The council envoy stammered as he spoke.
Listening to the conditions offered by the other party, Al's face remained impassive while his mind calculated.
His biological mother kept secretly observing the boy from time to time.
The envoys all returned. The Expeditionary Force had originally wanted to leave a few people behind as permanent liaisons to facilitate communication with the tribe, but Al politely declined.
The Grand Sister's mind felt as if a hundred thousand Greenskins were launching a WAAAAAGH! inside it. Her perception of the outside world was extremely dulled, making it very difficult to focus her attention on anything.
Al had pretty much gotten what he wanted. As long as the people of Veling did exactly as told next, his preliminary plan would be mostly successful.
However, this time, Al's patience would not last very long.
The Shaman had specifically issued a warning when seeing the envoys off, naturally directed at the council envoys.
"My Lord's forgiveness has been granted to you, but remember, this tolerance happens once, and only once."
"Do not fail the tribe's trust a second time."
It didn't state what the consequences would be, but the envoys knew perfectly well in their hearts.
If that happened, these beasts, who had begun to camp and rest in the wilderness, would not limit themselves to the deterrent posture they had previously shown. They would truly use their blades and swords to measure the density of the Veling people's flesh and blood.
The envoys entering the city were met by the defenders and residents—though in Veling, it was currently very hard to distinguish between the two.
They were welcomed lining the streets; though strictly speaking, "interrogated" would be more accurate.
Despite the relieved expressions on their faces upon returning, the easing atmosphere when looking at the Beastmen from afar, and the envoys repeatedly emphasizing: there will be no war, the tribe and Veling have reached a treaty.
But the highly tense people of Veling, teetering on the edge of a breakdown, could not listen to the council envoys' explanations. They only cared about cursing the council's stupidity and asking what the tribe's intentions were, and whether they would launch an attack.
This made the envoys even more physically and mentally exhausted. The Expeditionary Force had anticipated this would happen and deliberately lagged behind, letting the council envoys enter the city first to draw the fire before going in themselves. Even so, they still couldn't avoid being surrounded and questioned by the residents: "Is it peace? Is it peace!"
Everyone had been through destruction, and everyone was terrified of destruction.
If someone were to raise their arm right now and shout: "Councilor so-and-so is a warmonger, he's the one who instructed the envoy to offer humiliating conditions to the tribe, causing them to decide to breach Veling and raze this place to the ground!"
Then there would surely be many overly tense, near-insane defenders who would follow him, grab that councilor before or even during the enemy's attack, and hang him.
This situation continued until the Grand Sister, persuaded by Celestine and surrounded by the crowd, walked to a high vantage point, steadied her mind, dispelled the chaotic thoughts in her head, and loudly proclaimed the agreement reached between the delegation and the tribe to the masses. Although Helen's thoughts had been a mess at the time and she hadn't listened closely, it all boiled down to one thing.
"It is peace!"
The people immediately cheered, hugging each other and shouting: "Peace!"
"Peace!"
"Thank the Goddess, for granting us survival!"
As the word "peace" was chanted countless times, the atmosphere within the city was instantly liberated from the suppressed madness of their previous despair.
Cheers and celebrations were like endless waves, crashing back and forth within the small lake of Veling. Everyone sincerely prayed to whatever deities or great powers they believed in, loving and feeling grateful for everyone around them.
The Grand Sister was swarmed by the fanatical defenders and hoisted into the air. People shouted: "Helen! Helen! Sister of Sigmar!" They carried her around the streets, turning the Grand Sister into the very vessel of their victory and peace.
She turned her head in a daze and saw the female knight resting her hand on her sword hilt, a cascade of long blonde hair flowing down, smiling at her.
The Grand Sister had never experienced this feeling before, being genuinely loved and felt close to by the people from the bottom of their hearts.
In the past, even when she helped dispossessed farmers reclaim their land, helped rioting workers occupy factories, or even saved vibrant lives from the blades of mobs and bandits, she had never received such fervent cheers.
The commoners revered her because she truly defended their interests and protected their livelihoods;
The nobles and the powerful feared her because of her warhammer, her armor, and her devotion to the God-Emperor that even the Arch Lectors had to acknowledge;
She had protected and saved the lives and livelihoods of countless people, just as she had protected Veling, yet she had never been treated with such joyous exaltation.
Even though the emotions should have been just as passionate, it felt as if there had always been some kind of barrier.
Looking at those cheering faces, whose passion came entirely from the bottom of their hearts without a trace of falsehood, they were so passionate, so excited. If such emotions were brought into daily life, into the everyday...
If a farmer dared to pick up a pitchfork to rebel against a noble, there was no doubt he would face whipping, hard labor, or even direct hanging.
If a worker dared to strike, sabotage machines, or use radical means to demand unpaid wages and medical subsidies, then arrest, restitution, and exile would await him too.
But if everyone possessed such passion—internally,
rebelling against tyranny, rebelling against injustice; externally, resisting evil, fighting to the death.
Then would there still be so much suffering and so many atrocities?
If everyone said no to injustice, if everyone dared to draw their swords against their oppressors...
Wouldn't such a world be a better place than the Empire, which has navigated for thousands of years under noble rule, obsolete customs, and the corruption of money...
The Grand Sister fell into a trance. So, what exactly went wrong?
Cheers... excitement... emotion!
Dogma!
It is the dogma!
The dogma of the God-Emperor!
The dogma of faith!
It has bound the people, bound their emotions!
Bound all living beings!
Helen was utterly terrified!
She remembered when she was very young, still the eldest daughter of a fallen noble family, she had witnessed a sermon by a Priest of Sigmar.
The man wore an exquisite robe with gold-threaded patterns, holding a sacred relic, dressed solemnly and majestically as he stood on a high platform. Below were all raggedly dressed farmers and workers, the two forming a stark contrast.
It was like two different worlds.
Most of the people listening to the sermon had served in the military. Due to the Empire's internal financial issues, their wages had been delayed for nearly a year, so they gathered to petition. The local bureaucrats didn't drive them away with force; instead, they invited a highly respected Arch Lector, widely praised for his piety.
The latter personally walked into the crowd, ascended the high platform, and preached to the masses. It subsequently turned into a sacred and solemn sermon, where everything in the mortal world seemed to become insignificant before faith.
The issue of unpaid wages?
Dissatisfaction with the Empire?
God-Emperor above, how could such issues be mentioned in such a sacred setting!
The Arch Lector educated the people that piety, patience, and learning to endure and transform suffering were the virtues that Sigmar's children had always possessed. He also adopted a critical stance, specifically pointing out a few individuals, questioning whether their previous actions had betrayed their faith and failed Sigmar's mortal realm.
The individuals pointed out lowered their heads in shame and begged the Arch Lector for forgiveness.
The Arch Lector comforted them and then sincerely recounted to the crowd the difficulties the Empire was currently facing. He said that every Imperial citizen should unite more closely at a time like this, to band together and not scatter, and not let a trivial wage issue shake their faith in the God-Emperor...
The people demanding their wages left and returned to their respective hometowns. The Arch Lector gained immense fame because of this sermon.
As for the delayed wages that rightfully belonged to them, who knows.
The Arch Lector could still spend exorbitantly on a single blessing ceremony, the nobles still lived in debauchery, and the factory owners' entire families competed over whose clothes and utensils were more magnificent and stylish. Every year, massive amounts of luxury goods from all over the world flowed into various parts of the Empire through Marienburg.
Financial issues?
Could any issue truly trouble the descendants of chieftains and heroes (referring to the bloodlines of the various tribal leaders from when Sigmar founded the Empire)?
The Sister seemed to be on the verge of touching the crux of a certain issue, but a gunshot shattered her thoughts.
A bloody flower burst open on her abdomen, the pain arriving from the wound a few seconds too late.
Helen instinctively clutched the wound; pure, precious human blood was flowing out from it.
At first, people didn't notice, because the massive waves of cheering were simply too loud, until a few children screamed at the top of their lungs: "The Sister is hurt! The Sister is bleeding!" Only then did people snap to their senses, horrified to discover that a relatively weak spot on Helen's abdomen had been pierced by a musket shot.
The people frantically lowered the Sister down, scrambling to find a doctor. Those on the outer edges, unable to squeeze in and see what happened, angrily began searching for the origin of the assassin.
Who knows what the gunman was thinking, but in short, he was caught while clumsily trying to climb over an alley wall, still carrying the musket with its barrel smoking hot.
Extremely stupid, caught red-handed with the weapon.
If he had just thrown the gun away and blended into the crowd pretending nothing happened, he might have been able to hide and get away.
Under a rain of fists and spit, the gunman quickly confessed.
The gunman wailed weakly: "It was Old Scar-Eye, the steward under Partridge Leo, the boss of the 'Veling Sword and Shield' Merchant Guild, who told me to do it."
"Why!" the defender in charge of the interrogation pressed furiously.
The Veling Sword and Shield Merchant Guild; their side hustle, or rather their main business, was mercenary operations, which was very common in the Southern Realms.
Partridge was a prestigious figure in Veling, and the mercenary company under his command was the backbone of the defense against the Greenskins this time.
"He said the Sisters ruined his boss's plans. Originally, the entire city's defense was supposed to fall into the hands of the Veling Sword and Shield. His boss could have become the general commander of the city defense, a tribune, and could even run for Speaker in the future."
"Fuck Partridge! In the name of the Goddess, drag this greedy poisonous snake out! Hang him in front of the Sister to repent!"
Thus, the crowd boiled over. Leaving some hands behind to take care of the Sister—by this time the Grand Sister's companions had also arrived—the rest of the people menacingly grabbed their swords, spears, and shields, and escorted the gunman to the council to demand an answer.
On the other side, the Speaker, having learned the good news, breathed a sigh of relief. Sitting in his chair and wiping his sweat, the atmosphere was suddenly no longer at knifepoint.
He waved his hand, gesturing for the servants to refill the drinks of everyone present. Propping his feet up on the table, he said to Partridge: "Hey, this matter is temporarily considered over, but you nearly caused the downfall of Veling. I personally don't need anything, but you need to provide compensation to the residents of the whole city who were traumatized by this incident."
The man raised his head and flashed a smile at the Speaker.
Then he and his companions suddenly raised their hands. Unbeknownst to anyone, they had somehow gotten their hands on several muskets.
After a volley of fire, the Speaker's body was blown open with several holes like a torn gunny sack, blood flowing endlessly.
Among the guards responsible for suppressing the hall, quite a few suddenly drew their swords against their comrades. After the firefight, both sides suffered heavy casualties. Partridge, without saying a word, quickly evacuated with his subordinates and companions, only to run smack into the residents coming to demand answers.
The surviving guards shouted in shock and anger that Partridge had killed the Speaker. In an instant, urban street fighting broke out between the residents and the guild's men.
The leader, Partridge, took several arrows to the body and fell to the ground, unable to get up. His surviving subordinates were also killed or captured one after another. A plump, steward-looking man tearfully spilled the truth: Partridge had always wanted to seize the position of Speaker. During this Greenskin siege, he had originally planned to consolidate Veling's defenses and later use military force to coerce his way into the Speaker's seat. Who knew the Sisters would be incredibly heroic, and with the help of the Expeditionary Force, he was prevented from seizing power.
However, having previously spent almost his entire fortune to win people over, his calculations completely failed when the tribe came to help. With powerful reinforcements present, his influence was naturally greatly diminished.
Unwilling to accept this, he took a desperate risk and deceived the council, claiming his guild had dealt with the tribe before and that the other party was a group of bloodthirsty, cruel barbarians who loved to rape, pillage, and abduct human women. He incited the crowd to support him in diverting the disaster westward, which resulted in enraging the genuinely helpful tribe, bringing the two sides to the brink of war.
Then, forced by the Speaker to hand over his property to apologize to the tribe and compensate the residents, Partridge, who had already gone bankrupt bribing and enticing others, found himself backed into a corner. Unwilling to just hand over everything he had, he furiously killed the Speaker, planning to take his men to a hidden escape route in the Goddess's church and use a one-time teleportation device there to flee to Bilbali or Bretonnia.
A barely logically rigorous explanation.
The furious crowd naturally didn't look further into the inconsistencies of it. They immediately announced the permanent confiscation of all property belonging to Partridge and his partners, and declared they would send Partridge's corpse to the tribal army to inform their tribal allies of this despicable human's misdeeds.
They were dissuaded by the remaining councilors, to prevent Veling from losing face in front of their allies.
Only then did the crowd noisily disperse.
The dust settled.
A three-eyed crow stood atop the spire of the Church of Myrmidia, tilting its head, observing everything within the city.
The Grand Sister remained in a coma.