore of the Moons, which generally could only be used at night and had bizarre effects.
In game terms, it could be understood as dual-classing the Lore of Beasts and Lore of the Moons, with a minor in the Lore of Life.
But most of their abilities were supportive.
However, using insects tamed by savage magic as a means of torture to interrogate prisoners was incredibly effective.
Perhaps a tough-guy captive could endure physical torture, but suffering the dual mental and physical torment of having bugs shoved inside their bodies and then being thrown into a swarm of insects... not many could withstand that.
At least, these two captives couldn't.
The shorter one was terrified the moment he was caught; he only held out because his teammate was putting up a strong front. The tall tough guy was subjected to a round of the Shaman's insect torture—a sight so gruesome that even Al had to turn away and avert his eyes.
In the end, the tough guy couldn't endure the insect gnawing. His psychological defenses collapsed, and only then did the Shaman pry his mouth open to let the bugs crawl back out of his body and onto himself.
Looking at the man's utterly broken and wretched state, Al sighed internally that he was becoming more and more like a villain. He then directed his questions to the short guy, who was already lying on the ground, terrified out of his mind, not daring to lift his head.
"Who are you, where are you from, and what are you doing?"
The short guy seemed cowardly and afraid of trouble. Maybe he could be subdued with a few tricks and used for Al's own purposes.
Al calculated in his mind.
"We, we are Imperials, dispatched from Altdorf to Estalia. Our mission, our mission... I don't know! I really don't know! All I know is we're heading to Magritta! Yes, Magritta!" The short man hurriedly answered, then quickly lowered his head again.
The tall man had somewhat recovered his senses. He looked at the short guy with a trace of sorrow in his eyes.
"Imperials, heading to Estalia..."
That sounded a bit familiar. Al thought for a moment and continued asking, "How many more of you are there, and how far from here?"
"Five thousand men. We were originally heading south to aid the Estalians, but they failed too quickly. We didn't make it in time, so we're gathering stragglers while retreating north."
The tall man answered with a hoarse voice before the short guy could speak.
Al grinned.
"Five thousand men heading in this direction, and they only left two scouts to keep watch?"
"My patience is limited, and I will only ask the following questions once... If I am not satisfied with the answers, I'll let the bugs go back into your stomachs to find what I want. Understood?" He threatened.
The tall man's face grew even paler, and the short guy directly trembled like a leaf on the ground.
"How many of you are there, really."
"Less, less than five hundred."
"What are you doing here."
"Heading south to gather routed troops and return north, while simultaneously monitoring the main Greenskin horde."
"Who exactly is in your group?"
"Both the Expeditionary Force and Estalians."
Al frowned and asked again, "What are you... in what capacity did you come to Estalia?"
"By the Emperor's decree, the Imperial Expeditionary Force to Estalia."
Al clenched his fist, uncrossed his legs, and asked strictly, "What is the name of your commander? Is there a woman who has some sort of familial relationship with your general?"
"Also, did you enter the forest and fight the Beastmen previously?"
The tall man lifted his head, glanced at Al, then lowered it again, speaking softly:
"Rein, Rein Julius, an Imperial noble and a favored general of the Emperor."
"A woman... There is one woman in our unit. The commanders listen to her quite a bit. As for whether there's a familial relationship, I don't know."
Al slapped his thigh and stood up.
Wearing out iron shoes in a fruitless search... looking for her thousands of times in the crowd... uh, destiny brings people together from a thousand miles away... Fuck!
Al hesitated.
Maybe it isn't her...
But what if it is!
He paced back and forth, eventually ordering the wolf packs to expand their scouting perimeter to ensure they spotted traces of this incoming human army immediately. On the other hand, he sent someone to notify the town of Samana that a human army might be passing through, telling them to prepare a reception in advance.
Al didn't want to act too aggressively for now, so the troops he exposed were solely resting outside the town. The humans vaguely knew the Beastmen had forces that hadn't appeared yet, but they didn't dare investigate. Al knew his current visible force wasn't his elite main army, but even if a force of three to four thousand humans came, they would just be crushed by his 300 heavily armored Khorngors and 800 regular Khorngor legionnaires under the command of the Blessed Minotaur Gorebull.
He wasn't afraid of being ambushed.
If he could win over and pull in a force of 500 men, it would be quite useful. But right now, Al's mind was entirely focused on the woman who might be Celestine.
The one who gave birth to Al, and the reason why he and she nearly turned the Joy-Singers tribe into historical ashes in the Piña Forest.
But it didn't really matter now. The tribe was already under the banner of Al, and the population added later had long surpassed the ratio of the original 800 or so members.
Al felt irritated. He had clearly decided to let it go, and had indeed done so, yet this unexpected reunion had come so fast it caught him completely off guard.
Furthermore, Celestine was a devout believer of Sigmar. The priest in Samana was likely not very pious, or maybe it was the missing Goddess's fault, but in short, he had nothing extraordinary about him—he couldn't make divine calls, couldn't cast buffs, and couldn't even sense the thick aura of Chaos rolling off the Blessed Minotaur.
But if that woman really was Celestine, and if upon discovering Chaos elements she resolutely drew her sword against Al and his forces...
Would he have to painfully knock his biological mother out and tie her up, then slaughter the rest? Or should he just treat them all as cattle for the butcher's block and kill every last one!
Alina arrived at the perfect time, bringing the goat girls with her. She was wearing that armor that was both majestic and easily gave Al visual hallucinations. The goat girls sat on her back, and the centaur girl held a long chain in her hand. Tied to the other end was the female Paladin.
Behind them followed Al and Alina's personal guard, the most loyal and ferocious Khorngor vanguard.
They were guarding two captives.
The red-haired female swordswoman Ann, and the clumsy nun Elia.
"Don't you want to rest today?"
She walked up to Al, lowering her head to stroke the boy's short hair.
"I don't know..."
The centaur girl seemed to notice his conflicted emotions. She simply picked him up and placed him on her back, where the goat girls hugged Al from behind.
The centaur girl turned around, her gaze sweeping over the chained Paladin, the swordswoman, and the little nun one by one.
She suggested, "Do you want them? Perhaps we could try it."
Al turned his head and scanned the group, his eyes lingering on the Paladin, who bore some resemblance to Celestine but had her own distinct charm. He sighed, slumped forward limply onto the mare's back, and muttered, "There might be some trouble later."