A/R:

Annoying POW Marine: Lol yeah, the elf secretary shtick is my way to expand on the logistics and inner workings of Grom's tribe and army, especially since he's smarter than the average greenskin and has made incursions to the high elf lands. You'll learn more about how something like this came about in later chapters. And ye our boy Lyle is finally getting some action, I'm glad that you managed to pick up on the subtle and not so subtle hints I've been interspersing about Nalga and our dear earth-native. A shame that the heat of battle has to cut them short, lol.

And on your final note, I sincerely hope that this hectic battle does your expectations some justice, because I completely agree with you in the saying that Shogun 2 sieges could be utter chaos.

Wake Island Princess: Heh, Well he was, until the armies outside his castle cock-blocked him.

: Considering the undead and goblins being thrown in, it's definitely more horde than alliance, but you can be the 4th army is on the way.

Focus of the Future: Thank you very much, I'm glad I managed to get these themes down right in this chapter!

dad12346: Lyle definitely has a talent of bringing different people's together, but whether it'll pay off in the end remains to be seen. Heh, and yeah as far as the last scene goes, that's more or less the reaction I was going for, especially with so much on the line. You'd be surprised what stress and high-stakes can do to people.

Aymen El Kadouri: Oh I wholeheartedly agree. The one thing that would make the vampire coast more dangerous in those regards is that they have a helluva lot more canonfire to throw around, and more experience to boot.

Haldir639: You articulated that bit about Grom better than anyone that I could remember in recent memory. That part about how he's leagues above and beyond Archaon, Nagash and Malekith was so on point, because I could absolutely see those three pitching a hissy fit and killing anybody close to them for the slightest inconvenience. Those edge lords got nothing on our boy Grom.

Godofear: Two chapters a month? Try three this time my boy! And yeah Repanse is gonna be super interesting to write especially since it'll be an amazing conflict not just for her, but for Lyle and so many others. Needless to say that the fight is going to put many loyalties to the test.

zerkil: Yeah Crypt horrors have always been interesting to me because of their origins and how they're created. They always reminded me of Golum/Smeagle from lord of the rings because of how deranged they are and how they look, albeit with more muscle mass. And yeah, Nalga likes to take what she wants, especially with such high stakes.

Guest: Ahhh, a fellow Quest Battle Merchant I see.

rc48177: Heh, you have no idea, especially with such high stakes.

Jajo Camello: You're correct that the Lady empowered the humans of Bretonnia to fight off chaos, specifically to help protect the wood elves of Athel Loren. However even if someone is rallying these forces to fight off chaos, there's one big caveat. They're not under the Lady's influence or control. Think about it. Lyle has insulted and turned his nose up at the Lady every chance that he has, and has gone as far as to rob her own chapels. Even if you're a Goddess who can benefit from Lyle fighting chaos, would you want someone like him running rough-shod through the country you helped build while spitting on your holiness?

"Gods…by the Gods above, there's so many…too many." Ham found himself muttering along with a few of his fellow peasants, staring at the field before them while on the battlements. Thousands of goblins surged from the tree line, creating a sea of green on the left side of the battlements as far as the eye could see. Goblins, Wolf-riders, trolls, and banners of Grom the Paunche's tribe hung high for all to see, with many goblins shouting and jeering at the defenders, menacingly shaking their weapons.

But if Ham was being quite honest with himself, he would take that horde of green any day over the forces that were to their right which were still emerging from the forest. Creatures that were once men, tainted by other children of chaos, imparted upon them a level of savagery that few in the world could replicate, along with a natural hatred of anything related to civilization.

And as the beastmen feasted their rectangular pupils upon Castle Bastonne before them, that hatred was reawakened with the force and might of a grand bonfire, with many giving grand bellows, shaking their heads and their horns, cursing civilization in their primitive tongue.

And it was a who's who of beastmen down there: Ungor's with their smaller frames and smaller horns. Gors who were head and shoulders above their Ungor betters, with a more goat-like head and bigger horns jutting out of said head. And finally, the muscular, near-towering, and heavily armed Bestigors that stood as the cream of the crop in the beastmen ranks, bellowing mightily behind their lessers. That didn't even include the razorgor, Minotaurs, and more filling out the ranks, making the horrific-looking horde seem even more monstrous.

Finally, just when it seemed this would genuinely put the fear of the Gods into the peasants and even acolytes among the walls, the worst of it came out. At first, many thought it was a misshapen raven that flew out from the treeline and landed before the beastmen's hordes. But, no, it was not to be. Clearly, another beastman was attached to those wings, but even as people looked at the creature, they felt chills. Chills as well as some acolytes noticing a tug in the winds of magic, being pulled towards the creature that now stood at the head of the beastmen army. A beastman with what looked like a red cowl over its face and gnarled staff. A beastman with black wings that resembled a raven.

Malagor Dark-Omen. A beastman who was considered one of, if not the best, Bray-Shaman among all the beastmen in the Old World.

Even some peasants had heard of a beastmen that came with black wings, tales of horror told by their mothers or village elders that if one was caught by the one they called black-wing, they would become a beastman themself. A beastman who, unlike many other men, was born as a child of chaos instead of being turned into one.

This was who now roared at the defenders, speaking in his dark tongue.

"My fellow brethren! My Herd-kin, these 'civilized creatures' who reject the blessing of chaos are a plague upon the world that must be wiped in the name of our Dark Masters! In the name of our Dark-Gods! For generations, the one known as Beastslayer soaked the earth with the blood of our kin, denying us the prize of his ancestral home, which has been a blight for years!" Malagor snarled and heaved, getting his beastmen into a frenzy as he slammed his staff, a pulse of wild magic making the earth quake beneath him, making the goblins and the Barrow Legion tremor without pause. "The Duke has been beaten and dragged out of his castle, showing how weak he is, but more Man-filth still fills these castles! Man-Filth that defile life that affronts our Dark Masters, that offends me, your Crow-Father!"

The beastmen bayed in his speech, stamping their cloven hooves and roaring to the point where steam was ejected from their lungs. It was a terrifying sound and sight as if these creatures were starving for blood. The blood of mankind.

"And if the green filth looks to get in our way? Then we will rend our vengeance upon them, splinter their horde, and defile their banners much like how we will defile the humans' castle, rending all that get in our way!" Before his horde could roar once more, Malagor raised his staff, gaining their attention. "Remember, Children of Chaos! We come for the one that defeated one of our brother hordes! The one with the thunderbolt hair! The one who leads the Man-filth in the castle! Whoever strikes him down and brings me his head will receive a blessing from our Gods as I have! This I swear upon the Hyrdstones! Down with the Man-filth! Down with the green filth! Down with civilization so that we may treat this battle as a grand sacrifice to our Gods! So tha-

"Blah, Blah, Blah!" Grom the Paunch shot back, wheeling to the front of his army on his more battle-ready chariot instead of his war cart. "Oh, stuff your face in ya horny git before I do it for ya! It's always da same with you beasty-humies. Hate civilization this! For da dark-masters dat! Same crumpin' crap you're always spewin', and you ain't got nothin' to show for it! Not like us green-boyz! Not like good ol' Grom the Paunch!" The goblins and some of the simple-minded trolls started nodding along with their boss's words, previously looking quailed at Malagor's speech but now elevated momentarily by their leader's words. "Malagor, ya git! When I'm done with ya, you're gonna wish ya never crossed me n' my tribe n' cut down our foodstuffs! Not only are at least half your gits goin' into my stew bare minimum! But I'm gonna personally take those oversized wings of yours and wipe my arse with em'! Least they'll be good for somethin'!"

The goblins laughed and jeered at the beastmen, who snarled at the crude insults their way. Malagor tightened his grip on his staff, rankling at how many beastmen he had lost due to the raids of the green-colored menace on the other side of the castle.

Even worse for the Crowfather, the Goblin Boss still wouldn't shut up. "What av'e ye done that is anywhere on my level Malagor? Have ye beaten down other ork-big bosses like I have when many of my own kind told me it wasn't possible? Have ye managed to raid and sack Ulthuan the way I have? Have ye made the Brettish Humies so damned scare of ye that the King himself is tryin' and failin' to spill me fat guts all over the ground? No! You're just like the rest of your kind! A buncha humies dat failed at bein' humies and now worship the same Gods as the spikey humies up north! And you're even worse dan' them! You're not on my level, and when I take that castle n' leave you out in da cold, You ca-

"Silence, obese one! I will have my harpies gorge on your fat for the injustices you rent upon my herd-kin on my way here!"

"Injusta-wha? Speak louda' goat-ed'! you may wanna be careful of you usin' big words! Might confuse your dumb beast boyz in da process!"

As the beastmen and goblins continued to hurl verbal abuses at one another, those on the battlement walls looked on with mild confusion as well as some amusement as their enemies showed no shortage of enmity with each other. Ham couldn't help but stare at his worry lessening greatly. Heck, maybe they could take advantage of this. Jori seemed to think so as he looked around. "Ey' now. Shouldn't we have our canons firin' on em' when we have the chance? Where are those green monsters that are carryin' around our canons?"

"Won't need them. Not yet." The peasants turned around as Lyle took long strides toward them, making all the men and women bearing rifles stand up straighter, his black cowl billowing in the wind.

"L-lord Lyle!"

"I'm not gonna take credit for this quote, but it still rings true regardless of who said it. Never interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake. If these guys wanna duke it out, let ''em' duke it out. If not, then we'll give em' whiff of gunpowder."

"What about after they start fighting?" Ham asked eagerly, almost putting his finger on the trigger of his rifle, only to remember the trigger discipline that Nalga literally beat into them. "Can we pump 'em' full of lead after that?"

"Not even." Lyle shook his head, stepping to the battlements and looking down at their foes. "Cause if we start making their life hell while they're fighting, they'll unify and come after us instead. Remember, we're the bigger foe to em' here. We got what they both want; we got the castle and the high ground, and they know they can't waste too much time killin' each other to take us on. No point in changing th-

Lyle stood stock still, but all of a sudden, he didn't feel it. HE FELT IT. He felt Malagor Dark Omen whip his head toward him. He felt his unholy gaze turn toward him. He could feel the animalistic beast-like magic that curdled around the black-winged beast.

As he felt the leader of this herd stare into his soul, Lyle felt something…no. He heard something ring from within his mind. His body as it felt like Malagor said something in the beat tongue that only he could understand.

"False one!"

Turning to his herd, the Bray-shaman ignored his green-skinned adversaries and roared bloodily, catching even his herd-kin off-guard. "Forward! Forward and take the castle! The False One has shown himself! The False One is here! Take this castle so we may defile it and him!"

As if they had all been struck by a thunderbolt right up their asses, the many, many beastmen surged forward with animalistic abandon, charging forward with speed that only they could have, thanks to their builds and cloven hooves. It was so sudden that a few peasants let off stray shots that fell woefully short of their targets, striking a bout of fear into the defenders.

Realizing that his plan had just gone up in smoke, Lyle cursed and tried to get the jitters of what Malagor had somehow put in him, shaking his head. "Change of plans, boys and girls; it looks like the animals got something behind their goat eyes." Lyle then barked to an acolyte who stood ramrod at attention. "You know the drill! Give the signal to Tobias! I wanna hear those cannons roar on the right side! And I also DON'T wanna hear any more bullets going off right now from any of you!" Lyle said, staring pointedly at the musketeers, who tentatively nodded as many side-eyed the incoming beastmen. "Listen up, everyone, your bullets aren't like cannons! They can only go so far before they finally hit their mark! Do not lose your nerve, or you're gonna lose something worse! Got it!?"

When he got a few unsure nods and 'yays,' Lyle rolled his eyes and swelled up his chest, unknowingly using his new magic with his eyes brimming blue. "Bullshit, I can't hear you! Did ya hear me!?"

"Yes, Lord Lyle!" Suddenly filled with a sense of courage and discipline that was hard to find even after Nalga's teaching suddenly found purchase again, a smaller but noticeable blue hue of magic energy pulsed behind the eyes of all the peasants. Even the nearby undead moved with greater purpose, moving to and fro on the battlements, carrying bows and arrows, with zombies carrying varying types of debris from stones to useless hunks of ruined armor. Anything and everything that could be used to hold the castle was utilized while the peasants, filled with a fresh wind of discipline, held up their rifles, waiting for their given signal.

Meanwhile, Lyle was giving a signal of his own, maintained through a system he, Tobias, and Schmitz had put their heads together to ensure effective communication throughout the castle.

It went a bit like this. Just now, Lyle was controlling a zombie near Tobias, who was near the center of the battlements, managing messages, signals, and logistics for the legion. Once the zombie gave him the signal of a closed fist, that was all the notification he needed to urge the canon-carrying crypt horror to move to the right, effectively doing so with speed while also carrying a wagon full of canons with their pure strength, growling menacingly all the while.

Just as the beastmen started to inch closer with their chaos-given speed, the lead necromancer on the right side of the battlements, who happened to be Fredericka, coordinated the crypt horrors to aim their canons over on that side while also utilizing other acolytes and undead to assist in this endeavor, making sure to aim as well as they could.

"Crypt horrors! Fire at will!" Fredericka shouted, still getting used to saying such an order since the Barrow Legion rarely made use of monsters that could attack from a distance.

Yet no sooner than when she gave that order did the canons belch out their lead, and heavy whistling soared through the air.

The beastmen continued to charge forward, bellowing and roaring, steam erupting from their mouths. Their stride faltered when they heard canon fire, which couldn't have been right. Only the Man-filth in the Empire used gunpowder, right? Not even the undead used it here.

Despite such instinctual thoughts, several beastmen found themselves missing limbs and body parts or, in some cases, outright turned into pieces when the canons ripped through them. The Barrow Legion currently had twenty canons thanks to continued supply from the Nalga's Karak, and they were going to damn sure make use of them.

One Ungor's entire upper torso was torn off by a canon, with a fellow Ungor losing a hoof in the process, urging it to cry in agony instead of the roar of savagery it tried to emulate. A gor, which had been swinging around its axes with reckless abandon as he ran toward the castle, lost one of his arms, staring in utter shock at where its limb used to be as blood started to spurt from the phantom limb. The beast herd shuddered and quailed at the shock of this new development, not expecting this change in events and being taken off-guard.

But the Bestigors in the back of the line, veterans of many battles under Malagor, were not phased and shoved mightily in the back of their lesser kin, in some cases outright trampling them to send a message: Either you go with the herd, or the herd goes through you.

The peasants hadn't been idle either, with many shifting to the right of the battlements at Lyle's urging, making sure to keep up and run with them to show that if he could do it, he damn well expected them to do it too, at least to a point. They were eating better now, but some of them were still too thin for the Lichemaster's liking. Hopefully, that would change in time.

Eventually, as they were reorganized on the right, and to Lyle's shock, Nalga was already waiting there, standing on a box to get a better view downward with a dwarven rifle. "Took ya long enough! Guess those long legs can only get ya so far after all!"

Lyle laughed as he approached her and the wall. "Now that's just not fair! You got a head start!" As the peasants eventually caught, he gave Nalga a look. "You wanna do the honors? You did whip them into shape?"

"Thought ya never asked! Alrighty Umgi! Remember what I told ya! Don't just shoot willy-nilly like how so many of ya were doin' before! Pick a target! Aim in the center and adjust the distance! Then squeeze that trigger! Now! Present!" The peasants all did as they were bid. "Aim!" The peasants aimed down their dwarven-made rifles, squinting.

The beasts got closer. "Hold!"

It was to the point where some peasants could see the steam coming from their throats. "Hold!"

Now, they could see the white of their eyes. "Fire!"

Over three hundred peasants had been trained with a rifle with Lyle and Nalga's assistance. And over three hundred rifles in near unison unleashed a volley of lead that whistled through the air and perforated many of the beastmen unfortunate enough to be in the front of the line.

Many of the Ungors were the first to fall, some outright collapsing with bullets managing to either hit the Ungors between the eyes or strike a vital organ in the center of mass that Nalga had mentioned, and what's, even more, was that they were the lucky ones. The unfortunate were those who fell after a beat with wounds now leaking blood like a siv and bemoaning their pain, with even some Gor's falling to their knees or outright dying from lucky shots.

However, Malagor would not be denied so easily and roared in the beast tongue to keep going regardless of the climbing casualties. The Bestigors continued to shove forward, keeping the herd moving at breakneck speed. Some Gors and Bestigors showed their savagery by picking up wounded Ungors and holding them in front of their bodies despite the smaller creatures' protests, using them to soak up the bullets still headed their way.

They proved incredibly useful since the skeletons Lyle had supported the ranged assault with bows and arrows that were being fired just behind the gun-toting peasants. They weren't quite as deadly as bullets, but they could be fired at a faster rate and with an arc that would make hitting their targets that much easier.

Finally, and in the beastmen's case, they finally reached the walls, but not without absorbing three whole volleys of gunfire and six volleys of arrows, which at this point had felled hundreds of their kin. It was at the point where beastmen were hugging the walls and panting from the effort and the fact that they had reached salvation, with more of their forces managing to trickle in with six ladders managing to reach the walls.

Lyle was about to order his men to make sure that those ladders didn't reach the wall when he heard a screeching noise in the distance. An ear-piercing scratch gave even his men some pause and forced them to look at what could possibly make an offending sound.

Coming out of the trees and heading toward them at a frightening rate, Lyle saw something that made him feel ways he knew he shouldn't. It was a punch of women who were as nude as the day they were born, but it was clear that a few mutations were attached—women with talons, wild hair, and wings heading toward the walls.

"Shite! Harpies!" Nalga cursed. "Lyle, we have to take those bitches out, or they'll wreak havoc on our back lines if given the chance!"

Seeing those sharp teeth and talons, the earth-native was more than willing to believe her even as they flaunted their…assets. "To hell with it! We're gonna hit less and less of the goaties on the ground anyways! Shoot the harpies, boys! Fire at will!"

The undead archers and the very much more alive peasant gunners did as they were told, shooting at the hundreds upon hundreds of harpies that were soaring through the sky. There were so many, in fact, that Lyle had the crypt horrors fire off their canons at them, managing to take down clumps of the winged harridans with single shots in some cases.

"There's too many!" Fredericka shouted over the gunfire, squinting hard. "They're going to land any moment, Master Lyle!"

"Then let's give em' the welcoming committee! If these ladies wanna have a good time, I'm not gonna say no! Gunners, back up! Quick! Zombies, you're up!" The peasant gunners were quick to move back, not wanting any part of the harpies that were coming toward them, and most of them made it out just in time, with zombies taking the bront of the harpies that descended on the walls, clawing and biting at the undead flesh of meat shields that Lyle brought forward. That being said, not every peasant went unscathed. Some lost ears and fingers, and one was so unfortunate that a stray talon scratched his throat open, spurting open blood.

What was even worse was that the new chaos being sewn upon the right wall allowed the beastmen the chance to bring up the six ladders they had managed to salvage from the gunfire. Thus, they began the long and arduous process of climbing up, with the more senior Bestigors forcing the Ungors and Gors to go up first, much to their trepidation.

As all of this was going on, Grom the Paunch, who had stared all of this with rancor, was at first willing to simply stand by and allow the beastmen to soak up all the damage and break themselves against the walls of their castle Bastonne. If Malagor was more than willing to die first, why not let him. He even let out a few laughs with his boyz as they all openly sniggered and guffawed at seeing the children of chaos get blown to bits with the help of gunpowder.

However, that all changed with the arrival of the harpies and ladders. "If dat damned Malagor thinks Oi'm gonna let im' take dis humie castle first, I'll upchuck my breakfast, lunch, AND dinner! Zulz! Blow the warhorn! Were takin' the left side of dis here humie castle!"

"Ya got it, boss! One mighty green-tide charge comin' right up!" Taking out a custom-made warhorn made from the bones of several victims and beasts that Grom himself had felled, Zulz puffed up his lungs and let out one large blast of air that could be heard throughout the entire horde.

All of them knew what that singular sound meant. And the accompanying Waaagh erupted from Grom's lips as he took out Elf-Biter and pointed it toward the left side of the castle. Let Malagor take all of the heat. He'd take this castle under the undead humies' noses before they knew what hit them!

And just like that, the green tide surged forward. While not nearly as fast as their beastmen counterparts, the goblins made more than up for this with their sheer numbers, even if the quality of said numbers was suspect. All the while, Grom rode his war chariot forward, driven by his personal wolves to the center of his forces, urging his men on, lifting his war ax mightily. "Keep movin' boyz, keep movin'! First one over da walls gets first dibs on da loot we find inside! First one to take the gate an' open it inside, get the biggest share of da banquet we have inside the walls!"

Such motivations only served to move the goblins further along, with drool coming out of their mouths at the prospect. Such a sight wasn't missed by Lyle even as he ducked and dodged any stray talons from the remaining harpies that hadn't been cut down. "Shit! The big boy's making his move! "Nalga! I'm taking half of the peasant gunners! You know what to do with the rest!"

"You're damned right I do!" Nalga shouted over the sound of battle, firing her gun up at a stray harpy that hovered in place too long, taking it out of the sky. "Go n' do what ye gotta do!"

Lyle nodded, unable to completely ignore the stab of concern of the woman nearly half his size, but ultimately kept his head in the game, turning to Fredericka, who surrounded herself with tall zombies that kept the last few harpies at bay. "Freddy! Send the crypt horrors back to the center!"

"Yes, Master!" Fredericka. Not needing a signal, she did just that. Lyle could have just sent a mental command to do that himself, but it was better to keep the leader on the right wing in the loop on what was happening to ensure that the plan was going as needed. Granted, they didn't predict that the fight would break exactly like this, but it wasn't as if Lyle couldn't adjust. And he trusted his subordinates to do the same. Rushing past the zombies and skeletons, taking care of the last of the harpies, and preparing to meet the climbing beastmen, Lyle went so far as to grab some of the peasant gunners and shove them back toward the left. "Let's move people, let's move! We've done what we can hear, now we gotta hurry back over! Move, move, move! "MOVE!"

Another pulse of Lyle's magic went through the peasants and even the undead. The peasants followed Lyle's orders, with half of them following his lead, including those like Jori and Ham, who were doggedly keeping up with his pace, followed by the canon-toting crypt horrors who lumbered after him.

Nalga barked at the remaining peasant gunners as he took what he needed. "Gunners! Move your arse's downstairs! Move it, move it, move it! Ye know what we need to do! You're no good in this position, so make some damned space!"

As they moved to accommodate her orders, the goblins on the other side rushed forward, taking advantage of the out-of-position gunners carrying ladders. The first goblins had managed to reach the left side with little difficulty, working with surprising teamwork and coordination to get the ladders up on the field.

But Lyle had a plan. He knew that whichever side or force attacked him first, he needed a contingency to prepare for the second or maybe even third attack. So he took a page out of the playbook that he used back at Riffen.

Eight ladders in total were now connected to the leftmost wall, which was manned by Schmitz. Yet what was noteworthy about the bald and irritable necromancer was that he, much like many other acolytes, was wearing rags that covered the lower part of their faces, concealing their noses and mouths. It was easy to see why, as Crypt horrors not a few moments ago managed to carry three wagons full of cow manure from other villages, including what used to be Riffen, to this area of the battlements.

"The mere fact I have to mire myself with shit…if this doesn't work, I might just hex Spoletta out of spite." Schmitz grumbled to himself as he ordered his zombies and the crypt horrors that brought this manure to use shovels to heave the fertilizer over the walls right where the goblins were starting to gather.

There were goblins already climbing up the ladder when the shit started to literally fly over the walls, getting some of it on a few of the climbers, but especially coating the goblins that were teeming around the bottom of the walls, impatiently waiting for their turn to have a go upstairs to win the reward that Grom had promised them.

The goblins smelt the foulness before it hit them from above, coaxing them to let out curses and obscenities at the wretched material now all over them.

"Wot is dis? Dis some kinda joke! Bleh!" One goblin gagged as the smell made his eyes water, pinching his long nose at the senses that were assaulting his nostrils.

"Humies n' dead humies ain't got nothin' to throw at us, so they throw dis! I'm gonna collect at least five of dos' gits on a pointy stick for Gork n' Mork!" Another goblin growled, trying to get the cow manure off his clothes in vain.

Even Grom looked offended as he looked at some distance at the crass tactic. Rolling his eyes. "So wot? Dis is how dey wanna drive us away! Des' humies are gonna…wait." Grom paused as he saw a light on the walls above his boyz and those climbing the ladder. In fact, several torches were being held by zombies who held said torches over the walls. Grom immediately put two and two together, his eyes bulging. "Wait, you gits, no! No, get away from the walls, ya stupid gobos! Move away before de-

Then the torches dropped, and along with it came any hope of using those ladders again. The manure lit up like a bonfire, the smell becoming a choking strangling cloud that ironically became the least of the goblins' worries. The many lit ablaze screamed and shrieked, with many running around and, in some cases, rolling around, which only caused the fires to break out further.

Anyone lucky enough not to catch on fire ran in the opposite direction, not wanting to be turned into a charred corpse. All the while, the ladders that were their tools to reach the walls caught ablaze, getting turned into kindling as the defenders pushed them away. It only meant more misery for the goblins as these towering and falling ladders that were catching ablaze flattened and pinned any goblin unfortunate enough to still be on or under them, causing their screams to join the chorus of agony that was being sung by the greenskins.

But Grom was nothing if not persistent. He wouldn't be dispelled by a setback when defeat could mean doom. That's why he had a backup plan. While his goblins had been trying to climb the ladders, he had his mighty trolls rushing toward the gate more in the center of the castle. They didn't have a battering ram, but who needed one when you had dozens of trolls that could bash their way through damn near anything with enough bodies and patience?

And Grom had plenty of trolls to spare, around forty with different variations of them. He had regular trolls charging the front, armored trolls made up of a mish-mash of pieces of armor, scrap, and anything else they could get their hands on, as well as the hulking stone-trolls who looked every bit of their namesake, as they charged toward the nearby front gate to get the opening that they needed.

Sadly for Grom, his trolls were running into a roadblock as cannon-fire from crypt horrors now above the gate fired with deadly accuracy, managing to hit his valuable trolls head-on. The canons hit such force that some trolls were knocked on their asses, with some losing teeth, hands, feet, and a few other limbs from the force.

The good news for Grom was that it barely slowed down any of his trolls and didn't kill them outright. Oh, trolls were dumb. Some of the dumbest creatures in all of the Old World, in fact, but they were some of the most durable and resilient as well. Killing them was like bending a thumbtack. It could be done, but it would cost you some blood, especially since some of the wounded trolls were already getting back up, their wounds closing and limbs regrowing at a ridiculous rate.

Grom could only chuckle and smile in satisfaction. He knew all too well how fast trolls could heal with the troll flesh in his gut that gifted his mighty size. It only made him rub his gut in satisfaction, even as his trolls were not only met by canon fire but also a hail of lead fired from peasant gunners.

Oh, this time, a handful of maybe five trolls DID die this time; their healing factor was only able to cover so much. But, in the end, it meant little as finally, the trolls slammed into the front gate, battering, smashing, and wailing upon it with their clubs and limbs, already denting and cracking it at a frightening rate.

Lyle himself could only stare open-mouthed at how much punishment those trolls managed to shrug off, staring on in ludicrous astonishment as he witnessed the wounds and punishment they took, knit themselves back together. He was even more stunned at how quickly they were battering down the front gate, already creating a sizable crack down the center of it. "What the hell are those things eating!? This is a crack-head level of determination to do that much damage while taking so little!" The trolls were striking with such force that the gunners and Lyle himself, who was above them, felt tremors and shakes as if an earthquake was erupting beneath them, throwing a few people off balance. "Shit! Alright, everybody down! Get down behind the skeletons and zombies guarding the gate!"

A peasant woman looked to Lyle as she clutched her gun desperately. "B-but Lord Lyle? Should we not shoot them to stop the trolls from getting in?"

"Have you not been payin' attention? We just threw everything but the kitchen sink at these big dumb bastards! If that only took out a fraction of em' we don't got time to salvage the gate! All we can do is give em' a welcoming committee! Now move your asses, we gotta go!"

Following the Lichemaster's lead, with even some acolytes hurrying after him, the contingent traveled down the battlements to get to the ground level and confront the menace head-on, with peasant gunners getting a bit behind the skeletons and zombies that were standing before the now heavily damaged gate that looked like it was hanging by a thread. The roars and snarls of the trolls could be heard along with the nasty smell they emitted, looking to smash their way through to commit the simple-minded violence they excelled at.

But, while there were some peasants who felt their nerves shake, Lyle once again got in their ear and puffed his chest. "Get your arms ready, boys and girls! These ugly sons o' bitches are gonna be bearing down on us like an avalanche, but I think we can bring em' back to reality with a healthy dose of lead! Let's see how fast they can heal after we fill them' with holes!"

His words did the trick, and many cheered and held up their rifles only to be startled as troll arms started sticking through the gate, trying to pry it open. "Alrighty! Get Ready!" The peasants got ready as the undead before they braced for impact. "Aim!" The peasants aimed down their rifles. "Hold! Wait until those bastards open the gate and for the dust to clear! Then play your powder music!" The peasant obediently listened to him, ensuring they followed the letter's orders. For his part, Lyle wouldn't stand idly by and just rely on guns to do the job as he gathered dhar around his staff, the dark silky magic emanating around him.

Then it happened. The gate practically flew open with the force the trolls hit it with, and some zombies that were unfortunately too close went flying from the speed at which it opened. The trolls surged forward, smashing, bashing, and walking just about any undead that was close to them; in some cases, some trolls tore and chomped on some of the undead corpses in front of him, utilizing their unnatural strength to wreak havoc.

And the Barrow Legion returned the favor. "FIRE!" After maintaining incredible discipline with incredible finesse, the peasants squeezed their triggers as they had been taught and unleashed a hail of metal upon the trolls, and to their credit, at least three more of the trolls collapsed under the sheer weight of the barrage. Even those at the front who did not fall wavered under such a volley of around 150 guns being unleashed upon them at once. Trolls were incredibly resilient, yes, but they could only handle so much punishment.

"Reload! Reload, Reload, Reload! Every second counts here, all of your family members depend on how you manage these precious seconds!" Lyle bellowed as he unleashed a black bolt of dhar, striking another troll in the dome, killing it instantly as it fell on a group of undead. "Veloce, Veloce, Veloce! Rapido, Rapido!" Lyle was getting so worked up that he started switching to his mother tongue, trying to gather more magic to unleash. Because even as they worked to fire again, Goblins surged forth between the trolls, trying to support their more brutish and dimwitted allies, helping them cut through the undead, trying to stand their ground. Even the undead having spears could only help so much in the wake of such brutish violence.

On the other hand, Grom absolutely loved this! He had to pat himself on the back for his quick thinking, and Zulz seemed to agree as he hung on to the war banner of his chariot. "Geheheheh! You sure showin' dese dead humies, aren't ya boss! Dey may have gotten da ladders, but dat's all de're gonna have to show for it!"

"Hah! Of course Oi am! I'd like to see how dat Malagor's gonna look when I take this castle meself and put some of the ead's of these necromancers on some pointy sticks! As a matter of fact, I'm tempted to dive on in and give the boyz a hand!" Grom grinned tightly, holding his ax. "The only reason I haven't is cause it's so crowded at the front right now! Give it a few moments, and th-

"Boss, look out! Manticore!"

"Mant-WHAT IN THE-!?" Grom flinched as a Manticore did indeed fly over his head and, to his stunned surprise, dove right into the rear of the trolls that were trying to cleave a way toward the castle! What should his soon to be castle! The trolls were unprepared as the large, misshapen, and deadly creature tore into the flesh of the trolls, splitting their attention and scaring the trolls in the back, noticing how they had suddenly been pinned on two sides! "Wh-what in Gork n' Mork's name is this shite!? Where'd this damn beast come from!?"

"Y-your Immensity! We got more beasts comin' 'dis way! R-razorgor n' Minotaurs are chagrin' right at us!" Zulz shouted frantically, pointing to their left from their direction, hanging from the flag. Sure enough, as soon as Grom turned his head, a bunch of spiked, pig-nosed, and bloodthirsty razorgors were hurtling right toward them with bad intentions, with their hooved, horned, and bipedal cousins not far behind them, the minotaurs snorting through their snouts as they carried dual axes and charged right at the greenskin army.

Grom immediately knew what was going on, and it only served to piss him off as his jowls shook in pure unbridled anger. Malagor, that misshapen goat-crow hybrid, had gotten jealous of his success and was now sending his animals his way to halt any hope of taking the castle! He was trying to stifle his Waaagh! Just as it was getting some steam! It wasn't bad enough that he'd sent his beast bastards to raid his foodstuffs, but now he was trying to kill any hope of victory!

It was just too much. Too much for the goblin warboss to let go. Especially now. "Boyz! Form up and get in line! Form up now 'for Oi gut ya before da beasties do!" the goblins who had managed to escape the fire that was still raging from where their ladders, as well as those who had yet to commit to storming the broken gateway followed his orders, quickly getting into a defensive line. Speaking of which, Grom now had an excellent opportunity to finally unleash some pent-up aggression he'd been building up since he'd been going on his forced march from northern Bretonnia. Fortunately, there was a Manticore that was currently tearing out the throat of one of his trolls while its deadly stinger was keeping the others at bay within the gateway.

With a crack of his leash, Grom urged his well-trained wolves to pull forward on his chariot, carrying him forward toward the beast in question, gripping Elf-Biter tightly as he readied his weapon. He'd handled his fair share of winged monstrosities, including manticores, to harvest them for their meat and other delicacies. This would be no different.

With a full head of steam, Grom finally reached the manticore just as it got down, chomping down on troll flesh and piercing another with its stinger, only to howl in agony as Grom strafed it with his chariot, swinging his ax right into the left wing of the manticore crippling it from flying. The Manticore leaped from the gateway, swinging a paw to strike the Goblin in vain. He turned his chariot around and looked to make another pass. Enraged at the pain the fat Goblin had rendered upon, the unholy fusion of so many animals charged at Grom, looking to meet him head-on.

Grom, however, wasn't going to just gamble his life and campaign off a test of strength alone, and pulled a harpoon out of his war cart. A harpoon that he would often use when hunting mighty beasts just as this for food. As the manticore continued to charge forward, it then howled in pain once more when Grom managed to strike the beast into its right front paw with deadly accuracy, crippling it, while it was attached to wire that was in turn connected to Grom's chariot. As Grom sped past the wounded beast, the sudden momentum, thanks to the chariot and the wire attached to it, jerked the best on ass over tea-kettle, eliciting more pain due to the harpoon stuck to it. The manticore was pulled so hard it was pulled onto its back.

"Stupid beast! Ya think you can pull one over da Paunch!? Ya think you can stop moi army!? My Waaagh!? Crump you!" With its belly exposed, Grom turned his chariot once more, roaring as he swung Axe Biter right into the beast's soft underbelly, driving out a death knell from the once mighty manticore. Sadly for the animal, Grom was far from finished because he still had grievances and anger to spare in the large body he had. Aiming for the monster's neck, Grom swung down three consecutive times. And after the third swipe of his ax, the beast's head was attached to its body no more, with the rest of it going still.

But, Grom was hardly satisfied. And he had little reason to be as he saw his goblins and trolls fleeing from the gateway he had managed to secure only moments ago, another volley of gunfire being the main reason why. Though the manticore that had harried them was no more, Trolls were hardly the bravest creatures in the old world. If they saw a way to get out while the going was good, you could be damn sure they would take it, and this was no exception.

The Paunch was seething at how quickly his fortunes in this battle were at the prospect of taking this castle. He was so close to making a breakthrough, only for the beasts to thwart him yet again.

Well, in the Warboss's opinion, if they were so interested in having a scrap, he was more than willing to oblige. Turning to Zulz on his banner, Grom bellowed. "Zulz! Get your other night goblin gits together! Trip dem damn animals so Oi can whip these crumpin' trolls back into shape! Oi, wanna see Minotaur beef on da menu by da time you're done!"

"Aye, aye, boss! I'll show dem' what happens when dey' cross with da Immense one!" Hopping off the banner, Zulz sent out a whistle that was heard near unanimously by night goblins much like himself. The night goblins weren't actually seen by the naked eye, masters of stealth and subterfuge among the green skins, but that would all change soon enough.

As Grom rushed his chariot forward to herd his surviving trolls to get back into order, Zulz went to work, trading orders with his fellow night goblins to get ready for the incoming razorgors and Minotaurs that were quickly closing the distance between themselves and the misshapen goblin frontline that was trying to form to meet this deadly charge.

When it seemed as though the hulking animals were meters away, Zulz let out two sharp whistles and any night goblins behind the main frontline of goblins hurled with all of their might a series of weighted nets that were thrown right into the path of the charging minotaurs and razorgor. Since they were moving at such a high speed, the beasts were immediately tangled up and, in some cases, panicked and ran off course from the nets being thrown upon them. In some Minotaurs' cases, their legs and hooves were caught by these nets, causing them to fall and trip up their brethren in the process.

But Zulz wasn't done yet. He still had one last trump card to play, and it showed when he gave three sharp whistles this time, which was the signal for the goblins in the front to make way for their secret weapon. The night goblin fanatics.

The night goblin fanatics were amongst the most suicidal, shroomed up, and utterly loyal goblins that practically worshipped Grom, willing to do anything and everything to earn his favor and a seat at some of his banquets, even if it meant putting their lives in jeopardy. This was hardly the exception as goblins got out of the way for the fanatics to whirl balls and chains right into the incoming beastmen heading right at them. While some night goblins perished almost immediately after getting trampled, the ones that survived wreaked utter havoc with goblins spinning so fast that the damage couldn't be ignored.

One ball and chain smashed right into a minotaur's leg, snapping it into eliciting a howl of suffering. One ball and chain cracked a razorgor right in the snout, stunning and then quickly killing the animal with its spine snapping in ways that it shouldn't. One fanatic had the bright idea of releasing his ball and chain right into the group of minotaurs, knocking many over and snapping many bones due to the weight and momentum behind it.

But, while all of this slowed and sometimes halted the charge of many, it could not do the same to all. The Razgor threw themselves into the goblins, goring many upon their tusks and only stopping at how many goblins were in their way. The minotaurs hurled themselves right into the fray, axes swinging and violence on their minds. Their charge was so damned effective that the goblins were sent flying backward, thanks in part to their small stature and diminutive weight, with many screaming and cursing all the while. From there, it turned into chaos, as a fight for survival ensued with goblins trying to surround and strike down the beasts that were intent on destroying them right then and there.

Minotaurs swung their axes, cleaving goblins, while the green skins shoved their spears upward, stabbing and poking into the vulnerable legs of the mighty beasts while still throwing nets to slow down or immobilize the creatures of chaos. Razorgor swung their tusks around for any goblins that were feeling bold while being stabbed by spears, javelins, and any weapon the green skins could get their hands on.

And just when the fight for survival wasn't chaotic enough as it is, Canonfire rang out once more, with the Crypt horrors taking the chance to gun down the minotaurs and goblins that were bunched up in nice clumps, scoring excellent shots by the green-hulking monstrosities.

Watching all this was Lyle, along with his peasants and Schmitz, who stared on in satisfaction at how well things were going, smiling smugly as their enemies seemed determined to kill each other. The peasants, in particular, were laughing in relief, satisfied they managed to hold the gate despite the breach, and though the goblins and beastmen were just out of range for a volley, they weren't too upset for the breather.

"Hah! Look at dem' dumb beasts gut each other like pigs!" Ham cackled along with his fellow peasants. "I mean, what else do ya expect from these monsters!"

Jori chortled, grinning with satisfaction. "If they wanna go at it, Oi, got no problem with it! Saves me some bullets, I say! I'd like to see how many peasants from outside Bastonne say that they got to bag some trolls and live to tell the tale!" Many cheered and laughed at those claims; even Schmitz had to crack a grin.

"Hmph! Though it rankles me to admit it, it seems Deni's work in sowing discord between these two has worked wonders, with not too many losses on our side, all things considered."

"Damn right, Schmitz! We got this in the bag now, the hard part is over!" Lyle grinned, elbowing the older necromancer on the side. "No doubt about it, I gotta figure out a good gift for Deni in how she helped us out here. Not gonna be easy, I think, since she strikes me as one of those fancy chicks n' whatnot."

"Careful Master, Spoletta." Schmitz ground out, narrowing his eyes. "That cold blood will know that full well and seek to take advantage of the favor we now owe her. Do not forget that those Lahmian schemers will want more than a pint of blood for their troubles."

"Relax, my man, we can worry about that later. Right now, we can just focus on clean-OH SHIT!"

Schmitz flinched and was nearly bowled over when a winged shape swooped down upon their position from nowhere. The peasants screamed in utter panic and terror, and it didn't take the necromancer very long to figure out why. His eyes bulged, and his jaw cracked open as he saw none other than Malagor Dark Omen flying away with Lyle, who had a hand on the earth-native's neck.

"LORD LYLE!" Ham shouted, with many men and women shrieking and sharing their sentiments. "G-get him down! Fire on da bastard, fire on-

"HALT YOU DAMNED ILL-BRED FOOLS!" Schmitz roared, a vein pulsing on his head. "If you fire now, you could very well kill him too! Use your senses!" Schmitz didn't honestly care about Lyle's life in the same way the peasants did, but losing their Lichemaster right now would be beyond disastrous for the Barrow Legion. Malagor must have known that and taken advantage of the situation.

"C-cant you use your magics then!?" Jori asked frantically. "You're a necromancer, aren't ya! Do somethin'!"

"I can't! It's the same problem, I could very well hit Lyle as well with how close they are together now!" Schmitz shouted in frustration, staring wide-eyed as Malagor flew further away with the Lichemaster in his grip.

Lyle choked and his cheeks bulged as he was lifted higher and higher, farther away from his friendly forces, with Malagor now staring his slitted pupils down into Lyle's own eyes. "Foolish Man-filth! Wretched False-One! Did you think I would allow you to escape with your life so easily? Winning this battle was never about destroying your forces, even if their demise would please my masters!" Malgor's grip tightened on the neck of the necromancer, a hideous grin breaking out on the Bray-shaman's goat-shaped face as his wings continued to flap. "Your head will make a fine sacrifice to the Gods' for what you've done to my kin! An-GACK!" The bray-sham winced as several bony appendages sprung forth from Lyle's coat. Four of them, as a matter of fact, with one grabbing the staff arm of the beastman, another punching Malagor in the snout, another grabbing one of his horns, the last grabbing the hand that was holding onto Lyle's neck, working desperately to free his breathing.

Malagor thrashed in the middle of the air, twisting and turning with his wings working overtime to overcome the struggle that was now frantically happening in his grip; all the while, Lyle twisted and turned and went so far as to claw and kick at the beastman that was holding him up. Fortunately, his struggles paid off as Lyle took out a dagger he kept in his cloak and sliced the forearm of the hand that was holding him. Unfortunately, Lyle remembered that gravity existed, and just as he was about to plummet to his death, his bony appendages reached out and snagged Malagor's hooves and clothing, throwing the bray-shaman even further off-balance.

"Damn, you, man-filth! Unhand me before-

"Eat shit n' die!" Lyle barked back, swinging his knife again and cutting Malagor just above the hoof, making the beastman grunt. Malagor became desperate, flying and jerking himself around to try and shake Lyle off, but the bone appendages attached to his waist proved solid and stubborn, which only served to unbalance the Dark-Omen further.

Having had enough of being jerked around like a rag doll, Lyle fired off a desperate bolt of dhar upward that clipped Malagor's right wing. It didn't do too much damage, but it certainly worked at grounding the beastman. The Crow Father roared and panicked as he plummeted in short bursts to the ground, dragging Lyle along with him as his wings tried to slow his descent.

Eventually, the two landed in a heap, though not too hard to seriously injure the other, but enough to take the wind out of their sales. Malagor panted from the exertion he just put his wings through while his human counterpart groaned and sucked air into his legs, feeling his life had just flashed before his eyes at how much worse that all could have gone.

Getting up on shaky legs, it was at this moment that Lyle realized just how bad of a position he truly was in. Malagor had managed to carry them just beyond the skirmish that was going on between the goblins and the minotaur-razorgor herd, which separated him a good bit from friendly forces.

In short, he was in no man's land, and there was little good to be found in it.

And Malagor seemed to know that full well. "All you have done…is prolong your doom." The beastmen growled, pulling out a sword as he started to menace the human. "So long as I take your head, my masters will be pleased by my work. Your mere existence is an affront to my kind Man-filth, and I'll delight in hearing your screams before I cast your soul to my Dark Gods."

Not wanting to show fear in the face of a bad situation, Lyle stood tall and rolled his eyes. "Ya know, I heard similar talk from another Shaman-like goat dude like yourself when I was saving a dwarf hold. I dunno if ya heard, but things didn't go so hot for him either."

"He did not have the Gods' favor like I did. He did not have the magical prowess that I possess." Malagor started gathering the winds of magic around him, turning it into a primal, wild magic that was begging for release. "And he most certainly did not have the mighty herd that I command with my Gods' blessing!"

"Back home, we got this saying: Don't write a check you can't cash in. You're really setting yourself up for disappointment with how much you're pumping yourself up here." Lyle snidely remarked, gathering up dhar for himself.

And it was a good thing that he did. Lyle immediately summoned a ward as a bolt of Wild Magic was thrown his way, smacking it away, only for him to be forced to back up due to more bolts flying from the Shaman. Malagor was highly aggressive, exemplified when he used his wings to leap from one field area to another via short distances. He was switching up his location to try to force Lyle off guard and catch him unaware. But Lyle had been training relentlessly with Fredericka to sharpen up his magical aptitude and wasn't found lacking.

Getting tired of being on the defensive, Lyle struck back, grunting as he used the Gaze of Nagash, firing a large bolt of Dhar right toward Malagor, who easily dodged the spell. However, before the Bray Shaman could counterattack, Lyle had a trap waiting, summoning large hand-bone constructs to grasp the hooves from beneath the earth itself. Malagor snarled as he stomped at the bones, swiped at them with his sword, and barely managed to get a ward up himself to deflect the bolt of Dhar fired his way.

Needing time to completely free himself from the bones ensnaring him, Malagor used the Flock of Doom spell, summoning a herd of crows seemingly from nowhere that whirled and started pecking at Lyle.

"S-son of a-Piss of ya damn birds! Piss right off!" Keeping his eyes closed, Lyle at first thought of draining the souls of the birds that came from nowhere but realized that usually only worked well with singular targets. So, if he couldn't kill the birds off, he realized it was better to scare them off.

Using another new spell he had learned, he used Doom and Darkness, which, for lack of a better term, put the fear of God into anything that was unfortunate to get this spell. And to his relief, it worked like a charm. The once aggressive and pecking crows had suddenly started squawking in startled fear, flying away and wanting nothing to do with their victim only moments ago.

Sadly, the lack of concentration to control the bony hands meant that Malagor had time to free himself and send another bolt of Wild Magic the earth-native's way. Lyle managed to hastily block the bolt, but he fell on his ass, off balance by the suddenness of it.

Smelling blood in the water like the animal that he was, Malagor lunged forward, aiming to close the distance with the help of his wings…

…only for him to hastily be forced to change course and go backward due to Grom's Chariot nearly running him over, Elf-Biter narrowly missing in its aim to separate the Beast Man's head from his shoulders.

"Crump it all! I almost was about to add your head to my pointy stick!" The Goblin Warboss gnashed his teeth as he glared at beastmen, who returned the expression. "You're gonna bleed for slowin' moi Waaagh down ya horny git!"

"If you wanted to continue unabated, you should have never interfered in my mission from the Gods!" Malagor then jabbed a finger right at Lyle. "That Man-Filth is my prey! Not yours!"

"Man-Filth, eh?" Grom then shifted in his chariot, seeing Lyle for the first time, who in turn raised an eyebrow at the Goblin. "So what? You're the humie that's in charge of the Barrow Legion now? Ya don't look like much…but you're not as pale as the rest of you undead humies."

"And you're fatter than a lot of other orcs I've seen, big boy. I don't think you got much room to talk."

"Oi! Oi ain't no orc ya dumb pink-skin! I'll have ya know I'm a Gobbo! And not just any Gobbo, but da biggest of dem' all! Da widest! Da Largest I say!"

"Holy shit, you serious!?" Lyle exclaimed with genuine shock. "The hell did you do to get that big!? I heard rumors that you were a goblin; when I actually saw the size of you, I thought that was B.S.!"

"Ate some Troll flesh long ago! It didn't agree with me, but I kept it down, and when it grew, so did moi gut! And so did the rest of me!" Grom beamed with pride, smacking his gut for good measure. "Dere's a reason why the rest of me boyz call me 'Your Immensity', and there ain't no gobbo on this planet that's done what Oi've done! No Ork that's done what Oi'v done!" Then Grom grabbed his fat, jowled chin, and stroked, eyeing Lyle with narrowed red eyes. "But if dere's one thing I ain't done, it's beatin' da Beastslayer one-on-one. Damn stubborn humie git was always up for a scrap. It true dat you beat im'?" Then Grom stopped himself with that question then shook his head with a chuckle. "Actually, a stupid question. Course' you beat da shiny git! Wouldn't have his castle otherwise!"

"Damn right, I did!" Lyle nodded back, making sure to back up slowly and put as much distance between himself and the Goblin while keeping an eye on Malagor. "I'll admit he gave me a bit of trouble, but I pulled out the win in the end, and when all is said and done, that's all that matters!"

"Hmm…not bad." The Goblin grudgingly admitted. "Not as impressive as me, but not bad for a humie. You're definitely doin' more than dat old humie git Heinrich ever did. Never met da humie, but heard he was dangerous. Dangerous, but neva' left his damned castle, as if he were one of those bearded stunties!"

"I ain't him."

"Yeah Oi, can see dat! You're ead' might make a noice collection for my boyz after Oi throw the rest o' your body into my pot!"

"Well, I appreciate the thought!" Lyle smirked back. "I hope ya don't mind in that spirit once I render all that fat o' yours and turn it into soap to help clean my peasants when I'm through with ya!"

"BAAHAHAAHAHAH! Oi, like your spirit, humie! Oh, dis' is gonna be-Oi!" Grom managed duck with surprising quickness, just narrowly missing a bolt of wild magic that was aimed at his head. "Oh, don't you think Oi've forgotten about you, ya horny humie! But, Oi, was in da middle of a jawin' here!"

"Yeah, quit bein' so damn rude!" Lyle barked off at Malagor in jest. "Didn't ya motha teach ya manners in butting into conversations!?"

"Then you two can die together while you loosen your tongues!" Malagor roared as he gathered a large amount of magic around him and unleashed a mighty spell.

A spell so devastating that Lyle could feel it before he saw. Yelping, Lyle leaped out of the way, and Grom quickly picked up on the danger and urged his wolves to run and carry his chariot out of the way for Beast Lord's next attack. The Penumbral Pendulum.

Malagor was incredibly talented when it came to magic, not just as a Bray Shaman but as a magic user as a whole. He could use spells from different schools of magic as if it was nothing, and this was no different as what looked like a conglomeration of wind morphing into a scythe the size of a house started swinging up and down where Grom and Lyle once were, kicking up dirt grass and anything that was in its way.

And just like that, what was once a duel was now a three-way struggle between three warlords all fighting for a single castle.

"That's right! Run! Run! You chaos-touched Umgi! Run back to your forests like the cowards that you are!" Nalga cheered along with the peasants and acolytes, who managed to push the beastmen back. It wasn't long ago when the zombies and skeletons barely held off the beasts as they fought for the walls, with Bestigors bisecting the undead with relative ease. But, Nalga used a tactic that her own father often used when you had hostile forces on your walls. She took the remaining gunners that Lyle hadn't taken and placed them on the ground. Then, she commanded them to fire on the beastmen who were on the walls and had no way to defend themselves.

All it took was a few minutes of this for the beastmen to clamber down the ladders from which they came, having enough of the bullets they were being filled with. Some beastmen even went so far as to jump from the walls, unable to find space on the ladders full of their kin trying to flee.

With the walls retaken, Fredericka sighed and leaned against the walls, patting down her forehead from the magical exertions she took on to not only keep the army together from the damage the beastmen did but to cast spells to further damage those beastmen. "That…that went better than I could have hoped."

"Damn right, it did. Ah, if only me and my kin had been as prepared as you lot for when they came for my hold." Nalga sighed before shrugging her shoulders and slinging her rifle on her shoulders. "Ah, well. This is a good consolation nonetheless."

"I have to admit your guns did better than I could have hoped…dwarf." Fredericka admitted, dabbing her cheeks.

Nalga huffed but smiled. "And your undead made excellent meat shields, even if their mere existence is an affront to nature itself."

"Can't argue that." Fredericka smiled back, feeling genuine relief as acolytes started chatting with one another, with even some peasants joking with necromancers, shoulder to shoulder with smiles. It was an odd sight for Fredericka, considering how insulated she and other necromancers were from…well…anyone that simply wasn't an undead in some shape or form. Whether it was looking down on the living or being ostracized by everyone for their occupation, necromancers like her only had fellow necromancers to socialize with, and though she was loathed to admit it, her own kind made for poor company at the best of times, especially when plots and ambition were thrown in. "And once again, Master Lyle snatches victory from the jaws of defeat…it makes me wonder how Kemmler would have reacted in such a situation if he were put in it."

"Oh, don't tell me ya miss that crotchety old bastard."

"Miss isn't the right term I would use." Fredericka admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for him bringing me into his order. Without him, I would still be a barmaid in Stirland serving horrors like…like Fish Pie. Gods." The woman had to shiver at the mere mention of the horrid concoction, the sight of fish-heads poking out of a pie. "But Kemmler had his shortcomings. He was the most powerful of us all, and right now, he might be able to even beat Lyle if he was alive, he had forgotten more magic than any of us had learned, but-

"He was no leader, was he?"

"No. No, he was not. Perhaps h-

"FREDERICKA!" The ear-piercing shout ruined any good-willed chatter the two were having when the sight of Wendel and Ave running-no. Sprinting toward them with utter panic on their faces. "Lyle's in trouble! Lyle's in trouble!" Wendel shrieked, panting as he tried to keep up with his undead counterpart.

"Wait, wait, wait, what do ye mean he's in trouble!?" Fredericka asked quickly, trying to keep herself from panicking. Things were going so well! "Don't tell me the left wall has fallen-

"NO!" Ave said this time, reaching the two women. "Malagor! Malagor grabbed Lyle from the battlements and tried to fly away with him! He managed to escape and ground himself with that foul beastman, but he was behind enemy lines! And Grom the Paunch is in the mix, too!"

"He's zoggin' WHAT!?" Nalga roared, part in outrage and part in horror, digging her fingers into her braided hair! "Where is he exactly? Is he hurt? Wh-

"There! Just beyond where those minotaurs and goblins are fighting!" Ave replied desperately, jabbing her finger at the scene in question. Sure enough, when everyone, including acolytes and peasants who were hearing the news in real-time, all fought for a spot on the wall to see what was happening to their lord, and what they saw filled them with fear.

Sure enough, it was a three-way fight between Grom, Lyle, and Malagor. In this instance, Malagor fired more Wild magic at Lyle, who deftly blocked it, this time with a wall of bones that he then sent toward the Bray-shaman to conceal his line of sight and fire a Gaze of Naggash that Malagor had to avoid completely. This nearly cost the Bray shaman his life when Grom came driving by on his chariot and swung his ax. The only reason Malagor wasn't hurt was because he used his wings to change direction, firing another bolt at Grom, who not only dodged the attack thanks to the speed of his chariot but found the time to throw a harpoon at Lyle, who stumbled backward and fired more dhar at both his warlord counterparts to cover his distance.

"Well then, what are we Zoggin' waitin' for? We need to help him now!"

Fredericka turned toward Ave and Wendel. "Please tell me Schmitz is doing something!"

"He's organizing his forces to sally out and save him right now! If we do the same, we can link up with him and save Lord Lyle!" Wendel shouted, getting his staff ready and gulping at the prospect of fighting in the open field. "It's risky, but if Lyle dies-

"Then everything is done. Everything." Fredericka admitted aloud. There was no hiding what was plain and true. The Barrow Legion nearly tore itself apart without Lyle acting as the glue to keep it together. Without someone like him or a Kemmler, it would be all over, and their enemies would finish them off before they finished themselves off. Acting quickly to prevent that, Fredericka barked off orders. "Acolytes! Move your undead to form up outside the gate in the center, now! Gunners form up behind them and-

"Bretonnians!"

"Wha?"

"Bretonnian knights!" Ave shouted in horror. Wendel, Nalga, and Fredericka stared in dread as the Bretonnian banners began to take shape within the treeline, and a warhorn sounded in that same direction.

"So much for snatchin' victory from the jaws of defeat." Nalga muttered in stunned disbelief, gritting her teeth as the gleam of knightly armor began to reflect from the sun.

For not the first time, Lyle considered just saying 'Fuck it' and summoning Krell to sick on these warlords, only to wonder how much of a difference this would make. Krell was big and powerful and could go toe-to-toe with grail knights. Problem was that if Krell tried to attack Malagor the damn beastmen would be a pussy and fly away. If he tried to attack Grom, the obese frat goblin would speed away on his mobility scooter. The best Kemmler could do was act in defense for him, but in the necromancer's best estimate, there had to be some way to better use his ace in the hole. Plus, he could only throw around so much magic before he started getting nosebleeds again. It made Lyle wonder how much longer he and the other two warlords could go before someone made a mistake from sheer fatigue.

Then the earth-native felt it. And soon Malagor and Grom felt it as well. Tremors began to shake the earth, and dread filled the warlords' hearts.

"Oh, crumpin' ell'." Grom groaned, putting a hand to his fat-face. "Oi, blame you for this, ya damned horny humie! If you didn't slow me down-

"To the hells with you, you fat jowled lump of green waste! You're the one who has doomed me and my herd!"

Lyle only thinned his lips, coming to the same conclusion that those two had, knowing only one unaccounted party could make such a noise. It was a noise he was getting annoyingly familiar with.

The sound of hooves striking the earth could now be heard as banners flew proudly from within the treeline, breaking out of the shade and into the light. Hundreds upon hundreds of Knights of the realm charged out of the woodwork, their lances dipped and charging toward the goblins and beastmen, who had just realized how precarious of a position they were now in.

And leading them all was a particular grail knight with a blazing sword, charging directly at the three warlords, who had paused their fight to see the newcomers asserting themselves into the proceedings.

And then, the lead grail knight bellowed in an accent that Lyle found eerily similar to his. "Those three are mine! Strike the rest down in the name of the Lady! The Land! For all of Bretonnia!"

A/N:

And so the first part of the battle concludes with the fourth army inserting themselves into the chaos. I have to admit that I breezed through this chapter faster than I thought I would, especially since I managed to exceed over ten-thousand words. But, I think what helps me along with making battle chapters like this is that I've seen so many war documentaries both on the history channel and Youtube, along with playing so many Total War Games, that I more or less have managed to get more efficient at writing these types of chapters.

With that being said, what do you guys think so far? Who do you think is going to survive? Which army will come out victorious? Let me know your thoughts down below with the reviews I'm fortunate enough to keep receiving from all of you!

Also quick question, I'm not saying I'm going to do this, but I just wanted to ask. If any of you would want me to write a story similar to this one where we have someone from Earth leading one of the many factions in Warhammer Fantasy, which faction would you want that to be? I'm just testing the waters and picking brains here.