The Bull Knights had always been the embodiment of bravery and fearlessness, the pride of Ostermark. During the Norscan Expedition, they had followed Oleg von Zhukov deep into Norsca, earning countless honors while amassing a staggering death toll among the Norscans. Many Norscans, who had never ventured beyond their homeland nor participated in raids to the south, were nonetheless slaughtered in Oleg's campaigns. His hatred for the Norscans knew no bounds, fueled by three millennia of invasions and counter-invasions. For Ostermark and the northern tribes, only blood could settle the score.
This was no world for mercy. The forces of Chaos and Order were fated for eternal conflict, their mutual annihilation inevitable.
Because of this, the Bull Knights became prime targets for Mortkin's chosen. Any Chaos warrior who succeeded in killing a Bull Knight was guaranteed Mortkin's favor, spurring many to risk their lives for the chance to rise in the ranks.
One such figure was Manningut the Cockroach Tyrant, a Chaos Sorcerer from the northern wastes. Manningut was not one of Chaos's favored champions; he had clawed his way to prominence through sheer grit and countless struggles, eventually earning the title of Chaos Sorcerer.
Yet his background remained shrouded in mystery. The only consistent intelligence on Manningut was his unconventional tactics. Unlike most Norscan warlords, he disdained using war beasts or light cavalry for hit-and-run tactics. Instead, he favored heavy cavalry and infantry formations and wielded them with deadly efficiency.
After Mortkin's call to arms, Manningut joined his host, though his allegiance to a specific Chaos god remained unclear.
Was he a follower of Khorne? He fought with ferocity and preferred direct confrontations, but Khorne despised sorcery, and no true Khorne worshiper would wield magic.
Was he a servant of Tzeentch? He fancied himself a tactician, but his inflexible reliance on heavy units often earned him scorn as a fool—a trait far from Tzeentch's cunning.
Was he aligned with Nurgle? His grotesque, bile-filled tumor seemed like Nurgle's handiwork, but his aggressive, berserker tactics were uncharacteristic of Nurgle's slow, grinding style.
Perhaps he served Slaanesh? Manningut was an accomplished dancer, earning the monikers "Cockroach Dancer" and "Laughing Degenerate." Yet his poor eyesight, which often left him fumbling like a blind man, hardly aligned with Slaanesh's ideals of perfection.
Oleg von Zhukov had faced Manningut before and knew the sorcerer's most dangerous strategy was his opening charge with Chaos Knights, followed by heavy infantry support. But today, the absence of infantry gave Oleg a clear advantage.
"Bull Knights! Advance!" Oleg roared, leading the charge. Drawing his pistol, the Wolfenburg baron barked another order. "Aim for their mounts! Fire!"
The eight Bull Knights and two dozen retainers discharged their pistols in unison. White smoke billowed into the air as the Chaos Knights at the forefront were thrown from their saddles, leaving the survivors to draw weapons and prepare for melee.
The clash was brutal. The Bull Knights' greatswords sheared through the Chaos Knights' armor, while the Chaos warriors' axes cleaved shields and breastplates alike. Blood spattered the battlefield as over a dozen knights from both sides fell in the opening collision.
Oleg fought like a savage wolf, ferocious and cunning. His blade, Ivan the Terrible, exuded an unrelenting frost that froze ordinary men solid in minutes. Yet Oleg wielded the weapon effortlessly, its icy chill a comforting reminder of home.
As he cut down another Chaos Knight, Oleg recalled his mentor's words:
"After the Trials of Morkai, you're one of us. Someday, I'll take you to the Circle of the Great Wolf at Fang Keep to teach you our history. Relax—and bring a few jokes. Crude ones. They're always a hit."
"And remember: Guilliman's Codex is fit only for wiping your ass. Don't listen to that turtle. Or I'll kill you myself."
Guilliman? Codex? What did any of that mean? Oleg didn't know, nor did he care. His focus was singular: wielding Ivan the Terrible to split a Chaos Knight and his mount clean in half. He then twisted his blade and slashed upward, bisecting another knight from waist to helm.
His valor reinvigorated the Bull Knights. Behind them, a line of archers unleashed volleys of arrows aimed at the marauders' mounts. The Chaos cavalry struggled under the combined assault, their numbers dwindling as frost rings emanated from Oleg's blade, sapping their strength.
The marauders broke and fled, their morale shattered. Though the Bull Knights suffered losses, they drove the Chaos host back. Manningut, after expending his corrosive bile, retreated to report to Mortkin.
"Withdraw! Mortkin's cavalry will return soon!" Oleg, drenched in blood, barked orders. "Treat the wounded—we must return to Wolfenburg immediately!"
"Retreat! Retreat!"
Eight hours later, as twilight descended, the group finally reached Wolfenburg.
The fortress, nestled at the foot of the central mountains, was a vast stronghold. Originally built by dwarves, its inner fortifications bore their architectural trademarks, including formidable walls and artillery emplacements. The towering peaks of the central mountains loomed behind it, now a perilous domain where few dared to hunt or mine.
The outer city, divided by the Wolfen River, once held over 10,000 houses but now lay in ruins from repeated invasions. Despite its battered state, Wolfenburg remained a sanctuary for Ostermark's survivors—a bastion with walls and soldiers to defend them.
"Wolfenburg! We've made it!"
"We're safe!"
Refugees quickened their pace as the city gates opened, revealing an overcrowded interior. Over 380,000 refugees had sought shelter there. Streets, alleys, and open spaces teemed with people huddled together, cooking, and keeping warm. A pungent stench filled the air, prompting Oleg to wrinkle his nose.
"Where is my father?" he asked a guard.
"The Elector is in the Bull Keep."
"I must see him at once." Oleg strode toward the inner keep with his knights and retainers in tow. "Find space for the refugees—they need rest."
He suspected Wolfenburg was about to face its greatest trial, one that would determine whether Ostermark's story would continue in the Empire's chronicles or come to an end.
In the Shadow Forest, a wood elf lord and a dwarf slayer-king debated amidst their respective retinues.
"Can Wolfenburg withstand a large-scale invasion?" asked Alaroth the Brave, a woodland lord, as he scanned the corrupted forest.
Agrim Ironfist, the slayer-king with a fiery orange mohawk, shook his head. "Human construction? Don't count on it. If Vamir von Zhukov has half a brain, he'll evacuate the refugees to the mountain caves behind the keep. The dwarves built a refuge there with an underground lake. That's their best chance."
Despite mutual disdain, the elf and dwarf had formed an uneasy alliance to support Ostermark. Alaroth sought the favor of Lileath through valor, while Agrim's personal connection to the von Zhukov family motivated his aid.
Their bickering ceased as a massive crash echoed ahead. Rushing toward the sound, they stumbled upon the corpse of a Chaos giant, its head impaled by a massive frost blade. Nearby, a hulking black-and-white bear devoured an apple atop the giant's face before unleashing a thunderous roar.
Through the smoke and shattered trees emerged a towering man with golden braids and sharp fangs. Wolves swarmed to his side as he yanked the frost blade free and turned to the newcomers.
"I am Russ. What do you need?" he asked, his voice booming like the mountains themselves.
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