Out of the 300, only five had successfully survived. These five would still need to undergo the implantation procedure to determine if they could truly qualify as new recruits. Despite the high mortality rate, Ryan couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief.
For the Grey Knights, such a survival rate was actually quite low, perhaps even unreasonably so. Ryan now understood why the Emperor hadn't taken any drastic action against the Lady of the Lake and had even allowed her to continue interacting with him.
The Lady of the Lake, Lilith, held another identity as the High Elves' Goddess of the Moon. Her domains included the moon, hope, dreams, prophecy, and foresight, making her one of the most beloved deities among the Elves, even though she wasn't the most powerful. Both the High Elves and the Wood Elves revered her, as Lilith's blessings provided hope and good fortune to those facing great challenges or difficult decisions.
Lilith also symbolized purity and forgiveness. She never granted blessings or salvation based on people's actions but rather on their inner thoughts and aspirations. This made her a favorite among the weak and downtrodden. To the High Elf mages in Ulthuan, Hoeth granted them knowledge, but it was Lilith who blessed their magic and honed their arcane skills.
Moreover, if an Elf committed grave mistakes or succumbed to the corruption of Chaos, their only hope for redemption lay with Lilith.
In some ways, Lilith's power aligned perfectly with the creation of Grey Knights.
Ryan pondered this for a moment before finding his answer. Meanwhile, the Lady of the Lake sat chatting with her close sister, Sulia. As Ryan's power grew, Lilith could remain in the mortal world for longer periods and wield even greater authority. The two stunning women sitting together made for a breathtaking scene, and Sulia was overjoyed that her goddess was finally about to marry her husband.
The Lady of the Lake was also quite pleased. Her plans were nearly complete.
Since the palace was simple, everything was kept modest. Dinner consisted of venison steaks, a few glasses of red wine, and a vegetable salad. After dinner, Sulia requested a sparring session with Ryan to practice knightly swordsmanship.
Since becoming queen, Sulia had had far less time to train. Occasionally, she sparred with Sylvia or others, but no one dared to go all out against the queen, leaving her skill level stagnant at the pinnacle of the Legendary rank.
After a brief exchange of blows, Ryan quickly identified Sulia's issue. The problem lay in her lack of real combat experience, and her swordsmanship was unique. Being a woman, her arm strength wasn't as formidable, so she often fought with a lance or knight's sword, rarely using a shield. This made it difficult for either Angron or Ryan to guide her.
Everyone knew that Ryan used his hammer and sword as dual-wield weapons, and his physical strength allowed him to handle them effortlessly.
No matter, Ryan thought, this would be a good time to ask Fulgrim to teach her swordsmanship. Unlike Angron, Fulgrim was an excellent swordsmanship instructor—Ferrus, Guilliman, and Perturabo could all attest to that.
After an hour of sparring, Sulia, drenched in sweat, hurried off to bathe. When she emerged from the bath, toweling her hair dry and wearing a light mocha velvet gown in the High Elf style, Ryan had already finished washing up. He sat in the study reviewing documents while the Lady of the Lake, looking blissfully happy, sat on his lap, arms around his neck, discussing something with him.
Sulia pulled up a chair and sat beside them. "Lady, Ryan, what are you two talking about?"
"We're debating whether the expedition to Obion Isle is truly necessary." A map of the Old World lay spread across the table, with several pieces placed on the mysterious, fog-shrouded Obion Isle. As king, Ryan had to take charge of national policy and direction. The expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain had been his decision, and whether to venture to Obion now affected both internal and external policies of the kingdom.
Obion Isle's history was long and complex, and there would be more to say about it another time. What Ryan knew was that the island had once been home to the Old Ones, containing numerous ruins and artifacts they had left behind. It also served as a key node in maintaining the Great Vortex, constantly shrouded in rain and fog. After the Great War ended, a truthspeaker from the island had emerged, seeking aid from the world. The standing stones left by the Old Ones to ward off Chaos had been corrupted by the ancient Daemon Prince, Be'lakor, and the truthspeaker could no longer defend against him. If Be'lakor succeeded, the stones would become Chaos portals, allowing endless daemonic legions to flood the mortal world.
The forces of order responded to this war, while the Greenskins, Dark Elves, Beastmen, and northern barbarians sided with Be'lakor. After a massive battle, Be'lakor's plan was thwarted, and he was banished. The High Elf fleet and Bretonnian knights left with their spoils, while the Empire attempted to establish a foothold on the island. Eventually, thanks to the efforts of former Imperial Grand Wizard Cernus German, they founded the new province of Nulande.
Today, Obion Isle was a swampy ruin. The truthspeaker and the Imperials held a few scattered outposts in the south, while the north was a battleground of Greenskins, Dark Elves, corrupted truthspeakers, and northern barbarians.
Curiously, ancient Old One puzzles still dotted the island. Solving these puzzles could lead to hidden treasures left by the Old Ones.
"Ryan, your focus should be on Ulthuan and other matters," the Lady of the Lake said, slipping off her shoes and placing her soft, silk-clad feet in Ryan's hands. Her face flushed slightly. "Like our wedding. Besides, there's little to gain from an expedition to Obion Isle. It's a well-known swamp, and the only valuable territory is already occupied by the Empire. What would we do other than pillage?"
"We're in dire need of magical ore. Instead of paying for it, it's more profitable to mine or plunder it ourselves," Ryan said, smiling as he gently massaged the goddess's delicate feet. "It's understandable why Lawn would be tempted. He needs a major victory to prove himself."
The Lady of the Lake said no more after a few words.
Sulia immediately sided with her: "We've discussed this already, Ryan. The kingdom needs time to recuperate, and there are too many tasks ahead. There's the Mousilon Arms Factory, the Bretonnian Royal Bank you proposed, your brother Fulgrim's arrival, the launch of the Haimeng Pass ironclad ship, the mission to Marienburg, and the upcoming journey to Ulthuan. Planning a large-scale expedition now is unnecessary, and trying to establish a foothold on Obion would be a heavy burden on the kingdom's finances."
"Alright," Ryan finally conceded, agreeing with Sulia and the Lady of the Lake to abandon the Obion expedition. The costs outweighed the benefits, and the kingdom still needed time to digest the spoils of the Eight Peaks Mountain expedition.
Ryan briefly considered the situation with the three knightly expeditions in the Araby desert. They controlled a few important coastal ports and prosperous oasis regions, but rarely ventured inland. Over time, these expeditions had become entrenched forces that no longer fully answered to the Knight Kingdom. If it weren't for the Lady of the Lake's faith maintaining their loyalty and the global shock caused by the victory at Eight Peaks Mountain, they might have sought independence.
The reasoning was simple: these expeditions were largely self-sufficient, with their own administrative structures, financial systems, and human resources. Why should they answer to the Knight Kingdom?
Their continued loyalty came down to two factors: they could still replenish their forces from the Knight Kingdom, and they fought in the name of the Lady of the Lake in a holy knightly crusade.
"Sulia." The Lady of the Lake seemed eager to change the topic. She winked at Sulia. "I have a suggestion."
"What suggestion, my Lady?" Sulia asked curiously.
"Don't you think Ryan's beard has gotten a bit long?" the goddess teased playfully.
"I agree," Sulia quickly caught on, smiling as she added, "But no worries. Ryan will agree to our little request, or else he can go find Olica tonight. I'll be sleeping in the master bedroom with the Lady."
"You two are always after my beard!"
"Alright, alright, for the sake of this kingdom, I'll sacrifice my beard. Whatever sins there are, let them all fall on my shoulders!" The Knight King dramatically declared, as if performing a great act of nobility.
…And now to a burdened interlude…
Meanwhile, in the far north, within the Chaos Wastes.
The Chaos Wastes were a desolate tundra stretching across the northern parts of the Old World, New World, and Cathay. It was said to be a land touched by immortal gods, the eternal home of countless nameless, formless creatures. The incomprehensible scenes here defied mortal understanding, to the point where calling this place a "myth" was no exaggeration.
If a cartographer were to draw a circle using the North Pole as its center and the Sea of Claws as a natural divider, the northernmost region would encompass the infamous Chaos Wastes. To the Norscan tribes, Kurgans, and Huns who inhabited the area, this place was sacred. The men and women of these
northern tribes dreamed of one day journeying into the true Chaos Wastes, overcoming unspeakable horrors and divine trials to serve the dark gods as chosen champions.
The further north one traveled, the closer they came to the realm of Chaos itself. For the Chaos Gods, the world was their playground, especially the Chaos Wastes. Here, their mortal followers waged endless wars in the name of divine revelations. The scale of these conflicts dwarfed even the most cataclysmic battles of the Old World.
Across the Chaos Wastes, it was estimated that at least half a million or more Chaos warriors, chosen champions, and marauders constantly battled one another, all vying for the gods' favor through slaughter and glory. Every one of them harbored ambitions of becoming a powerful warrior and journeying to the far north to serve the Chaos Gods. Those who survived were forever changed, becoming the most formidable warriors in the north and even the entire Old World, welcomed back into their tribes with ferocious cheers and wild songs. The Chaos Champions and Chosen blessed by the gods would then lead their armies southward for raids and conquests, for it was far better to seek glory in the south than in the lands overrun by monsters.
In this land, war was endless. For a northern barbarian constantly fighting in the Chaos Wastes, there were only three possible outcomes: a glorious death, being abandoned by the gods and turning into a Chaos spawn, or ascending to daemonhood as a Daemon Prince.
The war would never end.
Unless…
Unless, at some moment, the four Chaos Gods reached a consensus. They would then bestow their greatest blessings upon a mortal, allowing him to lead all who were connected to Chaos toward a unified goal.
This mortal would be known as the Everchosen of Chaos.
And today, on the southern shores of the Chaos Wastes, within the twisted domain where the howling winds of Chaos echoed alongside the warp's malevolent whispers—where snow-covered peaks and bubbling lava coexisted with warped vegetation that grew and vanished in seconds—a surprising guest arrived at the Court of the North.
The Court of the North was the stronghold of a powerful Chaos Chosen. Here, he had gathered over fifty thousand Chaos warriors to serve him. Many rumors surrounded this warrior. Some said he was a proud Norscan prince, the product of a king's dalliance with a demonic banshee beneath a blood-red sky. Others claimed he hailed from the famed Norscan fortress known as the Dragonhold, where, seduced by power and the whispers of Chaos, he had turned to the dark gods.
What was known, however, was that this ruler wasn't content with being a mighty chieftain. Driven by a dream of immortality, he ventured north in search of ancient power and glory, seeking the favor of the Chaos Gods. After completing countless insane Chaos quests, he attained the strength he sought.
He had entered the Realm of Chaos alone, and under the strange flow of time in the warp, no one knew how long he had stayed. But it was certain he had gained the favor of all four Chaos Gods.
He had single-handedly stormed the Leper Coven of Nurgle, defeating the diseased wizards with his will and body, enduring their horrific plagues to prove his strength and courage. Thus, he earned the favor of Nurgle himself.
He had bested one of the oldest two-headed Chaos Dragons, using deception and trickery to win the dragon's awe. Tzeentch, witnessing his cleverness, had generously bestowed his approval.
He had faced a four-armed, two-headed giant without using any weapons, subduing it with his bare hands and forcing it to swear fealty. Slaanesh, watching this display, couldn't help but let out a strange sound of delight.
Finally, the warrior underwent Khorne's trial. The Blood God sent forth his wife, Valkyrie, and the two Norscans battled for days and nights before the Blood God's temple. Though she nearly killed him, the warrior fought back with all his might and defeated her.
Thus, he became a true Chaos King. He established the Court of the North and ruled over countless Chaos creatures—many of which had once been human, or never were.
But today, as the Chaos King sat upon his throne of bones and trophies, reminiscing about his past glories, a messenger of Tzeentch arrived. The Champion of Tzeentch, Tsar Zan'ek, brought a message to the Court of the North.
"Lord Mortkin, I come bearing a message from the Changer of Ways."
"Your homeland, Dragonhold, has been destroyed by southerners. Not a single soul survived, and your ancestors' graves have been desecrated, their ashes scattered to the winds."
"The name of the culprit is Oleg von Zhukov, son of Wamyr, Elector Count of Ostland."
"Dragonhold… destroyed?!"
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