In the end, Misha didn't drag Al to handle government affairs.
The cow-girl placed Al in her own room to rest, even thoughtfully making the bed for him, before dragging the reluctant big wolf-girl out.
As for the affairs, most of them were things that would eventually land on her shoulders to process anyway.
Looking for her father was simply because she wanted to bring him closer.
Repairing defenses, settling the troops, transferring the wounded, hunting down broken units...
Misha handled these various tasks with ease, living up to her status as the Head of the Scions.
Her comprehensive ability was undoubtedly the strongest among them.
Among Al's four most elite and powerful scions:
Kael'thas leaned toward being a civil official and mage.
The wolf-girl Hera was a heavily skewed warrior, a hot-tempered "big dog" with a simple mind.
Barbatos was balanced in civil and military affairs with maximum charisma, but oddly enough, she disliked both military and management.
Aside from the instinctive consensus of the scions to fight for their blood-father, she preferred pursuing pleasure—both personal and public.
Misha, however, was an all-rounder.
In terms of personal combat, she could use her strength to suppress the unwilling big wolf-girl.
In terms of academic wisdom and management experience, Kael'thas served as her deputy.
As for charisma, Barbatos's charisma was the kind that made everyone relax and enjoy themselves together; almost everyone felt a natural liking for the Legion Master who had no ego and loved food, drink, and performance.
Misha, however, was the third-in-command of the tribe, the recognized eldest daughter of Al and the Head of Scions.
Nearly half of the tribe's affairs passed through the hands of this little cow-girl, whose actual age hadn't even exceeded two years since birth.
In the secular world, the primary objects of the tribespeople's reverence were always Al and Alina first and second.
The third, naturally, was Misha, acting as Al's deputy.
Although the tribe's overall losses were indeed severe this time, the results were equally bountiful!
Preliminary estimates suggested that the Greenskin army defeated at the Sacred Grove suffered nearly 46,000 deaths directly at the hands of the tribe.
Combined with the camp guards defeated earlier outside the city, nearly 50,000 Greenskins were buried within the great Piña Forest.
The Piña ecology, currently evolving into a magical forest, could decompose Greenskin spores and remains into nutrients as long as the overall structure wasn't destroyed.
Therefore, there was no need to expend massive manpower to deal with the Orc remains or the spores within their blood.
If they had to, the cost would likely have been higher than simply burning the entire Sacred Grove to the ground.
The total number of routing troops was estimated at around 10,000.
If these shell-shocked Greenskins didn't leave the forest to return to their Warlord, they would surely turn into bandits and marauders.
If they harassed settlements, it would be a headache.
So Misha immediately mobilized all available mobile forces—Centigors, wolf-packs, and Gors—and scattered them like a giant net from north to south.
The objective had already been achieved.
Killing more or fewer now didn't matter, as long as they didn't cause destruction in the forest.
Slaughter and expulsion were given equal weight; once they were out of the woods, they would become the Estalians' problem. The tribe had done enough.
Such a rare, massive victory sent a jolt of morale through even the guest reinforcements of the Vanguard Legion.
Despite significant casualties—nearly 2,000 out of 5,000—the glorious result was enough to smooth over the scars!
From top to bottom, the soldiers buried their grief for their fallen comrades beneath a celebratory atmosphere.
Since the destruction of the Invincible Armada, the defeat at the Guadaz River, and the fall of the capital, Magritta...
The shadow of defeatism and the crisis of national annihilation had long hung over every Estalian who cared for this land.
Even the refugees who had converted to the Four Mothers and joined the tribe with sincere fanaticism still hoped their birth-kingdom could endure and defeat the Greenskins.
The current victory—though the decisive blow was undoubtedly delivered by Al's tribal army—proved something through the flesh and blood of ten thousand mortal soldiers:
Greenskins are not invincible! We can win!
The Vanguard Legion was not an elite unit; it was mostly second-line level.
Its purpose in coming to the forest was primarily to deepen military ties with the tribe and use the five thousand as a core to train a sufficient militia force.
As long as they could raid the Greenskin rear and draw attention, their mission was a success.
Yet such a peripheral army, together with their tribal allies, had fought the first decisive-level victory for the Order side since the Greenskins landed in Silent Bay!
Honor, merit, and a distinguished reputation were visibly waiting in the near future.
The previous gloom was swept away, and the future was full of hope...
We won!
And it was an annihilation battle! A total, crushing victory, do you understand!
What? The main force was the tribe?
"**** (Estalian profanity)" Did we not participate?! Huh?
When I go back to report, they'll have to upgrade me from a ragtag unit to a main force, won't they?
Everyone from top to bottom will get a promotion and a raise, and we can all live comfortably for a while.
On the tribal side, the joy of victory was relatively smaller.
First, because the tribe hadn't actually lost a major battle yet—at most, they took a small hit at Cerebrio; otherwise, it was a straight winning streak.
Though the enemy this time was stronger and tougher, nearly 100% of the Beastmen firmly believed they would win anyway.
The Khorngors were even less concerned; to them, hacking down enemies was pure joy.
Glory to the Black Iron Throne! The Everchosen is with me! The Bloodmother watches me from above! Amazing!
It was hard to get them to ponder trivialities like promotions—from private to sergeant, sergeant to lieutenant.
Regardless, following the Chosen was the right move!
This battle had annihilated the Greenskin vanguard.
The main WAAAAAGH! force under the Great Warlord at Magus would take at least half a month to redeploy troops here, even at top speed.
In that time, as long as Lileath didn't pull any tricks and delivered the blessing she promised Al—
and as long as the "Mist" was as strong as she claimed—then the Piña Forest, the core foundation of Al's enterprise, could rest easy.
Of course, this crushing victory had to be celebrated grandly. Misha had a rough outline in her mind.
A grand victory parade and a triumphal ceremony to boost military and civilian morale and unify their strength.
Mainly to boost the morale of the two hundred thousand converted Estalian refugees.
Let them know that the battles the Kingdom lost, the Tribe can win!
The lives and properties the Kingdom couldn't protect, the Tribe can!
The Goddess Myrmidia doesn't bless them, but the Four Mothers manifest!
However, all of this had to wait until Al woke up for a detailed talk.
She had a mountain of matters requiring urgent processing. Kael'thas was already running around everywhere, while the big wolf-girl was of zero help in these things.
Hera crouched before Misha, looking around sporadically, her tail wagging restlessly.
From a distance—even from up close—she looked like a large, sitting wolf-dog.
The wolf-girl was never still for a moment, her face always showing impatience and irritability.
She occasionally bared her teeth, though this was just instinct, not directed at Misha.
Clearly, she couldn't sit still and stay here doing nothing with her eldest sister.
But Misha couldn't let her go. If she did, Hera would surely bolt to Al's room to find their shared little father, which would disturb his rest.
In the camp, besides Al and the centaur, no one else could control Hera.
The Blessed Minotaur Alestar was one, but it was a war-beast that only listened to Al and half of Alina's orders, ignoring everything else.
Misha could only use herself to tether the fourth child.
While arranging the camp deployment, she watched the wolf-girl bare her teeth. Misha sighed, reaching up to touch her cow horns.
These beautiful horns weren't just decorations; she had personally used them to end several Greenskin lives not long ago.
So tired... I want to sleep too, what should I do...
Misha thought to herself, looking at the wolf-girl in contemplation.
The hardworking cow-girl had another very fulfilling day.
Meanwhile, her little father lay in her bed, snoring loudly. In his dreams, he was even reliving the scenes on the horse's back and beneath the horse's belly, clamping his legs together in fear.