The rescued refugees of Magus quickly left under the tribe's escort, heading toward Veling.
Only by fleeing all the way there under the guidance of the Beastmen could they find temporary safety.
Although the siege of Veling had been lifted, there was still an endless stream of Greenskins heading north, seeking a good scrap and sweeping everything in their path.
Therefore, along the roads north and east of Magus, and even on the Demontrei path leading north, Greenskin bandits could be encountered everywhere.
The remnant resistance forces of the south shrank back to the Tombs of the Ancient Kings, relying on the endless hills and mountains to the southwest to resist the Greenskins' attacks. As long as the Great Warboss didn't focus his attention on them, small groups of Greenskins would find it difficult to overcome the terrain's advantage.
After several unsuccessful attacks, the bored Greenskins would vent their frustration by wreaking havoc in the fallen human towns. Then, they would head in the only direction left where there was still something to chop and a WAAAAAGH! to be had—other than returning to Magritta to join a long, boring siege:
Marching North.
Massive numbers of Greenskin mobs and warbands swarmed north like locusts. If Al hadn't rescued Veling, they would have inevitably swept through the surrounding areas of fallen Veling and Magus, and then swarmed en masse through the Demontrei path, following any Greenskin Boss who looked green enough, strong enough, and WAAAAAGH! enough.
If Demontrei also fell, then the north would have no natural defenses left. The rampaging Greenskins would barrel straight to the walls of Bilbali. By then, the Estalians wouldn't be far from total national annihilation...
Afterward, Al could logically descend from the heavens as a savior, turn the tide, and mend the broken sky.
Answering the mandate of heaven and the will of the people, mirroring Sigmar and Gilles le Breton—this wouldn't be taking it by military force, but truly the destiny of heaven's mandate...
Al sat on the Griffon, with the Grand Sister wrapping her arms around his waist.
After a brief goodbye with the centaur girl, the boy continued riding the Griffon into the sky, flying off into the distance.
The wolf packs and outriders were constantly uncovering the map for him, searching for traces of humans, then gathering them and escorting them to Veling.
As for how to convince them to follow, it was very simple.
Faced with having no means of transportation, having to cross the wilderness on foot, and facing threats anytime and anywhere along the way;
Faced with the dire predicament of not having enough food or even a water source.
Surely, any normal person would be willing to follow the rescue forces sent by a neighboring city.
Even if they brought along some beast allies that looked even more terrifying than the Greenskins.
The Wyvern flapped its wings and followed behind them. The Beastman legion, having finished its rest, was fully equipped and ready to march, prepared to follow in the Everchosen's footsteps and continue the campaign.
Sensing the Wyvern's movements, the Griffon very disdainfully sped up and shot into the sky, clearly not wanting this defeated foe hanging around beside her.
Al couldn't help but open his visor, breathing in the fresh, chilly air.
The Grand Sister had clearly never been this high up before; the arms holding the boy tightened slightly.
"I want to establish a new church... No, it can't be a church."
She rested her head against Al's shoulder. Because of the Griffon's increased speed, her voice was somewhat distorted by the rushing air.
"My companions and I will establish an Order paying homage to the Bloodmother. Anyone can learn with us, anyone can receive our help, and together we will fight against oppression and evil."
"Just like before?"
With the Grand Sister's chin resting on his shoulder, Al couldn't turn his head, so he kept looking at the clouds ahead and shouted loudly: "How many of you are there?"
"A hundred? Are there even half of those Sisters willing to convert with you?"
"Don't limit your thinking to your old mindset of 'chivalric quests, drawing my sword to help whenever I see injustice'!"
"If I were you, right now, walking the same path as you, what do you think I would do?!"
The boy shouted at the top of his lungs. The Griffon girl seemed very excited by this and suddenly sped up again.
Al got a little scared. Although he wasn't afraid of heights, this was just too high.
What if!
Just in case!
Hypothetically?
Suddenly!
So he hunched over, pressing his upper body flat against the Griffon girl's back.
The Grand Sister copied his posture, leaning her upper body down and pressing against Al's back.
"I would gather people first?" The Grand Sister was a bit uncertain. This boy, the Son of the Bloodmother, had ideas that were too unconstrained and imaginative; she felt it was very hard to guess what he was thinking.
"Right!"
"Then I would find a place with deep contradictions and oppression, with resources, with manpower, and a foundation for rebellion—and ideally, a place where the reactionary forces aren't too strong!"
"Build, represent advanced productive forces, unite all forces that can be united, list the targets that must be destroyed and overthrown, and mobilize the power of the masses..."
As Al spoke, he suddenly laughed out loud:
"Of course, that's how it works in my homeland!"
"In this broken world! You need sufficient power!"
"Whether it comes from arms or ideology!"
"You also need the blessings of the gods!"
"Even if she makes you drink her bathwater, it's the same!"
"Then, get some capable subordinates with passable loyalty, and after that, you can start conquering or being conquered!"
"Woohoo!"
The Griffon girl did a barrel roll in the air and then went into a dive. The boy screamed in excitement.
"The Grail Knights are the embodiment of glory, virtue, and fine qualities, the Living Saints of Bretonnia."
"But first and foremost, they have to be able to fight!"
"Incredibly good at fighting! Practically the best fighters among mortals. That way, when others can't beat you in a fight, and their arguments aren't as strong as yours, they'll listen to you properly!"
"Your idea is the same!"
"You must have martial power, and you must have ideology!"
"Merely physically eliminating a batch of oppressors—like feudal nobles, greedy factory barons, or rotten bishops—is not enough. In fact, if you fail, all the blame will be pinned on you! Dirty water will soak your name until it stinks and rots!"
"You must destroy them physically, and overthrow them mentally!"
"And you must completely analyze how they appeared, how they grew, and the methods and processes they used to squeeze and exploit the commoners. Expose it all to the sun, let the commoners realize their stench, and recognize and understand their methods!"
"This is annihilating them from the very source of their existence! And ensuring that such oppression will never return to the mortal realm!" Al shouted loudly. His voice was distorted by the oncoming wind, but the Grand Sister could barely make it out.
A shiver ran through her heart again.
"Even further!"
Al clearly hadn't said enough and intended to continue indoctrinating the Grand Sister.
"The Gods are the same!"
If a bolt of lightning from a clear sky had flashed right then, Al would have shut his mouth immediately. Unfortunately, there wasn't one, so he kept going.
"If you take the things those gods have done, piece by piece, and meticulously dissect, observe, and analyze them, you will realize—gods can't even be considered perfect humans!"
"They make mistakes! They are powerless in the face of disaster! They will even, out of unpredictable psychology, do incredibly foolish things that look like grand plans but are undoubtedly stupid to the core!"
"If the Elven Chief God had just stood up early on and said: 'I appoint the Witch King (though he wasn't yet) Malekith as the orthodox Phoenix King,' the Elves wouldn't have been split by conspiracies and civil war, and perhaps the War of the Beard wouldn't have broken out."
"In the later rise of the Greenskins and Skaven, the Dwarfs might still have had the support of allies."
"The Great Vortex opened right at their doorstep, yet not a single Elven god, nor any god on the side of Order, knew that Sigmar was trapped within it; they were all toyed with by the Eagle God (Tzeentch)."
"Lileath created Bretonnia, but from the very beginning, she was planning to run away—and this is from one of the gods who barely counts as having done something useful!"
Al clearly didn't realize he was getting carried away, unable to resist disclosing quite a few secrets from before the last End Times to the Grand Sister.
Including his own superficial understanding of the Old World and some of his complaints. (These are purely the character's opinions mixed with the author's personal takes; ignore if you dislike).
"If you think even gods are this unreliable and undependable, does your power exceed theirs? Can you surpass wave after wave of Chosen and Champions?"
"In terms of martial power, you are at an absolute disadvantage!"
"So to challenge them, you must adopt—ideological warfare!"
Al dropped this sentence, shocking the heavens and shaking the earth.
He truly never intended to shout things like "My fate is my own, not heaven's" or "Kill all heretic gods."
He was purely trying to brainwash the Grand Sister and give her an example along the way.
Then he flew too high, got too hyped up talking.
And couldn't hit the brakes.
Going out for a joyride in a convertible mount will always end in tears of tragedy following extreme joy.
A speck of golden light streaked across the firmament. At first glance, it was just a tiny dot far away on the horizon.
Then it arrived in an instant.
Al didn't even have time to react to what it was before his entire body was blasted away.
When he regained his senses, his body was already in free fall.
An arrow formed of golden light was currently lodged in his chest.