Chapter 297 The Call of War
"A truce? No! I! The great, great Ictor Talon refuses to have a truce with the dead!"
Nagash is willing to pay a certain amount of warpstone to get rid of the rat people who have been struggling with it for a long time.
But the bargaining chip it opened was far less weighty than the one offered by Gray Prophet Booril to Ictor.
Ikot didn't know what benefit it would bring to the warlock to kill Nagash, but it gave him too much, so much that Ikot gave up tracing the source.
The chief engineer warlock of the Skry clan was kicked away, and the rat warlord who helped the vampire messenger deliver the message ignored the pain in his body and reluctantly evacuated the hole where the great engineer warlock was.
It didn't straighten its back again until it ran to a place where Iket couldn't see it.
The warlord arrogantly issued orders to the clan rats and storm rats, passing on the orders from the engineer warlocks.
"Kill that blood-sucking thing! Blow up Duncanhof Castle as planned! Use the new thing developed by the Skryre clan."
In Duncanhof Castle, an uneasy premonition rippled through Nagash's soul. The great necromancer chose to comply with the perception without hesitation and teleported above the castle and above the clouds in the blink of an eye.
As soon as it stood firm in the clouds, a green light that penetrated the sky tore through the clouds with a shock wave.
The ground shook in the earth-shattering explosion, and the terrifying dimensional nuclear explosion turned the former castle into a huge pit.
The earthquake spread to the distance, and the green dimensional radiation also flowed into the distance in the atmosphere. The horrifying vibration shocked half of the empire. As long as you looked up from the house in the direction of Sylvania, you could see a flower scattering. Go to the mushroom cloud.
The thought that those Skaven were probably crazy emerged in Nagash's mind.
Immediately following the shock was the sky-high anger. The furious Undead Supreme raised his left hand, and all the green clouds in the sky were absorbed into the palm of his hand.
This time, the dimensional energy was reshaped under Nagash's superb magic skills. The long-sleeping undead awakened one after another, and invisible instructions flowed into the wind of magic and spread into the distance.
The great necromancer wants to summon vampires. No matter how useless those wastes are, it is better than fighting alone.
Of course, the original vampires had some redeeming qualities.
Nagash borrowed the energy from the radiation to weave functional spells one after another, compressed the remaining energy into a ball of light that was about to explode, and threw it fiercely towards the area where it predicted the ratman's lair would be.
It swore that sooner or later, it would eradicate this squeaking dimensional stone rat.
But before that, it had to get rid of their entanglements and march towards the northern kingdom called Kislev.
It was another ordinary day, but the difference was that a prisoner of the Skelling tribe was forced to be freed.
After killing the Norse who attempted to tattoo him with a red dragon, Wesen Whale Hunter was released from his prison by a champion warrior.
He is no longer a coolie in the Doomfortress. What Egil Strbjorn, the leader of the Skelling tribe and the "Immortal Butcher" needs is a warrior, and he will accept all who come.
The burly chief who looked like a demon killed all the shamans who preached that "it is not appropriate to send troops", and war was inevitable because Egil's desire for heirs far exceeded his desire for promotion.
The White Wolf Divine Chosen walked confusedly in the ice and snow, among the followers of the Blood God.
He returned to the Northland to escape the gaze of his former companions, but the Northland did not give him any room to escape.
Bretonnia is not a kingdom Wesen is familiar with. The only ones he remembers are one or two adventure knights, and the Holy Grail Knight John who once fought with him in another dimension.
Strangeness is not a reason for wanton killing. He finally let go of the blood he had been stained with, and will never fall into it again.
A sudden cry came from the newly thawed coast. Wesson hesitated for a moment, and finally chose to approach the seekers and help them break the ice that froze the longship.
Wesen and other warriors repaired the marauder longship together, but their minds were not on the approaching war.
"Here! Good Southern food, sweet!"
The Norscan man on the side surreptitiously handed a piece of yellowed milk to Wesson. He looked young and had probably never been to the sea.
Noticing Weisen's surprised gaze, panic flashed from the young man's eyes. He tried hard to look ferocious and imitated those tribal warriors with his vicious voice, but he could not imitate the bloodthirsty taste:
"I robbed a merchant ship at sea and killed everyone on board.
The skulls of the Yankees were not as strong as my fists. They only begged for mercy and wanted to get rid of me with a few pieces of these sweets. I scattered eight pieces on their corpses, kept eight for myself, and threw the rest into the sea. "
After that, he tried his best to smile strangely, but in the calm eyes of Wesen, the evil smile became silent in embarrassment.
After the other Norscan who was helping him left, the young man cautiously approached Wesen and asked in a low voice:
"Are you from another tribe? I heard other tribes would do business with the Southerners, is that true?"
Wesen looked down at the young man who couldn't suppress the admiration in his eyes. Inexplicable sadness blocked the White Wolf Champion's breathing. He nodded slightly as a response.
There are indeed tribes that are coexisting peacefully with the southerners, but when war comes, the peace will be easily torn apart.
His response seemed to give the young man some confidence, and the young man kept asking questions, wanting to know more.
Wesen did not respond. He just remembered the Imperial people crying for mercy in front of him when he first went to sea, and the massacre of villages by his companions.
He also thought of the old warrior who killed hundreds of people alone, and the experience of following warships under the leadership of Great Ulric to bomb the Norscan settlements on the coast of the Norsca Peninsula for "revenge" several times.
The war seems never-ending and there is no right or wrong.
After sunrise and sunset, the Holy Grail Knights and Holy Grail Maidens spread the King's call throughout Bretonnia. Magical messengers and busy scouts traveled throughout the Knights' Kingdom, offering all the Knights the Oracle of the Lake Goddess.
One by one, the knights hung up the noble swords that symbolized honor, brought attendants, lances, and heavy knight armor, and led out war horses with elf horse blood.
They brought military rations that tasted bad but could restore their strength, abandoned the land, said goodbye to their wives, and rushed to Cologne together.
Battle flags flutter across the land of Bretonnia. The different shapes of family crests on the battle flags tell the pride of the knights derived from their blood.
The gods asked them to go to the border between Kislev and the Empire, the plains next to the World's Edge Mountains, and engage in a life-and-death battle with an enemy of unknown species.
Whether it's greenskins or undead, whether it's dragons or the legions of Chaos, every knight who answers the call is ready to fight the enemy to the death.
The Imperials cannot stop them from crossing the border. Anyone who dares to stop tens of thousands of knights from rushing to the holy war battlefield is an enemy. Their lances will destroy everything that dares to stand in the way.