Near the central mountains of Ostermark.
A large group of refugees from Ostermark trudged along the road, numbering in the hundreds. They pushed carts, carried sacks of food and possessions on their shoulders, and bore the weight of their despair as they fled.
Ostermark had fallen. The damned barbarian tribes had overrun them, easily bypassing Kislev and smashing through the Ostermark defenses. If not for Erengrad holding out for as long as it did, the suffering and tragedy endured by the people of Ostermark would have been far worse.
Since the Chaos invasion, nearly half of Ostermark's population had been evacuated to various parts of the Empire. The remaining half either stayed behind by choice or lacked the means to escape. Those who stayed faced the merciless orders of Archaon Mortkin: slaughter without exception, save for those deemed necessary as sacrifices. Chaos left no prisoners.
The people of Ostermark, who had defended the Empire's northern borders for 3,000 years, were wracked with terror and hardship. Yet, they refused to surrender. Even as mountains crumbled and lives were reduced to ashes, the last knights of Ostermark, its warrior-priests, noble militias, infantry regiments, and citizen militias all gathered at Wolfenburg for a final stand.
A terrifying rumor spread among the refugees—one planted by the Chaos forces. Mortkin, the Everchosen of Chaos, proclaimed that his assault on Ostermark was retribution for the atrocities committed against his homeland by Baron Oleg von Zhukov of Wolfenburg.
This was not senseless slaughter, nor a mere game for the dark gods. This was vengeance, retribution for the past, a response to Oleg's actions.
"They brought this upon themselves!"
Humanity is a race of contradictions. Unlike the dwarves, they often lack the tenacity to endure hardship. The rumor spread like wildfire, causing many to blame Oleg for his audacious Norscan Expedition. Once praised as a hero of the Empire, revered like a figure out of legend, Oleg was now denounced as the architect of their downfall.
Just days ago, he was celebrated for his bold conquest of Norsca, likened to Charlemagne's campaigns to subdue the rebellious Norse tribes and Chaos worshippers. He was honored as the "Conqueror of Norsca." But now, he was scorned as a villain.
The people conveniently forgot the glory his expedition had brought and the years of praise they had heaped upon him. Instead, they cursed him for drawing the attention of Chaos and for humiliating the Norse to the point of retaliation. They claimed his punishment by the dark gods had doomed them all.
Such is humanity, a race capable of both great good and deep flaws, their dual nature always on display. Shifting blame was an innate reflex, a clear testament to human complexity.
Despite their grievances, the people of Ostermark prepared to resist, driven by necessity and a harsh reality learned over three millennia of battling Chaos: there was no negotiating with the north. Their only hope lay in enduring until reinforcements arrived.
The refugee convoy was shrouded in grim silence, heavy with sorrow and unspoken anger. Families and individuals trudged forward, their destination the fortress of Wolfenburg. Many refugees cast wary glances at the seven or eight Bull Knights leading the column, accompanied by two dozen knightly retainers and a few infantrymen.
These knights had drawn Chaos upon them, yet the refugees had no choice but to rely on them for protection. The Chaos warbands roamed unchecked across Ostermark's ruined lands.
These knights were the last remnants of Ostermark's elite force—the Bull Knights. Renowned for their prowess, they were the pride of the land and the personal guards of the Elector Counts. Despite suffering devastating losses in numerous battles, these knights had survived, and only they dared venture out from Wolfenburg to rescue scattered forces and guide refugees back to safety.
Beyond the refugee convoy lay the chaos-infested no-man's-land. None knew how many Chaos troops still prowled the region. Communication with the outside world had been severed. Even magical means and messenger pigeons failed to penetrate the void.
Desperate for information, Wolfenburg tasked Baron Oleg von Zhukov with leading an investigative force composed of Bull Knights and light forest archers to gather intelligence.
This unit became known as the "Survey Corps."
Baron Oleg, the Conqueror of Norsca, heir to Ostermark's Electorate, and the first in line to inherit the title of Grand Duke, rode his warhorse at the forefront. Beside him rode his deputy, Gordon, the captain of the Bull Knights. As they surveyed the plains and forests near the central mountains, Oleg's rugged face betrayed a trace of sorrow.
He had failed to defend Zhukov Castle. His mother, Ivana, had fallen in the escape. Countless subjects had perished. The blood of Ostermark's people soaked the land.
Still, Oleg felt no regret for his brutal campaign against the Norscans, nor for reducing Mortkin's homeland of Dragonhold to ashes.
Such barbaric northern tribes deserved no mercy. As his mentor had taught him, "Evil must be eradicated completely."
"This should be the last batch," Oleg said to Gordon, his sharp gaze scanning the refugees. "How many able-bodied men do you see in the group?"
"If we include farmers, stable hands, apprentice craftsmen, and petty merchants, maybe eighty or ninety," Gordon replied, his bald head glinting under the sun. "But they're weak—at least one or two months of training would be needed."
"We'll train them on the battlefield," Oleg replied without hesitation. "Dying on the front lines is better than being hunted down by Chaos forces."
"Most of them are too old or too young," Gordon countered. "Ostermark has become a living hell. All suitable men have already been drafted or are dead. These refugees won't change the tide of war."
"You have doubts, Gordon," Oleg said coldly, his wolfish eyes narrowing. "You blame me, don't you? You think my Norscan Expedition brought this invasion upon us."
"I don't!" Gordon insisted.
"Don't lie to me!" Oleg's voice rose in fury. "You think I was wrong, don't you?"
"I think we all made mistakes," Gordon retorted. "We reveled in glory too long, forgetting that darkness always returns. We weren't prepared, and now the Empire, Ostermark, and even you are paying the price."
Oleg fell silent, acknowledging the truth in Gordon's words.
"We all share the blame," Oleg finally admitted. "But there's no time for regrets. We must get these people to Wolfenburg immediately. Chaos will strike soon."
"Yes, my lord," Gordon said, ending the argument.
Suddenly, Oleg's warhorse reared and neighed wildly. The young baron sniffed the air and his face darkened. "Chaos taint! The enemy is here!"
"Ambush!"
"Prepare for battle!"
Oleg drew his sword, Ivan the Terrible, as flames erupted in the distance. A fiery projectile soared into the sky before crashing down among them.
"Scatter!" Oleg bellowed, but not everyone escaped in time. A forest archer was consumed by the flames, his body reduced to charred remains.
"Chaos raiders!" someone shouted.
Across the plain, a Chaos Sorcerer and his warband emerged from the forest. Two hundred raiders charged toward the refugees.
The leader was Manningut the Cockroach Tyrant, a grotesque Chaos Sorcerer with cockroach-like antennae and a massive, bile-filled tumor on his back. "Only seven or eight Bull Knights? Easy prey!"
"For Chaos!" the sorcerer roared as his raiders surged forward.
"For Chaos!"
Oleg and his knights didn't hesitate. With war cries echoing across the battlefield, eight Bull Knights and their retinues charged to meet the oncoming horde.
Seconds later, the two forces collided with earth-shaking ferocity at the base of the mountain.
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