Just as Al was filled with joy, eager to claim his next spoil of war, the people of Veling were full of terror, observing this completely unfamiliar legion outside the city from the city walls, watchtowers, ruins, and any other advantageous terrain.
The Grand Sister's hammer-gripping hand hung by her leg. Looking at the red-and-black Beastman army, the slaughterhouse-like purgatory scene they had created, and the routing Greenskins, she muttered:
"Sigmar..."
A clap of thunder exploded in the sky.
In the Grand Sister's eyes suddenly appeared the phantom of a giant god's pair of eyes—crimson as blood, containing endless, boundless fury—eagerly and ardently looking down upon her from the firmament above.
She lowered her head, looking at the bloodstained scripture hanging at her waist, which she treated as a precious treasure.
"What did Sigmar do?"
A blasphemous thought flashed through the Grand Sister's mind. Before she even had time to realize how wicked this thought was, the answer had already surfaced in her heart:
The people of Veling fought desperately to defend their homeland and beliefs, yet despite this, up until the very last moment, the God-Emperor had never sent down His divine power to destroy the enemy.
Does a deity absolutely require their believers to make sufficient sacrifices?
The Grand Sister and her companions had shouted the God-Emperor's name countless times, purging beasts, cleansing filth, answering the pleas of commoners, punishing corrupt nobles, and crusading against greedy factory barons.
Under her warhammer, she had smashed to death nobles, wealthy merchants, necromancers and vampires, Greenskin Warbosses, forest monsters, mobs...
Her devout faith in the God-Emperor, or rather her faith in the God-Emperor's dogmas, drove the Grand Sister and her companions to temper themselves through endless life-and-death struggles. Before she ascended to the position of the head of the Grand Sisterhood Order, two Grand Sisters had already died in battle in this very position.
She was the third.
And it had been less than three years since they began their wandering crusade to spread the God-Emperor's gospel.
Almost a frequency of one per year.
The members of the Sisterhood had also sharply decreased from five hundred at the start to barely over a hundred now, and that was even with a few instances of replenishing members along the way.
They continuously worked hard. Driven out from one region, they wandered to another. If commoners tracing the Sisters' footsteps caught up to them, they would trek over mountains and cross rivers to return and resolve their pleas for justice and fairness. Yet, suffering seemed as if it would never leave this land, nor decrease.
The surging undercurrents within the Empire, the endless infighting in Bretonnia, the Southern Realms disrupted by Greenskins, the forever arguing and divided Elves of Ulthuan...
Along the way, Grand Sister Helen had seen too much, far too much.
They had tasted victory and suffered defeat, had been banished and met with hostility... but they had never changed that resounding faith of "God-Emperor above—For Sigmar!"
The Grand Sister suddenly felt somewhat exhausted.
It seemed Sigmar had never once paid attention to them, or to the Empire. If He truly did, then why did He allow the many darknesses and sufferings of the Empire to flow unchecked and continuously breed?
Judging from their aura and appearance, as well as their savage, bloody sacrifices, the Grand Sister would absolutely never believe that this red-and-black army, which suddenly charged out to defeat the Greenskins and save Veling,
would be followers of Sigmar or Myrmidia.
She had been saved, but her benefactor still... was not their God-Emperor.
If He saw it but was powerless to help, then what use was it to worship His statues and recite His divine name?
If He saw it but let things run their course, then was He... worth me dying for?
In just a brief moment, countless doubts and questions regarding herself and her faith surfaced in Grand Sister Helen's heart.
When she snapped back to reality, she finally realized just what kind of terrifyingly blasphemous thoughts she had been pondering!
"No... No!"
Her face revealed terror. Her legs gave out and she almost fell; the companions beside her quickly supported the Grand Sister.
The Grand Sister would not realize that just now, in that split second her mind wavered, two deities had simultaneously paid special attention to this valiant one among mortals.
One symbolizing infinite wisdom, one representing courage and glory.
The confusion and doubts about the past in her heart, along with the unwillingness to accept the status quo hidden beneath her convictions, were triggered, beginning to spread like a toxin through the mortal's mind.
It was just that right now, she hadn't truly noticed it yet.
When a silent change of thought collides with the heavenly thunder and earthly fire of reality, corruption—or rather, ascension—is born just like this.
Al naturally didn't know that two of his moms had prepared another talented assistant for him. He just wanted to enter the city!
Enter the city!
Even though this wasn't Constantinople, not the Queen of Cities, he still held such a strong desire—to enter the city!
I've been a tribal living in the forest for almost a year, can't I just enter the city and enjoy myself!
Al mounted the Griffon girl's back again, helping her untangle the mane that was stuck together by blood, reaching out to rub her chin.
The commanders of the Expeditionary Force dismounted from a distance and walked down the slope, paying their highest respects to the Beastlord. Simultaneously, they conveyed that their side would immediately enter the city to have the Veling Council step forward and welcome the allied tribal forces with the grandest, most magnificent ceremony.
Al waved his hand, modestly saying there was no need for such things, that it was a case of "when the lips are gone, the teeth are cold," just doing what they ought to do, blah blah blah. But in his heart he was overjoyed, fantasizing about recruiting talent, upgrading technology, developing the tribe, securing the foundation of a sovereign hegemon... and while he was at it, seeing if there were any radiant, beautiful young housewives, gentle maids with massive boobs, pretty village girls, or fiery, passionate older sisters...
You say the Warhammer world doesn't have that kind of stuff?
Pulling Misha's leg, are we! (Bullshit!)
I already have a centaur with a 50/50 split of horny and rage attributes, plus such obvious tropes as corrupted Paladins and defeated Princess Knights, and you're telling me there's no smut!
And then he waited, and waited, and waited.
The Beastman army took a brief rest outside the city.
Al was getting somewhat impatient, and the Bloodmother Minotaurs were restlessly pawing at the earth.
The Veling envoys and the Expeditionary Force cavalry finally arrived, long overdue.
The latter had gloomy expressions on their faces. After glancing up at Al riding the Griffon, they gently spurred their horses, rode off to the side, and parted ways with the envoys.
Al was puzzled, only to see the envoy swiftly dismount, bow deeply, and pay his respects in one smooth, fluid motion.
His attitude was extremely sincere.
His words were incredibly insolent.
Using a massive, massive chunk of flowery rhetoric, he listed: from the ironclad oath between the Empire and the Dwarfs, to the intimate closeness between Wood Elves and Treemen where "I am in you and you are in me," to the heroic feat of all races closely uniting against Chaos in the Great War, and the profound grace and kindness of the Elves and Tomb Kings supporting the Southerners in rebuilding their nation. All to highlight that words could not express their gratitude, wishing they could work like oxen and horses and devote themselves entirely in return.
And then he practically spat right in Al's face.
The Veling Council hoped to provide the tribe with a batch of supplies and treasure as a reward and commission for lifting the siege, requesting that they rest briefly outside the city (do not enter the city), and immediately head west to support Magus in the west. The implied meaning was: I'm very moved by your assistance, but you're a good guy, and there are better people waiting for you...
Al laughed out of pure anger.
Literally.
He laughed out loud right in front of the Veling envoys and the Expeditionary Force.
The Beastmen sensed the fury that had already begun to burn fiercely within the Everchosen's chest, and their battle-lust began to rise again.
"Do the Estalians think I am their mercenary?"
Al fired back a rhetorical question. Before the envoy could realize something was wrong and open his mouth to explain, he furiously roared:
"I came here to practice friendship and fulfill our alliance, yet the people of Veling dare insult me to this extent—are the Greenskins' choppas sharp, but my sword is dull?!"
"Prepare to siege the city!"
The envoy slumped to the ground with a thud.
The Bloodmother Minotaurs roared excitedly, and the Khorngors were invigorated by the prospect of yet another battle and victory.