Boyzilla: this chapter should answer your question. I was just thinking that it was time to talk about Artoria and the situation outside Marienburg.

ArcherReborn2: Thank you! And yes, English is not my native language. It's somewhat difficult to write in a foreign language.

Author's note: The following battle is based on Total War: Warhammer II's gameplay. Nevertheless, some of the units described in the text do not exist in the game. I set the difficulty level to a minimum (since the Orks are stupid) and they fell into the trap I set... Too easy!

Barbaria

(Savagery)

"While a few rare Orks show surprising intellectual maturity, some particularly cerebral Boss and Shamans approach an average human without much education, even these specimens show a total lack of emotional maturity. All Orks, including the smartest, look like nothing but human infants who would have been given these enormous proportions by magic, as well as a terrible force and arsenal of barbaric weapons."

- Heinrich Malz, High Priest of Verena in Nuln

The Wastlands were ravaged by war. None of the factions dominated the other, and the winter came under the worst auspices for the occupying army as for the occupied populations. The Marienburgers resorted to guerrilla warfare attacking the outposts at night, or ambushing patrols as well as supply convoys.
Each victory of the inhabitants was followed by conventional repression maneuvers. The villages near the ambushes and the outposts were receiving visits in force. If knights were in charge of the troupe, then it was the lesser evil. Most of them were reluctant to retaliate against women and children. Unfortunately, most of the Bretonnian army was made up of poorly educated recruits. Frightened and poor, they took every opportunity to take revenge... and plunder.
I think it's better not to talk about what they were doing to women who fell into their hands.
In a vicious cycle, the abuses of one side only encouraged the abuses of the other side. Vendettas followed vendettas.

The situation was blocked and both sides were suffering the consequences.
However, this war, like all wars, benefited mainly the looters who were suddenly freed from most of the constraints related to their "profession". The Directorate of Marienburg and King Louen Leoncoeur had far more immediate problems than their presence.

When "looters" were mentioned in the former imperial province of the Wastlands, the Greenskins tribe of the Skulls Busters was immediately thought of. It was a horde mostly composed of Orks and Gobelins, but also including Trolls, which occupied the ruins of the ancient dwarf city of Grung Zint. For centuries, they were a problem that neither Bretonnia nor the Empire had managed to solve. Periodically, a Greenskins tide broke over the Wastlands, devastating everything in its path. Only the towns of the Reikr valley resisted thanks to their walls, and to the supply which came by the river.

Of course, the Directorate then raised an army of mercenaries and launched a counter-attack that ended up driving out the Orks... The destroyed farms and villages were rebuilt and the infernal cycle could begin again because no one had ever seriously tried to take Grung Zint. The Dwarf's fortifications were in pretty good shape and to take the Skulls Busters' hideout would have required significant artillery and a powerful army given the swarm of Greenskins in the ruins. If someone had such an army, what would it gain? Months of effort and thousands of deaths for what? The Orks had nothing of value!

Neither the Sigmar Empire, nor the Kingdom of Bretonnia, nor the Wastland Republic could afford to weaken while other more immediate threats required their attention.

So the Skulls Busters prospered. Every ten years, they devastated the Wastlands and attacked the Dwarf mines of the Grey Mountains.

The current conflict offered them the opportunity to "have fun" even more than during previous raids.

Alkmaar was a small village in the western Wastlands. The inhabitants lived a hard and industrious life. The epidemics, the fear of the mutants, the fear of the heretics regularly disturbed this small community of half-timbered houses gathered around a small temple of Shallya, the goddess of healing, compassion, and births. The other important buildings consisted of a mill, an oven, and a bridge... belonging to the local lord. His manager lived in an undersized manor house, ensuring that the community worked in the fields surrounding the village and paid taxes.

The region had been conquered by the Bretonnians and... apart from the name of the lord nothing had changed in the farmers' duties. If only now, guerrillas holding the woods could decide to execute the "traitor" peasants who paid the taxes of the "oppressors". As if the peasants had a choice! If they did not pay, the new lord would take their land and throw out the stomach empty in this war-torn region!

A group of women returned from the wash-house where they had painfully rubbed the old clothes in rough fabrics of their men. The hands red of being too long remained in the icy water, they were heavily loaded but pressed to return home. The work of the day would not be done without them. There was the meal to prepare. And it was nothing simple. In this world, no equipped kitchen or running water. It was necessary to rekindle the fire in the stoves and draw water from the well... While she listed the tasks to be undertaken before she could even start cooking, one of the women stopped.
What was that noise?

It sounded like thunder or the exaggerated noise of a full-speed wheeled wagon.

Heavy and built of badly nailed wooden planks and barely squared beams, the Goblins' war chariots were rustic and squeaky machines. Yet, this war's machines had a nasty appearance. Rusty iron spikes protruded on all sides and the wheel hubs were fitted with steel scythes. Worse perhaps were the animals that served as draft animals... enormous grey wolves covered in coarse leather armor.
Each machine had a crew of two Goblins. One drove the machine, the other fought. Seen in profile, the Goblins had a certain resemblance to a caricature of a crescent moon. The nose was as hooked as the chin was prominent. The face was narrow, green, covered with pustules. The orange eyes with yellow glitter were split like those of a cat. The mouth with thin lips, raised in a permanent grin, revealed teeth, poorly implanted, bent, similar to rocky needles cracked by the frost.

They wore improbable breastplates made up of loose chainmail recovered from corpses, smelly, tanned skins, shabby furs, and rusty pieces of metal. All held in place by straps and links. The disparity in armor only reflected the variety of weapons they used … It was impossible to qualify the things they held in their hands under one name or another. They were just pieces of shapeless corroded metal. Some had some kind of spears or halberds; some had shields on which uneasy hands had drawn something that looked like a screaming face. Some of the troops used small bows of primitive design. Rows of black feathers were protruding from their wicker quiver.

Worse than their appearance was their smell. They smelled dirt, sweat, and clothes never washed.
Behind the chariots came the wolf-riders in coarse fur armor. Some had a spear and a leather shield, others used bows.

This giggling pack was rushing forward, drinking horrible swill in leather skins and singing horribly off-tune. It was the only time in the life of a Goblin worth living, the looting of a barely defended village. Because the rest of their lives were nothing pleasant... Small, weak and deceitful the Goblins were at the bottom of the Greenskins hierarchy, which meant everyone had the right to hit them. Fortunately, there were helpless villagers to ease the tension a little.

The Goblins were the vanguard of the horde; behind... it was an ocean of unbridled violence. With no evidence of training or organization, the Orks stormed like a mob. They pushed each other in their haste to reach the place where there was going to be a fight. They looked more like runners trying to reach the finish line first than they looked like fighters advancing towards the battle. They ignored fear, despised pain. Larger than humans, more heavily muscled, each warrior was a worthy opponent. Nevertheless, their true strength came from the combination of numbers and unbridled savagery.
The first thing to notice was their silhouette. The Orks were incredibly shoulder-wide with powerful busts, long, muscular arms, and comparatively short legs. Then there was the face. The Orks had wide and flat features with a barely marked nose, oily and green skin (of course). Their small red eyes were sunk under prominent eyebrows. Especially, two fangs similar to boar tusks came out of their mouths. They were often bald and their large, swollen ears ended to make them hideous. Many wore scars, the result of daily quarrels between bullies.

Their armors were a rough juxtaposition of thick metal plates, often leaving the upper arms unprotected. Their epaulets were covered with spikes. They had round shields with a clumsy sign resembling a cracked skull. Most of them didn't have helmets. Some of them wore simples metal caps, sometimes with horns. The few who wore a full helmet gave it the appearance of a hideous face with a movable jaw with sawtooth teeth.

All their equipment was decorated with animal teeth, fur, or macabre designs. Collections of human skulls or scalps hung from their belts. Their banners were pieces of dirty cloth torn and dominated by the polished bones of their victims.

As for their weaponry... most used a "Choppa". It was a kind of falchion, very wide and far too heavy to be handled by a human. The shell-shaped guard was decorated with spikes and also served as brass knuckles. Like all the other Orks' metalwork, the result was coarse, clumsy, and covered with macabre ornaments.

In Alkmaar, panic reigned.

The few adult men who had not joined the rebels or had been taken hostage by the Bretonnians were arming themselves with their agricultural tools. Women, children, and old men ran to take refuge in the temple of Shaylla. Only divine intervention could save the village...

At this moment, a clear trumpet chime sounded.

An army came out of the forest, already in order of battle.

The infantry in the center was formed on two lines, the Swordmen-at-arms, the spearmen-at-arms, and the Battle Pilgrims came first. Behind them stood the peasant archers.

On the left-wing came the coustilliers, the mounted archers, and the Grail Damsel riding unicorns.
On the right-wing were knights with richly decorated armor and helmets surmounted by heraldic figures. Their steeds wore brightly colored robes and steel protections.

In reserve behind the bulk of the army, we saw knights mounted on pegasus or hippogriffs, ready to intervene with a wing shot where the confrontation would like it.

Above this army were banners adorned with the golden lion of Bretonnia or the red chalice that represented the Grail. A group of pilgrims dressed in breastplates on monk's frocks even had as a banner the skeleton of a knight in armor on a sort of carrier seta. This was the relics of a Grail Knight.

In the front row of the knights on the right-wing of the army stood a young woman... No, not even ... a teenage girl. Her beauty was breathtaking. Her hair was thin, capped in a mat that she wrapped in the back of the head, held in place by a blue ribbon. The face was thin, oval, the mouth small, and the eyes immense, like precious emeralds.

Her little figure wrapped herself in a blue dress that she wore over white petticoats. Nevertheless, she was booted and spurred of steel, her hands - squeezing a magical sword wrapped in a golden light - disappeared under thick gauntlets. A plastron decorated with blue drawings protected her chest while a strange skirt of articulated metal blades shielded her flanks.

Beside her steed, another knight held an unknown banner, of silver to the lion of azure.

As the enemy tide came into the village to confront his infantry and the wolf-riders circumvented Alkmaar, the knight-woman brandished her sword with an imperious gesture:
"I will not lie to you. Even if I were offered a kingdom, I would not lie to brave Bretonnians or noble knights. In front of you are the Orks. I know what they say about them. They are brutes. They are stronger than you and more. They fear neither death nor pain, and they never retreat. If we are defeated our corpses will serve them as meals and the fate of the prisoners will be even worse, they will be tortured for pleasure. If you run away, they will hunt you down like game."

A howling shook the militia. Their hands pressed on their weapons with cold rage. The men never fought better than if they were held up with no hope of survival other than victory. However, the clear voice of the girl continued unabated:

"It's going to be a tough fight. But I'm not afraid of defeat, not if I fight with you. You are by the heart the sons of Gilles the Unifier, and the daughters of the Lady of the Lake! Your courage comes from your faith and your dedication. You are not bloodthirsty brutes too stupid to recognize in the Chevaliers du Graal enemies too powerful. You don't run to death chuckling like those stupid Greenskins. Your courage comes from the certainty of doing the right thing, as you fight to defend peaceful villagers."

Artoria Pendragon - the female incarnation of the legendary King Arthur- lowered her sword to the enemy, spurting her splendid white stallion wearing a blue dress and a steel headpiece:
"Chevaliers charge! To victory!"

The fight began simultaneously in the village and on the right flank, while the spells of the Damsels of Magic and the arrows of the mounted archers emptied the rows of the Orks who attacked the left-wing.
In the village, the Orks stupidly clogged the narrow streets in their rage to rush forward... the swarms of arrows that fell upon them could not miss such a big target and the massacre was immediately appalling. On the right-wing, King Arthur had immediately broken the ranks of the goblins... the wolf -riders and the chariots had offered practically no resistance. The charge of the knights had passed through the mass of humanoids without slowing down. The terrorized survivors had cleared up and the Bretonnians' charge had continued, sweeping away the Orks archers who stood behind the Goblins.
Only a few minutes after the first arrow was fired, the battle had already turned in favor of the Bretonnians.
Only, on both wings, the bulk of the Ork army was now in contact with the cavalry, while a troop of trolls - hideous beasts covered with a cold and damp skin- threw themselves on the infantry. Although they were bristling with arrows, they were not bothered by them at all. It must be said that they had an amazing capacity for regeneration. Wielding clubs the size of a small tree, each of them mowed down dozens of fighters, sowing terror among the peasant militia.

Fortunately, on a hill overlooking the battlefield, Sir Kay the Tall led the battle effectively. A trumpet ringer entered his instrument and blew.

The hippogriffs riders obeyed the order and flew away.

The half-horse, half-griffin monsters came down on the Trolls, the claws and the sharp beaks killed several monsters. In spite of their legendary stupidities, the Trolls understood that they were being dominated and took flight pursued by the flying knights.

On the right-wing, Sir Kay could see his sister at the heart of the battle. Excalibur threw away shards of golden light. The blade whistled down from here and there... each time a Greenskin fell and the Orks cut in half piled up around King Arthur white stallion.

The seneschal of Camelot nodded; obviously, Artoria did not need help.

On the other wing, however, despite the mounted archers and the Damsels of Magic, the mounted sergeants struggled to contain an enemy in excess.

The trumpet rang again and the pegasus knights take off before returning to the ground just on the left flank of the Orks. The charge of the Pegasus took the Greenskins by surprise and plunged deep into the mass of the combatants.

Kay nodded again, the battle now turned in their favor on both sides and the Orks were contained in the center.

Several trumpets sounded and the infantry entered the village repelling the Orks decimated by the archers.
It was at this moment that the hippogriff knights returned. Having annihilated the Trolls, they asked for new instructions. Sir Kay sent them back to repeat the successful flank attack maneuver on the left-wing, this time against the bulk of the Ork infantry engaged by Artoria.

The situation was now dramatic for the Orks.

On three sides, the Bretonnians pushed the Greenskins towards the interior of the village. Unable to maneuver in the narrow streets, they were massacred by the archers. Those who fled to the West were caught by the horsemen and cut to pieces.

The rest of the battle was just a clean-up. The Bretonnians had lost only two hundred of their own... and destroyed a horde of two thousand warriors. Should I mention that there were only 1,600 of them?

The clash had been over for several hours and the infantry was busy dragging the corpses of the Greenskins to a large stake and finishing off the wounded enemies. However, the cavalry had continued long after this, tracking down the defeated enemies, killing all they caught.
The Old World was at constant war. Few showed mercy, and no one waited for mercy. If the Orks had won, they would have devoured the corpses (those of humans, but also their own) and tortured the prisoners for pleasure.

King Arthur returned exhausted and her horse even more than her. Her armor was splattered with green blood and her right arm had changed color up to the shoulder. Even her beautiful face was soiled. The Knights of the Grail who came back with her looked no better. Except that many of them had dented armor and some of the blood on their clothes was red... that of their dead comrades near them or theirs.

Saber landed in front of her Pavilion. It was a large round tent that had been erected on the hill overlooking the battlefield. The interior was furnished summarily but richly with a large folding bed, trunks, and a table currently covered with maps and figurines representing friendly and enemy troops.
As a guard lifted up a piece of cloth to allow her to enter, Artoria discovered her brother, seated in the large cathedra erected in the middle of the tent. He interrupted his discussion with two local notables and rose at her entrance:

"Mister Steward, Priestess Frederika, allow me to introduce you, King Arthur, leader of this army."

The two local notables fell down on their knees, whispering a few words without further ado, and Saber sighed. His brother was too prone to boast about his exploits... especially to secure his own position.
As she astralized her armor, two pages rushed to bring her a basin of water and a towel. While she was clearing herself, Artoria listened to Alkmaar's notables reiterate their thanks. The legendary King of Knight answered with humility that impressed them more than Kay's blusters:

"I vowed to protect the innocent and fight the forces of evil wherever I could find them. I accept your thanks, but you owe me nothing. A knight has a duty to act as I did."

Now a little cleaned, Artoria opened a chest to pull out a railway cassette which she opened with a key that she wore around her neck. The two notables opened their eyes amazed when they discovered that the box was filled with gold coins. Saber counted a hundred of them and put them in a red velvet bag:

"I am sorry for the damage your village suffered during the fight. I hope this will pay for the repairs (1)"
Sir Kay breathed a sigh that betrayed an almost physical pain. His proverbial greed always made him seem as a waste any expenditure of money of his sister which was not to his benefit.

Artoria glares at him: "Brother, prodigality is a royal virtue."

As the two notables bowed before her, multiplying their thanks, Saber fell into the cathedra before casting them out with a sign of hand. As they were leaving, she considered the table covered with maps and her expression became cold.

The Marienburgers in the east along the Reikr, the Orks in the Grey Mountains in the west... and the Bretonnians in the middle, attacked on both sides.

"It can't go on like this... "

The Servant focused on her connection to her Master. Since her departure, she had not felt Hakuno Kishinami in danger, which was certainly a good sign. After all, Sir Gawain was with Lady Hakuno and could be trusted to protect the damsels in distress. However, Artoria did not feel particularly reassured. The number one rule of all Servants was to stay close to their Master to protect him. And then... she had to admit that she missed the adorable Master.

She breathed a sigh:

"I hope that we will soon receive positive news from the Master because this war is very badly underway."
Sir Kay served himself a glass of wine and sat on the other side of the table:

"Besides, the Sigmar Empire pays and recruits mercenaries for Marienburg. And the High Elves will end up executing their threat to land an army to help the Wastlands. They have already closed their trading post of l'Anguille (2) in protest and this economic blockade costs King Louen a fortune. These arrogant Elves!"

The meeting with the "diplomats" High Elves had exceeded the seneschal of Camelot. Their disdain for "barbarian" and "short-lived" humans was enough to irritate even a saint. There was no negotiation, no offer of compensation. The Elves had merely asked and threatened without hiding the contempt they had for King Louen... before the eyes of all his court. (3). There was no reason to be surprised that the King of Bretonnia put an end to the so-called negotiations. The High Elves lived in the ruins of their past glories. Without realizing that they were not for a long time the lords of the world. Finally Kay the Tallman became angry:

"And now we're worried about what we can't change. You haven't even congratulated me on my tactical genius. After all, without me, you wouldn't have won the battle that easily."

Of course, Sir Kay loved to brag, but his skill in the art of war was undeniable. It was not only favoritism that his sister had made him the seneschal of Camelot.

While she was mechanically complimenting him, Saber continued to be alarmed for Hakuno. What was she doing? Was she safe? Anxiety tormented the King of Knights...

Meanwhile, in Marienburg..

Alvarez Carpio guided a Hakuno, Gawain, and Bedivere in a maze of dirty alleys near the church of Saint Olovad, in the district of Suiddock. The place had nothing reassuring, especially in the middle of the night. The warehouses were abandoned and the factories in ruins. It must be said that this part of Marienburg was slowly sinking into the water and that we were wading up to half-way in the dirty water of the canals.

Honest people had left these rambling slum years ago. Those who had remained or settled there after their departure belonged to the mire of the urban population: beggars, smugglers, brigands, fences, tired sluts.

This lousy fauna was watching out for the good citizens who were lost in these places. If they entered, they would not leave.

However, the vision of the two knights in armor who framed the teen girl acted like a real gris-gris, repelling the weakest bandits. The most professional gang of thugs exchanged recognitions with Alvarez. The man was one of their own and the king of the thieves of Marienburg had warned all the bands of the area that the Estalian was now under his protection.

Moving between two warehouses, Alvarez Carpio pointed to a building as filthy as the others: "It's there".
Wading in the muddy water where rubbish and even a dead rat were floating, the Estalian sailor made a complicated sign with his left hand and two bandits dressed like him in a long dark coat and a hat whose shadow their figure emerged from a narrow street.

Bedivere frowned slightly. As a Lancer Servant, he had superior senses to most living beings. Two men were advancing towards them, but he felt that a dozen others were watching them and that at least the double was in the other nearby buildings. On the walls, in several places appeared the clumsy design of a griffin.

"Hi Filcher," said Alvarez. "I must speak with Selar. Müser sent me."

The so-called Filcher, better dressed than his companion, nodded slowly:

"Yeah, they gave me the name. Selar waiting for you and them?" He pointed to Hakuno and the two knights.
"They are with me."

Filcher gave them a doubtful look:

"Under your responsibility, then. This is Griffin territory, it's our rules and everyone obeys."
Hakuno had to restrain herself from looking nervously around her. But her hands tightened on her skirt. The place reminded him of the Moon Cell arena... precisely the part affected by Julius B. Harwey's Bounded Field. The place literally reeked of death and despair.

At the bottom of the warehouse, a staircase protected against the infiltration of water from the channels allowed to descend into the bowels of the city. In the past, when the High Elves founded the city that would become Marienburg, they installed it on an island in the Reikr delta.
Only the city was taken and razed by the dwarves during the Beard War. The site was abandoned for more than two thousand years. When humans founded Marienburg, the geography of the place had changed. The delta had turned into a large swamp and the elven ruins were already practically submerged.
Since then, the Marienburgers had struggled with the scourge of the site. Their city was slowly sinking into the marshes. Districts were regularly abandoned, the houses sealed, the streets filled with stones and a new quarter was built using the ruins as foundations for the new buildings.
Except that - sometimes we forgot to seal the old buildings. Some became cellars... others welcomed groups of brigands, cults worshiping Chaos or necromancers.

Thus a whole city stretched under the city, on several levels... and at the very bottom were the ruins of the Elf city.

The underground district controlled by the Griffins was almost "suitable"... at least compared to a cult lair where human victims were regularly sacrificed to an evil god. These were taverns, gamblers' dens, and brothels, illegal fighting rings, alternating with fence shops.

Selar reigned on this illegal underground.

Hakuno had expected to find a brigand in leather armor with the sword at his side... and had not been disappointed. Except Selar was a lovely young woman with very white skin. Her bare arms showed Sylvan Elves' tattoos and her long black hair was held by a fabric band that hid her ears. Except that no one could be wrong about her race... her oblique and magnificent eyes betrayed her elven origin.

She received them in a vast room surprisingly clean and furnished with quality furniture (stolen of course). Men in armor watched everywhere, while others played dice or drank like in a tavern. This did not prevent others from completing records. The last occupants, chained to a wall, were prisoners waiting to be tried by the hostess.

Selar looked at the small group which Filcher had led into her den, leaving the dagger with which she played in the wood of the table, she crossed her hands under her chin:

"You came here because of Müser's recommendation. But I am leading here! You better convince me to give you access to the elf city."

In fact, Alvarez had a map, but he thought it prudent not to say anything. He pointed to Hakuno with one hand:

"This is our leader; she thinks she can take the Elven Fire in the Tower of Dawn and save us from the Slaanesh's demon"

Eyes widened, Selar burst out laughing:

"Her? That kid. Where did you find her?"

Of course, Gawain took offense and wanted to retaliate, but Hakuno touched his hand before shaking her head. The Victor of the Moon took a deep breath and make a step forward. It was her fight that began and her words will be her weapon.

(1) This should. The price of a saddle horse is 80 crowns.

(2) Second commercial port of Bretonnia, after Bordeleau, l'Anguille is to the southwest of Couronne. Like Marienburg, it is a trading post of the High Elf kingdom of Lothern. Lothern was Marienburg's ally and guaranteed its independence.

(3) The Elves of Ulthuan make you regret not having taken a ticket to Middle Earth... Tolkien must be turning in his grave with Elves like that!