The Kislevite army's delayed arrival had its reasons.
Marshal Rokossovsky's strategy was remarkably precise. While Slaanesh cultists were distracted by hedonistic revelry during the siege, Khorne's followers, bound to one location by Aesling's orders, had turned their pent-up frustration inward. Their camp in the forest had become a bloody arena.
Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows. In one infamous case, a Khorne warband rampaged through the Empire's Talabecland, only for one champion to receive a divine edict to slay his superior for greater glory.
Thus, when Rokossovsky's Kislevite army approached the camp of Skarl Bloodrage, the chosen of Khorne, no one noticed—they were too busy killing each other.
Even so, it took Kislev considerable time to subdue the Khorne worshippers. They refused to surrender, fighting to the last. Skarl Bloodrage himself challenged the entire Kislevite force before collapsing unconscious from dozens of wounds and being dragged away by his bodyguards.
The Norse forces were now in disarray. Even Aesling's elite Eight-Pointed Star Guard had no clear strategy. Surrounded on three sides, they couldn't decide where to focus or whom to trust with their backs. The fragile tribal structure of Norse command fell apart, and the barbarians retreated until there was nowhere left to go.
Seizing the opportunity, the Kislevites swept through the disorganized enemy like a storm, killing every barbarian they encountered. Chaos and tribal champions fell one after another under the righteous fury of Bretonnian knights and their Kislevite allies. Dukes Bodric and Tulas, both mighty Grail Knights, personally slew several Chaos champions.
"A glorious day! Surely this is Valaya's blessing!" bellowed Belagar's son, Young Thorgrim, smashing a Chaos warrior's shin with his rifle butt before shooting him point-blank. "Bang!"
"Vengeance and purification!" roared Thorgard, the Norscan Dwarf High King, as his axe embedded itself in a barbarian champion's skull. "Today, Norscans shall pay for their sins!"
The Norse numbers dwindled to about 5,000, the strongest of their forces. Exhausted, the human-dwarf coalition refrained from pressing further. Bretonnians struggled against the cold and hunger, Kislevites were fatigued from earlier battles, and even the resilient dwarves showed signs of wear. The fighting paused as both sides regrouped, with the coalition surrounding the Norse camp.
All eyes turned to the center of the Norse encampment, where the two champions prepared for their duel.
Karad and Aesling stood alone, all other matters fading into insignificance. Only the duel remained.
"Your army is shattered, barbarian. Your gods have abandoned you. Your story ends here, beneath my blade," Karad declared coldly, probing Aesling's remaining strength.
"Is that so? You know nothing, weak southerner," Aesling replied, his voice labored but defiant. Their fierce blows tore through the air, creating hundreds of wind blades. "Your strength is commendable, but why waste it on that witch hiding beneath a lake? Why not embrace true civilization? You are worthy of serving the Hound or the Serpent."
"The Lady will guide me and Bretonnia to victory," Karad retorted, also breathing heavily. This was no ordinary duel but an unrelenting clash of supreme skill and strength. Each strike from Karad's Durandal could have felled a Reiksguard, yet Aesling only staggered. Each blow from Aesling could shatter a Nordland regiment, yet it merely scraped Karad's armor.
Their weapons clashed in waves of blood-red light and holy radiance, the sound of steel on steel echoing through the camp. Both warriors fought as if navigating a labyrinth, seeking the decisive opening.
"The future is eternal darkness! The True Gods will destroy this world! Mortal resistance is futile! Only by ascending as a daemon prince can one survive!" roared Aesling. His Chaos rune sword unleashed a tide of blood, while his battle axe struck with the force of an avalanche, tearing apart snow and earth. "You cannot comprehend the power of the northern gods. The weak southern deities? Laughable!"
Karad evaded the axe, deflecting the sword with a precise thrust of Durandal. His counterattack forced Aesling back, and he smirked. "Like Egil Red-Eye? Or Tamurkhan? Such illustrious champions of Chaos! Or perhaps the so-called greatest of Tzeentch's daemons, Kairos Fateweaver?"
Enraged, Aesling whirled into a frenzied attack. "Whirlwind Slash!"
Chaos energy erupted around him, turning the surrounding camp into splinters. Snow and debris swirled into a nightmarish landscape. Karad deftly dodged the onslaught, his sword piercing Aesling's arm guard, drawing first blood.
But Aesling retaliated, his frenzied attacks shattering Karad's greaves. The dwarf-forged masterwork vibranium armor splintered under Aesling's unparalleled might. Though Karad felt searing pain, his leg remained intact.
The duel raged on, the entire forest and Kislevite lands bearing witness. In the icy winds of January, beneath the frozen seas of Claw Bay, their battle continued.
Karad noticed Aesling's stamina and wounds regenerating unnaturally fast, Chaos blessings fueling him. The Chaos energy surrounding Aesling seemed to mock mortal defiance.
Despite his status as a Grail Knight, Karad's stamina waned. He realized Aesling sought to drag him into a battle of attrition—a trap Karad could not afford to fall into.
"You're a formidable warrior. Few have tested me so," Aesling admitted between strikes. "I will treasure your skull as proof of your valor."
"The same can be said for you," Karad replied, his breaths heavy. "This proves the Lady's favor is no less than your gods'. Your story ends here."
"Your 'Lady' is no true god! A mere fraud compared to the four True Gods of Chaos!" Aesling's rune sword slashed past Karad's face, cutting a strand of hair.
"Imitations need not be inferior to the real thing," Karad retorted, attacking with renewed vigor. His strikes pushed Aesling back, exploiting a weak point in his chest armor left by a previous battle.
Aesling roared in pain, retreating. "You will never win! Until the last Bretonnian falls, you are doomed!"
"Silence!" Karad thundered. "We will drive you back to your frozen wastelands under King Ryan's command! You deserve nothing but desolation!"
Enraged, Aesling launched a ferocious assault, his attacks finally breaching Karad's armor and wounding his abdomen. Both warriors staggered, bloodied and battered.
The battlefield fell silent as all watched the duel's climax.
Aesling charged like a living embodiment of Chaos, his energy tearing reality asunder. Karad, feigning an opening, lured him into a trap. At the critical moment, Karad activated a vibranium rune gifted by the dwarves, nullifying Aesling's Chaos flames.
With divine precision, Karad delivered a single, perfect strike.
The camp erupted in an explosion of light and sound. As the dust settled, one figure rose shakily, his armor shattered but his resolve unbroken.
Karad held Aesling's severed head aloft, his voice roaring across the battlefield:
"In the name of the Lady! Wulfrik Aesling, Supreme King of Norsca, Chosen of the Four Gods, lies dead!"
The mountains trembled, the heavens quaked, and the Bretonnians cheered in triumph.
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