Chapter 56
"Just not the hammer! Just not the hammer!" — this repeating thought flashed insistently in my head, mixing with the ringing from the blows raining down on my helmet.
Jurgen was lucky so far. They were whaling on me with glaives and axes that hit hard, but even in the hands of the mighty Dawi-Zharr, they couldn't hack through armor forged by their non-Chaos kin. I think the fact that I was pumped full of the Winds of Magic played a huge role. Gerard, Hel, and their colleague from the Gold Order were constantly buffing the remnants of our squad. If not for them, the Infernal Guard would have already swept away our heavily battered line. As it was, we held.
And we didn't just hold; we managed to fight back. Three times I tried to lunge at my opponent with my sword while the Dawi-Zharr swung his axe, standing atop his fallen comrade. Twice the Chaos dwarf's armor protected him, but then I managed to draw blood. The very tip of the blade slipped into a joint in the plate, striking the crook of his elbow.
Did it stop the black-bearded killer from clobbering me with his axe? No! However, I gained a certain moral satisfaction.
Any ordinary man in my place would have long since collapsed with a severe concussion or missed a blow to a vulnerable spot. I held on through magic and the bonuses of the filled Blood Chalice. I blocked a significant portion of the enemy strikes with my shield.
Liandra no longer had time to help me. She was currently being pressed by two Infernal Guards with glaives at once. They had finished off several Landsknechts, catching our small unit in a semi-circle.
I got angry. I confess, I am a sinner. I was damn tired of being a one-way punching bag for a dwarf. So, I decided to attack a part of his body unprotected by armor. Yes, indeed—I hacked at his beard. Of course, providing him with a proper straight-razor shave in these conditions was impossible, but I sheared off a few thick locks. The Dawi-Zharr quickly realized what had happened. Letting out a furious roar, the Chaos dwarf lunged at me. He literally leaped forward from the corpse of his comrade. He wanted to knock me off my feet with a shield bash and, having dazed me, finish me with his axe. However, my perception speed was high enough to react.
I crouched slightly, taking the most stable stance possible. I braced myself, taking the enemy's momentum on my shield. Simultaneously, I threw my shoulder forward. We collided. Strength against strength, mass against mass.
Had an ordinary man been in my place, the Dawi-Zharr would have flattened him like a bearded cannonball stuffed with hatred. However, the Blood Chalice was filled to the brim and the magic infusion in me was very serious.
With all my available power, I repelled the enemy's onslaught. The shields collided with a metallic ring and a crack. The Dawi-Zharr was thrown back. He tripped over the corpse of his comrade, involuntarily throwing his head back, and I seized the moment, delivering a thrust to his neck.
One, then a second, a third... the blade of my sword was stained with unexpectedly bright scarlet blood and...
The sword snapped. A bad lunge and the opponent caught it with his shield. The metal of the blade couldn't take it. Instead of a full sword, I was left with half a blade in my hand.
I blocked a couple more blows, which turned out to be unexpectedly weak compared to the previous ones. The enemy was losing blood. His beard was wet from his slit throat.
Covering himself with his shield, the Dawi-Zharr backed away. Because of the Infernal Guard mask, I couldn't see his face, but I hope he felt like shit right then. That bastard had been thumping me for far too long and too fiercely.
— You owe me! — I growled hoarsely, advancing on the wounded Dawi-Zharr.
Even though the sword was broken, it could still be used for stabbing. The snap had left a jagged, sharp point.
"Die, die, die!" — I repeated mentally, working with the sword fragment and shield.
The Chaos dwarf tried to retreat, but his strength was clearly failing him. Nevertheless, some of his counterattacks still held danger.
Clang!
The remnant of the sword snapped again. Now almost nothing but the hilt remained. Nurgle's arse! When will this enemy just die!
With all my might and all my stupidity, I smashed the pommel of the broken sword right against the dome of the infernal mask. The ringing was audible even over the general din of battle. The vibration from the strike of steel on steel traveled into the very depths of my body. A regular internal organ massage.
I wouldn't say it was pleasant, but I struck again. I swung from high to low and hammered the pommel into the dome of the enemy helmet. The Dawi-Zharr was barely resisting now. I don't know what caused it—my blows or the blood loss.
Slipping the sword fragment under his beard from the side, I pressed down, plunging the damaged weapon into the already bleeding wound. Then I began to pull the blade further. Widening the wound. This action proved lethal. Even the hardiness of dwarfs didn't help. The enemy finally bled out.
At that moment, the rage left me. Anxiety filled the void. I had moved forward boldly, even recklessly. I had left my allies behind. Right now, I could be minced or at least beaten very painfully from all sides. Crap!
I immediately covered myself with my shield, but there were no takers for my head. Something strange was happening. The Infernal Guard was retreating! They were moving back toward the Daemonic train. This definitely wasn't a rout. They were winning just a moment ago. They must have received a different order. It felt like a miracle. I had barely hoped for survival.
The remnants of our squad did not pursue the departing Dawi-Zharr. Out of approximately two hundred marines, maybe seventy fighters remained on their feet. No more. Even the support of the wizards hadn't helped avoid serious losses. And yet, we stood our ground.
Magg was breathing heavily, covered in numerous wounds, including hits from heavy slugs. Liandra seemed to have survived, except for a bruise on her cheekbone. Someone had given Erik a massive black eye under his left. That was the price for his special combat method of crawling between the legs of combatants.
Half of the city dwarfs had fallen in the fight. The sole surviving Bretonnian knight whispered prayers to the Lady with pale lips, still holding a bloodied sword covered in chips ready for a strike. Dawi-Zharr armor had proven to be a tough nut to crack for our weapons.
The K'daai Fireborn were also retreating, screening the Infernal Guard's formation. The flame daemons caught bullets with their ever-shifting silhouettes to protect the Dawi-Zharr infantry. I never did get to test my magic resistance against the K'daai Fireborn. I was unspeakably glad for that.
The Daemonic train lurched. Its carriages began to move slowly at first, then faster. I feared the Dawi-Zharr had decided to attack us with this behemoth, but the train was in no hurry to turn around. It was pulling away.
The heavy infantry units retreated on foot, covering the withdrawal of vulnerable artillery pieces not included in the Daemonic train's composition. This definitely didn't look like preparation for a counterattack.
Likely the chief Chaos dwarf had assessed the battle's prospects and reached a conclusion along the lines of:
"The plan is shit—I don't want to be part of it, I'm disgusted!"
And wonderful! I won't miss them.
Casting aside the broken sword, I began to pry a war axe from the dead hand of an Infernal Guard. It turned out to be no simple task. even in death, the greedy Dawi-Zharr didn't want to share a thing. I had to help myself with a knife. I didn't cut the thick fingers in the plate gauntlets; I pried and bent them back. Soon, a heavy haft wrapped in perfectly even strips of red leather lay in my palm. The broad blade resembled a spiked crescent.
How much does this chopper weigh?! Oh my! The axe was supposed to be one-handed, but it was much heavier than a hand-and-a-half sword. Now, under the enhancements of the Blood Chalice and the Winds of Magic, I could lift this brutal weapon. I would put it to use with pleasure.
The thought of looking for more trophies crossed my mind, but then a mounted procession rode up to our squad. These were Imperial Outriders, armed among other things with grenade launchers. The elite of firearm-based cavalry. They were led by a young but very brave and confident-looking officer, whose bright plume on his helmet was smeared with soot.
— Fast, to your ships! — he urged, waving a richly decorated broadsword. — We will pursue these beasts! We'll strike their rear and recover the prisoners!
— Have you lost your bloody mind, human whelp? — one of the surviving dwarfs inquired gloomily, leaning over the hacked body of a Slayer. — These tagal aren't worth squig shit, but pursuing them now? Folly.
Tagal roughly meant traitors.
The dwarf was right. The Dawi-Zharr weren't retreating because they lost to us. They had simply decided to find more compliant victims for their terror. If we tried to force a fight on them, we'd get absolutely hammered.
— Silence! — the officer almost shrieked. — I may not command volunteers, but Nuln soldiers—obey my order! Back to the ships and support our attack on the retreating enemy! For Sigmar! For the Emperor!
For... fuck's sake!
While the officer was finishing his motivational speech, another mounted detachment approached us from the other side. They were mostly soldiers of fortune. Tileans, Estalians, even some who looked like Kislevites, plus many freelance Reiters. Leading them was a commander I knew well. Lietpold the Black in the flesh. The veteran mercenary swaggered in high-quality knightly plate and gripped an enchanted hand-and-a-half blade in one hand. A light wisp of smoke rose from the black blade of the fearsome weapon, as if it had just been heated over a brazier.
— What are we waiting for, gentlemen?! — Lietpold croaked in a booming voice. — We turn around and all together hit the flank of the Chaos center!
Now that proposal seemed much more reasonable to me. Let the Dawi-Zharr go. Hashut take them. I had recently seen from the ship's deck how hard our center was having it. They would clearly be glad for any help.
— Command your own men, Herr Captain! — the officer snapped at Lietpold with clear defiance. — I repeat the order: back to the ships and support our attack on the retreating enemy!
Lietpold directed his horse toward the officer, gesturing that he wanted to exchange a few words without shouting. When the young Imperial approached the mercenary, he immediately received a blow to the forehead from a plated gauntlet. Then, with a well-practiced motion, Lietpold grabbed the officer by the collar and hauled him out of the saddle, throwing him into the mud. The young Imperial remained alive but was clearly dazed.
Several of his fellow soldiers reached for their weapons. The mercenaries did the same; they outnumbered the Reiters, and the short distance didn't allow for the use of grenade launchers.
— Your brothers are dying right now! — Lietpold addressed those present with an even louder and more expressive voice. — Your city is on the brink of destruction! Every second counts! Grow some balls and hit the flank of the Chaos center!
Such a speech had the desired effect on the Imperial riders. They lowered their weapons and no one else tried to argue. Using the right words spoken with the right intonation, Lietpold managed to convey the full importance of the moment. You can't drown talent in booze, though the veteran mercenary by all accounts tried very hard.
The remnants of our squad returned to the ship. The deck was bloodied in places with the gore of Ironsides who perished during the firefight with the Chaos dwarfs. The ship's wooden hull was damaged by bullets, shrapnel, and fire, but the steam boiler had survived. The Imperial machine lurched into motion again. Steam leaked through the damaged conduits. This created a trail of mist following the machine. The ship moved less briskly than before, but it stubbornly drove toward a new battle.
— Don't waste your strength, girl, — one of the dwarfs, who had lost an eye in the fight, waved Helena off. — Spells, like the pox, don't take on Dawi. It'll pass on its own.
— The Lady! The Lady has blessed me! — the sole surviving Bretonnian knight was wailing.
A very young lad, his face now frozen in an expression of reverent madness. Tears streamed down his pale cheeks.
— How you Umgi love to lose your bloody minds at the most critical moment, — smirked the dwarf who had recently argued with the overly brave officer.
— The Lady saved me! Not a single bullet touched me! Count de Morel is dead, but I am aliiiiive! Laaaaaady!
He was well and truly shell-shocked, but I could understand the lad. The meat grinder with the Infernal Guard had been brutal. And we were the ones getting hacked, mostly.
— Oh! Another one! That tickles!
Magister Gerard was busy treating Magg. The Ogre himself was pulling bullets out of his rapidly healing wounds with childlike joy.
Erik was lying right on the deck. When I asked if he was okay, he replied with a smile that he had just lain down to rest.
— This ship rocks so pleasantly, — the halfling sighed. — If you ignore the smoke and the screaming, you can imagine I'm little again. Riding in Auntie Grimhilda's wagon to the fair.
Understood. Let him rest.
Liandra maintained her composure and focus. The elf stood at the prow, staring into the smoke-shrouded battlefield. I joined her.
— Is it as bad as Lietpold said? What does your elven sight see?
— A very difficult battle, but that mercenary exaggerated the danger to convince the warriors. The center has become an arena of endless slaughter. No one can gain the upper hand.
I looked closer, as much as the clouds of smoke and flashes of magic allowed. The battle in the center was raging between the first and second lines of fortifications. The Chaos forces had widened their breach, captured part of the trenches, and destroyed guns on the redoubts, but they hadn't advanced too far.
As if feeding the flames with new portions of fuel, each side constantly threw in reinforcements. Swordsmen, halberdiers, militia, missile troops, and even Reiksguard knights made one counterattack after another, stopping or at least slowing the onslaught of Tamurkhan's nightmare army. The Maggot Lord himself was there. The monstrous figure of Nurgle's chosen towered on a hill of living flesh—the form of his Toad Dragon.
Many shooters and artillerymen tried to pepper the Chaos leader with lead, but Tamurkhan's incredible resilience allowed him to continue the fight. He tore, crushed, and flattened people with the bulk of his monstrous pet. Brownish-green, foul-smelling miasmas surrounded the place where Tamurkhan fought like a cloud. And yet, even the power of the Maggot Lord could not quickly break the Imperial resistance.
The artillery cannonade had almost ceased. The guns of the Dawi-Zharr who had left the field were silent now, as were those who had been dueling them. Some Imperial batteries had been captured by enemy cavalry units. Of course, dozens of barrels were still booming every minute, but it no longer prevented us from talking.
— You were right, — Liandra suddenly announced.
I wanted to ask about what, but my reply was drowned out by the shot of the prow cannon. I had to repeat:
— About what?
— These monsters must be destroyed as soon as possible. Delaying to fight them was the right decision.
"Occasionally, elven creations are still capable of rational deductions," Loom-Pia commented on her revelation. "However, I cannot be certain if this is enlightenment and the awakening of the potential placed in them by the Old Ones, or simply random coincidences."
"Like a broken clock is right twice a day?"
"It is not entirely clear what mechanism you speak of, warm-blood, but the analogy is clear to me."
Meanwhile, the ship, accompanied by the cavalry, had nearly reached the landing site. We weren't fired upon along the way. Without the Dawi-Zharr guns, the enemy army was practically stripped of its firepower. Of course, there were still sorcerers, but they were currently too busy supporting their allies in the fray at the center.
The ship began to jar. We were now driving over corpses. The bodies of beastmen, northmen, cultists, and Chaos spawns covered the approaches to the first line of defense like a dead carpet.
The mass of Chaos forces pressing against the Imperial redoubts was getting closer. A shapeless crowd where rusted armor, rotting flesh, and monster hides flickered. The sight of this gathering filled me with a bad premonition. This wouldn't be easy.
Both surviving landships dropped their ramps, inviting the remnants of the boarding parties to take part in the battle. Placing the trophy axe on my shoulder, I followed Magg.
The first one out was that same crazed Bretonnian youth. He had removed his helmet and chainmail coif, now sporting a shock of wheat-gold hair.
— The Lady! — he shrieked, waving a hand-and-a-half sword held in both hands. — I have been chosen by the Lady!
Without waiting for the rest of us to descend and form up, the Bretonnian charged the crowd of enemies alone. He had completely lost his marbles.
The Chaos forces, jostling in their attempts to reach the fight sooner, didn't pay him any attention at first. So what if some psychopath is running at them screaming at the top of his lungs? No one was surprised by such things today. However, then a Plague Ogre turned its eternally hungry gaze toward the lad. The face of Magg's fallen kin was bloated and covered in scabs. Yellow teeth protruded from its gaping maw.
The Ogre ambled toward the young knight, slowly raising a heavy butcher's cleaver that was almost as long as the human's sword. I think a hit from that thing would crumple even the strongest armor.
"The hero's run is over," I thought.
However, the knight unexpectedly and deftly ducked under the Ogre's strike and with an almost perfectly vertical upward swing... hacked its fucking head off!
Hacked. The head. Off an Ogre!
Having performed such a feat, he raced on, approaching the crowd of Chaos followers. His path was blocked by several Ungors. He finished the minor beastmen practically without slowing his pace.
I noticed his blade was enveloped in a bluish shimmer. Magic? Wait... Was he actually marked by that Lady of theirs, and not just insane?!
Wow. Fine. I was just still thinking in the categories of my home world, but here...
While all these thoughts rattled in my head, the young knight leaped at the Chaos crowd. There he swung his sword, but one of Nurgle's Chosen easily took the blow on the remains of his armor. This Chaos warrior had clearly suffered from the artillery bombardment but had regenerated his wounds. Through holes in the armor, pus-seeping, whitish flesh protruded.
The Chosen was without a shield. With his free hand, he grabbed the young knight by the forearm, yanked him close, and with a blow from a massive rusted sword, took off a fragment of the lad's skull. The would-be hero of Bretonnia went limp instantly. The Chaos warrior grabbed him by the remains of his head and literally squeezed the brains out of the skull.
Eh...
The Lady's blessing didn't help. The lad had thrown himself into the fight far too recklessly. Especially since his opponent was also blessed by Nurgle from his crown to his unwashed heels.
Alright. The Bretonnian's performance is over. Now it's our turn to enter the fray.