For Ryan, the affairs of Kislev were of little concern. The frozen kingdom, the first line of defense against Chaos in the Old World, was simply too far from Bretonnia. There was no pressing need for him to get involved. As a result, Ryan politely declined Belial's proposals, having little interest or potential gain in Kislev. Even if the nation faced a crisis, the Empire would support them. If Bretonnia were to intervene, it would only be when Tsarina Katarin herself sought help, or when the country was on the brink of extinction. Otherwise, even if Ryan extended a hand of friendship, they might not appreciate it.
The most important task at hand was returning home and the series of rewards and recognitions that would follow.
The victory of the great expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain had already spread Ryan and Belegar's names throughout the Old World. Many were now eager to crown Ryan with titles such as "The Greatest Knight-King Since Arthur," "The Last Bretonnian," "The Lady's Scourge," and "Conqueror of the Badlands." Among the human realms, Ryan's name had become the brightest star.
By mid-January of the Imperial Calendar 2513, in the heart of the Old World, the Imperial capital of Altdorf lay under winter's chill.
Compared to previous years, Altdorf's prosperity seemed to have declined slightly. The streets were filled with people hurrying about, and many preachers of the Cult of Sigmar, especially the fanatical Battle Priests of the God-Emperor Charlemagne, could be seen delivering sermons.
In contrast, the Battle Priests of the White Wolf God Ulric were also out on the streets preaching, and tensions between the two factions were palpable. The growing conflict had forced the capital's military to patrol constantly, trying to maintain order by keeping the two sides apart. However, even the Emperor's decrees held little sway over the stubborn Ulrican priests.
Emperor Charlemagne had once been the chosen champion of the White Wolf God, Ulric.
Savior Ludwig, who had passed unscathed through Ulric's holy fire, had united the Empire, thanks to the blessing of the Wolf God.
This deep connection between the Empire's foundation and the Ulrican faith meant that the Emperor could not simply dismiss the White Wolf cult without undermining the legitimacy of the Empire itself—and his own rule.
Just days earlier, outside Altdorf, a violent conflict had erupted between the Sigmarite army, led by Grand Theogonist Volkmar, and the Ulrican army from Middenland, led by Richter von Visenmund, the Bishop of Middenland. The two sides had fought fiercely, with heavy casualties on both sides. The cause? A single statement from Bishop Richter during a sermon: "Charlemagne is not a god."
That single sentence had sparked a bloody battle just outside the capital.
Emperor Karl Franz had been deeply reluctant to see such a conflict arise. Yet, he also understood that his political base was tied to the Cult of Sigmar, and Grand Theogonist Volkmar was his closest political ally, key to his power and election as Emperor. Thus, Karl Franz did not intervene, allowing the two sides to battle outside Altdorf's walls. Meanwhile, the Reiksguard and the Emperor's personal troops stood ready to intervene.
After Volkmar struck down Bishop Richter with his warhammer, killing him on the spot, Karl Franz finally had the pretext to act. The Reiksguard and the Emperor's private forces surrounded the Ulrican army, forcing them to disarm, and the Emperor declared that the conflict was over, proclaiming that the Cults of Sigmar and Ulric remained brotherly faiths.
This war ended in a complete victory for the southern faction of the Empire. However, despite Volkmar's triumph, there were no true winners. Over a thousand men had fallen in a battle that should have been fought against the Empire's enemies.
Worse still, the Empire was now showing signs of fracture. In the aftermath of the battle, Elector Count Boris Todbringer of Middenland led his army into Carroburg, taking up a defensive position across the river from the Emperor. Rumor had it that Boris was furious with the outcome and had openly called Karl Franz a puppet emperor of the Sigmarite Church.
At the same time, Nuln, which had long been distrustful of the Emperor and harbored strong separatist tendencies, began to stir. Lady Emmanuelle von Liebwitz, Countess of Nuln, arrived at the Emperor's court with her Ironclad army, and rumors spread that she intended to either crown herself Empress or politically blackmail the Emperor into supporting her son, Frederick, as the next Emperor—as part of a deal for Nuln's support of Altdorf.
The Empire, which had only recently found some time to recover, was now once again on the brink of war. Rumors spread through the streets, and some even believed that these events heralded the disintegration of the Empire itself.
On the streets of Altdorf, under the statue of Emperor Charlemagne, a Sigmarite Battle Priest was delivering a fiery sermon to a large crowd of listeners.
"Citizens of the Empire, sons of Charlemagne, in the name of Savior Ludwig, hear me!" the priest shouted. "We are facing a great calamity!"
"To the north, the vile and treacherous Boris Todbringer and his White Wolf cronies are marching upon us! He could declare himself Wolf Emperor at any moment!"
"To the east, the ambitious and unpredictable Emmanuelle von Liebwitz of Nuln has arrived at our capital, her intentions unclear! Her Ironclad army threatens to storm the palace and install a new ruler!"
The crowd grew more agitated as the Battle Priest's impassioned speech continued. They shouted and waved their fists, venting their frustrations.
Altdorf, and the entire Reikland, had been suffering economically. Due to Karl Franz's decision to support Imperial Alchemist Gelt's "Five-Year Plan" to rebuild Sölland and establish a new fortress at Wintertooth Pass, the Imperial Court had imposed financial austerity measures. Many public projects and constructions had been halted, and large orders from the court had been reduced. On top of the harsh winter, the capital's citizens were feeling the cold of an economic freeze as well.
"In the name of Charlemagne, this is a disgrace!" the Battle Priest continued, stirring the crowd's emotions further. "Now is the time, citizens, for us to stand up! To defend the honor and position of Altdorf, the capital of the Empire! To protect our rights from the oppression of foreigners and outsiders! To preserve our unmatched Imperial glory! Let us unite behind our lord, Karl Franz!"
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" the crowd roared.
"We must save Altdorf! We must save the Empire!" the priest shouted. "Altdorf belongs to the people of Altdorf! Outsiders and foreigners, get out!"
"Don't let the dogs from other provinces steal our jobs! Our wealth belongs to us!" another voice cried out.
Whipped into a frenzy by the Battle Priest, the citizens of Altdorf vented their anger, blaming their recent economic struggles on foreigners and outsiders, particularly those from Middenland and Wissenland.
"We must rally behind Karl Franz, our beloved Emperor! Donate what you can, join the army, and support him in this time of crisis!" the priest urged the crowd, and many citizens eagerly opened their purses to donate, while others volunteered to enlist in the army.
Not far from the street, Emperor Karl Franz stood atop the walls of Altdorf Palace, watching the scene unfold with a heavy heart. His hands clasped behind his back, his face clouded with worry.
"The army is ready, Your Majesty," said Reiksmarshal Kurt Helborg, standing behind the Emperor. "At your command, we can march against Boris and his wolves."
The Emperor watched as the citizens below donated money and enlisted, then suddenly muttered, "Tell me, Helborg, how do you fight a war with no money?"
"Your Majesty?" Helborg was puzzled. "There's no problem with the troops' wages and supplies. The capital's soldiers were just paid."
"The expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain was a success, Helborg," the Emperor said, seemingly out of nowhere. "The knightly brothers from across the mountains and the dwarves of Angrund have retaken Eight Peaks from the greenskins and Skaven. According to our Reiksguard scouts, Ryan Macador has returned with a fleet full of gold and treasure."
"A great victory indeed, but that is their business, not ours," Helborg responded. "The Reikland army remains loyal to you, as do the people."
The Emperor thought to himself that it had been a mistake to discuss this with Helborg, but then again, he hadn't appointed Helborg for his political insight.
On the one hand, Karl Franz was pleased with the victory at Eight Peaks, as it meant that the threat from the Badlands was diminished, allowing him to focus more on threats from the north and within the Empire. But on the other hand, he couldn't help but feel envious and even jealous. The king across the mountains had returned with glory and wealth, his reputation soaring, while Karl Franz's coffers were nearly empty—drained by the costly efforts to rebuild Sölland and support Gelt's projects. It would take another year or two before Sölland could begin to contribute to the Empire's economy.
Those one or two years would be incredibly difficult.
What should I do? the Emperor thought to himself.
"Your Majesty, Lady Emmanuelle von Liebwitz has arrived at the palace with the Nuln Ironcl
ad army and her champion, Theodore Bruckner," a Reiksguard reported. "Will you meet with her?"
Emmanuelle! The Emperor's expression wavered. He felt a pang of insecurity. "Why is she here?"
"She says she came to see her son," the Reiksguard answered. "She is currently in the palace garden with young Frederick."
Karl Franz nodded slowly, feeling somewhat reassured. Emmanuelle's love for her son was well known, and her first act upon arriving at the palace had been to visit him, her godson and the Emperor's ward. This strong political signal gave Karl Franz hope. Whatever Emmanuelle's intentions, she wasn't here to declare war or independence. There was still room for negotiation, and as long as there was room, the Emperor could find a way to navigate the situation.
"Arrange a meeting. I'll speak with her about how to proceed," the Emperor ordered as he briskly left the room, heading for the reception hall.
But before that, he had one more meeting to attend—his Finance Minister, Lady Hawksworth, was waiting for him in the luxurious and grand study of the palace.
Tensions were running high. Beyond the threat of war, the Empire's finances were stretched thin. The costs of maintaining the army, rebuilding Sölland's walls, roads, cities, and farms… the Emperor hadn't even had time to ask about it. But judging by the pained expression on Lady Hawksworth's face and the way she nervously fidgeted with her ruby rings and platinum brooch, he knew the Empire—or at least Altdorf—was facing serious financial trouble.
"Do what you can. Let me think of a solution," the Emperor told his finance minister. Before he could rub his tired eyes or the growing crow's feet around them, Emmanuelle entered the room with her son, young Frederick.
Lady Emmanuelle von Liebwitz of Nuln, now in her thirties, looked even more radiant than she had a few years ago. She wore an elegant imperial gown of gingerbread and cream silk, with a sheer drape, her golden hair neatly tied back beneath a golden coronet. Her tall, slender legs, clad in deep red velvet stockings, peeked through the sheer layers of her skirt. Her red-heeled shoes were adorned with gemstones and skull motifs, and the air around her was filled with the scent of fine perfume.
Despite being the mother of two children, Emmanuelle's noble and seductive figure betrayed no signs of age. Her radiant glow and calm demeanor showed that she had been living well lately.
And why wouldn't she be? Karl Franz silently cursed. Nuln's economy had been booming in recent years. The main beneficiary of the Empire-Bretonnia alliance was Nuln, with its orders from Bretonnia and from Ryan's brother Fulgrim's Ashen Legion. High-tech orders and talented specialists flooded in from across the Old World, and under Emmanuelle's supervision, the wages of Nuln's factory workers had risen by over 50% in recent years.
Now, the citizens of Nuln adored her, referring to her as "Our Beloved Lady."
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Emmanuelle greeted Karl Franz with a mysterious smile, holding her son's hand.
"Good morning, godfather!" Although only seven or eight years old, young Frederick was already about 1.4 meters tall. Stocky and strong, with a lovable, tiger-like face, he greeted the Emperor politely. After his mother prompted him, Frederick ran off to find his Uncle Ludwig.
"Emmanuelle, are you here to mediate between me and Boris?" Karl Franz forced a smile. The Emperor spoke directly, as they were old rivals and allies, and there was no need for pretenses between them.
"Yes, I've come to mediate," Emmanuelle replied without hesitation. "No one wants to see the Empire divided, least of all me. Our strength should be used against external enemies. I'm here in Altdorf to resolve the conflict between you and Boris. I think Boris will listen to me. Or, do you have any other plans, Your Majesty?"
"Well, I must thank you for that," the Emperor said, shaking his head and then nodding again. "Regardless, thank you. But I suspect, Emmanuelle, that you have other reasons for being here?"
"Frederick has been asking to see his father," Emmanuelle blushed slightly. "Now that the great expedition to Eight Peaks has ended, I thought I'd take Frederick to visit Bretonnia for a while."
"I see." The Emperor felt a bit relieved. With Emmanuelle mediating, Boris wasn't a fool. His decision to station his army at the border was likely influenced by political pressure, and with Emmanuelle stepping in, there was room for negotiation, giving both sides a way out.
"Of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch, Your Majesty," Emmanuelle suddenly said, her tone sharpening. "I want to know something."
Karl Franz's heart skipped a beat, and his smile faltered slightly. "What is it?"
"I've heard rumors that you, in the name of the Empire, secured a substantial war loan from High King Thorgrim of Karaz-a-Karak?"
"Tell me, Karl Franz—is it true?"
Damn! The Emperor's heart sank. His quill trembled slightly in his hand.
The secret was out.
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