Of the original eight thousand Mortal Auxilia, three thousand Beastmen, and five thousand Estalian Vanguard,
nearly half were lost in the siege and the fierce street fighting. Al was stunned.
Only in an Old World like this—where wars are frequent and apocalyptic disasters strike periodically—
could warriors of various races with such high "martial virtue" endure such a ratio of casualties.
One must remember this is the early-to-mid stage of industrialization, before the injection of patriotism, the fasces, or the ultimate "hammer and sickle."
The Southern Kingdom's martial virtue is slightly inferior compared to the central Empire or northern Kislev.
Of course, the presence of the Beastmen's ferocious oversight was a factor; the Khorngors often charged in the front and executed cowards in the rear.
Furthermore, the mortal soldiers had all been pounded by Greenskins before.
If it were humans or Elves attacking, it would be fine, but facing savage, evil races like Greenskins or Skaven, there was no choice.
Fleeing to save oneself would mean being turned into food or slaves—or food after being a slave—once the city fell.
So they persisted, enduring massive casualties to hold the fortress, retreat by retreat, without fully losing it.
They relied on ruins and narrow passages for tenacious resistance until Al arrived with reinforcements.
Even so, the casualty ratio for the core force of three thousand Beastmen was nearly two-thirds.
Fewer than one thousand were still capable of action with intact limbs and no obvious disability.
Because "Red-Skinned Big 'Uns" were often the strong enemies Greenskins loved to challenge,
Orcs would frequently charge in heedlessly to seek a satisfying "WAAAAAGH!".
Combined with the Khorngors' explosive temper and their refusal to retreat, plus being led by Al's scions, the casualties were massive.
Seeing this made Al want to weep.
Half of the eight thousand Auxilia were dead or wounded.
The Vanguard Legion, being regular army, had more standardized equipment and training, and better coordination.
Their losses were slightly smaller; of the five-thousand-man legion, casualties were around two thousand.
This count only includes the dead and the heavily wounded who completely lost combat capability; light injuries were not included.
As for the losses of Al's main force, they were fewer.
But the main army he led was composed entirely of Beastmen.
In the tribe's hierarchy, they were equivalent to the Mongol race during the Khanate or the Qing Dynasty's Eight Banners.
The death of Auxilia (Mortal Auxilia) didn't sting much, but every Beastman lost was one less core member.
Of course, Al would certainly not implement a garbage system of tiered classes, nine-rank selection, castes, or using beasts to rule humans in the future.
But for now, and for a long period to come, the Beastmen remained his absolute base and core strength.
They were far more reliable than the current humans.
Even in the blueprint for a future nation, Al's positioning for the Beastmen leaned heavily toward his direct units and warfare.
Equipped with good gear and training, they would be elite heavy infantry—the cornerstone of Al's legions, the mighty force of the spear and shield.
This type of force could not be directly replenished—once the Chaos beasts in the Piña Forest were mostly captured.
These elite warriors could not be instantly replaced. Al wasn't a Games Workshop writer,
who could simply pen down ten thousand "Blessed Warriors of the Four Mothers" (Phoenix Guard) in the deepest part of the tribe.
Warriors who silently guard the Temple of the Four Mothers, having seen all futures shown to them by the Four Mother Goddesses (Asuryan).
Super-chads who, after a long-running family drama of Al's death, Misha's usurpation, and the Beastmen Great Split, still refuse to come out for even a cameo.
By the time the Three-Eyed King Archaon succeeded in destroying the world, these chads would still be doing who-knows-what, perhaps suffering a "plot death" at the hands of a group of Greenskin Goblins?
Or in the mountains of the Inara Range, tens of thousands of Ghorgons and ancient Dragon Ogres lie dormant.
During the peak of the Beastman tribe, they could be
brought out to fight another race capable of challenging them until both were crippled.
Ultimately, this terrifyingly massive monster army would just sleep in the mountains, unable to be awakened even at the end of the world.
Al's main force of fourteen thousand Beastmen, combined with Misha's five thousand detachment,
suffered nearly five thousand casualties in this battle. The death toll was over two thousand.
The ratio of dead to heavily wounded was close to 1:1.
This blood-slicked number made Al's head spin upon receiving the report.
He was simultaneously ecstatic over the great victory and choked with depression over the truly heavy losses.
Even with Al frantically urging and whipping the Shaman-healers to work around the clock, many wounded could not be saved in time.
At the same time, even if the Shamans who mastered the "Jade Casket" worked themselves to death,
they could not possibly cast the spell on even one-tenth of such a vast number of dead to bring them back.
Al was heartbroken beyond measure.
After the great victory, aside from holding a crude celebration on the spot and perfunctorily hosting the sacrificial ritual for Lileath,
he collapsed in his own camp tent, refusing to go out.
Even when the centaur girl tried several times to comfort her adopted son, Al was too listless to care.
This made the beautiful centaur feel self-reproach, thinking that if she could have broken the Greenskins alone,
Al wouldn't be so pained and despondent over today's heavy losses.
She was essentially PUA-ing herself.
Al had to snap out of his gloom to comfort his adoptive mother in return.
This was his responsibility; the centaur girl shouldn't bear it for him.
Furthermore, even divine power cannot be truly omnipotent, let alone human power?
Now, one can only do one's best and leave the rest to fate.
Since crawling out of Celestine's womb, Al had experienced quite a few battles.
But the vast majority were in the tribe, playing cat-and-mouse and guerrilla warfare with Chaos beasts.
After leaving the forest, his approach to the Greenskins was also a wide-open tactical style—"I am mobile, I raid you, and that's it."
This battle was the bloodiest he had ever commanded, with the most far-reaching consequences.
For the tribe, it was the most important "strategic decisive battle" of the early-to-mid phase of this Greenskin Great WAAAAAGH! tide.
Though it was a great victory, the price was such that Al—who used to grit his teeth and reload a save in games if the casualty ratio was ugly—found it hard to face for a moment.
These were all individual lives that couldn't be brought back. Now...
Slap!
Al suddenly opened his eyes and slapped himself. His right cheek instantly turned red.
Alina, who was lying on her side on the ground letting him lean against her, immediately sat up.
She grasped her adopted son's hand, panicked: "What's wrong?"
Al didn't make a sound. After exhaling a long, stale breath, he leaned back into the valley between the centaur girl's giant breasts.
He stared at the tent ceiling with open eyes. After a good while, he finally spat out a complete sentence:
"Pretentious!"
After cursing himself, Al got up. Standing, his body pressed against the half-upright centaur. He began to move.
Unveiling and stripping away the barriers from her chest, a pair of full, perky, snowy-white giant breasts sprang forth without a hint of sagging.
Al said nothing, burying his face directly into them.
He suckled Alina's left breast, one hand gripping the right, the other hand reaching back to skillfully wrap around the waist of his adoptive mother's human torso.
Alina, who had completely accepted and adapted to Al, was worried about his condition.
But the peerless beauty—who was both a matchless engine of slaughter on the battlefield and an infinite source of pleasure in her adopted son's bed—
instinctively coordinated with Al's movements. Her body rapidly began to react, already moved by passion.
Fluids secreted faster, and the two red cherries atop her breasts hardened into nubs.
The posture of the two gradually shifted from the boy standing on the ground suckling the half-lying centaur,
to the high centaur standing upright on all four hooves.
The tall centaur girl held the little boy tightly in her arms.
One mature and beautiful face, one youthful and green face, pressed together in a fierce kiss.
During this process, Al had already begun to wake.
The spear in his crotch had become bulging and was primed to strike, pressing against the centaur's navel.
The heat and hardness seemed to transmit through the clothing onto Alina's body,
making the centaur's body increasingly wet and full of craving.
Outside the tent, Misha, who had arrived with Hera, stopped in her tracks.
At the same time, she exerted force with her hand, pulling back the "Big Husky" who was excitedly trying to peek inside the tent.