"A trifling matter. Let the vanguard crush them, then gather the people and follow me east back to Veling!"
Al waved his hand, signaling them to just F2A over there. Of the two main Greenskin forces that headed north, one was shattered by him under the walls of Veling, and the other was still besieging Magus. Any Greenskins encountered in the wilderness were mostly just small-scale warbands.
Most ranged from a few dozen to a few hundred, at most barely breaking a thousand.
For a luxurious lineup featuring Minotaurs, Blessed Commanders, the Everchosen, and the Everchosen's first lieutenant personally overseeing the battle, it was something a single charge could resolve.
But this time was a bit different.
The scouts reported back with this news:
A group of humans was chasing the Greenskins and beating them up.
"?"
After the Battle of the Guadaz River, before the Bilbali people sent out their grand army, when everything from Veling to Magus could only cower behind city walls trembling in fear, there were actually people around here with such overflowing martial virtue?
Al's interest was piqued.
Let's go take a look!
Although his adoptive mother absolutely refused to let him ride the Griffon again, Al could still observe the battlefield through the Griffon's perspective.
Upon receiving his command, the Griffon girl let out an excited screech, flapped her wings, and accelerated toward the direction the scouts had pinpointed.
It didn't take long before Al saw what he wanted to see.
On the plains, a group of armored knights in a simple triangular formation was charging at the Greenskins on the other side.
Behind them, an infantry regiment equipped in a very obvious Estalian style—with spears and muskets—was following behind the knights, advancing steadily.
This was the first time Al had seen with his own eyes the effect of humans proactively launching an attack against the Greenskins.
The knights tore through the Greenskin lines like a hot knife through butter. The spearhead plunged into them with unstoppable force; the gap was rapidly widened and torn apart, churning the entire Greenskin formation into a complete mess.
The Estalian infantry finally didn't have to suffer the frustrating flaw of constantly being flanked or attacked from the rear. Some skilled outriders, adept at horse archery, scattered behind their two flanks, using arrows early on to "welcome" those brainless Greenskins who tried to continue using the "Flank -> Charge -> Chop Chop Chop -> WAAAAAAGH! Massive Success" tactic.
A small squad of elite knights was deployed behind the horse archers. When the latter scattered to make space, the elite knights engaged and entangled the Greenskin Big Uns who were still recklessly charging forward.
Meanwhile, the spearmen at the very front had already crossed blades with the Greenskins.
The panicked Greenskins were unable to break through the tight, orderly square formation and were continuously shot and killed by muskets and crossbows. At the same time, finding no way to tackle the spear wall that looked like a cross between a turtle and a porcupine, they could only suffer casualties and be driven backward.
This further exacerbated the tearing of the Greenskin positions and caused their morale to plummet.
The knights forcefully trampled over Greenskin corpses and pierced straight through the enemy formation. They continued their forward thrust, charging into the positions of the Goblin archers and Greenskin Arrer Boyz to begin a slaughter. The Goblins shrieked weirdly, didn't even put up much resistance, dropped their weapons, and scurried away holding their heads.
The Greenskin Boyz fared slightly better, but the result was merely leaving behind more corpses before they too began to rout.
Both the knights and their mounts were coated in a layer of blood. Fortunately, their armor and capes blocked it, otherwise just cleaning the Greenskin spores stuck to their bodies would be a highly labor-intensive task.
Their Warboss had died at the very beginning under the knights' charge. The leading "spearhead" easily pierced its chest, hoisting the ferocious Greenskin up on his lance, only shaking it off when the knight returned to his own army. By then, it was already a corpse.
The knights quickly reformed their ranks. This time, they didn't continue with a wedge; they adopted a simple line charge formation and chose the seemingly weaker—though it didn't look much different—left wing of the enemy, launching a second charge.
With an almost overwhelming, sweeping momentum, they shattered the Greenskin left wing.
The infantry let out a resounding, thunderous roar—both a cheer and a deterrent. Soon, the enemy's right wing couldn't hold on either. Before the knights could launch their third charge, the few Greenskin Big Uns at the very front turned and fled, triggering a chain reaction.
They howled: "Da 'Umie fings are WAAAAAGH!in'! Da iron cans are 'ere!"
Trampling and shoving each other, they fled the battlefield.
The horse archers, who had been waiting for a long time, cooperated with the guarding knights to rout the harassing Boar Boy Big Uns and Wolf Riders. They were now howling as they charged straight ahead, hunting down the fleeing Greenskins.
An easy victory.
"Well fought."
Al clapped his hands, praising them.
On the battlefield, the leading knight took off his helmet, tilted his neck up, and looked at the sky. A majestic beast was circling above.
The knight had a premonition that someone was watching this battlefield, but there was no warning of danger.
At this time, Al no longer needed to observe through the Griffon's perspective, because he had already arrived.
After a group of Greenskins that ran in the wrong direction was crushed by the Centigors and wolf packs, the silhouettes of the horse archers hunting them appeared on the hill.
They seemed extremely shocked that yet another massive and unfamiliar army had appeared beside them. Without almost any hesitation, half of them immediately turned around and ran back, while from the other half, two men rode out, galloping toward the Beastmen.
"Have the Grand Sister take some people to make contact."
Al ordered.
Because she had only recently defected, her loyalty might not be solid enough, and their bond wasn't strong enough. So, although the Grand Sister's individual strength was definitely sufficient, the connection between Al and her was still somewhat unstable.
No ordinary mount, especially four-hooved ones, could get close to Alina—this Bloodmother's Champion, the descended Thunder and Fire.
Ordinary horses would die of fright just by witnessing her furious posture or feeling her crimson rage.
Even Beastmen, who were part of the Centigor species, didn't dare get too close to Alina. The terrifying aura emanating from the latter constantly emitted an extremely dangerous scent; Beastmen would instinctively fear and avoid her.
Only Al and a few people like the goat girls could ignore it.
Furthermore, even the Blessed Minotaur Commander would feel fear toward the imposing aura Alina emitted when angry.
That was the most terrifying, most severe, most brutal, ultimate slaughter. At least so far, no one had lived to witness it.
So the Grand Sister had to stay among the human cavalry. Acting as a quasi-leader, she was responsible for commanding Al's human legion. She couldn't ride a horse to get close, otherwise the mount would be scared to death, nor could she run over while wearing heavy armor.
It was also impossible for Alina to let anyone other than Al ride her; even the goat girl Elune could only do so when the centaur girl was in a good mood.
Even when the boy, goat mom Elune, and centaur girl had a threesome, this rarely happened, let alone now.
And the subject was a human she disliked.
The cavalry showed the horse archers the documents and credentials from the Veling Council, and both sides reached a preliminary understanding.
The latter learned the superficial origins of this Beastman legion that looked much more terrifying than the Greenskins, and Al also learned:
They were not Estalians.
The main force of this army, namely those knights, were from a militant monastic order hailing from Bretonnia.
To outsiders, the meaning of this "monk" was no different from "knight."
If one were to ask which race or faction the Great War brought the biggest changes to in the mortal realm, the Bretonnians could at least proudly—or furiously—believe they should rank in the top three.
With the truth of the Fay Enchantress exposed, their faith shattered accordingly, and as the End Times intensified, the old order was also collapsing.
The King of Bretonnia was sacrificed, and the country was in turmoil, teetering on the edge of destruction.
After holding a physically and mentally exhausting council in Couronne, the surviving knights decided to ignore all the mess Lileath had made and place their final hopes on a gamble with the Empire.
The knights selected some representatives to find the Elves—who had moved to a new home, were resting in Athel Loren, and preparing to convene the Council of the Eight Winds—to negotiate, stating:
Control those fucking Druchii brats of yours that even you can't stand! Stop burning, killing, and looting our people (the peasants, how tragic) anymore. We are going to fight to the death alongside the Imperials. If we don't die, we'll come back and settle those grudges. If we do die, we hope that if the Elves survive, at least "even if you let them continue living as slaves (self-deprecation), as long as the race can be preserved, this is what we owe them."
With a hint of self-deprecation, under the various blows to their faith and nation, the knight lords also began to reflect. However, the End Times couldn't wait much longer, so most of them ultimately could only carry their doubts, dying in the middle of a charge, carving out a path to victory for the decisive battle at Middenheim.
After the Great War was won, the Elven pantheon actually did something useful for once—restoring Ulthuan and recreating the Elves' homeland.
So the Witch King—who should now be called the orthodox Phoenix King—after being played by Asuryan for thousands of years, and after being viewed with hostility and hatred for thousands of years by the very compatriots he desperately wanted to be an excellent leader for, gleefully packed up his entire family and moved.
Because the Oak of Ages was burned, abnormalities appeared among the forest spirits, corruption increased, Orion was dead, and Ariel had merged with the Everqueen (feels like it's all bad news)—it was even said that a certain Goddess of Healing, Shallya, suspected to be an Isha skin-swap, was imprisoned in the Fat Grandpa's (Nurgle's) garden to test medicines.
So the Elves decisively, like heartless scumbag men and women pulling up their pants, abandoned Athel Loren and happily went back to their old home.
Leaving behind a mess for the Bretonnians, where corrupted creatures frequently darted out, occasionally triggering a disastrous beast tide.
But overall, at least for now, the entire territory west of the Grey Mountains belonged to the Bretonnians.
However, an even bigger problem arose.