Athel Loren, the Glade of Kings, beneath the Oak of Ages.
Araloth the Brave, Champion of Ariel and hero of the Wood Elves, stared at the letter from Ryan with a dark expression.
An army of a million? A thousand Grail Knights?
Who are you trying to fool?
Yourself? Don't you know how many troops you actually have? The peasants? What's the point?
Us? The Asrai may be reclusive, but we are well-informed about the Old World. Wood Elf mercenaries, Wildwood Rangers, and intelligence networks constantly send information back to the forest. If Ryan had claimed to have raised a hundred thousand troops, Araloth might have sent someone to verify it. But a million? That's just ridiculous.
The beastmen? Do they even have the intelligence to be fooled? Morghur is famously lacking in intelligence, relying purely on instinct. There's no point in trying to deceive him.
In short, Araloth couldn't understand why Ryan would do this.
However, during his long campaigns, Araloth had gained enough experience to sense that there was something more to this.
He's putting on a show.
You know he's putting on a show.
He knows you know he's putting on a show.
But he's still putting on a show.
And he clearly intends to keep it up.
It made Araloth want to gift Ryan a "Righteous and Glorious" tapestry.
The Lord of Talsyn could sense that Ryan wasn't a fool. If he was doing this, there must be a reason. Currently, the alliance between Bretonnia and the Wood Elves was strong, and both sides were working closely together.
Since they were putting on a show, they might as well go all out.
Araloth picked up his quill:
"To the esteemed King Ryan Malcador of Bretonnia,
I have received your letter. Queen Ariel is already at Ammil preparing the ritual. All Asrai forces are under my command, with veteran generals assigned to their posts. Reinforcements have been drawn from the Ten Kingdoms, totaling... totaling..."
Araloth hesitated for a moment, then wrote:
"A total of 400,000 troops."
That's right! If you have a million lions, I have an army of 400,000!
1.4 million troops! A mere Morghur? We'll crush him in an instant!
After finishing the letter, Araloth, who was usually reserved but enjoyed humor, burst into laughter. The Lord of Talsyn leaned on his desk, tears of laughter streaming down his face.
Who are we Asrai and these chivalric lunatics putting on this show for? The Empire? Aren't they busy dealing with the Chaos incursions in the north and preparing for the Sylvanian Crusade? The southern realms? They've never cared about this region. Are we performing for the dwarfs in the mountains?
What do those stunties even understand?
Araloth laughed for a while, then his expression turned serious again.
With Queen Ariel conducting the ritual, the Twilight Sisters absent, and Orion yet to be reborn, Araloth was effectively the leader of the Wood Elves. Recently, he had been facing a series of issues.
First, reports from the various kingdoms revealed a troubling trend—newborns were decreasing, while Chaos corruption was increasing. Many dryads had become increasingly hostile to the Wood Elves, attempting to steal or harm newborns. Additionally, with the Great Vortex weakened, the Winds of Chaos had begun to corrupt the forest, causing animals to mutate, food sources to dwindle, and beastmen to appear more frequently.
This was why the Wood Elves had signed a military alliance with Bretonnia. The Asrai urgently needed a more stable external environment, a reliable source of food, minerals, and trade profits to ensure societal vitality and a stable birth rate.
Many might think Araloth was all brawn and no brains, and perhaps that was once true. But now, Araloth deliberately maintained that image to his advantage.
Araloth had studied the population decline of the High Elves and Dwarfs. The reasons for the High Elves' decline had been discussed earlier (high happiness, high welfare, and internal competition), so they won't be repeated here. As for the Dwarfs, Araloth had also researched their situation.
For example, why did female dwarfs in Karak Hirn, Karak Azul, and Karak Norn rarely have more than four children in their lifetime, while those in Barak Varr, Karak Eight Peaks, and Karaz-a-Karak often had eight or more?
The answer was simple. Araloth hadn't been to Karaz-a-Karak, but King Belegar of Karak Eight Peaks and King Byrrnoth of Barak Varr strongly encouraged reproduction. More children meant more subsidies, with many benefits and guaranteed education opportunities. Belegar even declared that any female dwarf who bore eight or more children would be awarded the "Heroic Mother Medal." Have as many children as you want! The kingdom will help raise them! Add more little ones to the rebuilding of the Angrund Clan!
Karak Eight Peaks desperately needed more population—lots of it—to defend their home, mine the mountains, reclaim lost lands, and rebuild their fortresses. The hold was vast, with dozens of citadels, workshops, and mines lying mostly empty. Countless opportunities awaited, and Belegar promised that even the humblest and weakest clan members could become lords or join the Angrund Oathguard. Countless jobs awaited the newborns of the Angrund Clan and all dwarf immigrants.
Thus, Araloth not only welcomed the alliance with Bretonnia but also considered it necessary. Among the Asrai, he was a staunch "Ryan supporter" (though his fondness for Lilith played a part). With Ariel absent, it was Araloth who overruled objections and silenced voices opposing the military alliance and joint operations with Bretonnia.
Still, he couldn't help but wonder: Was it really necessary to send the Twilight Sisters to serve as handmaidens to Devonshire?
When it came to influencing external powers, the Wood Elves followed two approaches. If the ruler was incompetent, it was best to control them, prioritizing the Asrai's interests. In fact, many Bretonnian dukes had been controlled this way throughout history.
If the ruler was a strong and capable leader, the Wood Elves would appear during their times of crisis, offering aid and goodwill to ensure they remembered the debt. This way, when considering their own interests, they would prioritize the Asrai's needs. This was how they handled Ryan and Karl Franz.
But what was the point of assigning the Twilight Sisters to Devonshire? Did he have any real authority or military power?
Araloth had his own thoughts about the Twilight Sisters, but now he had no choice but to accept it.
The second matter was a magical missive on his desk, sent by Prince Eltharion of Yvresse and Belannaer, the Second Archmage of the White Tower of Hoeth.
It was a plea for help. The High Elves were requesting the Wood Elves to send an army to assist in rescuing the Everqueen.
Yes, after spending considerable time regrouping his forces, Eltharion had finally set out from Yvresse to the Old World, determined to fulfill his promise to his dear friend Tyrion and attempt to rescue the Everqueen once more.
Yvresse had also suffered a daemonic invasion, and Eltharion had spent much time driving the Chaos forces from the mists. He then gathered as many troops as he could without compromising Yvresse's defenses—a mere 1,200 soldiers, or 1,400 if Princess Eldyra's chariot corps were included.
That's it? Really? 1,400 troops to rescue the Everqueen? Last time, a group of legendary heroes, 2,000 elite troops, and the Dwarf High King himself couldn't do it. Now that the dwarfs have abandoned you, you come to us, your distant cousins?
Meanwhile, the Bretonnians are boasting about a million troops!
Get lost! Go play with your eggs! Araloth tossed the letter aside without a second thought.
To this day, many Wood Elves still yearn for the glory of the Elven Empire and hold aspirations for Ulthuan. But few understand the High Elves' perspective better than Ariel's Champion—to the Asur, Athel Loren is merely a long-separated colony, not a sovereign nation.
It's an insult.
Only two people could command the proud Wood Elf hero to do what he didn't want to do: Ariel and Lilith.
After handling all these matters, Araloth led his army to war.
The 20,000-strong Wood Elf force was the largest assembled since the Battle of Mousillon.
The legendary Talsyn Eagle Guard and Araloth's personal retinue, the Grey Hawks, were ready.
The Starfire Forge's Wardancers, wielding greatswords, joined the ranks.
The Wildwood's Drakira Eagle-Eye Archers prepared to face Morghur once more.
The Trickster's Glade's Asrai Wardancers eagerly awaited the chance to offer their dazzling dances to Loec, the Trickster God.
The Winterheart's Eternal Guard stood ready.
The Skyreavers' Glade Riders leapt through the forest.
The Moonstone Glade's Warhawk Riders soared above.
The Summerfall's Glade Guard listened to the whispers of the forest spirits.
It was winter, and the dryads were in hibernation. This battle would be fought without their aid, but for Athel Loren and Araloth, it was no matter.
For the hunting season had arrived!
Doo-doo~ Doo-doo~ Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo~
Imperial Year 2522, January, Ammil, the Witherlands.
The Knightly Army and the Wood Elf forces gathered here.
At first, the Knightly Army, guided by Wood Elf messengers and scouts, entered the forest. The humans were initially fascinated by the deep, quiet, and lightless woods. The ancient, primal aura of Athel Loren, which had retained a fragment of the world's original state since the time of the Old Ones, intrigued these short-lived beings. The Wood Elves, meanwhile, watched with amusement and mockery as the humans chattered away.
Poor, short-lived creatures, unable to comprehend the life-web and primordial power of the forest. Even if explained, their brief lifespans and limited cognitive abilities would prevent them from understanding.
Thus, most human questions went unanswered.
But there were exceptions, such as...
"Nestra, Alora, do you two usually live here?" Devonshire was sandwiched between his two elder sisters, each holding one of his arms. Many envied the young prince's fortune, but only Devonshire knew how fiery and passionate the cold Alora could be, and how shy and alluring the lively Nestra truly was.
"Yes, we usually live in the forest."
"We often help those who run away from home. Little brother~ Would you like to join us for a few days in the deep woods?"
"If Devonshire comes, we can take you to Uncle Daith's Starfire Forge and our oak home in the Glade of Kings. There's good food and fun things to do."
"Come with us, and no one will bully you—because the only ones who can bully you are us!"
The Twilight Sisters took turns teasing Devonshire, who was powerless to resist and nearly agreed. Fortunately, the young baron remembered his duties: "I'll ask Father after the war."
"Then it's a promise!" Nestra gently kissed Devonshire's left cheek.
"You can't escape, little brother," Alora planted a firm kiss on his right cheek.
Devonshire's face turned red. Thoughts of Alarielle were pushed to the back of his mind as he decided to follow his father's advice: cherish the happiness before him.
However, as they ventured deeper into the forest, the scenery suddenly changed dramatically.
The trees and foliage shifted from vibrant green to soft green, then dark green, before turning yellow, corrupted, and twisted.
The forest was a scene of Chaos. Entire swathes of woodland had withered and died. Tumors grew from the earth, and trees bore grotesque fruits, some larger than a deer. Strange creatures with warts, extra hooves, tentacles, and even additional heads roamed in agony, attacking anything in sight—even themselves.
Of course, these rabble couldn't stop the Knightly Army. Ryan raised his hand, and two psychic storms obliterated them. But the eerie scene left a deep impression on everyone.
"This is Ammil, the Witherlands," the Lady of the Lake walked beside Ryan, her expression grave. "Once, this was a lush and vibrant forest. But everything changed during a war. Morghur was slain here, and its corrupting blood permanently tainted this land."
"Why not drive Morghur out before destroying it?" Ryan asked casually.
"Coeddil, one of the three Ancient Treemen, thought the same," the Lady of the Lake wanted to hold Ryan's hand, but remembering they were in public, she instead took Sulia's hand, linking the three of them. She sighed, "Coeddil wasn't always hateful and insane. But during the War of the Beard, countless dryads went mad from the Chaos corruption emanating from Morghur. Coeddil used his body to break through the beastmen lines, giving Queen Ariel a chance to face Morghur directly. But that close contact led to Coeddil's gradual corruption and descent into madness."
"Physically, anyone who touches Morghur or is splashed by its blood will inevitably become corrupted and insane. The same applies to magic. To this day, no creature has ever truly recovered."
"It's like a walking source of corruption," Ryan remarked. "Morghur constantly corrupts its surroundings just by existing. Alive, dead, touched, or even breathed upon?"
"Yes," the Lady of the Lake nodded.
In the heart of Ammil's forest stood a giant, twisted oak, its claw-like branches withered and hollowed out by corruption. Only its warped bark remained.
For kilometers around, nothing grew.
The only sign of life came from Queen Ariel, who stood beneath the giant oak with a group of Sisters of the Thorn, preparing a ritual.
"Queen Ariel knows more about Morghur. You can ask her yourself," the Lady of the Lake gestured for Ryan to approach. "Morghur's power is unique. Perhaps this will help in your upcoming battle."
"Understood," Ryan bit his fingertip, and the Grey Knight Primarch gazed at the desolate, twisted land of Ammil. "But before that, I need to do something."
Psychic light flared!
The Primarch's blood dripped, and the land of Ammil wailed, black pus oozing from the earth!
"Good. Let's see whose blood is stronger—Morghur's or mine!"
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