Al was genuinely infuriated by the calculations and schemes of the Veling people.
Did these Estalians, clinging to life beneath the Green Tide, really think of him as some simple, naive tribal—someone who could be toyed with by words and deceived by text?
A halberd-wielding bodyguard grabbed the envoy, who was ceaselessly begging for mercy and trying to explain, roughly threw him onto the back of his restless mount, and then lightly jabbed the beast's rump. The pained mount immediately bolted toward Veling.
Although the Expeditionary Force knights who had come with the Veling envoy were extremely disappointed by the city council's idiotic actions, they were also highly unwilling to play the role of accomplices or bear the shame of "deceiving an ally."
But the Expeditionary Force was ultimately just a guest army. However, their fate was currently closely tied to the Estalians. In previous battles, the Expeditionary Force and the tribe had established a preliminary friendship and mutual trust, so they naturally didn't want to see two sides that should have been allies draw swords against each other.
They had no choice but to bite the bullet and shout from outside the protective ring of Al's bodyguards.
They explained that the Expeditionary Force absolutely opposed such despicable actions. It was the proposition of a small handful of xenophobes within the Veling council, not the will of the Veling people.
The Expeditionary Force hoped to maintain a good, allied relationship with the tribe.
Al remained noncommittal. He didn't expel the knights of the Expeditionary Force, but simply told them to stay out of the way in advance to avoid friendly fire when the war started.
Al thought to himself:
Back in the day, just because a payment was short by two and a half coins, the Dwarfs flew into a rage and mobilized their army to destroy the Krieghoff Fortress, which the Imperials had hired them to build. (Actually, when the Dwarfs later went to demand the debt, the Elector Count thought they were joking or something because the amount was so small. His extremely arrogant attitude enraged the shorties.)
Then, in a situation where I have been deceived, fooled, and treated with arrogance...
Leveling a treacherous city that used its allies only to immediately cast them aside is perfectly justifiable, right?
I can also establish an honest persona for the tribe: one that always avenges grudges and keeps its word.
Dwarfs live in the mountains; the tribe lives in the forest;
Dwarfs hold grudges; the tribe also holds grudges;
Dwarfs have strong forging skills; the tribe has strong fighting skills;
Dwarf heavy infantry are great fighters; the tribe's Khorngor vanguard are also great fighters;
Conclusion!
The stroke count for "Dwarf" is fifteen, the stroke count for "Tribe" is twenty-two. Twenty-two plus one plus one minus four minus five also equals fifteen!
The Beast-Dwarf theory holds true!
In the future, we can operate under the title of the Tribe of Tall Dwarfs!
While Al let his thoughts run wild, the legion formed up its battle lines.
Thanks to the Greenskins' previous siege, Veling's city defenses were already in tatters. From the outside alone, you couldn't even tell this was a city inhabited by tens of thousands of residents.
After the Greenskins retreated, those scrap cannons powered by wondrous WAAAAAGH! energy basically disintegrated. However, the weapons left behind by a small group of pirates that the Beastmen had casually flattened were still barely usable.
By the way, Al took no Greenskin prisoners, but he did capture a few dozen pirate prisoners, keeping them around to see if he could squeeze any value out of them later.
But those dozen or so cannons weren't really needed anyway. Veling's city defenses were already practically non-existent. Even if they were perfectly intact, the Minotaurs could just ram the walls down.
Al didn't want a massacre, either; he wanted to maximize his side's interests.
Clearly, the troops that were reinforcements just a moment ago suddenly turning their spearheads and aggressively aiming at them caused a significant psychological shock to the people of Veling. The courage to fight to the death had slacked off after the battle ended, and rallying it again wouldn't be so easy.
The defenders still instinctively picked up their weapons and took to their posts, but their morale and energy were obviously far from the abundance they had before.
People were whispering everywhere, and a sense of unease spread through the hearts of the defenders and residents.
People didn't understand why, after finally achieving a hard-won victory, they had to fight another... not-so-hopeful war in the very next moment.
A Shaman riding a Great Stag walked up outside Veling. Through the breach, pairs of nervous, uneasy eyes sized it up.
The Grand Sister knelt on one knee, praying ceaselessly to the God-Emperor, yet receiving no response, as always.
Her comrades, currently acting as frontline commanders, were locked in a standoff with the Shaman.
"People of Veling, my Lord bids me to express his respect for your courage and resolve. You fought to the death until the final moment arrived," the Shaman called out in a muffled voice.
A Sister responded with a deep voice: "Thank you for your praise, friend. May the God-Emperor bless us both. If you are here to help us, then you should point your spearheads outward!"
The Shaman slammed its staff onto the ground, sending a tremor outward. A few loose stones tumbled down from the collapsed city walls.
It sternly questioned: "Friend?"
"Before your insults were presented to my Lord, the tribe considered the Estalians as allies with whom we could fight side by side!"
"And yet you repay the so-called 'friends' who crossed the wilderness and hills to aid you with such arrogance and deceit!"
The Shaman's words caused the defenders to erupt. The whispering could no longer be suppressed. People communicated with each other, absorbing every piece of knowable information, including all the rumors, hearsay, and gossip.
"You have brought great shame upon the tribe, and you have trampled upon the sacred alliance!"
The Shaman raised its staff. The Great Stag beneath it trotted around outside the city, ensuring its voice could be heard by as many people as possible.
The Sisters and commanders had to run inside the city following the Shaman's direction to ensure they didn't miss any critical information.
"Then let it be war, people of Veling!" The Shaman's words caused a massive uproar in the city. Many defenders nervously gripped their weapons. From the ruins and shadows, several crossbows and firearms quietly took aim at the Shaman outside.
"Upon the corpses of your enemies, upon the ruins of your city, this is the despicable way you repay the tribe that helped you!"
"Then prepare to feel the fury of the tribe you have betrayed!"
Leaving behind a final declaration of war, the Shaman turned its Great Stag around and departed. In the distance, the Beastman legion was geared up and ready to strike, its attack imminent at any moment.
As for why they didn't just launch a WAAAAAGH! charge right away...
Naturally, it was intentional on Al's part.
He had to give people some buffer time, after all.
The Expeditionary Force knights had already spurred their horses back into the city. As expected, they should have finished passing along the message.
According to Al's thoughts, the people of Veling clearly lacked the ability to face another war. He could even just deploy his Bloodmother Tanks... the Minotaurs could flatten what little remained of Veling's city defenses, and then use the skulls of the entire city's population to build a massive skull pyramid in the city center as a sacrifice to the Bloodmother... Uh, wait, that doesn't sound right.
Now it was time to see if the idea of bossing Al around like a mercenary was truly the act of a tiny fraction of stubborn xenophobes, as the knights had said, or if the entire city, from top to bottom, was in agreement on...
Courting their own doom.
"I said we should be vigilant, but still treat these unfamiliar neighbors with goodwill! Look what you've done now—they are fully prepared to truly level the Veling that the Greenskins already ruined!"
The Speaker waved his golden walking stick, constantly making it whistle through the air.
The round table in front of the Speaker was surrounded by Veling's core figures, mostly wealthy individuals with noble status, as well as prominent figures from the middle class and commoners.
Many still wore armor and carried weapons, looking like they had just stepped off the battlefield.
Everyone's face was uniformly grim, and many glared furiously at the faction being scolded by the Speaker.
"Partridge, this is a problem you created. You must take full responsibility."
The Speaker lowered his walking stick, laid it flat on the table, reined in his anger, and spoke in a deep voice.
The leading man's mouth twitched. His face gloomy, he said nothing.
Seeing he didn't retort, the Speaker straightened up and proposed to the councilors: "We need a delegation of grand scale and sincere attitude to request an audience with the Beastlord of the tribe, explain the misunderstandings, and seek his forgiveness."
No one objected.
He nodded and continued:
"Whether it is wealth or anything else, as long as it keeps them from becoming our enemy, we can promise it to them." Saying this, he looked at the man, asking specifically: "No problem with that, Partridge?"
The man kept a straight face and reluctantly nodded.
The Speaker withdrew his gaze and continued: "Regarding Piña and Inara, it is best to maintain our previous stance: Veling fully agrees with and supports their demands, but the treaty must be submitted to the Northern Council for declaration."
"Dammit!" The elderly Speaker, with graying hair and beard, cursed out loud. "Separated from the Goddess's guidance, I must have lost my mind to actually tacitly approve of your actions!"
"I don't care what methods you use to compensate and apologize. Even if those beasts want to sleep with your wives and daughters, you will deliver them perfectly intact and beautifully dressed to their army!"
"I have lived long enough. I should have died before the Goddess when the city fell, leaving the mortal realm like an Estalian hero..." Saying so, the Speaker glared around with an incredibly ruthless gaze, as if staring at mortal enemies, specifically locking onto certain attendees as he spat:
"But if your shameful calculations cause Veling to fall in such a despicable and laughable manner, making us the laughingstock of the world, I swear that before you open that 'door' to flee to the Empire, Bretonnia, or wherever else—I will make sure you stay here forever."
The meeting hall was dead silent.
A heavily armored Dwarf leaning against the door, minding his own business and drinking a beer, let out a loud burp, diluting the oppressive atmosphere in the hall.
"Go do it immediately."
The Speaker exhaled a foul breath, signaling the crowd.
"Partridge... you and your lot stay here to keep this old man company. Let your subordinates handle the interface."
The man stood up abruptly, but under the glaring and threatening stares of more than half the hall, he had to sit back down, lowering his head. His companions also sat down dejectedly.
Even if this matter blew over, their net worth would likely shrink drastically, and some might even be knocked down a social class.
The defenders, who now knew the truth and realized that they and Veling were on the brink of destruction all because of the idiotic actions of a "small handful of elements in the council," filed in. They stood on both sides of the chamber, monitoring the numerous people detained by the Speaker.
"Let us pray to the Goddess here. Pray that Her wisdom can point out a direction for Veling."