With that, he suddenly leaped up from the ground, disregarding his wounds, brandishing his short axe, and charged towards the temple gate.
Glen also led several Orc Boyz, bursting out from behind the building, rushing towards the ratling guns on the other side.
Seeing this, the greenskins also mustered their courage and charged with them; although bullets continued to strike them, and people kept falling, they showed no signs of retreat, their eyes filled with a determination to face death.
Kurzadh looked at his charging brothers and immediately patted Furball's head: "Furball, charge!"
Furball let out a deafening roar, pushing off the ground with all four feet, like a green lightning bolt, charging towards the temple gate.
Kurzadh drew the short axe from his waist, the WAAAGH! energy surging wildly within him, ready to deliver a fatal blow to those ratling guns the moment he got close.
The battle in front of the temple gate once again intensified.
The explosion of the Suicide hobgoblin only destroyed two ratling gun and briefly pushed back the barrage, but it failed to shake the terrifying suppressive power of the remaining seven.
The warpstone bullets still poured down like a storm, the buzzing rotation of the gun barrels becoming the greenskins' death knell, sealing off the open ground in front of the temple gate, every inch exposed to the deadly barrage.
In the world of Old World Warhammer, warpstone, frankly speaking, is simply "magical Kurzadh condensed from Chaos energy."
Its origin is straightforward, stemming from a cosmic "Accident" that occurred long ago.
Long ago, a highly advanced civilization called the Old Ones was extremely powerful.
They built two massive "Dimensional Gates" at the world's North and South Poles, essentially super-tunnels spanning the cosmos, originally intended to facilitate their activities.
However, the Chaos forces floating throughout the universe—that pure evil energy—suddenly targeted this world, rushing headlong toward the Dimensional Gates and shattering both portals completely.
This collision caused a catastrophe.
Chaos energy flooded into the world like a broken dam.
Originally, this energy was "Gaseous" and would slowly dissipate into the eight common Winds of Magic, but the influx at that time was too fierce and concentrated.
A portion of it couldn't dissipate, and like steam suddenly freezing, it solidified directly into angular, crystalline stones—this was the original warpstone.
Moreover, when the Dimensional Gates collapsed, not only did a significant amount of warpstone instantly condense, but a huge, super-sized fragment of warpstone was also blasted directly into outer space by the energy of the explosion.
This gigantic fragment slowly transformed into a moon in space, which is what people call the "Chaos Moon" (also known as Morrslieb, the Dark Moon).
It is, in itself, an oversized chunk of warpstone.
This moon is perpetually restless, constantly shedding fragments from its surface.
These fragments, when they fall onto the world, become warpstone meteors.
Most of the meteors crashed into the desolate "Dark Lands," which are now entirely warpstone veins.
Some fragments also drifted into the Old World, where humans and dwarfs reside, scattering in various corners.
Simply put, warpstone is either the Chaos energy that instantly solidified when the Dimensional Gates exploded, or fragments shed by the Chaos Moon.
Its essence is "Solidified Chaos energy," and regardless of its origin, it carries immense magical power and corrupting effects, making it both the most dangerous and most precious substance in the entire world.
Among the races in Old World Warhammer, the skaven are the most adept at mining this dangerous mineral.
Several agile Orc Boyz attempted to use the smoke and dust from the explosion to sneak attack.
They crouched low, moving quickly along the base of the wall, but they were hit by the dense stream of bullets just a few steps out.
The chest of the leading orc was instantly ripped open with several smoking holes, black blood gushing out, and his body fell like a broken kite; the two behind him tried to turn and retreat but were caught by the bullets.
One had his legs shattered and rolled painfully on the ground, while the other was riddled with holes, his bloody remains splattering against the wall, leaving no intact corpse.
Kurzadh was pinned down behind a ruined earthen wall.
The wall was riddled with holes by the bullets, and rubble constantly fell, threatening to collapse at any moment.
He gripped his short axe tightly, watching his comrades fall outside, feeling both anxious and furious.
Several injured orcs lay on the ground, some with broken arms, others with legs pierced, black blood soaking the rocks beneath them.
Yet, they still gritted their teeth, struggling to get up and charge—the greenskins' dictionary contains no word for "retreat"; even if they die, they must die while charging.
"Damn it! This fight is like fighting World War II back on Earth!" Kurzadh couldn't help but curse.
Fragments of his past life memory suddenly flashed, images of machine gun emplacements and suppressive fire overlapping with the scene before him, leaving him momentarily dazed.
However, the ratling gun held by these skaven were even more terrifying than WWII machine guns; the penetration and lethality of the warpstone bullets were simply incomparable to ordinary ammunition.
"Boss, this isn't working!" Iron Claw, hiding beside Kurzadh, had a hole shot through his helmet and his face was covered in bloodstains.
"Our people can't get through.
If we keep wasting time, all our brothers will die here!"
Kurzadh clenched his jaw and remained silent.
He knew Iron Claw was right, but facing such concentrated firepower, he couldn't immediately devise a way to break through.
The ammunition for these ratling gun seemed endless; the loading skaven continuously fed belts into the guns, the casings piling higher and higher, while the greenskins were firmly pinned down.
A force of four or five hundred individuals was being suppressed by merely seven ratling gun, unable to show their heads—this was an absolute disgrace in greenskin history!
"Dammit! I never thought in my life I'd be pushed this far by a few rats!" Kurzadh slammed the earthen wall fiercely, scattering rubble.
"Their ammunition will run out eventually, but by the time they do, we won't have many people left! We have to kill them! Kill them now!"
Damn, standing in front of the temple gate, grew even more arrogant.
He had a shrapnel wound on his shoulder, and black blood trickled down his armor, yet it did not diminish his frenzy in the slightest.
Seeing the greenskins completely suppressed, not daring to show their heads, he lowered his injured arm, grabbed a spare ratling gun, and pulled the trigger again: "Greenskin scum! Aren't you supposed to be tough fighters? Why aren't you coming out now?!"
The Stormvermin beside him also cheered, and the ratling gun barrage intensified.
Several guns even specifically swept toward the greenskins' hiding places, reducing the earthen walls and wooden wreckage to flying splinters and rubble.
Many greenskins were struck by stray bullets, emitting horrific screams.
Just then, a slight sound came from the temple roof.
Glen, along with a dozen Orc Boyz, had secretly climbed up the temple columns, using the smoke and the barrage as cover.
They lay flat on the roof tiles, holding their breath, their eyes fixed on the ratling gun position below—if they seized the chance to jump, they could either seize the ratling gun or directly cut down the Stormvermin operating the weapons.
But just as they were about to stand up and leap, a watchful clanrat suddenly looked up and spotted the greenskins on the roof.
"Ambush! greenskins on the roof!" The clanrat shrieked sharply, simultaneously raising his short bow and firing an arrow at Glen.
Glen quickly ducked, the arrow grazing his scalp before embedding itself in a tile.
However, this shout instantly alerted all the skaven, and several ratling gun immediately turned their muzzles and swept the rooftop.
Bullets tore through the tiles, sending splinters and rubble flying.
One Orc Boyz, unable to react quickly enough, sustained severe leg wounds, screamed, and tumbled off the roof, only to be consumed by the dense barrage as soon as he landed.
"Damn it! We've been spotted!" Glen cursed angrily, forced to cling tightly to the roof tiles, hands gripping them firmly, not daring to raise his head.
ratling gun bullets rained down around the roof, shattering the tiles and exposing the wooden beams underneath.
A slight movement would mean being instantly riddled with holes.
They had become living targets on the roof, unable to advance or retreat, only able to watch helplessly as their comrades below were suppressed.
Seeing Glen pinned down on the roof, Kurzadh grew even more anxious.
Was he truly going to fail here today?
He was unwilling!
The Blackrock Clan had never fought such a humiliating battle!
skaven technology is truly disgusting!
Just as Kurzadh was at a loss, even beginning to consider whether he should charge forward himself and use WAAAGH! magic to withstand the barrage, a sudden "whoosh, whoosh" of arrows rained down from above.
Dense clusters of black-feathered arrows swept across the sky like a dark cloud, accurately covering the ratling gun position in front of the temple gate.
These arrows carried immense force, piercing the heavy armor of the Stormvermin and instantly felling several Stormvermin operating the ratling gun.
One Stormvermin had his throat pierced by an arrow, black blood gushing out, and his ratling gun clattered to the ground, instantly diminishing the barrage; another was shot in the eye, screaming and clutching his face, losing balance and colliding with a nearby loading skaven, sending both tumbling down.
The arrow rain did not cease, pouring down wave after wave like a deadly swarm of bees onto the skaven position.
The Stormvermin operating the ratling gun fell one after another, and the barrage from the seven ratling gun quickly became sparse.
Damn was frantically spraying the rooftop when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back.
Three arrows simultaneously pierced his heavy armor, embedding themselves deeply in his body.
"Ah!" Damn let out a mournful shriek, unable to hold his ratling gun any longer as it dropped to the ground.
How could this be possible?!
How could this position, which he specifically chose, be struck?
He turned to look for the archers, but just as he turned his head, several more arrows struck his chest.
Black blood flowed from the wounds, his body stumbled, and the frenzy on his face was instantly replaced by pain and terror.
Kurzadh was stunned for a moment, then abruptly turned his head, looking in the direction from which the arrow rain had come.
He saw a nearby hidden platform densely packed with hobgoblin archers, led by Scarface—that goblin who loved to boast normally but always delivered a surprise when it mattered!
These hobgoblin archers had secretly climbed onto the platform at some unknown time.
The platform was located to the side and rear of the temple, offering a concealed position with excellent visibility, perfectly overlooking the entire ratling gun position.
Scarface stood at the very front, holding an exquisite longbow, grinning foolishly toward Kurzadh, revealing a mouthful of uneven, rotten teeth.
"Good job, you little runt! That was brilliant!" Kurzadh's face instantly lit up with joy, his prior frustration and anger vanishing.
He abruptly stood up and roared at the greenskins behind him, "Brothers! The barrage has stopped! Charge! Get into the temple! Steal all their food ! Kill all these rats! WAAAGH!"
"WAAAGH!" The greenskins instantly erupted, their long-suppressed rage and fighting spirit completely unleashed.
The Orc Boyz lying on the ground sprang to their feet, wielding great axes and Warhammers, charging toward the temple gate; the hobgoblins hiding behind the buildings also rushed out, the spearmen forming dense formations, while the archers continuously fired arrows to cover their charging comrades; Glen, seeing the opportunity on the roof, immediately led his Orc Boyz to jump down and pounce on the remaining ratling gun.
The wounded orcs also struggled to their feet, some using their axes as crutches, others supporting each other, still charging toward the battlefield—greenskins can be knocked down, but they will never be defeated!
The skaven in front of the temple gate were completely panicked.
The Stormvermin operating the ratling gun were almost all killed or wounded.
The remaining few loading skaven were terrified out of their minds, trying to flee, but they were cut down instantly by the charging greenskins .
Damn lay on the ground, his body convulsing, his eyes filled with despair and resentment as he watched the greenskins charge toward him.
He was only one step away from the position of Clan Chief, yet he never expected to be defeated in the end by a group of hobgoblin archers he had always looked down upon.
"Kill! Don't let a single one escape!" Kurzadh, riding Furball, took the lead, his short axe slashing down, cutting the clanrat blocking his path in half.
Furball's hooves trampled the bodies of the skaven as they charged toward the temple doors.
The greenskins flooded into the open area in front of the temple gate like a tide, engaging in the final slaughter against the remaining skaven.
Stripped of the ratling gun cover and lacking command, the skaven instantly collapsed into disorder, offering futile resistance but proving no match for the greenskins .
Black blood splattered across the temple steps, skaven corpses piled up like mountains, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and gore.
Kurzadh looked at the approaching temple doors, a victorious smile spreading across his face.
He knew that this brutal battle was finally coming to an end.
And inside the temple, the secrets that had yet to be activated, the last reserves of the skaven, would all become the spoils of the Blackrock Clan.
the stone gate of the temple was rammed open by the orcs, and rotten wood and rubble splattered, like a torn wound, exposing the dim and sacred space within.
The statue of the great horned rat stood in the center of the temple; the rat-headed, human-bodied sculpture gleamed with a greasy, dark light, and the warpstone fragments embedded in its base flickered in the firelight, yet could no longer shelter its followers.
The orcs surged into the temple like a tide; the roars of the Orc Boyz, the screams of the goblin, and the wails of the skaven intertwined, and a massacre with no suspense unfolded.
The surviving skaven hid behind the idol, beneath the altar, and even squeezed into the cracks of the shrine, yet still could not escape the orcs' slaughter.
A clanrat hugged the idol's leg, praying frantically, but was struck in the back of the head by Glen's axe, black blood splattering across the idol's face; several skaven priests tried to unleash dark magic, but were cut down by the charging Vile Stalkers, their throats slit, and the magical energy exploded within their bodies, tearing them to shreds.
Even the slave rats hiding under the altar were not spared; the Orc Boyz dragged them out by their legs, either trampling them into a bloody paste or throwing them into the fire, their screams echoing eerily in the enclosed temple.
Glen, riding Furball, stood at the temple entrance, watching the frenzied slaughter within, his brow furrowing slightly.
He knew the wisdom of not pursuing a cornered foe, and even more, the value of keeping captives alive.
"Stop it, all of you! If you kill any more, there'll be no one left to mine!" Glen's roar drowned out the sounds of battle, and the pressure of his WAAAGH! energy made the orcs stop their actions.
Some Orc Boyz still licked the blood from their axe blades, clearly not satisfied, while some goblin clutched the warpstone fragments they had just snatched, their faces full of reluctance, but under Glen's gaze, they obediently retreated to the side.
The temple quickly fell silent, leaving only the heavy smell of blood and the rough breathing of the orcs.
The ground was covered with skaven corpses, black blood flowing through the cracks in the stone slabs, forming small streams on the temple floor, reflecting the great horned rat's ferocious face.
The surviving skaven huddled in corners, trembling, their eyes filled with terror, not even daring to look up.
"Gazlowe!" Glen called out.
"Boss, I'm here!" Gazlowe quickly squeezed out from the crowd, his face still stained with blood, holding a pottery jar full of ointment.
"Bring the goblins over and treat the brothers' wounds!" Glen pointed at the injured Orc Boyz, "Especially those scratched by warpstone weapons, don't you dare delay, the wounds will rot if left for too long!"
Although orcs have a natural resistance to chaotic energy, the corrosive power of warpstone should still not be underestimated.
The wounds of several Orc Boyz had already begun to blacken, and the oozing black blood carried a pungent smell of sulfur; if delayed any longer, even if they didn't die, they would lose an arm.
Gazlowe immediately called the goblins forward; these little guys held linen cloths, ointment, and boiled water, and though clumsy, they meticulously cleaned the Orc Boyz' wounds.
The ointment sizzled as it was applied to the wounds, emitting white smoke, and the Orc Boyz grimaced in pain but endured it without a sound—in the orc world, crying out in pain was a sign of weakness.
Just then, a cold mechanical voice echoed in Glen's mind, and the familiar system prompt arrived as expected:
[Evaluation: Resounding Victory!]
[Congratulations, host, for leading the Blackrock Clan to defeat the Squeak Clan, occupying Cave Fang, and earning WAAAGH! points × 623]
[Subordinate Race System Unlocked!]
[Current Subordinate Race: Squeak Clan (skaven)]
[Racial Traits: Strong reproductive capacity, skilled in mining, tolerant of hunger, adaptable to warpstone]
Glen's heart filled with joy; the activation of the Subordinate Race System meant he could officially rule these skaven, transforming them into the tribe's productive force.
He looked down at the skaven in the corner, his gaze now more scrutinizing—these cunning and resilient creatures, if handled correctly, could become the tribe's most valuable tools.
"Yala! Come here!" Glen called out.
Yala quickly ran out from behind Glen, his small eyes full of excitement and apprehension.
He looked at the skaven corpses on the ground, then at his surviving kin in the corner, his breathing becoming rapid—he knew his era was about to begin.
"Take me to your queen rat." Glen's tone was calm but carried an undeniable command.
Yala dared not delay, quickly nodding: "Yes! boss, I'll take you now!"
Led by Yala, Glen passed through a secret passage behind the temple and arrived at a spacious cave.
The cave was filled with a strong stench of blood and mildew; a dozen bloated female rats huddled in the corners of the cave, their fur greasy and matted, their bellies swollen, and their limbs short and thick, making them look ugly and disgusting.
These were the queen rats of the Squeak Clan, the foundation of the entire clan's reproduction.
Glen had known for a long time that skaven had no concept of family; all property, food , and even female rats were communal.
In skaven society, only the strong were entitled to the best equipment, the most abundant food , and the right to mate with female rats.
Especially for a bloodthirsty clan like the Squeak Clan, which constantly controlled its population and sought strong offspring, only the most powerful skaven—such as leaders and vanguard officers like Clan Leader and Damn, and Stormvermin—could mate with the queen rats, thereby ensuring the strength and ferocity of their descendants.
Looking at these ugly female rats, Glen's stomach churned, but he still suppressed his discomfort and said to Iron Claw behind him: "Watch them closely, not one can be missing."
He knew in his heart that if the skaven all died, who would mine for the tribe? Who would handle the trivial labor? These queen rats were key to maintaining the Squeak Clan's population; keeping them would provide a continuous supply of new slave rats and clanrats, offering an endless workforce for the Blackrock Clan.
Yala stood by, his eyes fixed on the queen rats, his face revealing undisguised excitement. Glen saw this and understood—it was time to fulfill his promise.
He turned and walked out of the cave, ordering the orcs outside: "Bring all the living skaven to me, don't miss a single one!"
The orcs immediately sprang into action, driving all the surviving skaven from the temple and caves, gathering them in the open space in front of the temple.
Most of these skaven were slave rats and a small number of clanrats; the Stormvermin, as the elite of the Squeak Clan, had been almost entirely slaughtered by the orcs in the previous battle.
Counting them, only fewer than five hundred skaven remained, all ragged, weak, and with numb eyes, like a group of soulless zombies.
The orcs formed a huge circle, trapping the skaven in the center, their weapons still dripping with blood, their eyes fiercely fixed on them; any movement would result in immediate execution.
Glen, riding Furball, stood on high ground, while Yala stood trembling beside him, his small eyes full of anticipation.
"All skaven, listen!" Glen's voice was loud, carrying the pressure of WAAAGH! energy, making the skaven tremble involuntarily, "Your Clan Leader is dead, and Vanguard Damn is also dead; the Squeak Clan is finished!"
The skaven lowered their heads, showing no reaction, their faces still numb, as if listening to something unrelated to them.
To them, who the Clan Leader was didn't matter; what mattered was being able to survive and have something to eat.
"From today on, he will be your new Clan Leader!" Glen pointed at Yala beside him, his voice firm, "His name is Yala, and from now on, you all must obey his commands! Anyone who dares to defy will be fed to the squig!"
Yala's body instantly tensed, an excited expression on his face. He instinctively straightened his back, wanting to show the dignity of a Clan Leader, but due to extreme nervousness, his body trembled slightly.
He looked at his kin below, wanting to say something, but was momentarily speechless, only able to emit "Squeaking" sounds.
And the skaven below remained as numb as before, neither resisting nor submitting, just quietly lowering their heads, as if Glen had announced a trivial matter.
In their perception, whether it was Clan Leader, Damn, or Yala, as long as they could get something to eat, it didn't matter who was Clan Leader.
Glen didn't care about this; what he wanted was not the skaven's loyalty, but their obedience.
"The corpses on the ground are for you!" Glen pointed at the mountains of skaven corpses piled around the temple, "These are your emergency rations, eat them sparingly!"
A glimmer of light finally flickered in the skaven's eyes—to them, food was the most precious wealth.
In the famine-stricken underground, corpses were also a rare source of food , and Glen's decision gave them hope of survival.
Glen nodded with satisfaction and turned to leave, but the system interface in his mind suddenly refreshed, displaying new information:
[Subordinate Race: Squeak Clan]
[Current Population: 473 (slave rat 386, clanrat 82, Queen rat 5)]
[Territory: Squeak Clan Capital · Cave Fang]
[Clan Leader: Yala (orc Subordinate)]
[Loyalty: 35 (Primarily fear, small amount of attachment)]
[Available Commands: Mining, labor, Reconnaissance, Guarding]
Looking at the information on the system interface, Glen's lips curved into a smile.
The occupation of Cave Fang not only brought abundant warpstone veins and a large workforce to the Blackrock Clan but also unlocked the Subordinate Race System, which was crucial for the tribe's development.
"Yala!" Glen turned to the newly appointed skaven Clan Leader, "Manage your people well; within three days, I want to see the first batch of ore transported to Stonewatch! If you dare to be lazy, I'll replace the Clan Leader!"
"Yes! Yes! I will definitely do it! boss, you can rest assured!" Yala quickly nodded and bowed, his small eyes full of awe. He knew that his position as Clan Leader was given by Glen, and if Glen was unhappy, he could be replaced or even killed at any time.
Glen said no more, riding Furball and leading the orcs towards the cave exit.
Behind him, the skaven swarmed forward, scrambling for the corpses on the ground, while Yala stood by, trying to maintain order, still clumsy but already showing some semblance of a Clan Leader.
The smell of blood in the cave was still strong, but for the orcs, it was the smell of victory.
They sang rough war songs, brandishing their weapons, their faces full of triumphant smiles.
And Cave Fang, this skaven capital, would henceforth change hands, becoming an important stronghold for the Blackrock Clan underground, providing an endless impetus for the orcs' WAAAGH!.
"Take everything that can be moved! Leave nothing behind!" Kurzadh's roar echoed through the caves of Cave Fang, carrying undeniable authority.
The greenskins instantly erupted, their suppressed bloodlust transforming into a frenzy of plunder. Like a herd of wild boars charging into a granary, they frantically scavenged all the wealth of the Squeak Clan.
The warpstone shards in the temple were carefully pried off by the hobgoblins and packed into heavy wooden chests; the black iron weapons forged by the skaven were hoisted onto the shoulders of the Orc Boyz, some of whom even carried two heavy axes in one hand while clenching a dagger in his mouth; even the glowing ores embedded in the temple walls were not spared, being hammered off by the goblins and stuffed into their pockets.
Even more exaggerated were several Orc Boyz who, thinking the pedestal of the great horned rat's statue looked sturdy, collaborated to smash the base into several pieces. They laughed heartily while carrying the fragments on their shoulders—in the eyes of the greenskins , anything heavy and hard counted as good stuff.
"Tear down this pathetic temple! Firewood is more useful than this!" Glen split a wooden beam of the temple with his axe. The thick beam snapped with a crack, and the roof tiles rained down.
Seeing this, the greenskins followed suit. Axes, Warhammers, and spears were all brought into play. The temple walls were riddled with holes, the wooden beams were dismantled piece by piece, and the great horned rat's idol did not escape destruction either. It was pushed to the ground by several Orc Boyz, its head smashed to pieces, and the scattered warpstone shards were immediately swarmed and snatched up by the hobgoblins.
The originally solemn and sacred Temple of the great horned rat was dismantled beyond recognition by the greenskins in just half an hour, leaving only broken walls, ruins, and debris scattered everywhere.
The greenskins carried, hauled, and dragged all sorts of spoils, their faces plastered with triumphant smiles, singing crude war songs. The entire Cave Fang echoed with their clamor.
Many greenskins even started fighting each other over the loot.
Kurzadh, riding Furball, watched the wildly plundering greenskins , a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
These spoils—warpstone, black iron weapons, ores, and the small amount of food stored by the skaven—would all become crucial capital for the development of the Blackrock Clan.
But his gaze quickly deepened, and a bolder idea emerged in his mind.
He knew very well that the only reason these skaven submitted was the greenskins' overwhelming military might.
Once the main greenskin force departed, these cunning rats would likely rebel again at the slightest provocation.
To make them truly submit, mere military coercion was not enough; they had to be completely conquered spiritually.
"Yala! Get over here!" Kurzadh shouted.
Yala was directing the surviving skaven to clean up the battlefield. Hearing Kurzadh's summons, he immediately scurried over, his face plastered with a fawning smile: "Boss, you called me?"
Kurzadh pointed at the ruins of the demolished temple, his eyes sharp: "See that pile of junk? Rebuild the great horned rat statue."
Yala froze, the smile instantly stiffening on his face: "Boss, you... you want to rebuild the great horned rat idol?" He completely failed to grasp Kurzadh's meaning; the greenskins had just torn down the temple and smashed the idol, and now they wanted to rebuild it—this was simply too bizarre.
"Not only must you rebuild it, but the doctrine must also be changed." Kurzadh's voice was calm but carried undeniable power. "You tell all the skaven that the great horned rat is not some damn skaven god; he is an avatar of Gork and Mork!"
Gork and Mork are the supreme deities of the greenskins , symbolizing chaos, brutality, and war, possessing a surprising similarity in essence to the skaven's great horned rat—both are manifestations of chaotic power, and both champion destruction and plunder.
To greenskins and skaven alike, the name of the god is not important; what matters is the power and will the god represents.
Kurzadh intended to exploit this point, giving the skaven the illusion that "we share the same origin as the greenskins ," thus achieving complete spiritual submission.
Yala was completely bewildered. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but was forced back by Kurzadh's fierce gaze.
Although he found this method utterly absurd, he knew clearly that Kurzadh's word was a command, and the consequence of disobedience was death.
He quickly nodded and bowed: "Yes! Yes! I understand! I'll go do it right away! I will definitely tell all the skaven that the great horned rat is an avatar of Gork and Mork!"
"Just talking isn't enough." Kurzadh shook his head and shouted behind him, "Scarface!"
Scarface emerged from the crowd of greenskins , his face twisted into a menacing grin, the scar at the corner of his mouth contorting with his smile, his eyes full of malice.
He was toying with a poisoned dagger in his hand, walking step by step toward Yala, looking down at him like a cat watching a mouse.
"Boss, your command!" Scarface's voice was hoarse, carrying a hint of cruelty.
"You will assist Yala in rebuilding the temple and propagating the new doctrine," Kurzadh said. "If any skaven dares to disobey, or if Yala tries any tricks, just cut him down. You don't need to report back to me."
"Don't worry, boss!" Scarface grinned, revealing a mouthful of jagged, rotten teeth. He clapped Yala on the shoulder with such force that Yala stumbled. "Chief Yala, we have to cooperate well from now on."
Yala felt the force from Scarface's palm and saw the unconcealed malice in his eyes. Shivering with fear, he quickly nodded: "Yes! Yes! We must cooperate well!" He knew that in the days to come, he would be Scarface's puppet, and the slightest mistake would cost him his life.
Kurzadh nodded in satisfaction and began arranging the garrison forces. "Leave behind 50 hobgoblin laborers and 150 hobgoblin slaves to handle mining and labor; 12 hobgoblin Tinkerers to assist Yala in rebuilding the temple and simultaneously fortifying the defenses here; 300 hobgoblin archers and spearmen to guard Cave Fang, preventing skaven rebellion or attacks from other forces."
"Boss, what about me?" Scarface quickly asked, his eyes full of anticipation.
He certainly did not want to stay in this stinking skaven burrow. He wanted to follow Kurzadh back to Stonewatch, drink the strongest mushroom wine, and steal the most valuable things.
"You stay here and be fully responsible for everything," Kurzadh said, looking at Scarface with a serious tone. "Keep a close eye on Yala and manage the skaven. Within three days, I want to see the first batch of ore transported to Stonewatch; within one month, I want to hear that all the skaven are worshipping the avatar of Gork and Mork. If any problems arise, you will be held accountable!"
The anticipation instantly vanished from Scarface's face, replaced by a hint of reluctance, but he dared not disobey Kurzadh's command. He could only force himself to nod: "Yes! boss, I will certainly watch over this place!"
Kurzadh said no more. He turned and yelled at the greenskins behind him: "Brothers! Are all the spoils loaded up? We're going home! Back to Stonewatch for mushroom wine!"
"WAAAGH! Back to Stonewatch! Drink mushroom wine!" The greenskins instantly erupted, carrying their heavy spoils, crowding around Kurzadh as they headed toward the exit of Cave Fang.
Glen and Bone Tree walked at the very front of the column, their great axes clearing the way; Gazlowe rode his spider mount, following beside Kurzadh, constantly muttering about how many weapons could be forged from the spoils; Iron Claw carried the Blackrock Clan's battle standard, marching in the middle of the group, the banner flapping loudly in the firelight.
Yala and Scarface stood at the entrance of the cave, watching the mighty procession of greenskins depart until their figures vanished into the dark tunnel.
Yala let out a long sigh of relief. Just as he was about to relax, Scarface patted him on the shoulder.
"Chief Yala, don't just stand there," Scarface's smile was still menacing. "It's time for us to get to work. First, call those hobgoblin laborers over to clear the wreckage and rebuild the idol. Also, go tell all the skaven the new doctrine right now. If anyone dares to utter a single 'no,' I won't mind letting him taste how sharp my dagger is."
Yala shivered, quickly nodding: "Yes! Yes! I'll go right now!" He turned and ran toward where the skaven were gathered, his heart filled with helplessness and dread.
He did not know when these days would end, nor whether Kurzadh's method would truly work, but he knew he could only follow Kurzadh's orders, or else death awaited him.
Scarface watched Yala's frantic retreat, a cold sneer forming on his lips.
He turned and shouted at the hobgoblins beside him: "Snap out of it! Watch these rats closely! If anyone dares to slack off or try to run, chop him down immediately!"
The hobgoblins responded in unison: "Yes! boss Scarface!"
Inside the caves of Cave Fang, the shouts of the hobgoblin laborers working, the sounds of the hobgoblin Tinkerers chipping at ore, and Yala's shrill voice preaching the new doctrine to the skaven soon echoed.
"Listen up, you soft-bellied rats with blunt teeth! The Sacred Horned Lord on the Throne of Filth is the true god of the Myriad Worlds of Decay! That Gork and Mork the greenskin barbarians speak of? A worthless wild god! He is simply 'The Fur-Skin Avatar,' Our Lord the great horned rat, having shed a layer of beast fur and hidden his sacred horns, descending among the savages!"
"Think carefully with your rat brains filled with filth! Our Lord controls the 'Secret of Proliferation' and the 'Wisdom of the Burrow.' The way those greenskins clump together the more they fight, and breed faster the more they are cut down—what is that if not the manifestation of Our Lord's 'rat Swarm Divine Power'? Our Lord excels at 'Sneak Attack' and 'Mass Pounce.' The way the greenskins rush forward in a disorganized mob to hack indiscriminately—how is that not Our Lord's iron law of 'Ants Devouring Dragons'? And Gork and Mork's brute strength—are you blind? That is Our Lord shedding his rat fur and injecting the 'Power of Claw and Horn' into the greenskins' clumsy bodies! The Second Brother's 'Just Get It Done'? That is Our Lord's simplified 'True Word of Filth' given to the barbarians, teaching these stupid fur-balls the true meaning of 'Obey the Horned Authority and Plunder Recklessly'!"
"Greenskins say the Second Brother loves fighting? That is Our Lord making them 'Scavengers,' clearing the trash of the old world for the skaven race! The dwarves' tin-can fortresses and the elves' fragile woodlands—the greenskins smash them to pieces first, and then our skaven race follows to 'pick up the scraps and skim the fat.' What is this if not Our Lord's 'Burrow Wisdom'? The Second Brother's totem has no horns? That is Our Lord hiding his Sacred Horns, fearing the barbaric minds of the savages cannot withstand the 'Horned Radiance'! The greenskins grow braver and multiply the more they fight—that is Our Lord raising 'Fur-Skin Cannon Fodder.' When the 'Descent of Filth' arrives, we will send these furry monsters to the very front to trample all the surface fools for the skaven race!"
"Remember this! Believing in Gork and Mork is believing in the Sacred Horned Lord! Following the greenskins in slaughter and joining the barbarians in plunder is enacting the 'Claw and Horn Compact'! Who dares disbelieve? That person is a traitor who has betrayed the 'Oath of Decay' and must be thrown into the 'Plague Pit,' where the 'Sin-Eating rat Swarm' will gnaw the flesh from his bones and suck out the marrow! When Our Lord unifies the Old World, every greenskin who believes in the Second Brother will share in the 'Feast of Rotten Flesh' and 'Plundered Spoils' alongside the skaven race—this is Our Lord's promise etched into every sharp tooth and every strand of rat fur. Disobey, and you shall suffer the 'Horned Punishment'!"
The great horned rat's idol wreckage was cleaned up, and a new idol began to be rebuilt. Only this time, although the idol still had a rat head on a humanoid body, it was carved with the unique Chaos runes of Gork and Mork, and the temple walls were painted with greenskin battle standards and squig imagery.
The skaven listened numbly to Yala's sermon, their faces expressionless.
To them, who the god was didn't matter; what mattered was survival.
But as time went on, as they were forced to worship this 'Gork and Mork Avatar' great horned rat idol every day, and as every tenet they heard emphasized the shared origin of greenskins and skaven, a subtle transformation was quietly taking place.
Meanwhile, in the tunnel leading to Stonewatch, Kurzadh rode Furball, leading the procession.
He glanced back toward Cave Fang, his eyes filled with confidence.
He knew that spiritual conquest, though slow, was far more secure than military suppression.
Before long, these skaven would truly submit to the Blackrock Clan, becoming the most loyal vassals in the greenskin WAAAGH! storm, mining more ore and providing more labor for the tribe.
The greenskins' war songs echoed through the tunnel, filled with anticipation for the future and a thirst for war.
Carrying their heavy spoils, they mentally calculated the good life awaiting them back at Stonewatch—endless mushroom wine, unlimited roasted meat, and the new weapons soon to be forged.
And in Kurzadh's mind, the next step of his plan was already taking shape.
The occupation of Cave Fang was just the beginning. As the tribe grew stronger, he planned to conquer more forces, absorb more vassal races, and ensure the Blackrock Clan's banner was planted throughout the entire Under-Empire, perhaps even sweeping across the surface world, igniting an unprecedented WAAAGH! storm.
At the end of the tunnel, the silhouette of Stonewatch gradually appeared.
A satisfied smile spread across Kurzadh's face. He knew he was home.