"So, as I predicted, Katarin will inevitably launch her northern expedition. Beyond her own ambitions, the current situation greatly favors such a move," Talleyrand said, continuing his discussion with Ryan. Unknowingly, they had wandered into a military camp.
Nearby, a partially destroyed three-story building had been hastily rebuilt using canvas, wood, and bricks by the soldiers. It was now a functional shelter. A large sign stood prominently at the entrance:
"Uth's Miraculous Mess Hall! Fair prices, fresh ingredients, delicious food—welcome, everyone!"
This was a makeshift field kitchen run by a group of halflings, affectionately nicknamed the "Mess Hall" by the soldiers. It had become a favorite gathering spot for officers and knights when they weren't preoccupied with war. Everyone knew that halflings had an uncanny talent for cooking—give them even the simplest ingredients, and they would transform them into exquisite dishes.
The halfling mess hall had been allowed into the camp with François's approval. Unsurprisingly, it quickly gained widespread popularity among the officers and knights. Over time, the mess hall evolved into something akin to a field club, where soldiers could pay out of pocket for hot meals and some much-needed socializing.
Upon entering, Ryan and Talleyrand were greeted by a lively scene. Inside the repurposed building, over 30 Old Guardsmen and 40 knights were eating, drinking, and chatting. When they noticed Ryan, nearly everyone stood up in respect.
Ryan waved his hand with a smile. "I'm here for the same reason you are—to eat. Please, carry on."
The room erupted into laughter, and everyone returned to their meals, though most couldn't help but steal glances at Ryan. One knight called out, "Your Majesty, I recommend the spring vegetable lamb stew—it's excellent!"
"Then bring me a serving—or rather, make it two," Ryan replied with a grin. He and Talleyrand found a quiet corner to sit. Turning to a barefoot halfling server who was darting about energetically, Ryan added, "I'll also take a serving of your house bread and a glass of your specialty sweet wine. You decide what's best."
With their orders placed, the two resumed their conversation.
Ryan rarely found himself explaining military strategy to Talleyrand, but he indulged the elf this time, analyzing Katarin's likely moves and the factors at play.
"Katarin has two major advantages in this northern expedition. First, reclaiming lost territory is an urgent priority for the royal family, the Duma, and the Kislevite refugees. Most people see this as a necessity. Second, the disparity in troop strength is in her favor. She commands 50,000 White Guards, while the Chaos forces near Kislev City number only 10,000 to 20,000 scattered soldiers. It's a perfect opportunity. If I were in her position, I'd seize the moment without hesitation."
Ryan paused before continuing, "However, Katarin also faces two glaring disadvantages. First, the quality of her troops is abysmal. An army's floor is set by its discipline and training, and its ceiling by its equipment and veteran leadership. The White Guard lacks all of these. Second, her personal command ability is notoriously poor. After the disastrous Zedovka campaign, Kislev lost nearly all its capable generals. Tactical planning and battlefield execution will undoubtedly suffer."
Talleyrand nodded thoughtfully. "Excellent points, Your Majesty. You can rest assured—this will be her undoing. Katarin will lose this battle, but likely not too disastrously. For someone who's already fled the battlefield once, running away again carries no stigma. The only variable is her 'Old Guard'—or rather, how much combat effectiveness her Romanov Guard can muster."
"You seem awfully sure of this," Ryan said, amused.
"I'm no expert in military affairs, Your Majesty, but I do understand politics and human nature," Talleyrand replied with a knowing smile. "Mark my words: do not intervene. No one will appreciate your help. If Katarin's campaign fails, they'll even try to pin the blame on you. We've already profited enough from Erengrad—now's the time to step back. And, if I'm correct, Emperor Karl Franz's envoy will arrive shortly. Officially, he'll be here to offer congratulations and inspect the troops, but his real aim will be to gauge our strength and see if we plan to annex Erengrad."
Ryan's eyes narrowed slightly. He had already received a secret report from Military Intelligence Division Seven: Karl Franz's envoy, Metternich, had just arrived in Talabeheim. Yet Talleyrand had no way of knowing this—how had he guessed?
"Can you see the future?" Ryan asked curiously.
"I wouldn't go that far, Your Majesty. But I can make educated guesses about interactions between you and other leaders," Talleyrand replied with a shrug. "And I'll wager that the Tsarina herself will come seeking your help before long. When that happens, I have a suggestion for you."
"Why not share it now?" Ryan raised an eyebrow.
"It's not the right time, and revealing it too early would render the plan ineffective—and might even cause complications," Talleyrand said with a wry smile. "I hope you understand. Some things require secrecy and precise timing."
In Bekafen, within Katarin's private chambers…
"Your Majesty, we cannot launch the northern expedition now!" General Bagramyan knelt before the Tsarina, tears streaming down his face. His voice trembled with desperation. "The timing isn't right!"
"What do you mean by 'not the right time'?" Katarin replied impatiently. She had just announced the northern expedition during the Duma assembly, securing overwhelming support. In three days, the White Guard would march north to reclaim Kislev City and drive out the Chaos forces. Hearing Bagramyan's plea only irritated her further.
Taking a deep breath, Katarin softened her tone. "I understand your concerns, Hof. The White Guard is indeed poorly trained and mostly composed of raw recruits. But this is a rare opportunity. According to our scouts, the enemy numbers barely 10,000. With a five-to-one advantage, surely we can prevail. Besides, the battlefield is the best classroom for training soldiers."
"And let's not forget: the Empire is cutting off our supplies! If we delay any longer, the White Guard will have to disband—that is unacceptable. My decision is final. The army marches in three days!"
Bagramyan's objections fell on deaf ears. This wasn't merely Katarin's personal resolve; nearly all the Duma members were clamoring for immediate action.
Three days later, the White Guard began their northward march.
Uncertainty loomed over whether Ryan intended to continue "liberating" Kislev City and the northern stronghold of Praag. Coupled with the Empire's diminishing logistical support, the Duma and Katarin felt compelled to act swiftly, hoping to claim victory for themselves.
The chosen route was the fastest available. The army would depart from Bekafen, follow the river east to Fortenhaf, then proceed north through Lakhov to Kislev City.
Initially, the campaign went smoothly. As Ryan had predicted, Chaos forces were now reduced to scattered warbands. Whenever the White Guard appeared, the fragmented Chaos troops—ranging from a few dozen to a couple hundred—were swiftly routed. On one particularly successful day, Katarin received 12 victory reports.
These early successes filled the Tsarina with confidence. She had learned from the Zedovka disaster and acted cautiously. When her army encountered Tzeentch's chosen champion, Zaan-Ek, and his Raven Guard, she wisely refrained from surrounding and pursuing them aggressively. This allowed Zaan-Ek to escape.
The White Guard wanted to give chase, but the weather turned against them. By April, Ostermark had entered spring, and the Upper Talabec River began to thaw. As Zaan-Ek and his forces crossed the frozen river, a sudden warm spell melted the ice into a torrent of floating ice chunks.
The White Guard could not ford the now-raging river. Both sides settled into a standoff along its banks.
Grand Marshal Denikin ordered his engineers to construct rafts and pontoons for a makeshift bridge. Meanwhile, on the northern bank, Zaan-Ek rallied around 10,000 Chaos warriors. His forces were poorly equipped, demoralized, and fragmented. Yet Zaan-Ek was thrilled—this was his chance to prove he was still a worthy champion of the Raven God.
At that moment, an unexpected ally joined the fray. A contingent of 2,000 medium cavalry, led by a Kurgan Khan named Subotai the Grey Wolf, arrived after pursuing a legendary foe—Lehman Russ, the Wild Wolf. The two forces clashed near the Shadow Forest. After negotiations, Subotai and his riders allied with Zaan-Ek, bolstering his army.
Subotai was a name that struck fear across the Far East. He had penetrated deep into Cathay multiple times, earning the favor of the Chaos Gods. At his zenith, he had even reached the gates of Weijing, forcing the Dragon Emperor to personally lead his armies to repel him beyond the Great Bastion.
April, mid-to-late month. Kislev–Empire Border. Shadow Forest.
Zaan-Ek couldn't shake the fear from his earlier encounter with the White Guard. Two days ago, he had narrowly escaped being surrounded by 50,000 soldiers. Only 100 of his Raven Guard had remained by his side. One wrong move, and he
would have perished within Imperial lands.
Since the disastrous defeat at Bekafen, Zaan-Ek's forces had dwindled. The Tzeentch army was in shambles, plagued by desertions and infighting. Some leaders wanted to flee, others sought a final raid, and still others clung to delusions of pushing southward. Uniting these fractured remnants had been a Herculean task.
With Subotai's arrival, Zaan-Ek felt a sliver of hope. Yet even with this newfound cavalry support, his combined forces barely exceeded 10,000. Facing 50,000 White Guards across the river, he knew victory would require a daring strategy.
Gathering his commanders around a map, Zaan-Ek began strategizing. "How can we consolidate our forces and crush their vanguard swiftly?"
Subotai, draped in a white wolf-pelt cloak and wearing a black Chaos lamellar cuirass, studied the map. "Do you have reinforcements?" he asked coolly.
"There is one army that might aid us," Zaan-Ek replied, pointing northward. "If Sigvald could bring his forces from the rear, everything would change."
At this, Zaan-Ek's commanders exchanged uneasy glances.
"Exalted Champion," one Chaos sorcerer began hesitantly, "Prince Sigvald's Slaanesh forces were routed west of the Grovod Forest by Bretonnian knights and winged hussars. He and his army have fled into the mountain passes, joining another Slaanesh champion, Styka."
"What?!" Zaan-Ek roared. "He ignored my orders? This was a command, not a suggestion!"
"Such complaints are meaningless now," Subotai interjected calmly. He studied the map in silence for a moment before pointing to Lakhov. "If we want to win, we must take a risk."
"You mean… an ambush?" Zaan-Ek asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Not just any ambush," Subotai replied. "We must feign defeat—victory through loss."
Feign defeat? Zaan-Ek's mind raced.
"Exalted Champion, have you heard of a famous Far Eastern tactic known as Fishing in the Wild? First, we must lose. Only then will the Rus be lured into our trap."
Zaan-Ek's eyes widened as he realized the cunning plan. "Fishing in the Wild… very well. Let's begin."
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