For a split second, Al thought the Grand Sister was bluffing him.
Once he nodded in tacit agreement, exposing his identity as a Chaos believer.
The Sister would instantly let out a mighty shout: All evil shall be brought to justice!
Then she would pull a warhammer out of her armor, or simply use "Strong Hand Skull Cracker" (bare-handed skull crush) and turn the boy into JFK (blown brains out).
But the aura radiating from the Grand Sister was so obvious and dense.
Al could even see the blurry phantom of a giant god within it. That blood-red color, overflowing the entire world yet entirely unique, was the exclusive mark of Al's mother.
"Then... what about your companions?"
Al asked softly in return. The Grand Sister brought him a slight sense of oppression. Standing before her, unlike standing before the centaur girl, he didn't feel that indescribable sense of security.
The Grand Sister lowered her head, her hair hanging down onto the boy's visor.
She parted her lips, revealing an eerie, bewitching smile.
"They will understand the truth."
"WAAAAAAAAGH!"
Greenskin ambushers charged out from behind the hills. Boar Boy Big Uns shrieked and wailed on the backs of their boars, brandishing choppas and battleaxes.
A Shaman waved its wooden staff, and a "Gaze of Mork" crashed into the crowd, inciting a wave of panic.
Short, hunched Goblin Boyz drew their crude, shoddy bows and rained arrows down upon the human ranks. Four or five people instantly fell among the refugees, and many more were wounded.
The spontaneously organized militia, under the command of a few mercenaries and routed Tercio soldiers, hastily formed the most common and classic Tercio square tactic.
Several rows of spears guarded a small perimeter at the very front and the left and right flanks. Archers and handgunners stood at the very back, using the gaps to output damage.
This Estalian tactic possessed extremely strong defense and impact power from the front, but its most vulnerable spot was its rear. In large-scale legion warfare, an expanded army formation could block attacks from multiple directions.
However, the Tercio squares were difficult to maneuver and turn promptly. Once their rear and flank cover—such as their own cavalry—was defeated and they were attacked by the enemy, it was very hard to mount an effective response.
But after the significant development of gunpowder weapons, the main enemies the Estalians faced were native beasts of the New World, occasional pirates, and minor skirmishes with neighboring Tilea and Bretonnia.
Almost none of them possessed enemies capable of posing a massive threat to the Estalian Tercio legions.
Various war machines flowing out of the Empire were highly sought after by the Southerners. As for cannons, their Bretonnian neighbors (the Carcassonne Round Table Council) hated the things, considering them dishonorable; conflicts with the Tileans, under the arbitration of the Church of War, restricted the use of such highly destructive weapons to prevent wars from escalating.
With the support of the ratmen, and the fact that the Great Warboss Gorkamorka Wyvern was himself a very, very rare Greenskin Warboss—known not for his martial prowess or cunning, but for "strategy" and "planning"—every battle had to strive as much as possible to use numbers against few, strength against weakness. If he could ambush or sneak attack, he absolutely would not charge head-on.
Before the Battle of Guadaz River broke out, the Great Warboss personally rode his incredibly rare two-headed Wyvern mount, "Death of Wyverns," descended upon the Great Wilderness, and personally commanded the entire battle.
Under his use of luring, ambushing, and harassing tactics, the reckless, revenge-driven Estalians were like prey toyed with by the most masterful Imperial Hunters, stepping step by step into the graves the Greenskins had dug for them.
Poisoned by Skaven plagues and bombarded by pirate Land Ships, the exhausted and battered Estalians could no longer resist the Greenskin offensive, ultimately suffering a crushing defeat at the Battle of Guadaz River...
To say so much, it all boils down to one point—
The Tercio is obsolete!
Especially when the flanks and rear cannot be secured. Technology developed, but tactics stagnated for a long time...
But tradition is always tradition. The formidable Tercio legions were the embodiment of glory throughout the South. Various glorious deeds had imbued the very name with a layer of sacred meaning.
The Estalians had almost forgotten that there were other ways to fight wars besides that clumsy hedgehog tactic.
Although the Big Uns were hot-headed, they wouldn't choose to WAAAAAGH! straight into Estalian spears unless they were particularly hot-headed.
After all, there were other things they could chop up, so why not?
Thus, the Greenskins bypassed the little hedgehog-like Tercios and charged toward the refugee columns.
Desperate shooters tried to use muskets and bows to save their compatriots and families, but very few Greenskins fell. Even more charged past; clearly, a massacre was about to occur.
The commanders hoarsely yelled to hold the formation, hold the formation, just like on the many battlefields of defeat they had experienced before.
To little avail.
The wavering of morale could not be contained. After all, the majority of the able-bodied men making up this force came from refugee families. When their own relatives were threatened, exposed to the enemy's butcher blades, and they had to stay here maintaining a seemingly useless formation...
It was very hard to hold the line.
Some shooters in the rear could no longer control their fear or their worry. They turned and tried to leave the square. Even after the commanders drew their pistols and shot them dead, more people tried to break formation.
One naturally couldn't expect much tactical discipline from hastily assembled militia, and besides, this was a slow death to begin with.
Even if they formed up and resisted stubbornly to the bitter end, the Greenskins surrounding them could easily find the weak points and break the square.
Annihilation seemed about to descend upon this refugee column, just like always.
On the statue of the Goddess Myrmidia, another tear of blood fell. The Kingdom wept for her children; they fell upon the land where Estalian ancestors had lived for generations, fell into the embrace of the glorious Estalian Kingdom.
But everything was about to change because of the arrival of a certain someone.
A screech accompanied by the flapping of wings cut across the sky.
A magnificent, peerless Griffon with wingtips as red as fire descended from the heavens. Its claws and beak tore a Big Un to shreds, while its sharp beak snapped up the head of a Greenskin whose raised choppa was about to fall upon the delicate body of a young mother holding a baby girl.
It bit the head, pulled it up, and with a flick of its neck, tossed it away.
The young woman, still despairing over the fate of herself and her baby, had a beautiful face stained with tears. She looked up, her face like pear blossoms bathed in rain, staring in disbelief at the fierce beast that had descended from the sky.
And the two—no, one—pendant on its back.
The Grand Sister let go of the boy's waist, jumped down from the Griffon girl's back, drew her warhammer, spun it twice in her hand, and hurled it violently. It smashed a Big Un to the ground, saving a young man who was almost skull-cracked.
She knocked down a screeching Big Un charging at her with a punch, casually picked up a hand axe and a choppa from the ground, and charged head-on into over a dozen incoming Greenskins.
The Wyvern roared and charged into the Goblin archer positions. With a pounce, it knocked a swathe of Goblin Boyz flying.
The wolf packs and Centigors also quickly caught up, joining this sudden rescue assault.
The Greenskins' charging momentum stalled, then rapidly dwindled.
Ambushed in reverse by much fiercer enemies, they were annihilated in the wilderness.
Al jumped off the Griffon, walked over to the young woman kneeling on the ground holding her baby, leaned down, and used his clawed gauntlet to gently pull back the baby's swaddling clothes.
He, or she, seemed to still be sleeping, unaware that they had just brushed past death along with their mother. They looked very quiet and well-behaved.
Al recalled the times he and his classmates participated in volunteer work, assisting professional caregivers and nursery workers in taking care of infants.
Back then, he often thought they were too noisy and annoying, but he still had to calm down and patiently soothe and care for them.
Now, he only felt nostalgic. He remembered the times the children babbled around him, when the boy lay on the mat and they climbed all over him.
Behind the visor, Al sighed, stood up, and incidentally glanced at the young woman's breasts, which had become somewhat loose and exposed a beautiful glimpse of cleavage, perhaps due to her previous flight.
Very big.
The taste... cough, the texture must definitely be great.
Men remain boys until they die!
What's wrong with a boy single-mindedly loving breasts until the day he dies!
Accompanied by the Griffon girl, Al wandered through the columns that had already detached from the center of the battlefield.
This noble beast held her head high, strutting proudly behind Al, looking somewhat like an Empress.
The Khorngor bodyguards quickly fought their way over, surrounding the Everchosen tightly and protecting him in the center.
The mounted Sisters shouted holy prayers, following closely behind the Centigors and wolf packs into the battlefield, slaughtering Greenskins with their flails and warhammers.
This Greenskin mob warband scattered on the western plains highlands enjoyed the dual services of Chaos and Order, and quickly headed toward a rout. The Goblins dropped their weapons and scurried away. When the Big Uns realized they couldn't WAAAAAGH!, they immediately turned and fled, pursued by the Centigors and wolf packs. Who knows how many would make it out alive.
The Sisters, along with some passionate, hot-blooded Expeditionary Force and Estalian soldiers who were willing to join their tribal allies to actively exterminate Greenskins and rescue Estalian citizens, began to regather the refugees and search for the wounded.
Among the militia, those who were unqualified or unwilling to continue serving in the army were weeded out. The rest were organized into a newly established legion in Al's vision: the "Mortal Guard" (Mortal Auxilia).
Of course, currently, neither the name nor the organization had been publicly announced; even the Beastmen were unaware of it. It was just a concept in Al's mind.
After all, we have Space Marine (not really) Four God Beast Warriors, so how could we lack an Auxilia?
In Al's future battlefield vision, mortals would primarily serve as the ranged component. He intended to vigorously develop gunpowder weapons. Combining Beastman monstrous and heavy infantry with human muskets and cannons, they would become the main force of his legions, conquering the world for him until the End Times.
Of course, the prerequisite was that he could truly win over their hearts. Otherwise, he couldn't guarantee whether a situation like this would occur:
The Mortal Realm's First Matchlock Ashigaru single-handedly duels the Everchosen.
That would be ridiculous, Citizens of the Empire.
Watching from the edge of the battlefield for a while—not out of avoiding battle, but purely for deeper reasons—the centaur girl walked over, carrying that long halberd that made Al's heart skip a beat every time he saw it, deeply afraid it would fall into the hands of one of his scions.
Her aura was freezing, terrifyingly gloomy.
Her attention was split in two: part on Al, and part on Grand Sister Helen.
She also cast a few glances at the young woman Al had saved.
Al stood with his hands on his hips beside the Griffon girl, observing the battlefield and feeling like a grand strategist for quite a while before he sensed his adoptive mother's arrival.
The bodyguards crowded around Al as he walked over, making space for these two (plus one Griffon), the absolutely irreplaceable core figures of the tribe.
The boy expertly took his adoptive mother's hand, continuing to gaze into the distance.
The battle was almost over, and humans and Beastmen were clearing the battlefield together.
Although he had seen it many times, the outcome of victory always gave Al endless aftertastes.
He hoped he could always be like this, having ample, leisurely time to admire the battlefield after every conclusion.
The refugees wept softly, out of both sorrow and excitement, rejoicing that they had survived.
The Beastman medics, led by the Shamans, were helping treat the wounded and care for the refugees.
Before this expedition, Al had specifically ordered the Centigors to force march back and bring a group of intelligent, quick-witted common Beastmen over. After all, negotiations happened between high-level figures.
If talks fell through, the worst that could happen was flipping the table and going to war, but communication at the grassroots level was always the most important.
Having Khorngors hack people down was fine, but that would perhaps mostly earn humanity's fear. Even if he gained momentary gratitude for saving their lives, it would be worn away by massive differences and lack of communication. After all, Al himself was human.
He had never trusted the moral standards of the humans in this world.
Converting their faith in the future was mandatory;
Beastmen, Humans, and even Dwarfs, High Elves, Vampires, and Tomb King skeletons are all my subjects! The Everchosen treats them all equally, loves them, and protects them—except for those who don't believe in the Four Gods!
Only with shared faith could there be basic guarantees. Even if "the forest is big and has all kinds of birds"—Dwarfs and Elves breaking ties, High Elf civil wars, Humans even selling out their own... the New Four Gods would not treat betrayal with mercy or incompetence.
The human cavalry legion (Mortal Auxilia) was sent out by Al to scout. These people currently highly approved of the tribe, or at least approved of its power, so Al could barely be considered half their commander.
Of course, the main reason was to prevent them from showing their faces in front of the refugees, to avoid them splitting the gratitude and closeness. This would make the refugees psychologically lean more toward the Beastmen who helped them, adding weight to Al's future plans.
The Greenskin corpses were gathered and burned, and the land polluted by their blood had to be cleansed; this task was assigned to the human cavalry to do later.
The Grand Sister walked back carrying her warhammer, casually tossing the massive corpse of a Greenskin Big Un onto the corpse pile.
"The situation in Magus is terrible. The siege by pirates and Greenskins has exhausted the defenders."
"Their fleet launched a breakout, using the advantage of a rainstorm to temporarily repel the pirate fleet, transporting a large number of citizens out of the city by ship to flee north to Bilbali."
Al nodded, turned to look at the miserable refugee column, and said: "Looks like they didn't completely succeed."
"Yes, the power of Necromancy exists among the pirates. They attacked the fleeing northern fleet with underwater undead and sea monsters. Most of the ships had to run aground, forcing them to abandon ship and flee onto the shore. The Magus fleet, in order to cover the retreat, completely sank in the Great Ocean."
The Grand Sister sighed with emotion.
Al was silent for a while.
"They are brave warriors, fighting to the death for the people. It fits my impression of soldiers."
"In the future, if possible, I will erect monuments for all the victims and the brave who fought against darkness and evil."
Al had already thought of the epitaph, he'd just copy... [Likely referring to a famous Earth monument/quote]
The Grand Sister found it strange: "What is your impression of an army? Tyrannical? Brave?"
Al shook his head, looking at the silent, deadly Khorngor legion—who rarely communicated with each other without orders—and the excited, impassioned Estalian Auxilia, who acted as if they had just won the most glorious victory.
Shaking his head, he said:
"It's been a very long time since I felt their existence."
After all, the United Earth Government had integrated the entire blue planet. Before he left, the only remaining armed forces were three types: the ceremonial Space Force, the Aerospace Fleet, and the Engineering Corps.
Even routine public security was handed over to AI. Humans were only responsible for handling situations the AI couldn't manage well.
But what Al spoke of, his impression of an army, came from before he was born.
The Everchosen murmured:
"They are a group of 'puritans' in life and spirit, the bravest people in a nation and a community. When they appear anywhere, seeing their figures gives the masses a sense of security."
"Incorruptible, chaste, brave, skilled in battle, yet peace-loving, because peace is the expectation of the masses and the guarantee of a good life."
"Their faith in the people is never easily shaken."
"They come from the masses, and they will return to the masses. They view the destiny of the masses as the highest directive. Under the leadership of the vanguard, they will forever charge ahead of all hardships."
"Their consciousness is very high, even if... they will also..."
Al finished speaking, snapped back to reality, looked at the thoughtful, slightly doubtful Grand Sister, and laughed: "It's enough if my legion can achieve half of that."
"You asked before how I intend to rule the Southern Realms and integrate the races."
"The obstacles on my path are nothing more than a few key ones: racial rejection, religious faith, customary conflicts, and the like. Besides those, the opposition from old vested interests like nobles and wealthy merchants, the teachings of the Goddess of War, or the Emperor and the Imperial Court sending an intervention army—I am not afraid of those."
Of course, if the High Elves sent a Star Dragon fleet, Al would still chicken out.
But having said this much, he naturally had to act tough to leave an unfathomably profound, world-swallowing impression on his newly arrived subordinate.
Though my body is short, my ambition spans the world.
"Between different countries and different races, there are many things that are common, that can coexist harmoniously."
"Estalians farm; do Beastmen not farm, just drink air to fill their bellies?"
"Humans want peaceful development. Beastmen are natural warmongers (Khorngors really are), wishing they could fight every day and kill themselves and their enemies down to a few—do they want to go extinct?"
"Beastmen can farm, can hunt, can work, and are great hands at fighting; Humans can also farm, hunt, and work. Their fighting might not be as fierce as Beastmen, but their technology and craftsmanship are advanced. If the two sides combine, does it not complement each other, enhancing the strengths and eliminating the weaknesses?"
"What I want to see, and must see, in the nation I am going to build—is all races living in harmony, building together, and developing together."
"When that time comes, everyone united, if some Three-Eyed or Four-Eyed King, or an Everchosen riding a black donkey comes to destroy the world, I believe that united, we can fight and win. Whether on the battlefield or in building a better life, we will achieve victory after victory."
After Al finished speaking, he pondered for a moment.
He'd have to polish these words later to use as propaganda material. The title will be "I Have a Dream." [MLK reference]
The Grand Sister remained silent, then suddenly asked:
"What about you?"
She continued to press: "In the nation you are going to build, what is your identity?"
"Emperor? Phoenix King? High King? Or the City Prince of the Estalians?"
Al smiled faintly.
He replied with a converted ancient Cathayan proverb:
"He who bears the nation's filth is called the Lord of the Soil and Grain; he who bears the nation's misfortunes is the King of the World!" [Quote from Laozi's Tao Te Ching]