A/R:

DarkWarrior41: Thanks man and I completely agree with you! I got struck by a sudden spike of patriotism and went into another Karl Franz campaign, especially after the new Empire update. I'm having a blast, liberating Bretonnia from Grom the Paunch and stopping the forces of chaos up north. It's an absolute blast!

Zerkil: That's actually a very interesting concept and if you were ever going to use a beastman to use in a plot like that it would definitely be Morghur, even if he's become a meme in Total War.

Simonoso2015: Hey man, I appreciate the patience. Comments like this really help keep me going, especially since you guys appreciate the story so far.

Haldir639: Shoot, and here I thought I could make you guys sweat over the fate of the Paunch. And yeah, you'll see in the next chapter how much Simmire is gonna be sweating over the work she's got, but you're not off the mark.

Focus of the Future: 1. Thank you! 2. I'll make sure not to disappoint! 3. And yes they most certainly are.

Aymen El Kadouri: Lemme know what faction you do it with. The imagery will amuse me.

Kolek Blood Drinker: At this point the 'K' word would be more appropriate.

Godofear: If only it were that easy. And you'll soon see that they're far from done.

women ruiz: Firstly I wish it was that easy for Lyle to retaliate. Sadly every Total War campaigner knows how much of a pain it would be to invade Athel Loren. Second he should communicate better, but Alvin's dad isn't one for verbal communication as you so plainly saw. Thirdly that story idea of yours is going to be more relevant than you realize in my authors notes.

Deadzepplin: That's definitely an excellent idea, especially since I'd love to see if the Empire could improve upon their steamtank design.

Cyan Sung-Sun: If only. But, they're as in the dark about Alvin's true loyalty as even the Lady is.

Uros Osium: Hey man I don't blame your hate toward the elves, especially the wood elves. At least the Dark Elves embrace how much of a bunch sweaty, edgy, goblinny assholes they are. The wood elves prance around and constantly interfere in things and act like they're doing everyone a favor.

Rc48177: Thanks I appreciate it. It's almost done, so it's just a matter of getting a publisher. Might just go with Amazon with how easy it would be.

Guest: You know what, that Durthu angle is actually more on point than I realized. I mean he barely tolerates the elves as it is, and Drycha holds nothing short of contempt for the elves and anyone that isn't a forest spirit. Something to remember for myself.

Jajo Camello: Oh Lyle will definitely see them as a problem, especially since they came inches within killing him. How effectively he can deal with them is a different story however.

dadg12346: GAME OVER MAN! GAME OVER!

RandomSovietFarmer: Yeah I'm not gonna lie, Yasmine is not in for a good time I can promise you that. It's not going to be as bad as it would have been if she had been with the beastmen, but alas. And yes, in spite of the many trials, tirbulations and difficulties that Lyle may endure for what's to come I vibe with you my friend: MAKE BRETONNIA GREAT AGAIN!

…

"You failed."

"The hag's-bane will do him in soon enough. It pierced his mouth, and so-

"You. Failed."

Vumira winced as she watched the sparsely dressed male elf glower impassively at Melil, who bristled defensively at the unfortunately accurate statement. Vumira shared a side-long glance with Arina, who knew the moment that arrow didn't strike Lyle's throat or skull, he would stubbornly cling to life. They'd observed the necromancer's wild escapades and how he survived so much thrown at him up until now that it was to the point where it was almost to believe that Lyle would die even from a poisoned arrow.

Yet Melil still hotly protested. "For all we know, he could be on his death throes as we speak! He-

"And if he is not?" Their male elven counterpart countered. "What then?" The elf, in particular, was nearly bare-chested with intricate green markings on his arms and chest, with only a sling wrapped around them to hold a variety of tools, vine-made ropes. His hair was wild and blonde, and dark green trousers that came up to his upper knees were all that he wore on his lower body as the male continued to stare unimpressed. "You three had one job. One job to put to rest the second greatest threat to Athel Loren next to Chaos itself. A job you have failed. A second attempt at an assassination will now be met with greater resistance, and your choice of poison will leave little doubt as to who the perpetrators were. The short lifers are ignorant, but they aren't THAT stupid."

"You had a chance to kill him yourself!" Melil countered, now glaring at the androgynous male elf. "You were there when Lyle was at the village of Riffen, you could have-

"Ariel had yet to demand his death then. He still had a purpose to serve, and he did so well. Even as we speak, the King of Bretonnia is rallying more and more support from even his biggest detractors in the realm under his banner. Spoletta has done what we needed from him. And we must end the threat he hand his Barrow Legion have posed once and for all…and you couldn't do that."

"He was moving! With him perched on those peasant's shoulders, I-

"-Was sloppy. And now I must do what you could not."

"Ariel demanded this?" Vumira interrupted, her eyes narrowing skeptically. "How could she be so quick to-

"She is quick to decide because our forest depends on this. Our people depend on this. And you've shown that you cannot be depended on."

"You're going alone?"

"I'm all that I require."

Even now, the four elves could see the thickly guarded procession, carrying Lyle into the broken front gates of castle Bastogne, a wall of undead shielding any further assassination attempt from being visited upon their leader as the acolytes, peasants, and others moved with a sense of urgency.

"Against an army? You're mad! There's a reason why we've had to stick to the forests up until now!"

"Then you're fellow Waywatcher should not have missed. When Spoletta inevitably awakens, and his sycophants tell him what you failed to do, he will follow in Kemmler's footsteps and attempt to strike us in revenge. If he dies, they may yet eat themselves and die as mayflies often do."

Melil wanted to say something but held her tongue, unable to refute what was honest and true from the male elf. Vumira couldn't help but feel guilty for allowing her fellow Waywatcher to take that shot in the first place. Melil was undoubtedly the greatest shot out of all three of them, but even the most talented sniper of their kind would be hard-pressed to hit Spoletta from that distance accurately and while he was moving unpredictably on those peasants' shoulders.

Melil momentarily closed her eyes. "At least take one of us with yo-

"I wasn't asking. I'm simply telling you. Your work, in fact, is no longer required. You're requested to return to Athel Loren effective immediately for further orders."

Melil once again looked as though she was going to scream when Vumira pressed a hand on her shoulder, calming her fiery-tempered Waywatch sister. "If we find out that you're ly-

"I care not whether you think I am or not. I have a job to do, and massaging the pride over your three's failure is not one of them. Leave or stay, it matters not to me anymore. For me there is only the mission now. Get in my way, however, and you'll wish that you left instead." Not allowing the other three females to get a word in, the scantily clad and wild-looking elf hopped up a tree, his hands and feet giving him great purchase as he rapidly climbed up it before hopping from branch to branch, eventually going out of sight.

Vumira sighed and shook her head, not wanting to argue with the male, before she turned to Melil, who she was sure was about to explode. Sure enough, she seemed to be shaking; her hands balled into fists, and her shoulders were going as stiff as a board. The Way Watcher leader was about to chastise the hothead only to be surprised when her pointed ears picked up on sniffles and sharp inhales.

Before Melil could say anything, Arina, who was usually chatty and sickeningly optimistic in moments like this, was silent as she put a hand on Melil's shoulders. At first, it seemed as though she would be rebuffed, only to press her head into Arina's chest, choked sobs of frustration gasping out of her mouth as she gripped her Way Watch sister's shoulders tightly.

Vumira once again felt guilty. She was the leader of this escapade, and in a way, she had let them down. Maybe if she had insisted on taking that shot, maybe if they had waited for a better opportunity. Perhaps if they waited a bit longer for Lyle to be in a still and stationary position that would afford them the proper chance to kill the necromancer once he was close enough to the forest.

But, no. Now, there was only shame. Shame, disappointment, and facing the consternation of Queen Ariel.

If Vumira was being entirely honest with herself, she almost felt like crying herself, if not for the need to put on a brave face for her comrades once they faced the music.

…

"Hag's bane." Sybille ground out, staring at the vial of green poison she had managed to drain out of Lyle's face. "If those pointed-ear tree-huggers were so desperate to have Lyle dead, they have auspicious timing. "

"But, he'll live?" Schmitz asked pointedly, glaring at the woman. "The boy will live?"

"Oh? I was unaware you had taken someone's heart and put it into your chest, Schmitz. I do hope it's of good qualit-

"Answer the question, woman! Now's not the time for your jokes!"

"Yes, the boy will live." Sybille huffed, rolling her eyes. "He'll be feeling ill for when he finally wakes up, but he's young…and his immune system is stronger than I gave him credit for. But, his cheeks will be permanently scarred." The silver-haired woman shrugged. "The poison will leave its mark on him through his flesh, that much is certain. But, so long as he draws breath, that's all that matters."

Tobias seemed to sag in his seat, his shoulders drooping as he removed his spectacles and rubbed his forehead. "Then Nagash has blessed us. Or perhaps Ranald favors him in, indeed, all things. Yet, I can't help but think about what you just said, Sybille. Undoubtedly, the Asrai have tried to end Lyle's conquest before it can begin, yet I can't help but wonder. Why make it so obvious that it was them? For them to use Hags-bane is-

"It wouldn't matter." Sybille countered sharply. "Even if we knew that it was them who killed Lyle, it would hardly make a difference. They clearly see him as a threat to go to such lengths to end his life. And even once we found out, what could we do? Get revenge on them by attacking their forest? How could we pray to do so when King Louen's army is getting ready to gallop at us again…and the fact that we would have lost our greatest asset, King Louen would no doubt personally thank the Asrai for helping save their kingdom. In short, the Asrai have no concern about subterfuge beyond how effectively it can help them kill Lyle." The woman glared, tightening her lips as she seemingly glared at the table they sat at. "If it were a few inches higher, near his temple…"

The three of them dared not to say aloud what would have occurred should Lyle have actually perished. Having already experienced the problems of a Barrow Legion without both Kemmler or Lyle to bear the mantle of leadership, Schmitz and Tobias remembered all too well how easily their organization nearly was undone due to infighting. In fact, it was even more dangerous now, with more outside threats trying to kill them and new people working within the Legion itself. The goblins Sybille saved, the Lahmian court, the peasants Lyle had saved and are now armed with muskets…all of them only coexisted with one another because of their leader, and should that change…

Ultimately, Tobias had to pop the question. "How long until he wakes?"

"A few days at least. At most a week. It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't hit his face or near the head or neck, but…" Sybille seemed as though she wanted to spit on the ground. "...Gods-damned Asrai!"

"I would bet all the tommes I've poured over with Kemmler that this isn't just because of how powerful we've become." Schmitz glowered, balling his hands into fists. "This has to be some form of petty revenge for all the time Kemmler raided their forests, especially when we made that attack during winter." As he looked back at Sybille, a panicked look suddenly crossed the bald necromancer's expression. "Please tell me he's under lock, key, and grave guard protectio-

"As if you had to ask me!" Sybille retorted, feeling insulted that he had to ask. "Even as we speak, Grave guards patrol up and down the halls just outside his room. A few of the musket peasants even insisted on standing inside and outside his room just to be sure. And, of course, Wendel, Ave, and Fredericka are inside monitoring his condition just in case anything changes, along with that dwarven woman who seems to dog our leader's heels. If the Asrai try anything and succeed, then we'll know that Ranald no longer favors Lyle."

Satisfied if nothing else at the safety of the lynchpin of their Legion Schmitz went right back to glowering as he often does. "Then that only leaves one question. The retaliation against those damned elves?"

"Did you not hear me, old man? Have you forgotten about the King of this nation's forces still coming toward us as we speak? Plus, it's not quite winter at the moment, so I don't fancy our chances against the elves and those crotchety forest spirits."

"I'm not talking an invasion, fool." Schmitz sniped back. "A simple hex or curse would do. Perhaps a life for a life. We cannot afford to look weak-

"And we also cannot afford to escalate, Schmitz." Tobias counseled patiently. "They may try again to end Lyle's life, but if we can keep it at that, we can survive the trials ahead…if we give the children of Athel Loren a reason to muster an army against or Gods forbid a Wild Hunt, then the King of Bretonnia might be the least of our concerns."

"I refuse to do nothing as they repeatedly attempt to kill our Lichemaster!" Schmitz roared, slamming a fist on the table. "An attempt on his life is an insult to us! It shows weakness!"

"Again, do you suddenly have a heart, Schmitz?" Sybille snorted. "The amount of care you have for our young leader is truly a far-cry to before."

"Did you not hear what I said, you doddering old harridan? If we do nothing, we look weak not just to the Asrai and all of our foes, but to those within…people like that Lahmian cold-blood, for example, who could be reporting our actions or inactions to her nest of viper-like sisters!"

The comment mollified Sybille, who felt cold at the mere thought. "Speaking of which…where is the aforementioned cold blood?"

"With that goblin shaman, I believe." Tobias supplied. "I believe they were talking about spider silk."

"...or plotting?" Sybille queried, suddenly feeling ill at ease.

"It's in the vampires' nature to plot." Schmitz glared. "Goblins especially. The two of them together."

"I've only ever seen them argue." Sybille countered.

"That can always change. We're in an ever-changing situation, after all."

And none of that was ever exemplified when the door to their meeting room was barged open, all of the necromancers reaching for their staves and beginning to gather Dhar until they saw it was just Wendel who begged them off. "It's, it's me! W-we have a problem!"

"Please tell me that Lyle isn't dying." Sybille sighed, sitting back in her seat from the sudden fear that stabbed her heart and her other two counterparts. "I hope I didn't overestimate his immune system after-all."

"N-no! It's King Louen's Army. It's headed toward our castle as we speak! They're leaving the bloody tree treeline!"

Sybille coughed and sputtered as she stood back up again, Tobias and Schmitz opening their mouths in shock at the news. "Now? NOW!?" Schmitz screamed, wishing he had hair he could pull from his scalp. "I thought we had time before the main army arrived! We haven't even repaired the gate yet from when the trolls! H-how did-

"They're numbering in the thousands! Tens of thousands!" Wendel continued, clearly wanting to get all the info out while he had the chance. "They…they had so many banners that they were actually starting to overtake the treeline."

"This can't be a coincidence. I may have been more on the nose about the Asrai and the Bretonnians than I thought." Sybille muttered in slight horror to herself. "This can't be a coincidence. An assassination attempt against Lyle which either kills or incapacitates him, all while we're still reeling from an assault earlier this very day by three damned armies!"

Schmitz cursed, standing up and rushing toward the door. "Well, I'm not going to stand here while they undo all of our work! Call the acolytes and even those damned peasants! We need to-

"Fredericka already is!" Wendel replied, walking alongside Schmitz as Tobias and Sybille followed after. "She's mustering a defense along the walls as we speak! I'm running to get Lady Deni and Rucnic to help in the defense as well."

Schmitz wanted to refute that mere idea, loathing the mere concept of relying on the vampire more than they already had, but common sense reigned him in. In such desperate times, beggars couldn't be choosers, especially with Lyle out of commission. Even before he had that meeting with Sybille and Tobias, there was no missing the concerned and stricken looks on many of the acolytes' and peasants' faces who worried about the health of their Lichemaster. As they rushed down the halls, which teemed with undead, acolytes, and peasant musketeers, some looking confused and others looking to and fro, wondering what to do, Schmitz didn't miss the panicked and nervous energy that seemed to infect the Barrow Legion as a whole. If this was part of the plan to strike when they were least prepared, then the necromancer had to hand it King Louen, the Royarch truly understood psychological warfare.

Eventually, the inner circle managed to reach the battlements, which still had some dead beastmen corpses that had yet to be removed entirely, the ground still coated in now dried blood. Already, there was none other than Fredericka, looking tired and ashen-faced as she stared at what they all now saw. Banner after banner of Bretonnian flags, representing a variety of noble houses, the armor of their knights reflecting off of the late afternoon sun.

Fredericka finally noticed their arrival and gave a terse nod. "I'm praying they don't try to take the castle. I may sound mad for saying this, but I'd prefer a long siege at this point."

Nobody replied at first; everyone's eyes were sweeping over the sea of banners, knights, and peasants that were now before them, just out of cannon range. It was hard for anyone to disagree with Fredericka's assessment. An extended siege gave necromancers time. Time was their greatest ally as it allowed them to raise more corpses after battles or to use the material from corpses to strengthen the ones they already had. To prepare for spells or traps that could be laid for any attacker.

But, having dealt with the undead on many occasions, especially at Mousillon, King Louen had to know that a siege wouldn't necessarily be in his favor. He had to know that, in this case, fortune favored the bold, and the King had that in spades.

Sybille massaged her temples. "Please tell me someone's getting skeleton spears down in front of the gate."

"Already did. First thing I did, as a matter of fact." Fredericka replied. "But if the knights put enough weight behind their horses and start to pack i-

"Then we give them a whiff of gunpowder." Tobias replied, showing surprising sternness in his voice. "There was some sense in Lyle teaching the peasants how to fire rifles, so we make sure to shoot over the skeletons."

"They have trebuchets."

"I'm sorry?"

Wendel pointed to the trebuchets that were starting to roll out of the tree line. The tall structures were unmistakable, as were the stones being carried with them.

None of the necromancers dared say a word. The implications of the rudimentary yet effective siege engines were a fantastic display of King Louen's intentions.

Yet when it seemed as though the trebuchets would start to get loaded and their already fragile defenses would become even more fragile, everyone in the Barrow Legion was surprised by a forward party coming toward them. A small group of people, one of them carrying a white flag.

"Parlay." Wendel sighed in relief.

"For what, though?" Fredericka countered. "They have the initiative, why would they want to parlay now?"

Before anyone else could question the move further, most of the group that followed the parlay flag carrier stopped at the halfway point, with some servants setting up what appeared to be a table and some chairs in a quick fashion, with jugs of wine even being set up. The flag carrier, however, came closer and closer to their battlements, with no one daring to make a move until they at least heard him out.

And when he reached ear shot down below, hear him they did. "Lyle Spoletta is cordially invited to a parlay with his majesty, Royarch of Bretonnia, King Louen Leoncur! You may only bring a total of five people, Lyle included. Anymore than that will be seen as a sign of aggression and will be met with the wrath of his majesty and the Lady!" The messenger rode back toward the parlay meeting area, not an ounce of fear from the close proximity he just had with the necromancers.

Tobias thinned his lips. "He named Lyle specifically…that could prove problematic."

"Then we just go without him." Schmitz replied brusquely. "We simply tell them that our Lichemaster is manning the defenses and that he has other duties that occupy him. It would certainly humble that foppish king!"

"And end the negotiations before they truly begin." Sybille rolled her eyes. "We need time, you bald fool. Time is more precious than gold if we're to not join our undead in losing our heartbeats."

"But, what are we to do then?" Fredericka queried. "If…if we go out there without Lyle and King Louen isn't interested-

"He clearly wants something." Sybille countered. "He wouldn't go this far to have a parlay without…the prisoners." Sybille muttered in realization. "He's here for the prisoners."

"I'd almost forgotten about that lot." Schmitz sighed, shaking his head. "I can't believe that a move I thought would be foolish might save us in the end. Once again, our Lichemaster's call for mercy has afforded us an opportunity." And it galled and frustrated the bald necromancer to admit even that much.

Tobias nodded, stroking his chin. "Then we hold it over his head and use them as a bargaining chip. If not, to buy time for the rest of our ilk to raise more of our fallen and use whatever they can to fortify our positions."

For the first time Wendel spoke up, looking at the Brettish army nervously as it loomed dangerously behind their king. "And…if he demands Lyle?"

"Then we threaten the prisoners. Simple as that." Sybille shrugged. "The King is an honorable man, after all. He couldn't be a Bretonnia otherwise."

And so it was decided. Wendel, Fredericka, Schmitz, Tobias, and Sybille all mounted undead steeds just in case they needed to make a quick getaway and kept their staffs handy as they rode toward the parlay point, the King waiting patiently. Standing with the King was none other than the damsel Ninette, Louen's grizzled veteran Quentin, and the familiar sight of Louise, standing resplendent in a golden and red dress. That only served to confuse the necromancers. What was she doing here, of all places?

But then, Sybille saw the fifth representative of the Brettish, which made her stiffen. It was the same grail knight who afflicted Rudy of Chaos not too long ago, glaring heatedly at them with barely contained anger. Oh, she'd need to keep an eye on that one.

Finally, when they reached the table, they stood across from King Louen, who stared at them evenly. "Lady Louise. Is Lyle Spoletta amongst them?"

Louise slowly shook her head. "He is not."

Tobias was quick to clear his throat and step forward. "Our Lichemaster Lyle Spoletta is using this time to see to the defenses of his castle. You've yet to explain why this couldn't be a trap, and it was decided that this would be a better use of his time."

Quentin, shifted his mustached mouth. "So he sends you five to do his bidding. Perhaps he's more like Kemmler than we gave him credit."

"We will take that as a compliment." Schmitz retorted, standing straighter. "Come then. What is it you wish to discuss, knights of Bretonnia? In case you've yet to notice, we've no shortage of living to butcher, and so little time has been afforded to us to do so."

The King gave an unimpressed hum from his throat. "I've noticed. But Lyle Spoletta was included in the invitation, yet he is not here. It was he I desired to negotiate with, not his lickspittles."

"Lickspittles!?" Schmitz balked. "If it wasn't for lickspittles such as us, you wouldn't even be in this position! Forced to parlay with the Barrow Legion fo-

"I am not being forced to do anything, slave to Nagash. No. I am here because I was curious as to what Lyle Spoletta would have to say…but perhaps the rumors of his death are true?"

"Death?" Fredericka questioned, narrowing his eyes. "And from where did you hear such outlandish tales? Are you Bretonnians so quick to merely hope that our Lichemaster that has been a terror to you has perished?"

"That would be from my own men's lips, you greasy-haired whore." Fredericka and even some of the Bretonnians balked at the crude words from Alvin as he leered at the necromancers, his mood clearly as foul as the corpses littering the battlefield around them. "Did you honestly think that we wouldn't find out? That you could just hide your dirty little fumble and go on about your day?"

"Speak plainly, boy." Sybille rolled her eyes, showing no fear. "If you've something to say, go for it and strike true. It would be a nice change of pace since you could do neither a few days ago."

"Oh… don't think I forgot you, ya old bitch. I'd do you in myself, but I think natural causes might be a short skip and hop away till' you're floating down the river."

Sybille laughed at the crass insults, cackling and shaking her head. "Well, you'd certainly hope so! If you couldn't kill a peasant boy with that magical sword of yours, I fear for the horrors the elderly like me could visit upon you!"

Alvin seemed ready to spit back until King Louen spoke. "Alvin. Calm yourself, my boy. Do not allow the necromancers to goad you. You are better than that."

For a moment, Fredericka and others thought the grail knight was going to blow a gasket and fire back at the King, only to stop himself, as if something held him back. Eventually, he bowed his head. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."

Sybille couldn't help herself. "There's a good dog, just as your majesty requested. What on earth did Lyle do to you, my boy? Did he spank your bottom like the wet behind the, ears mutt that you are?"

To her disappointment, Alvin didn't rise to the bait, but the utter contempt in his look told her and everyone else what they needed to know. She'd remembered Lyle mentioning using doom and darkness on him, but that only made her wonder what he must have seen under that spell to give him such a fright. She would have needled him further if it served her purposes, but that was for another time. Especially since the stakes were so high.

And it was especially worrisome when the veteran knight Quentin spoke next. "We have it on good word from some retreating knights that a man resembling Lyle Sploletta was shot in the head by an arrow. All while he was on someone's shoulders…was he not."

Nobody from the Barrow Legion's side dared to say a word. Nobody's expressions betrayed anything, not even Wendel, though he certainly felt what everyone else was feeling.

But nobody was about to confirm the suspicions of the Bretonnians, especially not now. If they understood just how vulnerable they truly were with not just their leader but someone who had become their ace in the hole…

Tobias knew this and, to his credit, spoke blandly as if unimpressed. "Are we here to speak tall-tales now? We won't give any credence to such outrageous claims, especially since your so-called knights have proven to be liars in the past."

"These are men that I've known for quite some time. Some of them are young, but they can be trusted." Quentin affirmed with iron in his tone. "They saw what happened to your vaunted leader, and the fact that he isn't here to crow about his victory here tells us everything that we

know." His brow furrowed, as if attempting to stare down the undead wielding spellcasters. "You have one chance. One chance to surrender lest you be cut down like the wretched heretics that you all are."

"And if we surrender, we get what?" Fredericka spat back, trying to hide how nervous she really was. "A merciful execution?"

"It would be preferable to be drawn, quartered, and left to rot in a gibbet." Ninette countered, looking at the necromancers with disgust. "You should be thankful that we offered so much for all the destruction, havoc, and chaos that you've caused."

Schmitz's gourd rose at the threats and made sure to match them. "And you should be thankful that we are under parlay and that we do not turn you to dust right here and now."

Suddenly, King Louen stood up sharply, nodding as if satisfied with this turn of events, turned away from the necromancers, and spoke clearly and concisely. "Quentin, Alvin. Ready the men. Ninette, take Lady Louise to the back lines and prepare for battle. These talks are over."

Taken aback by the sudden, sharp change of pace, Tobias sputtered, eyes wide. "W-wait a minute, I th-h-hold on! What are you-what about the hostages! The noble hostages that we have!?"

"I told you before." King Louen replied coldly, his eyes as hard as ice. "I came to negotiate with Lyle Spoletta. If he cannot or will not come to meet me under the flag of parlay, perhaps he would be more willing to meet with me after I've taken your walls. Whether he is a corpse by then or not."

Fredericka stared wide-eyed at the rest of her compatriots. Schmitz went red and white almost in the blink of an eye, clearly feeling frustration and peril within his mind. Meanwhile, Tobias's mouth flapped open like a fish taken aback by the King's sharp response, and Sybille's mouth was a thin line while her eyes bulged out.

Getting desperate, Fredericka nearly screamed. "We'll take the lives of your men! The men who swore service to you, the Bretonnian crown! What will happen with all the families of the men who you refused to ransom!?"

"Then I will tell those men that they died bravely in the service of Bretonnia. And that I will ensure that the justice those families deserve is meted out. To each and every one of you."

"H-hold on you damned-

"What's wrong?" Alvin smirked as he began to walk away with Quentin. "Afraid that you just called out for your bluff? Don't worry, old Lady. I'll be a proper gentlemanly knight when I reach you."

Panic and anger warred in the older woman, who gnashed her teeth. "I'll have yo-

"Lyle's here!" Wendel suddenly shouted, his words betraying reason and thought, drawing all eyes toward him. "L-lyle's coming!"

Alvin almost laughed. "Oh, so now we're trying to stall for more time! Come on now this is ju-" The Arizon-native's mouth dropped when he soon saw what everyone else saw. Coming slowly out of the smashed and battered gate of the castle, Bastonne was a man on a skeletal horse, being guided out by a single undead corpse.

It was a young man on that horse. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes were bloodshot with dark rings underneath their eyes. What was even more telling was the heavy amount of bandages around his jaw and cheeks that covered a great deal of his face. But there was no mistaking the jet-black hair and blue thunderbolt that ran through it. There were moments when he even seemed to sway in his saddle, looking as if death would warm him over in seconds. Yet against all reason, he continued to ride forward, slowly yet surely, on the undead steed he commanded.

Eventually, he reached his fellow necromancers, who stared at him, utterly stunned, having seen his wretched condition before they came here to negotiate. Fredericka came to Lyle first, looking up at him, trying to wonder whether she should be relieved or horrified. "M-master Lyle, you should be in bed! Wh-what are yo-

She twitched when the undead that came with Lyle suddenly spoke, a bright blue glow in his eyes. "I'm fine, Freddy. Just needed to rub some dirt in the wound."

Utterly confused, many looked from the undead and to Lyle, the Lichemaster himself looking meaningfully at Fredericka as she then put two and two together. "Master…Lyle, are you-

"Speaking through the undead. Mhmm." The undead's voice was dry and gravelly, but there was no missing the accent in its voice as it scratched its throat. "Neat little trick I learned my magic could do. I'd do the jawing myself, but…well." Lyle then touched his jaw, wincing as he lightly grazed the bandages. "Them's the breaks. Gotta make do with what I got."

King Louen stared at the utterly bizarre sight, his eyebrows nearly touching his crown. Turning to Louise, who looked at a loss of Lyle's condition as well, Louen whispered to Louise, "Lady Louise…is this Spoletta?"

"It's…he has more bandages, and he didn't even look this bad during my uncle's capture, but." Blinking at the man on the saddle, she then nodded. "It's him. There's no doubt about it."

Alvin, however, whispered at the king harshly, leaning toward him. "Give the word, Your Majesty. Just give me one word, and I'll make sure that all I gotta do is knock him out of that saddle. Ju-

"Hold your hand, Alvin. I know you desire justice, but it cannot come under parlay."

"Then just give the word to attack! You were ready to-

"Hold." King Louen repeated, holding a leveled glare toward the younger grail knight. "I need but a moment." Marching back toward the necromancers, Louen debated whether he should look toward either Lyle or the undead before deciding to look at the Lichemaster himself. "So you are the one who has succeeded Kemmler?"

"Sorry to disappoint ya, your majesty." The zombie rasped with a mocking bow. "But, you'll find tales of my demise to be greatly…exaggerated." The zombie then chortled, its laugh sounding like broken glass scraping against marble. It was almost as if Lyle looked pleased with that quote for whatever reason.

"Perhaps exaggerated, but not too far from the truth." King Louen paid particular attention to how Lyle still seemed to sway slightly in his saddle. Alvin wasn't far off his point about Lyle being on death's door. It only made Louen wonder. How long ago did Lyle wake up? How severe was his condition? Was poison involved, or was there something more severe? "If I were to attack right now, I don't believe you'd put up much of a fight."

"Me? No. Not really. I'd swing on you if I could, but we both know how that would go. But though I can't give you my hands, I can still give you the dhar and any other magic at my fingertips."

"Perhaps. But I wonder how long you could sustain that. Head injuries are no small matter when casting spells, I have seen it personally." Louen nodded to the very bandages wrapped around the necromancer's head. "If you're careless, you could succumb to chaos or worse."

"If you're trying to scare me, can you at least try harder? I've seen and heard worse since I've gotten here, and this isn't doing it for me."

Deciding on a different tactic, King Louen broached another avenue. "You come from the same world as Alvin, do you not Spoletta?"

"...I do." The zombie replied in the Lichemaster's stead. "What about it?"

"I'm simply curious. I've heard no shortage of tales about your escapades since you arrived in our world. From your rapid conquest of Artois to your defeat at Duke Bohemond, only for you to get your revenge. I heard how you could have butchered and killed so many of my men and so many peasants only to treat them with a kindness that someone in your position never has. You routed out a slave trade within the very dukedom you conquered, and instead of profiting off of it when it could have served to fund your war machine, you brought justice upon its perpetrators, tearing their roots of corruption, even if I disagree with the way you did so, I cannot ignore your sense of mercy and justice." Stepping closer and more boldly, Louen stared into the eyes of his foe. "Tell me, Lyle Spoletta. What is it that you want? What is your endgame within my country? My home?"

A reply didn't immediately come from the zombie as the Jersey native. He was more so expecting shark rebukes and anger-fueled rants from the King of the land he was invading, but it was a fair question, all things considered.

His zombie tilted its head and narrowed its worn eyes. "Why do you care?"

"Humor me, young man. I am a king. Not just any King, but a King chosen by the Lady herself. I would have been a poor choice if I could not listen to those who heap curses as well as praises on me."

"Hmmm…alright, humor you, I shall." The zombie cleared its throat before speaking. "When I first got here, I'll be honest with you since you're being honest with me. I was doing what I was doing purely for my own gains and agenda. Truth be told, I was bored. Bored of my life and prospects back home, especially after falling short of my family's expectations…and my own. So imagine my surprise when I get brought here and get given powers that people could only dream or write stories about back home. Honestly, I got gassed up on my own hype and magic. Suddenly, I had an entire army of undead to control, and the people around me were practically begging for me to invade you before you came and finished them off. I mean, I wasn't gonna say no. Only a wuss would. And I ain't no wuss."

"And you're implying that something changed?"

"Oh, something changed, alright. I saw how you treated your peasants." The zombie coughed into its fist again, clearly not used to its throat being used for a long and drawn-out duration. "See, here's something I haven't even told my fellow Barrow Legionnaires. I have an interesting family lineage. A family lineage that has a lot of bad blood in between, but it goes like this. Something that Alvin here might be familiar with. See, My family had two main branches back before this huge Second World War broke out, down in this region of a country where my family comes from called Italy…more specifically, Sicily. Two brothers both felt that they needed to help the common and poor people of Sicily, but they had two VERY different ways of doing it. See, the younger brother was with this organized crime group commonly known as La Cosa Nostra: This thing of ours. He felt the best way to help people was without the big bad government pushing its nose into regular people's business, seeing the mafia as a way to truly govern people and run the streets they felt it needed to be run. The older brother was different. See, the older brother fought in another huge war years ago, and he felt that there needed to be more government. More social programs and more oversight in a country for Italians by Italians. They called it Fascismo, or Fascism for short. He was so good at what he did in making people believe in this idea that he became part of the local administration when Fascismo was really startin' to settle its routes in the country."

Alvin rolled his eyes. "Is there a point to this story, or are you just stalling with this pointless history lesso-

"Alvin. I would like to hear this story." The king replied firmly, leaning forward. "As you were, Spoletta. I'm guessing this disagreement between the brothers did not end well."

"Right on the money, your highness." The zombie replied. "See, the Fascist government didn't care for the Mafioso kingpins and started either rounding them up and throwing them in jail or chasing them out of the country. The older brother was so dedicated to cleaning the streets that he even jailed his own younger brother to show that he meant business. It sounds great n' all until you realize the horrors and crimes that this government was doing while cleaning up the streets like the jackasses that they were. Alas for the older brother, this didn't last because the very country that so many of their countrymen fled to came knocking on their door, toppling their fascist government with the help of the very mafioso that they worked so hard to get rid of, bringing them back into power." The zombie grinned toothily, showing off its yellow teeth. "You wouldn't believe how much bad blood has permeated our family since both brothers wound up going to America, the country me and Alvin the chipmunk here come from after all was said and done. The older brother barely managed to escape the purges against the fascists, and the younger brother saw more opportunities in America, especially after the war. Heheheh. I got told this damn story relentlessly till' I was sick of the damn tale. But, the one thing that stood out to me, especially since I've heard from my Ma and my uncle, respectively, with their own spin, is this one thing."

"And? That being what?"

"In my opinion. Both the brothers were damned morons in the way they tried to improve their home and country. However, the one thing they both agreed on was that they wanted to help people. The common people. The people that were poor as dirt in Sicily compared to the north…and though they both tried to accomplish what they were settin' out to do in stupid ways, at least in my opinion…they both still tried. Tried and failed, but they tried nonetheless. If ya ask me? The bigger crime woulda' been if they didn't try anything at all."

For a moment, he said nothing, closing his eyes and taking the story that Lyle had weaved, King Louen hummed to himself as he fully appreciated the underlying message that the Lichemaster was trying to tell him, swaying tiredly in his saddle and all. It seemed as though it was taking all his willpower not to keel over, yet still, he stubbornly stayed on his saddle.

Louen understood perfectly what Lyle was trying to tell him through this tale. The longer he listened to it, whether it was true or false, it told him all he needed to know to understand the Lichemaster.

Which made what he said next especially crucial. "I must admit. I am quite glad I had the patience to listen through that, young Spoletta. However, in order for me to help you understand the full consequences of the actions that you yourself are about to suffer, allow me to regale you with a tale of my own?"

"I'm listening. I'm a patient man."

"Tell me. Have you heard of Gille Le Breton?"

"On and off." The zombie replied as Lyle tilted his head curiously. "He's the one who founded your nation, right? Your Fay Enchantress has told me bits and pieces."

"The Fay Enchantress?" Ninette questioned with wide eyes. "Since when have you spoken with her!?"

"In my dreams, if you can believe me. Not just the one time either. I'd say she doesn't enjoy our time together, but since she's a repeat visitor." The zombie then started chuckling, and even one could see one of the muscles under Lyle's eyes turn upward with the signs of a smile, only for the wounded man himself to wince and cough with his cloak shuffling.

Everyone turned to stare at him as he coughed into his bandages, closing a fist in front of his nearly covered mouth. "S-sorry about that. Still under the weather."

Somehow, Louen wasn't wholly convinced by that but didn't pursue the lie, deciding to stick to the story. "Before Gilles Le Breton became King of all Bretonnia, the land was amok with chaos. Orcs rampaged through the plains, the undead sewed terror among the masses, beastmen butchered the weak, and servants of chaos raided our coasts. With the blessing of the Lady, Gilles managed to unify the lands by forming the first Grail Knights to bring peace and unity to our nation, something that hadn't been seen until then." The King observed his counterpart as Lyle said nothing, sitting still, if not politely, listening to his own tale. "If it were not for Gilles, I've no doubt that I would not be breathing with many of the people in this beautiful land. But, if it were not for the Lady, we would not have lasted as long as we have. If not for the Lady, we would not have survived orcs, vampires, slaves of chaos, and more that make it their goal every day to bring ruin upon us."

"Yeah, I've definitely heard this before. Not to sound impatient, your majesty, but what's the point of this story."

"Patience, young man. When I became king, I had to confront those many threats. I've slain norscan raiders. I've brought Warbosses low. I've smited the undead and through it all, I've done so because it was my duty to do so. Because I owed to my people for the crown that I was chosen to wear." He then bowed his head and closed his eyes. "But, even I know that I am not perfect. I am fully aware of Bretonnia's problems and its shortcomings. I am not blissfully unaware of the crimes visited upon our peasants, of the conduct by our unchivalrous lords…I also heard from Lady Louise here and her uncle Bohemond about his failings in preventing a slave trade in my lands. The shame I feel from hearing that burns me more than any pyromantic spell ever could upon my blessed body. For that, you have my apologies, even if it is insufficient for the people who now must freeze to death even in Naggarond."

Many, especially from King Louen's own party, looked at the Royarch in surprise. Quentin, however, was not so surprised. Having been with the King the most out of everyone here, he, too, shared in the shame that came with not seeing such a blunder happening under the nose of one of his most famed Dukes.

Lyle had to admit that even he himself was surprised. "I…well, alright then." The zombie spoke tentatively

"You are right, Lyle. There are crippling issues that plague Bretonnia even now. You are right that they must be addressed. But I cannot allow them to be solved by the forces that were once ruled by Kemmler himself."

"Ah, so you don't trust me then. Fair enough. I-

"No. I know I can trust you, Lyle. To a point to protect the peasantry and to act with some semblance of honor."

Lyle looked gobsmacked at that. "Seriously?"

"Quite. You spared Duke Bohemond when it would have served you better to turn him into a wight king. You spared and uplifted the peasants when many, even in the Empire, would have scoffed at the notion. You showed mercy and honor when you didn't need to, and even now, as I speak with you…I can tell you are no man of true malice. And I know for I have met many who do."

"So then, what's the problem? Don't wanna give up power?"

"I will one day die. Even the Lady's Blessing will only be able to sustain me for so long. I've lived for over a century, and even now, I know I cannot rule forever. Someone will succeed me for when my duty is done, and I am prepared for that day. But, it cannot be you."

"Oh, I bet."

"Listen to me, young boy, for if you're as honorable as I think you are, you must listen. Think Lyle. Let us say that you defeat me someday or even today. Do you declare yourself King of the land? Simply rule as a despot? Tell me, who will be the one to succeed when, like me, you will one day be in the dirt?"

Lyle rolled his eyes and was about to shoot his mouth off when he fully appreciated what King Louen was saying. It was yet again a moment when he was brought up short.

Who DOES succeed him? What happens after he's done here, Bretonnia? What if he wanted to one day to just come home and leave all of this behind?

In a perfect world, he'd like to leave behind a republic if he could—a Bretonnia that was for the people and by the people, thanks to his not-so-biased upbringing. The problem was, who would run the republic? The illiterate peasants who had only known their hamlets and villages up until his uplifting of them? How would that work?

Plus, there was another factor that Lyle himself wasn't wholly ignorant of. His fellow necromancers. Again, the Jersey native had no illusions as to the number of war crimes his underlings would commit if he wasn't constantly overseeing, which could only make him wonder how long their morally gray area would shift the moment he was out of the equation. He only got this far because of their help…but all his work could easily be undone by them, which in some cases almost had in the past.

Hell, it might not even get to a point where they could rule and enforce tyranny on Bretonnia if he conquered all of it! If he didn't show up after he lost to the Bohemond from before, they would have wound up shivving each other at the earliest inconvenience! What's to stop them from trying that again if their feelings got so much as slightly bruised?

The frustration over the dilemma that he had no easy answer to made Lyle glower, his hackles rising as he glared at the King. "Is there anything else you wanted to say, or are you going to throw down the gauntlet with us?"

Louen sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "So that is your answer then? To press on stubbornly like the ancestors from your own story?" The king then chuckled sadly. "Though I am not surprised. You are still a young man, after all."

"Talk or Gauntlet, your Highness. We both got busy schedules, and I'd hate to waste either of our times at this point." The impatience in the zombie's tone was as harsh as its deadened throat, which was counteracted by King Louen raising a hand.

"I choose neither on this particular day, Spoletta. I believe when you sent that poorly worded letter to me so many days ago, you mentioned hostages to be ransomed, did you not?"

The Barrow Legion side felt themselves go still by this sudden change in tone and tact, looking at one another while, in those like Fredericka and Wendel's case, sighed and sagged in their spots, not quite believing the change.

Lyle spoke through his zombie. "Just…like that?"

"Just like that."

"What's the catch? Why the change?"

"There is no change, young man. I came to negotiate with you and you alone. Since you are here, we will negotiate. Once I have given you the ransom money and you have given the hostages, I will leave with my army. Consider it grace for not butchering and killing the surrendering and captured nobility you caught." The King then levelled an even stare at the Lichemaster. "However, know this. Once this 'grace' has ended, I will come for you, Spoletta. And though you are a man of some honor…I will come for your life. You still have crimes that must be answered for."

The zombie chuckled. "I'll be waiting for you, your majesty. Oh, I'll be waiting."

And so the negotiating began, again much to the relief of the Barrow Legion, which wasn't fancying its chances at surviving holes being blown into their castle and the full might of this Bretonnian army, even if Lyle could cast spells. Mercifully for the necromancers and the peasants who fought with them, the Bretonnians paid handsomely for the many nobles they had captured back at the battle of Bastonne, with a few noticeable caveats that nearly upended the negotiations.

Firstly, Lyle insisted on holding onto Gerome De Gisoreux, at least for a little while longer. King Louen, of course, questioned what his designs were, but he was met with half-answers and half-excuses, leading the Royarch to realize that further questions would be fruitless. To Louen's relief, however, he did promise profusely through his zombie that the lord would eventually be released, though when exactly was still a mystery.

Negotiations almost broke down entirely when it came to the release of Damsel Yasmine. The problem wasn't Lyle himself, for he fully intended to release her. Only when he was interrupted suddenly by his inner circle did they admit to a bit of chaos almost overlooked after the battle of four armies.

According to noble prisoners, beastmen had somehow dug underneath the castle to gain access to the BeastPit prison, stealing the screaming damsel away to Gods knows where. Louen would have been furious, much like Ninette, for one of her fellow damsels being taken if Lyle hadn't shown genuine remorse and self-blame for the blunder, and even then, Louen couldn't stay angry at the young man. After all, in battle, you could only account for so much and had the roles have been reversed, Louen wasn't sure if he could have prevented a similar incident…it only made him shudder with fear for what was happening to poor Yasmine as they spoke. Lyle holding her prisoner was only mildly worrying. The beastmen, on the other hand…

Banishing such thoughts, though it pained him to part with so much gold, was well worth saving the captured noblemen. It would only help unify more nobles of the land under his banner to rally to his army after all. And though gold was helpful, showing how much he cared for his fellow men was something that some couldn't put a price on. Besides, even though Louen also wound up paying for captured weapons and armor, it could have been much worse in terms of gold gouging.

Even now, as gold and prisoners changed sides and curt farewells were exchanged, the Royarch of Bretonnia couldn't help but watch as Lyle rode back with the rest of his inner circle, his eyes flickering with exhaustion and his body swaying in his seat…perhaps a bit too much. In fact, it almost looked as though there were moments when Lyle would tilt over to one end too much and collapse in a heap, only for it to seem like something in his large cloak was holding him upright. If that was the case, it only spoke to Louen about how determined Spoletta was to prevent the attack on his forces.

It was odd. Far too odd for the King to feel so little heat toward a foreign invader, yet, whenever he looked and spoke with Lyle, he felt no great enmity for a force that was invading his lands. Lands that were his and the Lady's by right. Sure, he was honorable to a degree, and yes, he had a heart that couldn't be found in many, if any, necromancers, yet strangely…

…the King eventually shook his head. He had graver concerns to put his mental capacity on.

…particularly on the real reason he had chosen to negotiate with Lyle the moment he saw the Lichemaster wasn't dead. The news he had gotten just before he had decided to come under the flag of Parlay of Castle Bastonne.

Mousillon was stirring. And Lyonese was about to fall.

…

A/N: And so Lyle and the Barrow Legion live to fight another day, thanks to the Lichemaster managing to will himself to negotiations and with the help of his new magic…and the insertion of the Red Duke into the Battle Royale for Bretonnia. Thanks for the latest reviews and comments, and I'm amused to see just how much vitriol there is for the Wood Elves and understandably so. Those pointy eared bastards are always sticking their nose into business outside there in.

Also I'm happy to announce that after going through all your comments, I've come up with an idea for a possible spin-off for this story that I've written. After juggling all your ideas within my mind I have two story ideas that I wanna throw at you guys.

The 1st; Karak-Eight Peaks Royale: A human from our world is yanked out of his unremarkable and frankly boring office-life when Gork and Mork throw him into the body of a goblin. Their demand? Take the tribe he is now in and take Karak Eight Peaks before the Ever-Chosen comes south. Fail? Remain in the body of a goblin for the rest of his life.

The 2nd; Mother of Mordheim: A mother in her late thirties is pulled from her single-parent life by Sigmar himself and dropped into the cursed city that has all but been condemned by The Empire and humanity itself. It's there that she comes into contact with the ostracized Sisters of Sigmar where she must find a way to not only save Mordheim but Ostermark and the Eastern part of the Empire as a whole from the terrible threats that are being visited upon this fresh bit of hell.

In short, tell me in your reviews which story sounds more interesting to each of you while also telling me what you liked and didn't like in this chapter. I'll treat this as a bit of a vote for the story I'll be writing about in the future, and I'll have time to write it because the reality is that Kemmler's successor only has about two or three major arcs left before it's done. And I'm genuinely interested to see which of these two ideas you faithful viewers gravitate towards the most.

Please let me know which story you would prefer to see me write about in your reviews and any thoughts on the latest chapter. Do you believe Lyle can ultimately overcome King Louen when they eventually come to blows? Or will the Jersey Native eventually fail against the Royarch of Bretonnia?