The Chaos Dragon Sterlascu the Great never expected this war to end in such an anticlimactic, absurd manner.
Just this? Just this?! Has Mortkin gone insane? Did Nurgle spike his brain with some of his concoctions?!
Furious, Sterlascu spread his massive wings and unleashed a torrent of searing dragon breath upon the battlefield, a conflagration aimed at the Old Guard's position.
But the Old Guard—stalwart and disciplined as ever—stood firm. These battle-hardened veterans, arranged in perfect formation, neither flinched nor wavered as the Chaos Dragon bore down upon them. Even as they saw the winged monstrosity approaching, they calmly dispersed, their iron discipline unshaken by the overwhelming aura of the dragon's presence.
Sterlascu roared in frustration, his wrath knowing no bounds.
For dragons, their pride is immeasurable. They were once the rulers of the world, the apex predators. Even after the Old Ones' intervention diminished their dominance, the mighty dragons still retained enough power to turn the tide of any battle.
Yet the dragons faced their own struggles. When the Old Ones altered the planet's orbit, the resulting climate shift rendered much of the world inhospitable to dragonkind. Most dragons entered deep hibernation to escape the changing world, though some, driven by greed for wealth and power, remained active in the mortal realms, preying on humans and being hunted in return.
Naturally, some dragons succumbed to Chaos. The first Chaos Dragon, Karlorax, was corrupted by a Daemon of Tzeentch, who allowed itself to be slain just to infest the dragon's soul with Chaos energies. Karlorax went mad and became the first of his kind. Over the millennia, more Chaos Dragons arose, viewing their alignment with Chaos not as servitude but as a partnership—one that, for them, came with fewer restrictions than it did for mortals.
Sterlascu was no exception. As he unleashed his destruction, the sky above him glimmered with a kaleidoscope of colors, a testament to his ruinous breath.
But the knights had not come unprepared.
Aurora, the Supreme Sorceress of Ice, roared commands to Kreishill, the towering Greater Ice Elemental Lord she had summoned at great personal cost. The massive elemental demanded a contract: after the battle, Aurora would owe him over fifty gingerbread offerings, one hundred servings of reindeer meat, and three hundred bottles of vodka. With Ryan's nod of approval, Aurora gritted her teeth and accepted.
And so, Kreishill called forth a massive ice storm that spanned thousands of meters. The battlefield shifted drastically as Chaos forces found themselves blanketed in an unforgiving blizzard. The flames consuming Wolfenburg were snuffed out, Chaos Hellcannons were frozen solid, and the prized war machines of the Chaos Dwarves ground to a halt under the unrelenting cold.
"Winter Marshal has arrived! Winter Marshal is here to save us! Glory to the Winter Marshal!" The Old Guard cheered as they found themselves shielded by towering walls of ice, which repelled Sterlascu's dragon breath.
Sterlascu flapped his wings furiously, dodging a colossal icy fist hurled by the Greater Elemental. But in doing so, the Chaos Dragon's movement slowed, leaving him vulnerable to a deadly volley.
Nuln's Ironclad Regiment, armed with the finest long-barreled muskets crafted by Veronica's Magical Workshop, took their opportunity. Over two hundred armor-piercing explosive rounds were fired in a single synchronized volley, tearing dozens of bloody wounds into Sterlascu's scaled hide. The dragon roared in pain, growing even more frenzied as he turned to attack the Nuln gunners.
"I am Sterlascu the Great! I am the fated destroyer of worlds, unstoppable and invincible! I am the—"
"For Taal!"
"???"
A sharp pain pierced Sterlascu's chest. A black-feathered arrow, imbued with the divine might of Taal, had found its mark, driving deep into the open wound left by a steam tank's cannon blast. The arrow burned with the fire of nature's wrath, tearing through flesh and sinew until it reached the dragon's heart.
On the ground, in the ranks of the Old Guard, Bertrand—Baron of Nottingham, Commander of the Old Guard, and chosen of Taal—stood resolute. His face was set in grim determination as he lowered Taal's Bow. The divine emblem of Taal on his forehead glowed brightly, marking him as a true hero.
"No! No!!!" Sterlascu screamed as he thrashed wildly. Clutching his chest, the Chaos Dragon spiraled through the air before crashing into the ruins of Wolfenburg. After a final series of violent spasms, the mighty beast lay still, lifeless.
"Well done, Bertrand! Excellent work!" Ryan called out, giving the archer an approving nod.
"You've done well, leader of the Old Guard," Morgiana added, not to be outdone. With a soft incantation, the Fay Enchantress blessed Bertrand with a new talisman imbued with protective magic. "This is a gift from the Lady, to shield you from curses and dark sorcery."
"Thank you, my Lady!" Bertrand, usually modest, couldn't help but feel a touch of pride as he bowed to both Morgiana and Ryan.
With the death of Sterlascu, the last remnants of Chaos resistance within Wolfenburg crumbled.
The human forces, however, were too exhausted to pursue the fleeing Chaos remnants.
The battlefield was eerily silent, devoid of the usual cheers of victory. Wolfenburg's fate had been too grim, the cost too steep.
There was no celebration, no triumphant fanfare, no glorious march home.
Chaos had passed, leaving nothing but ruin in its wake.
The city was destroyed, its people broken. Towering monuments of civilization lay in ashes, their artistry and beauty reduced to silent rubble.
Even the most jubilant knights of Bretonnia, who had grown accustomed to a seemingly endless string of victories under Ryan's reign, found no joy in this pyrrhic triumph.
"This isn't victory," said Louen Leoncoeur, Regent of Bretonnia, as he sheathed the Sword of Coron. Turning to Berchmond, he added, "This is merely survival."
"Such a vast empire, yet so fragile," mused Duke Berchmond. "Its borders are long and its resources stretched thin. Rebellions erupt within, and the facade of prosperity masks a crumbling foundation. I wonder—has Emperor Karl Franz ever slept peacefully since taking the throne?"
"I don't know," replied Duke Hagen, his body riddled with wounds, the most severe being a stab wound to the abdomen that had spilled his intestines. Despite emergency care, the Duke would need months to recover. "But I do know this—under Ryan's rule, all of us have been able to sleep soundly."
Meanwhile, Leman Russ roamed the ruined city, calling out desperately.
"Oleg! Where are you? We've won! Where are you?"
There was no reply—only the faint crackle of ash and the falling snow.
"Oleg! We had a deal! I was going to take you to the Fang of Asaheim! I was going to tell you our stories, introduce you to Bjorn and Logan—and to Ragnar Blackmane! Come on, even a Blood Claw wouldn't play such a cruel joke!"
His cries were met with silence.
At last, Oleg's remains were found.
Charred beyond recognition, his body was identified only by the golden bull-shaped knee guards on his armor and the shattered Ivan the Great Sword clutched in his hand.
Russ stared at the corpse of his student, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke through gritted teeth. "At least you died like a man, Oleg. You had guts."
Ryan, standing nearby, folded his arms and sighed. "Brother, this wasn't your fault."
"Not my fault?!" Russ roared, swinging a fist at Ryan.
Ryan caught the punch mid-air, his tone icy. "Is this what you wanted? Does this result satisfy you?"
Russ's anger faltered, replaced by guilt. After a moment, he extended his hand.
"Let's reconcile," Russ said, his voice subdued. "It was my fault. I'm sorry."
Ryan stared at his brother, suspicious. "That's... unlike you."
"Father ordered me to apologize." Russ shrugged. "So here I am. Let's reconcile."
Ryan sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."
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