Chapter 108: For the Empire (4)
“Ahhh!”
The massive griffon known as Deathclaw came crashing down with broken wings, rolling several times before finally stopping. The Emperor of the Empire, who had been sitting on a small stool atop the griffon, fell off and rolled a few circles on the ground before coming to a halt.
The Hammer of Sigmar landed beside his face, the runes on it dimming.
An orc riding a war boar came rushing in, swinging an axe, charging at the dazed and still getting up Emperor.
Deathclaw, the Emperor’s loyal companion, lunged forward, biting the war boar attacking at the front, shaking it off, then killed another with a claw, stretching its unbroken wings to shield the Emperor from incoming arrows.
The Emperor wobbly stood up, lifted his faceplate to reveal his jowls, vomited, and picked up the dusty Hammer of Sigmar once more.
Deathclaw was fiercely biting down on a large orc, its jaws clamping onto the orc’s head. With a powerful yank, it tore the orc’s head off, scaring away the approaching young war boar riders.
The Emperor looked at Deathclaw’s broken wings, feeling guilty, and said, “If only I hadn’t recklessly ridden you into battle with the warlord, we wouldn’t be facing death here.”
At this moment, regret filled the Emperor’s heart.
One cannot rely on luck indefinitely; he was just a mere mortal wielding the Hammer of Sigmar, yet he had harbored a misplaced confidence borne from the misfortunes he survived.
He should have accepted the truth of his own incompetence earlier; acknowledging this failure might have spared him such a fate. With Deathclaw unable to fly, only death awaited him and his loyal mount.
“Waaagh!”
The war cry of the orcs echoed through the entire pass; they must be launching a full-scale assault.
The Emperor couldn’t bear to look at his army. He could imagine the morale plummeting as they witnessed their Emperor brought down by the warlord beast, leading the army to collapse into turmoil, becoming mere prey for the orc’s blades.
He should have ordered a retreat sooner, leaving valiant warriors behind to buy time for the rest to escape.
The more he thought about it, the more he regretted. He feared that after his death, the delicate balance within the Empire would be shattered, that the electors would bicker among themselves, unable to unite, perhaps even turning against each other with swords. But soon, he felt a bit of relief.
At least he would finally be free from the burdens of emperorship. Perhaps he was overthinking it; after he was gone, the electors might come together in the face of crisis and elect a true Emperor.
But I will die.
With that thought, the Emperor nervously swung his hammer to kill a howling orc.
“Boom!”
A sound of hooves approached, massive in scale; more orcs on war boars were surely noticing him.
The Emperor gripped the Hammer of Sigmar tightly, fear of death filling his heart, and turned to face the cavalry, raising clouds of yellow dust. With Deathclaw standing beside him, the Emperor felt somewhat safer, his fears lessened.
The cavalry squad approached, made up of the Rick Guard in gold full armor, with colorful feathers adorning their Shirel helmets.
The Emperor breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the large number of guards, perhaps they could carve a bloody path out of the situation.
Remembering the escape, the Emperor felt a sense of shame, as if his long-maintained image had suddenly been exposed.
He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was just a mere mortal; this was his true self.
“Your Majesty!” the leading Rick Guard lifted his faceplate, revealing an anxious expression, shouting, “The army is retreating; those cowards have forgotten they are descendants of Sigmar!”
“I understand.” The Emperor, prepared to flee, now appeared calm, saying, “I do not blame them.”
Seeing the Emperor so composed, the Rick Guards gradually calmed down. This was indeed the Emperor; despite the dire situation, he remained so serene. Many felt the Emperor must have a way to turn the tide.
The Emperor said, “Get me a horse.”
One Rick Guard dismounted immediately and handed the reins of his cherished steed to the Emperor. The Emperor mounted the horse, unable to look at the loyal guard, his eyes focused straight ahead.
The Rick Guards seemed to understand something. They tightened their grips on their weapons and raised their battle banners, their spirits slowly swelling with resolve.
The Emperor was absentminded, mulling over his emotions, preparing a speech to frame their retreat as a strategic repositioning.
At that moment, a Rick Guard said:
“Your Majesty, at your command, we will follow you to the death to take down the beast’s head.”
“I plan to strategically—”
“Waaaagh!”
A roar erupted ahead, and from afar, amidst a throng of green-skins, a muscular green-skinned warlord stood up, his face flushed with rage— it was the warlord Beast.
The Emperor gasped and asked, “Why has he come down too?”
“It is your fearless bravery, Your Majesty! I witnessed you fall and retaliate with that hammer, smashing the head of the two-legged dragon!” a Rick Guard exclaimed excitedly. “You are planning a beheading action; without their leader, the green-skins will scatter!”
The Emperor fell silent. He only remembered flailing wildly with the hammer due to a loss of weight, akin to a drowning person—how could he have possibly killed the opposing two-legged dragon?
He realized why the Rick Guards were suddenly filled with fighting spirit. They had misunderstood and thought he was going to lead them in killing the warlord Beast.
By the heavens, he was merely gazing blankly ahead!
“Your Majesty, what you just mentioned was a strategic what?”
“Strategic… strike!” The Emperor’s expression was dazed as he declared, “Guards, charge with me! I will face the Beast alone!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
The remaining Rick Guards crowded around the Emperor as they charged at the Beast.
Around the warlord Beast gathered a mass of large orcs and black orcs. Compared to them, the Rick Guards were far too few, akin to a toothpick darting towards a basketball. Nevertheless, the Rick Guards executed a suicidal charge, carving out a bloody path, using their bodies to shield the Emperor from the assaults of the large orcs, allowing him to confront the Beast directly.
The blood of the faithful carved a way forward; the Emperor’s horse was killed, and with both hands gripping the Hammer of Sigmar, he hammered down the blocking orcs, shouting, “Face me one-on-one! Face me one-on-one!”
“One-on-one! One-on-one!”
Very few orcs understood the common tongue.
But the few large orcs who did found this thing to be quite green and called out for a path to be cleared.
A goblin shaman wielding a staff topped with the cranial bones of an orc shouted, “Boss, the Emperor thinks you’re not green enough and wants to challenge your position!”
The warlord Beast could barely contain his impatience; he swung his heavy war axe, his muscular body towering over four meters, sinewy and bursting with power. Fuming, he pushed through the green-skin crowd, accompanied by a number of black orcs, making for the Emperor of the Empire.
In green-skin society, becoming the boss was simple; one only had to challenge and defeat the current boss. The victor would grow larger and stronger amid the praise of the green-skin lads.
In the countless duels won, the warlord Beast saw the Emperor as provocative; he had just killed the two-legged dragon he had painstakingly tamed—today he aimed to personally behead this shrimp.
“Clear out!” the warlord Beast shouted, pushing aside the green-skins in front of him, “Today, I will behead this Emperor and roast his big bird to eat!”
The green-skinned lads parted, revealing the Emperor surrounded by the Rick Guards.
At this moment, the warlord Beast was not interested in a one-on-one game with the Emperor. He raised a hand, pointing at the Emperor, shouting:
“Charge! Kill these shrimp!”
With that, the warlord Beast bellowed, swinging his axe toward the Emperor, and the black orcs charged alongside him.
The Emperor also swung his Hammer of Sigmar to meet the charge, rushing forward with the Rick Guards, unaware that his hammer began to glow on its own.
As hammer met axe, a powerful gust erupted, blowing everyone around them off balance.
The Emperor only felt a tingling in his hands as the warlord Beast, who towered over him, looked imposing and filled with battle intent, raised his axe again and swung it at the Emperor.
The two fearsome warriors clashed violently, creating a barrier that made it difficult for others to approach. The Rick Guards and black orcs were physically separated; anyone attempting to intervene found themselves either dead or injured. In the end, on the battlefield, people were left with no choice but to give way for the two warriors to have their duel.
…
…
Among the defeated Imperial forces, a goblin riding a Schugo swung his curved knife, chasing down fleeing soldiers. They slashed while searching for high-value targets.
The saintly woman Jenna was unfortunate enough to be caught up with, and when the curved knife struck her horse’s leg, she was thrown off and fell to the ground.
“There’s a shrimp magician!!”
The goblin riding the Schugo shouted, smacking the Schugo underneath him, and the beast jumped up with its mouth wide open, preparing to swallow Jenna whole.
But Saint Jenna was faster; she easily snatched a nearby pike from a spearman, charging forward and thrusting it into the Schugo’s gaping mouth, the spear piercing through the mouth and brain, protruding from the top and pressing against the goblin’s belly.
The galloping Schugo was abruptly halted, the goblin screaming as it tumbled from the Schugo, its eyes wide with surprise, not expecting this woman in the white robe to be a priest instead of a magician.
Saint Jenna dropped the spear and was about to draw her sword when her wrist suddenly hurt; she realized her wrist was dislocated.
“Ah! Ah!”
The goblin screamed from behind.
“Ah, you’re dead.” It was the voice of Gima, twisting the “branch spear” in the goblin’s chest before pulling it out, she looked up and greeted Jenna, “Jenna, I couldn’t help but worry about you, so I came early.”
Jenna exclaimed in surprise, “Gima!”
“I originally wanted to do a ‘damsel in distress’ type of rescue, but I didn’t expect you to be so capable,” Gima said as she walked up beside Jenna, “It’s just that I got too tense and dislocated my wrist.”
“The sanctuary has weapon training.”
Saint Jenna said, her egg-shaped face covered in sweat, smudged with dirt like her robe. This dirt and her purity formed a stark contrast, causing Gima’s heart to stir.
Another goblin rider, grabbing at the sparse “hair” on the Schugo’s head, shouted while waving its curved knife as it charged.
Jenna stood in front of Gima, shielding her like a little sister while healing her dislocated wrist. Light gathered in her hands, gradually forming a weapon as she said, “A priest has combat capabilities.”
Gima didn’t argue; she remembered how Jenna twisted silver utensils into spirals with her bare hands, after all, strength had its advantages. However, that did not mean Gima would tolerate Jenna standing in front of her.
She seized the opportunity, lunging ahead with the spear’s tail hitting the ground, stepping on it with her foot, the spear tip sinking straight into the Schugo’s maw. The Schugo did not stop in time, its eyes collided with the spear tip, Gima’s spear drew a half-meter long scratch on the ground as its shaft bent, and the Schugo dropped dead on the spot, the goblin on its back tumbling heavily to the ground.
Before it could get back up, Gima effortlessly pulled the spear out and stabbing downwards to kill.
The entire process was skillful and fluid.
Jenna stood there, holding a freshly formed two-handed hammer.
Gima, resting the bloodied “branch spear” on her shoulder, patted Jenna’s back, her eyes fixed on Jenna’s chest—Gima preferred tightly fitting fabrics, which couldn’t hide the grandeur of the peaks as opposed to two pieces of fabric dangling.
While gazing, Gima said:
“Don’t be afraid; I’ll protect you.”
“Uh… thank you,” Saint Jenna replied, “Gima, you’re here to help, right? Similar to last time when you summoned George.”
At that moment, more goblins rushed over, and the two women stood shoulder to shoulder to fight.
“I’m here to escort you to escape,” Gima proclaimed loudly, piercing the wolf of a goblin rider. The goblin fell to the ground, and with a swing of her hammer, Jenna smashed down on it with a loud crack of bones.
Saint Jenna couldn’t hear clearly, smashing a goblin as she asked, “What?”
Gima repeated loudly, “I’m taking you to escape!”
“How can that be?”
Gima countered, “Weren’t you just escaping a moment ago? I was just here to help you.”
Saint Jenna opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, her fair hands gripping the war hammer, denting the chest of an oncoming goblin.
Gima said, “I saw the Emperor and the warlord Beast defeated; everyone saw you fall from the griffon clearly, or else they wouldn’t have routed. Your obligations to the Emperor have ended, Jenna.”
“But—”
Gima interrupted while dispatching a goblin: “No buts. Remember last time I held the wall with you? You insisted on staying at the wall to block the green-skins and protect the fleeing soldiers, and I almost got crushed by the orc lord on the other side. Are you planning to put me in danger again for loving someone?”
Saint Jenna’s egg-shaped face turned crimson; she pointed behind them, and Gima turned to see some fleeing soldiers regrouping behind them, confirming the officers, totaling nearly a hundred, a banner of a hundred-men squad rising among them.
Thanks to the fight between the two extraordinary women, they had inadvertently bought the fleeing soldiers time to regroup. A hundred-man squad stood firm amid the tide of routed soldiers, with more and more fleeing individuals consolidating.
A soldier who had just “promoted” to centurion, unaware of the dispute between the two women, said, “My lady! Please lead us back into battle!”
As Jenna decapitated a green-skin, she said, “As long as we run, the ones staying behind to fight will all die.”
“We’ll all die eventually,” Gima said. “Even though the green-skins have lost much mobility in the cavalry battle with the Empire, don’t forget that there’s a giant spider on the other side we can’t deal with, unless Sigmar manifests.”
As Gima spoke, pointing at the giant spider not far away, just then, for some unknown reason, the giant spider slipped and fell into the molten lava.
Saint Jenna exclaimed, “Sigmar has manifested!”
Gima’s face darkened, resorting to moral coercion: “Jenna! Don’t be sentimental! You nearly drove me to madness with your sentimentality last time in Marlin City!”
Saint Jenna’s face reddened even more as she involuntarily lowered her head.
“Alright,” Gima said, patting Saint Jenna’s shoulder, “let’s take them with us and kill our way out, and retreat.”
