Watching Volkmar leave, Emperor Karl Franz's expression was extremely grim.
Reiksmarshal Kurt Helborg pondered for a moment. As a pure soldier, Helborg knew he wasn't suited for politics, so he rarely spoke unless it involved military matters.
But now, he felt the need to speak. "Your Majesty?"
"What is it, Helborg? In these dark times, what do you wish to say to me?" The Emperor quickly regained his composure, but the shadow on his face remained.
"We have no way to stop him. I mean... I'm not talking about Mannfred, but Grand Theogonist Volkmar, Your Majesty," Helborg sighed. "We've never had a way to stop him. Never."
"No, I do," Karl Franz shook his head. He emphasized his point seriously before speaking calmly. "But it would mean breaking the unspoken rules. I've been Emperor for over twenty years, Helborg. I know what I should and shouldn't do. I can't make the Lady's Damsels obey me like Ryan does, but I've never been anyone's puppet."
"...Your Majesty never has been. The swords of the Reiksguard will always remain loyal to you," Helborg saluted.
Seemingly sensing Helborg's sincerity, the fifty-something Emperor smiled faintly. He then said, "Kurt, I ask you a question as the Emperor of the Empire. You may answer with the strictest and most direct attitude, but you must tell the truth."
"Your Majesty, please ask."
"If we were to fight on two fronts, preparing to face both the Chaos tide in the north and Sylvania in the east, what are our chances of victory? If Volkmar gathers all the forces he can and heads straight for Sylvania, what are his chances of success?" The Emperor asked casually.
"Your Majesty, we are already fighting on multiple fronts," Helborg shook his head. "According to reports from the Bretonnian Northern Army, the Chaos offensive has halted at Praag, but it will resume at most by the end of winter. It cannot stay idle for long. The Brass Citadel in Nordland is stirring, and the endless fleets of Norscan longships in the north... Your Majesty, we are already fighting on two fronts. The weakened Ostlanders and Ostermarkers cannot hold back the tide of Chaos."
"As for the Grand Theogonist's chances of victory, I have no answer. We don't even know who our enemy is or how many troops they have," Helborg continued. "But the odds are certainly not high, especially without Your Majesty's support."
"We still have some time. We must thank the Bretonnians for buying us so much time. The Chaos tide has been halted in Kislev," the Emperor said after hearing this, making up his mind. "Summon Günter and von Korden!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!" A Reiksguard strode in.
Soon, two men were brought before the Emperor.
Hans Günter, a hero of the Reiksguard, one of its finest captains outside the Inner Circle, and the leader of the legendary "Günter's Reiksguard Squadron" (which only had eight members). He was a peak legendary warrior, and many believed Günter would become the next Reiksmarshal after Helborg.
Alberich von Korden, a legendary witch hunter specializing in vampires, a former member of the Altdorf Witch Hunters, and now the mentor for witch hunters against the undead and the guardian of Darkwater Valley. In recent years, von Korden had slain three vampires in Sylvania as proof of his glory and strength.
"The Sylvania Crusade is about to begin. We cannot stand idly by," the Emperor said to these two heroes of the Empire. "Prepare yourselves. You and your men will join this great crusade until the undead are driven from Sylvania, and the land once again belongs to the Empire."
"Understood."
"As you command."
The Reiksguard captain and the witch hunter mentor nodded in acknowledgment.
So, a squad of Reiksguard and a team of witch hunters were ready. The Emperor pondered.
It wasn't enough. These people weren't enough. Karl Franz quickly came to a decision. He turned to his attendant and asked, "Where is my Supreme Patriarch?"
"Lord Gelt is currently in the capital of Solland, Pfeildorf."
"Good. Here are two letters. One is to be delivered immediately to Duke Ivan of the Griffon Order. The demi-gryph knights will be crucial in this crusade. The other is for Gelt. This war cannot be fought without magic."
"Yes!"
The Reiksguard did not dare delay. One letter was sent by fast horse to Duke Ivan, who was already near Ostermark, while the other was delivered to the College of Magic, to be teleported directly to Solland.
Pfeildorf, the capital of Solland.
The current seat of Balthasar Gelt, the Supreme Patriarch of the Imperial Colleges of Magic, the Grand Alchemist, and the Great Sage.
Normally, a wizard would rarely receive a fiefdom. At most, they might get a manor and a wizard's tower. For Gelt to receive governance over an entire province from Emperor Karl Franz was an extremely rare occurrence.
But Gelt had demonstrated far greater military and administrative abilities than most wizards. The Grand Alchemist was a model of managing both the military and the people, all while advancing his magical research. His magical prowess had progressed rapidly, and he was now a super-strong powerhouse nearing the peak of the Saint Realm, one of the Emperor's trump cards.
The streets of Pfeildorf were anything but calm. Despite Gelt's alchemical remedies, more and more people were falling ill. Under strict military control, the streets were sparsely populated. Aside from those necessary for work, shopping for daily necessities, or other urgent matters, most residents stayed indoors.
"Ahhh!" A piercing scream rang out on the street, drawing everyone's attention.
A middle-aged man in his thirties or forties threw his cart to the ground. He clutched his head in madness. "He's coming! He's coming! I saw it! We're all going to die! We're all going to perish! Everything will be destroyed!"
"Ahhh!!!" The man's screams grew more frantic. The people around him were stunned as he pulled out a dagger and charged at the nearest passerby. "For the Dark Gods!"
"He's gone mad! Seize him!" Under the captain's orders, the soldiers quickly subdued the man. The captain was about to ask what he had seen when the scene before him changed.
The patrolling soldiers immediately grabbed the middle-aged man. The patrol captain ordered his men to hold him down, but the man grew even more frenzied. Horns began to sprout from his head, and his arms were covered in fur.
He was turning into a beastman!
"Kill it!" Under the captain's orders, two halberds and a sword instantly pierced the beastman's body. The man struggled wildly until he bled to death. With his last breath, he looked up at the sky.
His gaze was terrifying.
It was a look of madness, twisted, venomous, insane, tormented, and pained. Even death seemed like a release.
The patrolling soldiers felt their minds grow chaotic. They quickly took out holy relics obtained from the church or the Grand Alchemist, praying or wiping their foreheads with holy water. After feeling somewhat better, they hurriedly loaded the half-man, half-beast onto a cart to be burned.
Any cultists, mutants, beastmen, or corrupted beings must be purged with fire.
On the streets, metal wizards from the Alchemical College, each carrying a hardcover copy of The Book of Sigmar 3.0, used holy water and sacred words to comfort the residents and treat their illnesses.
The streets of Pfeildorf fell quiet once more.
The Chaos moon Morrslieb shone brightly, casting a green light over the land.
"This is the eighth public madness incident in the past few days," someone soon reported to Grand Alchemist Gelt.
Grand Master Pfitzmann of the Order of the Blazing Sun bowed to Gelt. Normally, the Grand Master of the Blazing Sun wouldn't show such deference to the Grand Alchemist, as they were of equal rank. But Gelt's abilities—in every sense of the word—had won over Pfitzmann, who voluntarily became Gelt's subordinate.
"We must find a solution, Grand Alchemist. Not just in the city, but in the countryside, people are going mad every day. Doomsayers, cultists, and those who claim to have seen Nurgle's carnival caravans performing near Winter Tooth Pass. All the peasants who witnessed the show developed lupus and leprosy."
"The Empire is beginning to rot, Grand Alchemist. You must find a way."
Seeing Gelt remain silent, Pfitzmann pressed on. "Solland hasn't descended into chaos because the people have faith in you. We all have faith in you."
"By the Emperor's will, the people find shelter," Gelt said calmly. "Better to maim the body than corrupt the soul."
"The Emperor likely has no energy to manage us now," Pfitzmann thought Gelt was referring to Karl Franz. While he greatly respected the Emperor's abilities, he still voiced his opinion. "Could we ask Baron Frederick of Nuln to come to Pfeildorf? It's strange, but the neighboring Bretonnia seems unaffected by the plague. Has the Sun King found a cure?"
Gelt shook his head. "I will do my best, but we have a bigger problem now."
The Grand Alchemist handed the Emperor's letter to Pfitzmann. The Grand Master of the Blazing Sun was shocked after reading a few lines. "The Sylvania Crusade? Now?"
"Grand Theogonist Volkmar insists on it," Gelt nodded. His face, hidden behind a golden mask, revealed no emotion, but his voice betrayed his concern. "The Emperor cannot stop him, and neither can we."
"Pfitzmann, can you send a squad of Blazing Sun knights to assist our Grand Theogonist?"
"If necessary, Master Lupio Blaze and a squadron of knights can handle it," Pfitzmann nodded.
"Good. Have Master Lupio Blaze and his squadron prepare immediately," Gelt nodded. He turned his gaze to a row of holy water on the table. "I've just prepared thirty bottles of holy water. Distribute them."
Pfitzmann left.
Gelt stood still, unmoving.
"Steel and gunpowder cannot save the Empire, but faith can," a figure bathed in golden light appeared in the room. His body was surrounded by sacred scriptures, and every movement left holy imprints. He was a bald saint, clad in tattered robes, exuding an air of compassion. "A saint of the Ecclesiarchy, my friend, perhaps you need my guidance."
"I was told by Him that the passage to this world has been sealed by the Dark Gods. How did you arrive here?" Gelt asked the newcomer. The Grand Alchemist's tone was respectful but not obsequious.
"This is but a projection. I am not me, yet I am still me," the apparition of Lorgar, Primarch of the Word Bearers, smiled warmly. He clasped his hands together, and the night sky of Pfeildorf was instantly bathed in golden light. Dozens of angels of redemption descended from the sky, visiting the homes of the poor and the sick, healing diseases, curing wounds, and bringing hope and salvation.
It was a miracle! The human residents of Pfeildorf cheered, and the city's morale was instantly restored.
"My Primarch, you expended so much power just to perform a miracle? I must say, you are indeed generous. On behalf of the people of Pfeildorf and Solland, I offer my heartfelt thanks," Gelt said, though his voice carried no emotion.
Sensing the sarcasm in Gelt's words, Lorgar couldn't help but feel annoyed. He had expected admiration and praise, but remembering that Gelt was a favorite of the Emperor, he decided not to press the issue. "I came here to deliver something."
"Deliver something?" Gelt was puzzled. "I've already received plenty."
"Sylvania, the cursed land," Lorgar spoke with the grace and compassion of a priest. "The sacrifices of mankind have been enough, haven't they?"
"What are you getting at?" Gelt pondered, realizing Lorgar might have a point.
"Sometimes we need a Plan B," Lorgar's apparition nodded. "I am speaking to you from afar, so I cannot say too much. But I have prepared something. You are a genius, Gelt. Otherwise, the Emperor would not have chosen you. Your mastery of magic and loyalty to humanity impress me. I am willing to share my knowledge with you."
A thick scroll of parchment appeared on the table, covered in sacred scriptures and written in High Gothic. Even without touching it, Gelt could feel the immense power within and the chanting of the Emperor's holy words.
"The Great Ward is collapsing, and the Great Vortex is disintegrating," Lorgar nodded. "Magic is becoming whole again, returning to its former state. I hope my gift will inspire you."
"What should I do?" Gelt was about to ask more, but Lorgar's form dissipated into golden light.
"Embrace faith, my friend."
The scroll unfurled in the Grand Alchemist's hands, the golden robes emitting metallic clinks as Gelt began to study the text.
"The Great Rituals Unveiled—The Faith Wall of Lorgar Aurelian, Primarch of the Word Bearers."
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