Queek Headtaker was dead. The notorious Skaven warlord met his end after the reading of his crimes and grudges against the dwarfs. Each crime was recited one by one, and after nearly an entire chapter of the Book of Grudges had been read, the White Dwarf, Grimbrindal, personally strangled Queek to death.
It was a brutal execution, as the process took nearly an hour. Queek was only in his twenties or thirties by Skaven standards, but the number of atrocities he had committed filled almost an entire chapter. By the time Belegar, gasping for breath, finished announcing that the grudges had been settled, Queek had long since died under the White Dwarf's iron grip.
Even then, Belegar grumbled that Queek had gotten off too easily.
After the ceremony, the human armies took time to rest, but the dwarfs, driven by their passion, immediately began the arduous task of rebuilding.
Meanwhile, Ryan took a moment to relax. He had delegated all responsibilities to François and Calard, while he retreated to the king's golden pavilion in the ramshackle town of Scruffy Town. There, he sat inside the tent, sipping a hot drink, and gazing at the snow-covered peaks of Eight Peaks.
Snowflakes gently drifted down from the sky, burying the battlefield and welcoming the new masters of Eight Peaks.
Two days later, on the plateau of Eight Peaks in Scruffy Town, Ryan sat on his bed, watching the snowy landscape through the tent's window. He remained still until he felt a soft touch from behind. Olica, the dark elf, gently hugged him from behind, resting her head on his back. She was dressed in her usual maid attire, her slender body pressed against his. "Master, what are you thinking about?" she asked softly.
"Your master is tired," Veronica teased from her place on the large bed in the tent. She was lounging comfortably, wrapped in a blanket, her shoulders draped in a white fox fur coat. Though the blanket covered her, her figure was still evident. With a mischievous smile, her long, dark brown hair flowing down her back, Veronica held a cup of hot coffee. "Look at him, completely lacking motivation after the big battle. Typical of men after such a grand event, right?"
"Motivation?" Ryan chuckled. He stretched out his arms and pulled Olica onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her slim waist. Smelling the faint fragrance of her hair, he smirked, "Do you want to see how 'motivated' I can be?"
"Hmph! You—there are so many people outside. I doubt you'd dare," Veronica blushed at the implication, torn between anticipation and embarrassment. "Alright, Ryan, I know you're tired, missing home, and thinking of Sulia and your son, aren't you?"
"Yes, the expedition has been going on for a whole year now," Ryan admitted, sighing softly. "Actually, we're lucky, Veronica. Your sorceress group suffered few casualties, right?"
Veronica's sorceress group had indeed been fortunate. They'd only lost one apprentice sorceress, who was killed by a goblin shaman during the Battle of Titan's Gate. Most of the others had suffered only minor injuries, largely thanks to the protective spells cast by the knights and the peasant infantry, who understood the importance of protecting the sorceresses.
"You've already seen the casualty reports, so why ask me?" Veronica shrugged, but quickly realized what Ryan was getting at and fell silent.
"The sorceress group's casualty list was completed immediately, as were the reports for the knights and their squires. But the casualty list for the peasant infantry… it may never be fully known," Ryan said quietly. "We left Bretonnia with fifteen regiments of peasant infantry. Along the way, we left some behind and replenished others. We had fifteen regiments at the Battle of Valaya's Gate. But do you know how many are left now? Four regiments, just over four thousand men."
"These were necessary sacrifices, my dear. Even you fought on the front lines. What more could you expect from the peasant infantry?" Veronica replied nonchalantly. "Don't tell me this is bothering you, because I won't believe it."
"True, when the numbers grow large enough, casualties become little more than statistics," Ryan nodded. He wasn't the type to dwell on sentiment or let his emotions get the better of him. His will had been tempered through countless battles. Holding Olica close, he turned to her and asked, "Olica, what would you do in Naggaroth?"
"We would promote, Master," Olica whispered. "Unlike our kin who play political games and practice court intrigue, the Druchii's social status is determined purely by strength and the number of slaves one possesses. The Witch King doesn't mind promoting a slave to the rank of Dreadlord if they prove their power, so long as they don't pose a threat to the Witch King or Queen. Malekith can control Naggaroth with ease, knowing when to demand loyalty, when to purge dissenters, when to show generosity, and when to assassinate those who oppose him. The Witch King's methods are far more advanced and cruel than anything you've seen. You're strong enough to deal with Morathi, but you still have some way to go before you can challenge Malekith."
"That's to be expected. If Malekith weren't so powerful, he wouldn't be worthy of the title of Witch King," Ryan responded calmly. After all, Malekith was over five thousand years old, a peak warrior of the sacred realm and a peak sorcerer as well. According to Olica, Malekith's power was comparable to a demigod. Though he wasn't quite on par with Angron or Fulgrim, he could easily handle several Imperial Custodes in combat.
Ryan, meanwhile, was still limited by the Great Vortex and the Aegis of the Old Ones, which affected everyone, even him. Though powerful, he felt restrained while using his psychic abilities, making him roughly as strong as a Custode.
The struggle for salvation was far from over, and the primarchs still had work to do.
As Ryan cuddled his warm, soft maid, he smiled to himself. After thinking for a while, he made a decision. "Olica, Veronica, what do you think if I promoted all the surviving peasant infantry who returned to Bretonnia to freemen and awarded them the Eight Peaks Commemorative Medal? This wouldn't include any additional rewards, just the basic rights for every peasant who participated in the campaign."
Before Olica could respond, Veronica scoffed playfully. "Oh my, our gallant knight has changed his tune, hasn't he? In the past, it was incredibly difficult for a peasant to be promoted to a freeman, requiring all sorts of assessments. In most campaigns, only a handful would be elevated. Now you want to promote thousands of them all at once? That's no small number. Are you sure about this?"
"To win the loyalty of your followers, nothing works better than generous rewards," Ryan replied with a thoughtful nod. "I remember a great sage from the far east once said something like that. I think his name was… Lu Xun?"
"I don't care. You're the king, you decide," Veronica replied with a roll of her eyes. She shifted her position on the bed, adjusting the pillow so she could sink comfortably into it. "However, you should discuss this with your father-in-law first. As a traditional noble and one of your key supporters, if he agrees, it shouldn't be a problem. But I'll warn you, once you open this door, it's bound to trigger alarm among the kingdom's more conservative factions."
"Conservatives? How many knightly orders do they command?" Ryan laughed heartily. "Who would dare oppose me? Do they not want a share of the spoils? Or do they not want to be nobles anymore? Who wouldn't want a dwarven runic vibranium plate armor?"
"Yes, yes, I get it. Our brave and mighty knight king is all-powerful now, and I'm just a poor little sorceress, all used up and cast aside," Veronica teased with mock sadness. "No more use for me, I guess."
"Olica, it seems Veronica doesn't want to be my chief lady-in-waiting anymore," Ryan joked as he held Olica close, playfully caressing her legs clad in smooth white stockings. "Looks like you'll have to step in and take the position."
"Leave it to me, Master," Olica smiled mischievously. "I'll take good care of you as your chief lady-in-waiting. And perhaps I could handle Veronica as well. In three months, I could turn her into a docile pig. If you wish, I could even cut off her limbs."
"You… you… Olica, how can you say that!" Veronica recoiled in fear, realizing how dangerous Olica truly was. "I've never done anything to you!"
"If you ever betray Master, that would be your fate. But don't worry, I have many other methods, should the need arise," Olica said, playing with her beloved butterfly knife, her voice filled with a twisted devotion as she snuggled into Ryan's chest. "As for your proposal, Master, I think it's a good idea."
"And why do you think so?" Ryan asked, signaling to Veronica that he was only joking.
"In Naggaroth, the Druchii maintain their society and high birthrate by indulging in the pleasures of slaughter and power. If you remain high upon
your throne without offering opportunities for advancement, your subordinates may grow complacent or even rebel against the system you've created. But if you open paths for promotion and encourage competition, they'll fight amongst themselves for your favor and happily submit to your rule," Olica explained softly, tapping her finger against her lips. "You must keep everyone on edge. Complacency will dull their skills and minds."
"Promoting so many peasants to freemen will make the knightly lords feel threatened, won't it?" Ryan stroked his chin thoughtfully. He had recently shaved, and his new beard hadn't grown in yet. After a moment of reflection, he made up his mind. "You're right. Many knights are no longer worthy of Bretonnia or the Lady. When we return victorious, I'll take this opportunity to clean house and deal with those unworthy knights!"
And so, the decision was made. All surviving peasants from the Eight Peaks campaign would be promoted to freemen, with each receiving the Eight Peaks Commemorative Medal. Ryan would personally hold a ceremony to honor them.
This would become the largest freeman promotion ceremony in Bretonnia's history.
After chatting for a while longer, Ryan asked casually, "By the way, Veronica, when is this year's Garland Grand Council?"
"This year? It's already passed, darling," Veronica replied with a hint of annoyance as she flipped through a fire magic book imported from the High Elves of Hoeth. "I didn't attend because of the expedition, and neither did Lady Aurora or our little Garland Princess. So, the council was postponed to next March during the Spring Equinox at Skycastle… Why do you ask?"
"So, Aurora's fate will be decided next March?" Ryan said with interest. "Tell me, dear, will you vote in her favor?"
"I won't vote against her, at least," Veronica replied, clearly annoyed with Aurora. "But don't ask me to support her, because I won't. And let's not pretend this isn't part of your plan. Haven't you always intended to bring Aurora into your… inner circle?"
"What do you mean, 'inner circle'? Don't twist my words. I only want her as part of my system," Ryan retorted. "A seasoned frost sorceress from the sacred realm could be quite useful. Ice magic is rare, after all."
"Fine, fine. Whether it's two to one or three to one, Aurora and Teresa will have to pack up and leave," Veronica sighed, stretching lazily. "I'm tired of Skycastle anyway. Let Margarita and Calaeron deal with it. I'm yours, in every sense."
"Alright, we'll deal with it later," Ryan nodded. All of these matters would have to wait until the expedition was over and they returned to Bretonnia.
Ryan, Olica, and Veronica continued their conversation for a while until Juan Carlos entered the tent. The young Baron of Biocari was surprised to see the dark elf cuddling on Ryan's lap, but he quickly composed himself. After a brief cough, he addressed Ryan, "My king, King Belegar has summoned you and the generals to the Hall of Ancestors."
"The Hall of Ancestors?" Ryan's eyes lit up. "Is the treasury and ancestral tomb of Eight Peaks about to be opened?"
"Exactly!"
"Good! I'll be right there!" Ryan could hardly contain his excitement. He immediately got up, calling for his key commanders to gather. Veronica and Olica joined him as well.
An hour later, deep within the Hall of Ancestors, five hundred meters underground, the excavation site was filled with rubble and debris. But there, standing tall amidst the ruins, was the entrance to the treasury and ancestral sanctum of Eight Peaks. The White Dwarf, Grimbrindal, King Belegar, King Kazador of Iron Peak, several dwarven clan leaders, and master rune-smiths all stood together. Ryan, leading Calard, François, Federmond, Olica, Veronica, and several knightly nobles, could barely contain their excitement as they waited for the grand door to open.
Only Araloth and the wood elves had not been informed. To the dwarfs, these pointy-eared outsiders weren't brothers, friends, or even allies with shared goals—they were simply business partners. And only Grungni knew what the elves would do if they saw the treasures inside the vault.
Best to keep them away. As far as the dwarfs were concerned, it was better to give them a Silmaril and send them on their way.
Hundreds of ancestral runes glowed brightly. The White Dwarf produced an oversized charcoal pen from somewhere and waved it at Ryan. "Come here, boy!"
"What is it, old master?" Ryan was used to the White Dwarf's blunt manner and didn't take offense.
"You've done well to get this far, so I'll give you the chance to leave your mark. Write something on the door of the ancestral hall, whatever you like, haha!" The White Dwarf handed Ryan the thick pen.
All eyes turned to Ryan. He held the large pen, thicker than his thumb, and after a moment of thought, he inscribed a line in High Gothic on the door of the ancestral hall.
"With all our strength, we rebuilt this fortress. Remember, the soldiers who came shall never be forgotten."
Everyone fell silent.
They were reminded of the fallen heroes: Lopus, Blackheart Leip, Harghulf, Aestel, Olivier, Anterme, Denis, Amade, and so many others whose names filled the lists of the dead. Their sacrifices were remembered, and the survivors took comfort in knowing that Ryan had not forgotten them.
However, in the end, the greatest victors and those who would be most celebrated were Belegar and Ryan. It was through their perseverance and dedication that victory was achieved. Their names would echo across the Old World, and their legendary deeds would be immortalized.
As the grand doors of the ancestral hall slowly opened, Ryan couldn't help but recall an old saying:
"A general's success is built on the bones of ten thousand soldiers."
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