AR:

Echonic: Doing both would be lovely. Actually accomplishing it though can be more than a little challenging, especially in a world as unforgiving as Warhammer.

Annoying POW Marine: So firstly, Lyle managed to keep his wits about him, because A: he is made of sterner stuff and B: he has a form of divine intervention ensuring that the worst of the mere sight of chaos doesn't affect him too harshly. Secondly, I actually never thought of their relationship that way, but you actually damn near described it perfectly, so kudos to you! Thirdly, and believe Lyle would love nothing more than to fuck over the Drucchi directly, he's going to have to wait a bit until they actually arrive to pick up the chattle. But, Lyle is patient if nothing else. Justice isn't.

Zerkill: I almost completely agree with you when it comes to elves. Some of them have their uses, but the way they treat humans and other races they see as lesser than them is pretty damn aggravating, but that comes with the territory of having an empire that spanned continents before humans and being able to live entire generations compared to what they consider their lesser counterparts. Also yes I agree, there is a lot of bullshit that was pulled for chaos. I mean come on, their already powerful enough as it is, why do you gotta throw the horned rat, Manfred being a stupid asshole into the mix and other shenanigans to give them a win that absolutely nobody could buy. It wasn't believable and was as phony as a football bat! And lastly, no I don't believe I've read this book you speak of. What's it called exactly?

Alarak929: Oh my…well thank you so much! You have no idea how much hearing that made my day!

Guest: I can understand why you're incredulous. But, think of it this way. He's a Warhammer fan just as you said. On the surface I can understand why you would think that's a stupid idea. I mean I personally wouldn't go anywhere near that backstabbing bastard. But, you have to admit…there's always going to be that one guy who thinks he can get an advantage out of something like this. Especially if they're someone whose morally bankrupt.

…

Taking the city of Rhione had been much more anticlimactic than Lyle had thought. He could confidently say that it had been the easiest siege he had ever participated in up until this point. Though to call it a siege might be a tad incorrect. It was more of a demand that they surrender or else the city would be taken.

Lyle had made that demand more out of an obligation and formality than anything. He was legitimately stunned to see how quickly the city folk and town militia opened the gates and threw

themselves at his mercy, turning on their own loyal lord in the process and capturing him along with his inner circle.

When he and his undead forces peacefully marched into the city, much to the relief of the traitors, it didn't take long to figure out the why. Word quickly got back to Lyle and his inner circle that, after his battle against The Beastslayer, word of his exploits was spreading quickly. Lyle didn't realize how much notoriety or street cred, in his own words, had been earned through such a victory, but apparently, what had truly stood out to those who had received such news was how he treated prisoners of war.

Survivors from his battles, or messenger birds, were being sent out that, unlike other undead organizations or kingdoms, Lyle was willing to take prisoners and, in some cases, release them if the prize was right. And if the new Lichemaster was willing to ransom prisoners, perhaps he'd be willing to spare a city if they just gave him what he wanted to begin with?

Desperately clinging to this idea, they were quick to turn on their liege lord and those close to him to allow the barrow legion easy passage into the city…but even then, members of Lyle's inner circle were surprised by the turn of events nonetheless. Though they were gaining the reputation of a slightly more merciful undead horde, they were an undead horde all the same.

"I must say I'm slightly disappointed." Sybille sniffed, looking unimpressed at the hiding city folk doing everything they could to stay out of the undead army marching down their streets in near-perfect uniformity and synchronization. "If I knew it would be this easy to take settlements of ill-bred nobles, I would have convinced Kemmler to go out handing daisies to children to improve his image." A wrinkled smile slid onto her face. "Heh. I'd have better luck convincing him to hand me ownership of Krell."

"Don't give yourselves any ideas, witch." Schmitz grunted, rolling his eyes as they rode on either to Lyle, approaching the city manor, where reportedly the city's Baron was being kept.

Said witch smiled coquettishly. "Why, my dear Schmitz. What in Naggash's name could you be inferring?"

"Awright, awright, let's not start now." Lyle groused, keeping his head trained on the towering manor. "We got people watchin' us, you two, so keep it relatively zipped till' we get the job done."

Surprisingly, Schmitz seemed impressed with his backbone. "As you desire, Master Lyle." Sybille just smiled, not saying another word.

Satisfied with their compliance, Lyle continued on, surrounded by his underlings and his skeletons/zombies. Again, it was jarring with how little blood had been shed to get this city, and the epic confrontation just seemed like a letdown.

He said there was little bloodshed because there was a fanatical, balding peasant pilgrim who screamed and tried to rush them on the street with a wooden club when they first entered the city.

He didn't last very long as other peasants quickly dog-piled the fanatic and beat him until he was just a smear on the ground. It was a great show of how effectively Lyle's own reputation had preceded even his expectations.

Once that macabre bit of business was finished, Lyle and company finally reached the manor, opened by disarmed human guards who wereo willing to show that they meant no harm and could do no harm and had no intention of standing in his way. All the better in his mind. As they progressed the halls of the manner, Lyle couldn't help but notice how empty the halls were with the few servants inside bowing their heads and doing everything in their power to not meet any of the necromancer's eyes, along with the undead guards they brought with them. Not that Lyle could blame them. If he were in their position, he couldn't say with certainty that he wouldn't do the same thing.

Finally, they reached what they could only assume was the entrance to the Solar of the Manor, but curiously standing outside was a tired, worn, and frankly stressed out-looking young man who was looking far older than he had any right to, whose reaction to seeing Lyle and his entourage was to blink slowly and breathe deeply. "I assume you are Lichemaster Lyle Spoletta of the Barrow Legion."

"You assumed correctly, my man." Lyle nodded. "You're not the one in charge around here, are you?...or are you the one who organized this hostile takeover?"

Again, the old-looking youth blinked slowly. "The second. The Good Lord of the city is being held just behind me."

"Oh, goody! Are you one of his underlings who got wind of what I did and decided to smarten up?"

"...yes and no."

"Oh?"

The man's voice was exasperated and bland, as if even speaking was taking effort from him. Lyle was somewhat surprised that he wasn't quaking in his boots much like everyone else, but maybe he was just fed up with the situation. "I'm not from this city, Lord Lyle. I was one of the people who fled Castle Bastonne when word got back of Lord Bohemond's defeat."

Lyle's eyebrows rose. "You were there?"

"I was there for your defeat…and I fled before your ultimate victory. You'll have to forgive me; I wasn't sure if you would butcher those in the castle in revenge and didn't wish to take chances." "Oh…" Suddenly, everything made more sense, especially given how quickly the people here turned on their lord…still. "So you brought the bad news, and everyone pretty much acted on it." "Of a sort." The man replied drily. "If I may introduce you to Lord Phillippe? He is…well soon to be the former Baron of Rionne."

The tired man flinched when Lyle's expression darkened. "Oh yeah…I got words for this guy. Phillippe's his name, is it? At least I finally got a name to put on this son of a bitch." Lyle brushed past him, ready to barge into the room, before he turned a side-eye toward the tired-depressed-looking man. "Oh yeah…never got your name Mr…"

"Monsieur Degare." The pale man muttered with a bow.

Shrugging his shoulders, Lyle nodded. "Good to know." The Lichemaster then forced open the doors, and there was what he assumed was Baron Phillippe, literally tied to his chair with two other armsmen standing on either side of him, now standing in shock and no shortage of fear once they saw the small group of necromancers walk in.

Sybille tutted, like a cat eying a mouse. "Gift-wrapped him for you and everything. How kind." Lyle couldn't help but notice how elaborately gaudy the Solar was, especially compared to Bohemond's. There were fine silks draped on the ground with an ornate and cushioned chair, the same chair that Baron Phillippe was currently tied to. Fragrant scents filled the room, coming from candles placed on the desk and certain areas to give it a flowery aroma, which was a bit too much in the earth native's opinion. It said a lot that Baron Phillippe himself was wearing the finest green silks around his portly body with rich and golden accessories, rings, and necklaces that put the people of Gucci back home to shame.

The Lichemaster grinned ferally, flashing his pearly white teeth, which made the baron shiver. "Nice to meet you, Baron. I think that you know who I am, yeah?"

The man flapped his mouth, eyes bulging from his face in both indignation and fear. "A-any harm that you place upon me will be returned upon yours tenfold once the king hears of it!"

"Oh, buddy, I think I'm way past that point." Lyle sniggered, shaking his head. "Let's get straight to the point. You got some that I want. Namely, the people that you're aiming to sell."

The Baron's face paled ever so slightly, and Degare's flat face suddenly appeared with interest. Phillippe's tone quieted perceptively as he swallowed hard. "I…I know not what you-...what are you accusing me of?"

Lyle hummed in response, making the guards standing next to the Baron stand up to ramrod. Lyle glanced at both of them. Degare then winced as Lyle turned to him questioningly.

The bland-looking man pulled out a set of documents, catching Lyle off-guard as he cleared his throat and scrutinized the content. "Here within the dungeons of Rionne lies 121 souls from the settlement of Riffen. Of the people captured are thirty four adult males, fifty one adult females and thirty six children, all of which were slated to be sold to Captain Bracchus from Naggarond." The exactness of the number of people that had been taken hit Lyle like a truck. He recalled around 300 people lived in the village of Riffen, and less than half of them survived. It soured his mood momentarily, only for him to remember that he at least managed to save SOMEONE. Taking a moment to breathe in and out to chew on this new info, Lyle nodded at Degare.

"Thanks for that…any other fun little tidbits I should know about?"

Slowly blinking his eyes once more, Degare grunted once more. "Baron Phillipe De Rione has been taking part in this operation for exactly five years, six months, and twenty-three days. I would tell you the exact amount of souls he has sold, but there are several gaps in the documents…possibly on purpose."

Lyle nodded, side-eying the quailing Baron, who was staring balefully at Degare. Schmitz, who had been watching all of this dispassionately with little interest, was looking at the pale man with sudden interest. "Your aptitude for numbers is…curious."

Degare didn't respond, keeping his eyes trained on Lyle, who, in turn, returned the glance. "Ya know, Degare, you seem to know an awful lot about this deal."

The Baron, realizing a chance to take someone down with him, flubbed his chicken lips and screamed in Degare's direction. "Y-yes! He was helping keep a record! Helping us organize these activities! H-he was working with Bastien and Richaud! Th-those two are the ones who gave me this lowly peasant! They are at fault, not me!"

Degare, to his credit, didn't flinch at the accusations, continuing to look at Lyle, who still looked pointedly at him. "So…this true?"

Degare didn't hesitate. "It's all true."

"You're awfully forthcoming."

"No point in lying." Degare shrugged.

Sybille smiled curiously at the blase attitude of the numbers man. "Do you care so little for your life?"

"No. I simply know what you want, and I'm willing to give to save my skin." He then looked away, pursing his lips and rarely showing a form of emotion. "And also to redeem my wretched soul."

Lyle closed the distance with this man, his eyes narrowed, and shoulders squared. To Degare's credit, he once again didn't flinch or quaver in the face of someone who could end his life with a simple incantation. "And what would I want to know that could get me to spare your sorry ass? Way I see it, even though the Baron is a shithead, no matter what he says, you just admitted to being what we call an accessory after the fact. And that doesn't improve my estimation of you one bit, kid."

The pale man nodded slowly. "I see."

Lyle grit his teeth, slowly getting irritated by the man's amberly and bland answers, his face showing and betraying little. Deciding, however, that now was not the time to get worked up over something so minute, he rolled his eyes and pressed onward. "So…what, are you like the note taker for all the crooks and criminals in this kingdom?"

"Not all of them…just a handful of powerful ones, mostly in Bastonne."

"Tell you what…you wanna live? You're gonna give me a lot. I want names of all the people you worked with, for one thing."

"Done."

"Second. We know that this toady here made a killing off of shipping his people off to the meat market, so I want his hoard."

Phillippe took offense to this. "Y-you have no right! That gold is mine, by right? A-and it was not my people that were sold; it was citizens from Baston-

"Sybille."

The witch cracked a toothy smile. "Yes, my dear Lichemaster?"

"Reunite him with Bastien."

A mental command late,r and two skeletons were dragging the screaming and howling soon-to-be former Baron of Rionne out of his Solar with Sybille grinning amusedly at the display. Lyle then readdressed Degare, who had pointedly ignored the screams of terror from his co-conspirator. "Give me another thing, and I'll see to it that you don't wind up joining him."

"That being…"

"Show me where the prisoners are…you aren't the only one who needs to redeem yourself."

…

Jori kept as quiet as a mouse, doing everything he could to keep an ear to a hollow piece of wall that served to support him and many of the other unfortunate souls caged in the vast and spacious dungeon of Rione. From the moment that they had been brought here and told by a cruel guard what their fate would be, many people like him, Ham, and all the other women, children, and even men despaired about what was to come. To obtain victory in their village thanks to a kind and unlikely soul, only to have him ripped away along with the lives of many they grew up knowing.

Those like Eudon, who didn't even have a chance to scream before he took a fatal clubbing blow to the back of the head.

Jori had, of course, been upset. But poor Ham looked morose, which was a depressing contrast from his usual preppy disposition. To think that all of this happened because they dared to defend themselves. To dare to live to live another day without the help of that Goddess-rotting, wretched Bastien.

Just thinking of their liege lord's name sent Jori into fits, prompting him to sit in a corner of the dungeon and be on his own, not wanting to add to the misery of the the families trying to console the children who were asking when they would see the sun again.

But all of that changed a few days ago when they overheard a few guards' panicked talking. Apparently, some battle happened at Castle Bastonne or somewhere else. It was hard to overhear, thanks to their whispered musings, but Jori always had good hearing, and he was quick to spread the word to the other souls he was cramped down here with.

Apparently, the battle hadn't gone the way of the Bastonnians because Jori and the others were sure that the guards wouldn't look so unnerved by the result of it. The only question was who was doing the fighting and what had the end result had been.

For a moment, some thought that it was Lord Lyle but tossed that idea aside immediately. There had been no way that he would have survived capture from that Goddess-damned Bastien and Lord Bohemond by extension. Surely, the young man couldn't have been that fortunate. No. It must have been some beastmen or another horde of orcs. Yes, that was more likely. He could only hope that someone in Bastonne had lost a battle, that Bastien could have perished like the shit that he was.

Earlier today, matters had apparently gotten so out of hand that even others could hear panicked screaming and shouting outside the dungeon walls. Even Ham had gotten out of his funk to try and gleam what in the Gods' name was going on.

Whatever it was, it must have been horrifying for the citizens of Rionne because there was no shortage of arguments, screaming, sobbing, and cries of terror that reached a crescendo until finally…silence.

Eventually, only the sounds of marching and the clanking of armor could be heard, though faintly, even with Jori's expert hearing.

Even the guards were gone now, somewhere outside prison doors, doing the Lady knows what. "What you thinkin'?" Ham asked him, looking more alive than he ever did since being dumped here with everyone else. "Some invadin' army?"

"Bloody well has to be, you mud-head." Ham said, almost glad that he felt comfortable ribbing the youth. "Question is who…or what."

"Could be, Orcs. Could be beastmen."

"Don't think so. Things are too quiet now." Jori reasoned. "Why were they screamin' only to stop until now? There'd be fightin' if it was orcs n' beastmen."

"Maybe they're gettin' ready for a siege?"

"Still too quiet for that. People would be shoutin' orders." Jori shook his head, feeling frustrated. "Maybe we co-

Whatever Jori was about to say when the prison doors suddenly opened up. To their confusion, a pale man with the flatest facial expression he had ever seen unlocked the doors, staring at everyone with a critical eye while they were all behind the large cell gates as if sweeping over the poor souls, counting them. "All accounted for, My Lord."

"Oh, so you're calling me lord now? Hell with it, why not?" A familiar voice sounded right behind the pale man, and Jori, along with many other peasants in this large cell, suddenly felt their throats seize and their chests lighten. It couldn't be, surely it couldn't be, possible.

Yet out from behind came Lyle, yanking the keys away from the pale man and striding over the cells. Nobody said a word. Silent disbelief was suffocating the voices of all the captive peasants, with many gasping and children looking in wonder at the man who had come to save them twice now.

Lyle fiddled with the keys and opened the cell wide while everyone was still staring, looking on in shock.

Finally it was Ham who stepped forward, touching Lyle's shoulder to make sure that he was real. Lyle did not smile. "... I'm… I'm sorry. I…I wish I got free sooner. Wish I could have gotten to you guys faster. I'm… I'm sorry about a lot of people that you know died cause I wasn't good enough. I… I'm sorry to all of you."

Jori stepped to him, his lip quivering, showing more emotion than he ever had since being stuffed down into the dark and poorly lit quarters. "L-lord Lyle. Don't say that kind of shit. Th-this is real innit'?"

And then Lyle let loose a smile. "After I beat Bohemond, these guys couldn't open the gates fast enough, practically begging for me to not slaughter them wholesale."

"So we're free then?" A woman asked, who didn't look like she was in her thirties yet, with two children poking from behind her knees. "W-were free? It's over?"

"You managed to beat Bohemond Beastslayer?" Ham asked before Lyle could answer the woman's question. "H-how in the Lady's nam-

"Look, I'll tell you guys later." Lyle interrupted, jerking his head toward the exit. "C'mon. I came all this way to get you guys outta here. So don't make a liar out of me, will ya?"

Though there were initial tentative stares, the men, women, and children who had been stuffed inside the dungeon for days on end eventually followed Lyle outside to see the sun once more. The sight of the city they had barely seen any part of was a jarring sight to the village folk, as were all the countless undead soldiers that were keeping watch throughout the city. Yet none felt afraid at the sight of so many undead. Indeed, after the battle that spared most of their lives back home, it was almost a comforting sight compared to the knights who had claimed to protect them.

"Bloody ell' this is real." Ham muttered.

Lyle nodded, turning back to the one hundred-plus souls he came all this way for. "Yeah, it's legit. One hundred percent."

An older woman in the group stepped forward toward Lyle, a somber look on her face accentuated by light wrinkles and graying hair. "Lord Lyle-

"None of ya gotta call me lord or any shit like that." Lyle shook his head. "I don't deserve it-

"You've done more for us than any lord I've known. And I've known a few that ruled over the village I called home." She interrupted, showing more backbone than most peasants he met. "Tell me. That bastard Bastien." Her voice glowered. "He cost me my husband and son…did you make him suffer? Did he scream in terror as he was slain?"

To the curiosity of many peasants, Lyle's lips cracked upward, a cruel smirk playing on them. "Funny you should mention that…"

…

Bastien De Riffen…if he could even be called that, given the present state of the former village, had rarely ever been a man to regret many things.

At first, he regretted killing his father, even if nobody would be able to prove it and pin it on him. Then, as time went on and the benefits of his father's death came raking in, the regret faded away, and so did his regrets about anything whenever it came to getting what he wanted. He was a man of noble blood and had been told as such all his life that it was natural to take what was natural, especially by his father. If there was a blushing maiden who was smitten with his dashing looks and his high position, he took it. If he wanted a toy knight that one of his brothers used to play with, he took it. It was his noble right, and Bastien was willing to use that to his pleasure.

But he'd always wanted more. More men, more gold, more women, more peasants to lord over, more land to call his own. Though he owned land, he was still less than, compared to some of the other lords, barons, and other nobles who made clever remarks to remind him of his position. After all he was a mere lord of a shit-farming village. Not like the lords of castles, cities, and more. Bastien wanted many things, but for a while, he frustratingly gave into the idea that he couldn't surpass those who turned their noses down at him. Lordly rules were lordly rules, after all, and specific aspects of the nobility wouldn't care for an upstart like him rising above his station. It was much like the code of Chivalry. Some of it's practices could be broken in private, for sure. But, in public, it was a bad look, and thus, it would never be forsaken unless in the most desperate situations.

Then he met Richaud and that Southerner. And it was with their help that Bastien managed to make more money in a year than his father ever had as a lord of Riffen. It only further emboldened the heir to have his father killed, and in turn, the profits they all made afterward assuage the guilt.

He could have any woman he wanted, any delicacy or trinket he desired, and the people of Riffen were his to do as he pleased.

And why shouldn't any of that be the case? He was of a higher breed of man! It was his right! This was why it only served to terrify the young lord more and more with every forced footstep he was made to take with two skeletons standing beside him, pushing him forward with his hands bound before him.

Bastien was forced into the city of Rionne. He remembered it well when he personally visited Baron Phillippe to ensure that the trade of his unneeded peoples to useful Druchi helped both lords turn a profit. Before, he thought of how much money he'd make monthly or yearly thanks to his visits to this city. Now he wondered how many more minutes he'd draw breath.

Rows upon rows of undead skeletons and zombies lined the streets armed with some of the armor that Bastien swore he saw the previous city guards wear once upon a time ago. It was terrifying how quickly the Barrow Legion worked to rearm and re-equip their forces.

What was even more unnerving was that he saw the zombies with familiar-looking guns that he saw personally at the horrific battle that was the beginning of his undoing. Guns that they held against their shoulders ramrod at attention. For the undead to be wielding such weapons against them. It was unchivalrous. Unnatural. There was no honor to be had in such armaments that the dwarves and the Empire found common-place.

Finally, he was led to a platform where Baron Phillipe stood looking rooted on the spot in terror, flanked by his undead guards.

But the one who stood out the most, who was standing with a few other necromancers on this platform, was the man who brought about his demise. The man that Bastien wanted nothing more than to disembowel had he a free blade and free hands.

Lyle Spoletta, practically looking down at his better. "Sup' Bastien."

"A thousand curses on you, Spoletta." He found himself growling out. "A thousand curses on you and your family."

"Too little too late, my man." Lyle retorted coldly.

"Enjoy your victory while it lasts, you lowly worm y-you, you thrice-damned foreign corpse-fucking shit!" Bastien seethed, feeling himself go red in the face. The fear was still in him, but so was the indignation for how he got into this situation in the first place. "Kill me where I stand and the realm will know me as a martyr! Me and the rest o-

"The only thing anybody in this realm is gonna remember you for is how much of a piece o' shit you were, in terms of being a lord and a human being. I'll make sure of that personally if I have to." Lyle stepped close to the landless lord, and the anger Bastien felt was overpowered by the fear once more. "You got away with the shit you did, cause' nobody was around to hold people like you accountable. That ends today expeditiously, starting with you, your buddies, and just about anyone who helped make the things that you did possible." The necromancer now stood nose to nose with Bastien. "Things are changin', asshole. You're gonna see a bit of it before you go meet the great beyond or the Lady or whatever the fuck slavers and sellouts like yourself believe in."

Before Bastien could even think of coming up with a retort, he heard a stream of footsteps. He noticed out of the corner of his eyes that on the left and right sides of this podium, the city folk were starting to stream, being guided to the city center where they all stood. They all looked fearful and unsure, some looking shocked and stunned at the sight of their liege lord Phillippe standing alongside him.

Then more people streamed in, this from the front, allowing the people coming through there to get a much closer and better view of the individuals on the platform. It took Bastien a solid few moments, but he recognized some of the faces there. Well, not so much the faces, but more so the clothing and rags that passed as clothing.

When they got close enough to see HIS face, looks of shock and fear appeared on the faces of his former subjects. The fear and the shock quickly gave way to anger and hatred once they saw the state of him and that he was bound, with a low rumble growing throughout the over one hundred souls that were standing in front of the platform.

A slow yet growing chatter amongst the masses began to break out within the city, and it would have grown further if Lyle had stepped forward on the platform and raised one of his hands, gaining the attention of all those present, willing or otherwise.

"Gals and gents, my name is Lyle Spoletta. Maybe you've heard of me, and maybe you haven't. The point is that I'm gonna be running things here from now, which means you're all gonna be living by my rules." Lyle allowed a pause so that everyone had a moment to absorb the info. He noted the native citizens looked a bit uneasy and unsure by this news, but naturally, the people of Riffen looked up at him approvingly, smiles breaking out on their faces as they waited for him to continue.

Which he did. "For those of you not being kept on the up and up, This right here is Baron Phillippe." Lyle said, heavily patting the toady lord on the shoulder, who seized at the contact. "And this right here is Bastien, the former lord of Riffen." This time, Lyle rubbed the top of the former lord's head, aggravating him further with no way to retaliate. "These two have been working together for over five years to sell your fellow men and women into slavery to dark elves." He then pointed to the people of Riffen standing before him. "The very same people that are center stage right in front of me. People that would have been living the rest of their lives with collars around their necks in around two to three weeks' time if I hadn't hurried here to save them, and none of you would have been any the wiser." Lyle then swept his eyes on the native citizens, who suddenly felt the cold, withering gaze of the necromancer.

"Or…at least I certainly hope that none of you would have been the wiser." The threat that went unsaid couldn't have been missed by even the most illiterate peasant, prompting Lyle to continue as the natives stared with growing apprehension. "That bein' said, it's time to move onto a new era. A new beginning in Bretonnia, or at least in this part of it. And with a new era come changes that I believe are much needed. Like holding the head honchos around here responsible for the bullshit and falderal they wind up gettin' into." He then glared at the two lords on the platform. "And the lives they wind up ruinin' on the way there."

Once again, he paused, allowing the crowd to murmur and speak, with the masses looking and chatting with each other to make sense of this sudden change of events. Once he was satisfied he'd let them talk long enough, Lyle got to the heart of the matter, wanting to put a wrong to right.

"Baron Phillipe. I'll get to your punishment in just a moment. But, before I do, let's focus on our good friend Bastien here." Lyle said, drawing a withering sneer from the lord in question. "Now the thing is I wa-

"Save me your long-winded speech of what I have done, you foreign cur!" He snarled. "Everything I have done, I have done for Bretonnia!"

"Including selling your own people?"

"I didn't sell my people!" The man retorted vehemently, clearly knowing he would die fairly soon. "I sold traitors! Traitors who would rather covert with the likes of the infamous Brigands and, even worse, necromantic abominations like yourself! I did the Lady a favor by giving these turncoats a fate worse than death!"

The growing rancor among the former citizens of Riffen was now plain to see. Before, when they were forced to kneel in his presence, they wouldn't have dared to so much as stare into his presence.

Now? They hurled abuses and words of pure anger, with some mothers going so far as to cover their children's ears. The fear they once had for the man who held their lives in his hand yet did nothing to care for him was gone. Not with him removing the thin veneer of nobility he used. Especially not with Lyle standing over him.

That being said, the noble stuck his head out as if daring Lyle to behead him right then and there. "Well, go on then, you little shit! Cut off my head! Do it so I don't have to suffer the presence of abominations like yourself!" He then glared heatedly at his former peasants. "And a whole host of useless shit-farming worms."

As the people continued to hurl verbal abuses, Lyle was tempted. He was oh so tempted to follow through on that request from the man before him that had caused so much pain. It'd be so easy. A gaze with his eyes and his flesh would rendered from his bones. Grab onto him, and Lyle could perform a new spell on him to rapidly rob the lord of his youth and vigor until he was a withered husk. He was tempted to go even further in some respects and feed him to his zombies for an extra macabre effect.

Instead, he did what he felt was right. Give justice to the one who had been wronged the most.

Lyle didn't say a word, but he did give a mental command. Though in truth, it wasn't so much as a command as it was a release of a command. Allowing a certain undead to be unrestrained from stepping forward and doing what they desired to do.

So while the people of Riffen bayed for the blood of their former lord and the native citizens looked at one another, unsure of what to say, do, or react to their new overlord's actions,

someone stepped forward. It was a young girl with fiery red hair and bucked teeth, her usual vibrant green eyes carrying a dullish undertone, her bright white skin now sickly pale. As she stepped past the crowd of villagers from Riffen and drew stares, startled gasps and shocked looks overtook the rage-filled expressions they had once worn. Pointed fingers and stupefied whispers swept over the crowd as this young and familiar girl stepped forward with purpose, firmly gripping a dagger in her pale hand.

Thanks to his stubborn arrogance and pride, even Bastien, who had forgotten his fear, suddenly remembered it in full force as the pale face that stared directly at him got closer step by step. Jori and Ham felt themselves go still, only being able to see the back of the girl, but knowing exactly who it was that approached the platform and climbed to the top with a relaxed yet purposeful movement.

When she stood before open-mouthed Bastien, Lyle spoke once more, staring at the landless lord. "Bastien De Riffen. For your crimes of Murder, Accessory to murder, slavery, and accessory to rape…well…with a rap sheet that long that would make my uncle jealous…the sentence is the same one you gave half to the people in that village you were supposed to protect."

A moment passed. And so did another.

"Death."

Ave slashed upwards in a diagonal cut, causing blood to spurt out at an alarming rate from Bastien De Riffen.

His eyes bulged out as the lord clawed at his neck, desperately trying to stem the blood flow despite demanding his death only moments ago. Yet, Ave would have none of it, as her cold dead hands grabbed his heart, forcing his head upwards and, in turn, forcing the slit in his neck evermore open.

It was here that the lord understood true terror, feeling his life fluid leave his body as he was forced to stare into the unyielding and cold eyes of a woman he had given to two peasants. Here, he finally understood that once he had passed on, the Lady would not favor him, as he liked to convince himself she would.

And that only amplified the sheer horror he felt in his soul, clinging to any hope to postpone the judgment of the one who had given the founder of this nation the creed to pass on from generation to generation.

A creed Bastien now fully understood that he failed in almost every spectacular fashion, with the horrifying sight of green being the last thing he saw.

…

While Lyle carried out justice outside the manor, inside the manor, Fredericka and Wendel poured over the carefully written documents from Degare while counting the carefully organized chests filled with gold that had been stored within a secret compartment of the building. Being a former Brettonian herself, it was almost jarring for Fredericka to see the gold practically pouring out of the chests. It was more money than she had ever seen in her life, even more so than when Kemmler was alive. However, that wasn't exactly saying much since she wasn't even one of the people who was trusted with handling the gold and finances. Considering how quickly the Barrow Legion's wealth had been plundered after the death of Kemmler, it was hard not to say that such paranoia was warranted.

"So what do you think, Freddy? Do you th-

"Don't call me that." She groused.

Wendel blinked. "What…Freddy?"

The tired-looking woman sighed, flipping to a new page. "Yes, Freddy. I hear that enough as it is."

"Well…you let Master Lyle call you th-

"I let him call me that because he IS, Master Lyle. You are not."

Wendel smiled, feeling the urge to poke fun at someone he considered a friend but deciding to stick to business. "With this much gold, one can only wonder how many peasants this Phillippe sold to the druchii. It's hard to believe he's managed to get away with this for five years."

Fredericka snorted. "For nobility, their Chivalry is only a facade to hold up to get away with acts like this. Nothing surprises me with this lot. Though it is interesting." Fredericka noted, critically eyeing some of the reports she was holding. "If the amount of gold earned in these reports is accurate, there's no way Phillippe could have just been selling people from Riffen. There's simply not enough people in a village like that to make sales like this."

Wendel's eyes widened. "So other lords were partaking."

"I'm not surprised." Fredericka shrugged. "I'm sure that as time went on, Phillippe became bolder, reaching out to other lords who only take the code of chivalry at face value to make a large profit together." She then eyed one of the full chests. "A profit so large it could make a dwarf jealous."

The one-eyed, blonde necromancer then dared to allow hope into his voice. "So then, Master Lyle's gambit has paid off then? This gold can sustain us in our system of gaining the material needed to sustain our armies?"

"For now." Fredericka nodded. "This could last us a month or two, depending on how we use the gold itself. We've bought ourselves some valuable time, for certain. But…" Fredericka then shook her head, wincing. "This is hardly sustainable. We still need a more consistent flow of gold to stem the deficit issues we're currently accruing."

"If only we were an imperial army." Wendel chuckled nervously. "At least then we could take out a loan from one of the banks in the Empire, or maybe even a dwarven bank if we were lucky. Sadly, they aren't partial toward undead armies. Being from Stirland myself, I can attest to certain biases that were brought upon by the, ahem…Von Carstiens."

"Or just the simple fact that most normal people inside and outside the empire see us as horrific plagues on all life throughout the Old World."

Looking a bit awkward, Wendel shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that certainly doesn't help."

"At all." Fredericka rolled her eyes. "We've bout ourselves some time, but we need more a sure-fire solution. One that doesn't require us to march all over Bretonnia to rob every lord who has had daliances with slavery. We can do that, but it's not reliable enough."

Wendel pursed his lips, trying to help brainstorm ideas. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it would be a stricter trial than he thought. At the end of the day, even if the Barrow Legion managed to acquire further goods like the fur trade in Artois, the Wine further in Wester Brettonia, or the wool trade in Southern Brettonia, it all came back to one problem. Nobody would want to trade with them.

Well, okay, maybe some people would want to trade, but those trades would be few and far between, and it wouldn't matter if one had all these resources if you couldn't make any money off of it. Perhaps it would be a different story if they could sell an incredible commodity or luxury that would tempt the greediest merchant in the Empire, but if they did, said merchants weren't biting.

Wendel chuckled ruefully. "You don't truly appreciate how well your kind is loathed until you realize how few are willing to do business with you."

The pair continued to try and brainstorm, but when no easy answers immediately came to their minds, they both turned to something they could do. Continuing to count the amount of gold they had pilfered from Baron Phillippe in full, hoping to silently put off what they were actually failing to accomplish.

Until at least they received a knock on the door from a balding acolyte who looked both tired and perturbed after he let himself in. "Lady Fredericka…we have a guest. A vampire." Both necromancers stood ramrod at the info, Fredericka's eyes going comically wide. "Here!? Now!?"

"Y-yes. She erm…let herself in she says she's here to speak with the Lichemaster."

Wendel looked befuddled. "Did she…not see the demonstration that Lyle was putting on?" "He finished with that a good bit of time ago." They replied pensively. "Now he's commandeered the local pub and has gotten a round for all the survivors of Riffen, along with any others that wished to participate. I don't believe she arrived in time to see that."

Fredericka sighed, twisting a lock of her black greasy hair. "Of course, he did that. Why wouldn't he do that?"

The man swayed from one foot to the other, clearly wanting to get to the heart of the matter. "Sh-hall I send for he-

"Gooood evening, my little amantes!" A woman shoved past the necromancer, wearing some ostentatious clothing that would even shame a wealthy Brettonian noblewoman. Fredericka balked and swallowed, immediately realizing this was the vampire in question. The woman had pale skin and wasn't even hiding the red crimson eyes that her kind often exhibited. She had a dark blue corset with a hefty blouse, petticoat, and large white ribboned hat that rested on her head, dark flowing hair that came down to her hips, and makeup to give her cheeks a faint rosy color.

The moment the vampire's eyes swept through the room, her joyous face morphed into disgust, especially when her eyes were laid on the necromancers. "Ughh…By my sisters, I'd heard of how drab you less cultured folk can be, but this is garish! Absolutely, garish, horrific, uncultured, and…" The woman shuttered. "Bland."

Fredericka tensed up when the woman closed the distance faster than any person ever should with that much-restricted clothing and touched her face. Then she touched her hair. "My dear, this cannot do. It will not do, and I cannot leave it alone. Have you given up?"

"I-I'm sorry?"

"On wooing a man? Having class or having pride in yourself. Good heavens, I've heard of letting yourself go, but this is so tragic that it cannot be left alone." The women then took out a refined piece of charcoal and what appeared to be a book of sorts, jotting it down. "I am a busy woman, but I can fit you in tomorrow at twelve o' clock sharp. Then we can fix this disaster that you necromancers allow yourselves to become."

Opening her mouth and then closing it slowly, Fredericka blinked, thinking of refusing, only to think better of the decision and decide to change the point. "I'm sorry, but you are…?"

The women paused, gasped in short order, and finished writing down what Fredericka could only assume were the appointment details before swaying dramatically with a hand to her

forehead. "Non! How could I possibly go this far into my spiel without introductions? My apologies, my lovely amantes; my manners have gone the way of your style, it seems." She then performed a dramatic flourish as if all should bow before her beauty and grace, with a winning grin. "You have the honor of being in the lovely Deni! Deni from the sisters of Lahmia sect of Lyonese!"

Fredericka and Wendel's eyes widened, and Wendel looked especially stunned. "Lyonese!? Th-that's just south of Mousillon! I-I didn't even know there was a Lahmian sect there!"

"Well, we wouldn't be much of a sect if we couldn't keep a low profile, non?" Deni smiled with a fluttering of long eyelashes. "We are not as boorish, uncouth, and unsubtle as the Red Baron, after all.

Fredericka managed to hide her shock better than Wendel, but a thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Both on how great of an opportunity this would be and how much of a red flag this was.

Vampires didn't often work with the Barrow Legion, thanks in part to Kemmler having a frosty relationship with other vampires at best. Being a man who didn't like to share power, having a vampire who could rival that vampire could throw a wrench into that dynamic, which wasn't optimal for the former master of the Barrow Legion. He was willing to work with vampires, as Fredericka and others had personally seen in the past, but rarely, if ever, on a permanent basis. Almost all vampire clans knew this and kept their distance, not liking or wanting to risk the ire of the powerful Lichemaster.

This vampire being here could mean one of two things. One: The Lyonese Lahmian sect saw an opportunity to expand their influence and power through the new leadership, especially with the successes the Barrow Legion had seen recently…

…or this was a power grab. A way to worm their way into supplanting Master Lyle and gaining control of this new force.

The idea only made Fredericka more defensive, wondering if that 'appointment' just now wasn't a way for this Deni to turn her into a loyal thrall. Thanks to her power as a necromancer, it wouldn't be easy, but not impossible.

Acting on these suspicions, Fredericka kept her staff handy and a healthy distance from the woman while addressing her. "Whether you assist us or not is up for debate. The question is, why is it that you're here to help us in the first place? Or, more specifically, what does your sect gain from your presence?"

Deni sighed dramatically before settling into a huff. "Oh, poo. No foreplay, and heading to the heart of the matter is so…dull. But, if that is what you wish, I would be a poor assistant to resist

such a request." Despite being put off, she smiled slightly. "I have been sent to help your fiscal issues, as one of your kind would put it."

Now, Fredericka felt herself go tense. "Fiscal issue?"

"Oh, come now, Mon Cheri. I know why you came here at such a blistering pace, all of my lovely sisters know! You are as bankrupt as a drunken Burgermeister! Well, at least not yet. But, give it time, and I'm sure you will be soon enough."

Alarm bells started going off immediately in the female necromancer's head. Her first urge was to demand from the vampire how she knew such info, but that smug look on her face made it clear that she was hardly going to part with such information. In her mind, there were only two sources of the leak. Someone within the inner circle had told this sisterhood of vampires or someone who had robbed the Barrow Legion, to begin with. Either possibility sat ill with Fredericka like a heavy stone in one's gut.

Wanting to gain some semblance of control over this meeting, Fredericka pinched the bridge of her nose and controlled her breathing. "Okay then…Miss Deni. Since you're clearly already so keen on the goings-on of our precious Barrow Legion, what are your suggestions for fixing our 'fiscal issue'?"

"Ah, ah, ah!" The vampire tutted with a wave of her index finger. "That's for me to discuss with your lovely leader. I've heard so much about him that I can't help but want him to bathe in my presence…and maybe vice versa." She said with a hunger that sent chills down the necromancers' spine. "Now do be a good dear and tell me where I could find the boy?"

"I-in an inn." Wendel stammered. "Or more like a pub. It's the most active part of the city; he's holding a celebration there."

While Fredericka subtly glared at Wendel for giving that out so freely, Deni seemed both tantalized and disturbed. "Hmmm…I do love parties…but among the unwashed masses that probably haven't bathed since…since they were born? Ughhh…" The vampire then took out a bottle of what could only be perfume, spraying it all over her upper body diligently before putting it away with a dramatic sigh. "The things I do for my sisters." She then held out her elbow for Wendel to grab, only for the male to stare confusedly with his singular eye.

Getting impatient with a huff, Deni hooked her arm around his forcibly, nearly causing the young man to fall off his feet. "It's only right for a gentleman to escort a vulnerable and fair lady like myself to such a den of villainy and sin, is it not?" She then leaned toward his face, making the blonde blush at her suddenly strong scent and expression. "Now be a dear so that we can make good time. The night is young, after all."

"Y-yes ma'am." No sooner did he say that did Wendel, at prodding from Deni, led the vampire outside the room and presumably toward the party.

Fredericks stared flatly at the exchange before audibly groaning, reluctantly following after the pair. The last thing we need are two of the leading figures of our Legion falling under the sway of this hussy.

It was times like this that made Fredericka question if life would have been simpler, continuing her life as a peasant, only to shudder at the thought.

Simpler, but definitely less enjoyable.

…

A/N:

Honestly, I personally felt like I have had stronger chapters, but this one here got the job done in a satisfactory way. Belive it or not I'd been having a lot of internal conflict on how I was going to have Bastien get punished. I thought of many things. Turning him undead. Torture. Some horrific spell that would turn his insides to rot. But, then I thought to myself: Why overcomplicate it? Oftentimes the best way to get revenge is the most straightforward, especially considering who you have doing the killing.

But, yes, this was the first bit of ruling Lyle has now conducted. He's managed to carry out some good ol' fashioned justice, but now there's the problem that can bring down many a country if not properly managed: The economy as you saw a bit of at the end there.

Rest assured Lyle will be tossed a lifeline on how he can solve this problem, but whether he can execute it properly is another matter entirely. Just have to wait and see.

Also out of curiosity for all you Total War Warhammer fans I have to admit, I'm getting a bit impatient for the next race to be playable in the game. What do you think the next playable race will be?

And please continue to leave those reviews as you have been doing. I've been loving the feedback lately!