Chapter 106: For the Empire (2)
As the knights of the Empire, clad in silver armor, fought against the green-skinned orcs on the ridge, the Imperial army slowly approached the base of the slope. With the sound of horns, the army came to a halt.
Despite the ridge separating them, the soldiers could not see the battle unfolding ahead except at the top of the slope. The earlier echoes of the Waaaaagh sound reverberating through the pass, along with the grim circumstances at the slope’s peak… Each Imperial soldier was filled with anxiety, and the entire army fell into a deathly silence.
The sounds of battle cries, the clanging of runic blacksmiths at work, and the clashes of swords formed a whirlwind that swept through the ranks of the Imperial army.
The Reikland — the birthplace of the current Emperor and Sigmar — bore the banner of a black eagle, one claw grasping a war hammer and the other clutching the Reikland’s runic sword, fluttering valiantly at the center of the formation, billowing in the war winds.
Behind the banner stood Henry, a swordsman known jokingly by his comrades as “Skari the Swordmaster.” At this moment, he was extremely tense, unable to even hold his sword steady as he trembled.
He had never seen the green-skinned orcs, especially the large brutes fighting at the ridge, so towering and robust. Previously, he held onto a sliver of hope, thinking that the training dummies weren’t that large, merely exaggerated to scare new recruits, but the sight of the battling orc brutes shattered his fantasy.
Even though his training performance had been decent, if those towering training dummies had moved, Henry felt certain he would be knocked to the ground. Not to mention the equally large and strong orcs; this was not training, and the orcs would mercilessly kill him.
Moreover, after a long day and night on the road, Henry felt both sleepy and weary, as did everyone else.
He felt as if he could barely hold his sword; he was not ready. Three months ago, he was just a recruit, and now he was thousands of miles from home, here to resist orcs…
At that moment, a giant wielding a coffin-sized club charged up the slope, swinging it to knock two Imperial knights away.
With Sigmar above, and the legendary giants at hand.
Henry’s hand shook, and his sword fell to the ground. The centurion in front of him, known for his crooked smile, turned to glance at him. An ugly scar, carved by a marauder’s axe, shifted on his face as he said, “Skari the Swordmaster, pick up your sword!”
The centurion continued, “Otherwise, how can you slice down a hundred orcs and be reported as a Great Hero?”
Hearing his joke lightened Henry’s heart a bit as he bent down to retrieve his sword.
“What are you afraid of?” the centurion seemed to be speaking to himself, “If the sky falls, there are tall ones to hold it up…”
In the sky, the Imperial general who had recruited him rode a winged horse, soaring above the army.
“…and the Emperor is with us. Many say he is Sigmar re incarnated.”
Henry looked ahead from his higher vantage point; after seeing a sea of heads, he recognized the Emperor at the front of the army.
The Emperor was adorned in brilliant golden armor, with a helmet embellished with colorful feathers, observing the battle scene. Suddenly, he raised his visor and turned around.
“It is time, citizens of the Empire! Unite! The orcs are coming! Beyond the slope, a warlord is rallying all the foul creatures, gathering into an enormous green-skinned army…”
The Emperor’s voice was loud enough that even from a distance, Henry could hear him clearly.
“Sigmar once fought here, and I will do the same!”
With that, the Emperor suddenly raised a legendary weapon, a heavy golden two-handed war hammer — the Hammer of Sigmar.
Many, including Henry, immediately thought of the famous stories known throughout the Empire.
A thousand years ago, the supreme king forged it for Sigmar himself, who used it to halt… or rather, massacre the green skins. It is said that the orc corpses piled up like mountains from those slain by his hand, and he wielded the hammer atop their mound, driving the orcs out of the pass and ultimately founding the human Empire.
The war hammer in the Emperor’s hand radiated a soft white light, captivating everyone’s gaze.
Was Sigmar manifesting?
Most people thought so, including Henry, whose heart raced, and his eyes sparkled as if he had caught a glimpse of the dawn of victory.
Holding the Hammer of Sigmar aloft, the Emperor declared, “I will wield the Hammer of Sigmar in battle! We will become legends! We will sweep the green-skinned from our doorsteps!”
The soldiers of the Empire erupted with excitement, striking their weapons against their shields and chanting:
“Sigmar! Sigmar!”
“Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!”
Henry joined in, pounding on his shield, fervently watching the Emperor raise the Hammer of Sigmar.
He even thought that with such an Emperor leading, victory would surely belong to the Empire, and sacrificing his life here would be worth it.
Amidst the roaring cheers of “Long live!” the Emperor lowered his visor and turned his head.
The battlefield at the ridge stretched for about a kilometer, while nearly half of the dwarf position at the top had been lost — their numbers were never sufficient to defend a thousand-meter front.
Green-skinned orcs had already broken through and were charging down the slope, wielding cleavers: wild boar brutes, young orcs, goblin riders on wolves, trolls… a wave of green debris flowed toward the Imperial lines below.
“Waaaaagh!”
In the hearts of all, the brave and unyielding Emperor could hear his own heartbeat echoing through his breastplate amidst the resounding Waaaaagh.
The Emperor understood that his heart raced out of fear.
He was not confident about this battle.
The plan had originally been to rendezvous with the dwarf supreme king, relying on the high ground to face the green-skinned army directly. But now it was too late; the hastily marching troops now faced the green-skinned charging down from the slope.
If only they could assemble the army more quickly, if only he could make political gains more rapidly, if only they could arrive a day earlier… things wouldn’t have become so dire.
Emotionally speaking, the Emperor never believed he was the reincarnation of Sigmar; it was all a lie, mere political propaganda, as deceptive as the hammer glowing earlier — just a clever thought he had at the moment, asking the Saintly Witch to cast a small divine spell to make it glow.
In this world, what emperor would use such tricks to win hearts? Even if someone were truly Sigmar re incarnated, it wouldn’t be him; rather, it would be Powell, who spent most of his life battling beastmen in the forests.
Three years ago, he was just a dandy under Adolph, prepared to inherit the Reikland and live a carefree life, but he made an impulsive decision and entered the Emperor election. After participating, he had forgotten about it, going hunting in the countryside.
Who would have thought that upon his return, he would hear that he barely won against Powell by one vote to become Emperor? The electors did not want a more capable and ambitious emperor to take the throne, so many voted for him.
Also, the Church of Sigmar seemed to disfavor the wolf-god worshiper Powell; he had no idea why they supported him so fervently.
He still vividly remembered the shocking day when the heavy responsibility of the Empire fell onto his shoulders.
Pretending to be Emperor, he had walked a precarious path; had it not been for his luck, he would have capsized several times already. He was sure he was not cut out to be the Emperor of the Empire.
Today, they would surely be disappointed in him? He was not Sigmar re incarnated; he would doom a hundred thousand Imperial soldiers…
Before he could think further, just as he had felt the urge to resign several times, another urgent matter rushed at him like a blade.
This time it was a green-skinned brute charging towards the Emperor, wielding a cleaver and dodging the rain of bolts fired by the Imperial army.
The Emperor swung down his war hammer, shouting, “Hold fast!”
The spearmen behind him, while chanting “Sigmar!” lowered their spears, stepping down to plant their spear tips against the oncoming greenskins.
The Emperor cast all his self-doubt behind him, shouting, “For the Empire!”
He rushed forward, leaping and swinging the Hammer of Sigmar, smashing the green-skin brute’s head, leaving only half of it hanging from its neck…
The Imperial army engaged the greenskins all along the line.
In terms of strength and physique, humans were vastly inferior to the greenskins, relying solely on discipline, cooperation, and steel to fight them. The wall of spears continuously pierced the charging greenskin boys, while crossbowmen aimed at the cacophonous goblin archers.
The greenskins utilized brute strength to reach the spearmen, taking a few down with them before they died, carving out a small gap, and the greenskins on war pigs barreled into the gap, widening it further.
“Third Hundred Troop! Forward!”
The centurions with war glaives advanced, supported by their centurion, to reinforce the gap.
Filthy trolls swung their clubs through the gap toward the glaive unit; the trolls retched on the glaives, expelling corrosive, foul-smelling fluids. A few glaive soldiers met a tragic fate, crumpling to the ground in agony, exposing their ribcages.
“Charge!”
Soldiers, armed with glaives, surged forward, piling onto the trolls. The trolls’ bodies continuously regenerated until the humans finally used lanterns from their belts to throw onto dry wood and grasses, setting fire to the trolls.
The gap was once again sealed. Compared to the dwarfs, humans still had numerical and magical advantages, as fresh soldiers continuously flooded forward, entering the bloody meat grinder.
The line momentarily stalemated.
The greenskins gathered in waves outside the infantry line, thickly clustering.
Saint Jenna, riding a fine horse, stood atop a small hill, observing everything clearly. She also spotted sneaky goblin shamans riding bouncy squigs heading to the front lines. Knowing the greenskin lore, Jenna understood that the enemy intended to use their large numbers and magical prowess to break through the formation.
Saint Jenna spread her arms, closed her eyes, and called out the name of the God of Dawn. A beam of light descended upon her, making her exceptionally conspicuous, but there was little she could do.
A bolt of green light hurled toward Saint Jenna but was stopped by her invisible barrier.
Meanwhile, a greenskin riding a two-legged dragon battled against a human horse-mounted extraordinary being in the sky.
Having finished her prayers, Saint Jenna opened her eyes, which radiated white light. Two beams fell into her gaze, allowing her to look down upon the battlefield, enabling her to accurately control her divine spells.
Saint Jenna focused her sight on one spot on the battlefield.
The light in the sky twisted, and the afternoon sun gradually focused to a point; the sky grew dark as a dazzling white point appeared, moving toward the greenskins in front of the human lines.
Wherever the white point passed, the greenskins screamed, their bodies igniting in smoke and flames. The light traced a slow, straight line across the ground, parallel to the Imperial lines.
All warriors on the Imperial front lowered their heads, shielding their eyes, and when they regained their sight and looked up again, they found the ground littered with charred green corpses.
The greenskins in danger of being consumed by the light tried to escape, but in the chaos, they couldn’t move; they could only watch helplessly as the light engulfed them.
“Saint Lady, excellent! At least a thousand greenskins have perished!”
Listening to the calls from beside her, Saint Jenna felt joy and was about to continue maintaining the light.
However, a patch of dark clouds obscured her view, blocking everything below.
Saint Jenna tilted her head, exiting her “eagle-eye perspective,” noticing the sky was heavy with clouds, and in the distance, a goblin shaman gorging on mushrooms was laughing maniacally.
Without sunlight, Saint Jenna could not produce more of the light; the principle of the light was simple, utilizing her extraordinary power to create a magnifying effect that focused sunlight.
“Bang!”
Another beam of green light struck her barrier.
Saint Jenna swayed as the fatigue from her earlier use of extraordinary powers made the mystical energy unstable, causing her forehead to bulge.
It was time to relocate.
Before leaving, Saint Jenna took one last look at the battlefield.
The dwarf runic catapults at the ridge had mostly been lost; the dwarfs had not been completely wiped out, but their line had been entirely breached. Only a few dwarfs remained clumped together at the top, like ants huddling together, struggling for survival amid a flood.
More high-quality greenskin armies thronged from the ridge. There were giants, trolls, large orc brutes, crazed goblins driving carriages, and of course, shamans.
The battle had shifted from a stalemate to a bloody impasse. Various spells ravaged the earth, devouring lives.
Fire skeletons, standing two stories high and laughing maniacally, consumed unarmored or lightly armored greenskins. Just as the Imperial soldiers let out a sigh of relief upon seeing a field of charred greenskin corpses, they were suddenly struck by an unbearable itch, with soldiers unable to help but scratch while holding their weapons, barely managing to stand.
Thousands of war pigs came charging in, swinging their massive cleavers into the scratching Imperial line, leaving headless and half-bodies in their wake, as cries of agony filled the air.
The Reikland guards immediately charged forward, shouting the name of Sigmar, colliding head-on with the war pigs, and with the help of battle priests, they managed to drive the war pigs away.
Light spheres ravaged the battlefield, chasing the greenskins away, buying time for the Imperial army to fill their lines.
Another well-equipped unit of Imperial infantry, marching to the beat of the drums and the military flag, filled in the gap, relocating the badly thinned infantry to the rear for rest. Just as the infantry filled the gap, they found themselves stepping over the fresh corpses of their comrades, when suddenly a massive greenskin apparition loomed overhead, stomping down at them.
It was a massive giant!
Bang!
A quarter of an hour later, another pair of Empire infantry with glaives advanced, making their way over the flattened fresh corpses.
Under the fervent prayers of the Sigmar battle priest, the soldiers found the courage to continue their fight.
“Third Thousand Troop, charge!”
“Turtledove formation!”
The marching drums sounded off: “Dum dum dum.”
“Skari the Swordmaster” Henry, bracing his shield, slowly moved forward, while arrows rained down upon his shield.
The new recruits were typically at the back, with veterans at the front, and now it was Henry’s turn to lead his thousand-man unit to the front lines.
“Stop! Withdraw shields!”
The ground trembled.
For a moment, Henry thought it was just that there were too many people shaking the ground with their shields, but he saw under the dark clouds several massive stone statues, blocking the feeble sunlight, moving down from the top of the slope; these behemoths had blood and flesh plastered on their hands and feet.
——
I recommend “Total War: Warhammer 2” for its depiction of the Empire and greenskins, much of which draws from the lore of Warhammer Fantasy. In the game, you can experience this battle, known as the Battle of the Black Powder Pass.
Additionally, the troop types in the book are all represented in the game, such as giants and colossal beasts.
