OG: Chapter 43

Mantreda was a town of eleven thousand people, just over twice what Alynda had been before I had begun building it up into a commercial hub for the Tana Dante river trade. It was still considered a small town by Imperial or Tilean Standards, just barely exceeding the ten-thousand-person benchmark that the more built-up nations used to demarcate villages from towns. The town thrived on the wool, mutton, tallow, and cheese trades, all provided by the flocks of sheep that grazed the grassy plains around the town. Fortunately, the very first thing that we passed on the way to Mantreda were panicked shepherds herding massive flocks of stampeding sheep south toward Cabanal, so the lifeblood of Mantreda's economy would be safe if we could save the town.

That was never truly in question. There were perhaps five hundred beastmen attacking Mantreda against our one-thousand-nine-hundred troops. Whether or not the Beastmen could break into the town before we could drive them off, and if they did, how much death and damage would be done before we managed to do so. Mantreda's walls were decent, good stone on three sides, with the Tana Dante providing a natural barrier on the fourth. The problem was the forces holding them. Anders had left a skeleton garrison behind in Mantreda to keep guard. It was mostly green militia made up of old men, women, and young boys in piecemeal armor and padded jacks, armed with spears and crossbows. All the good troops had gone north to deal with the Corpsecaller.

To make matters worse, at the head of the Beastman Force, a Doombull was rallying the mixed troops. Its skin was crusted over with scabs that deflected crossbow bolts and turned aside spearheads, all while flies buzzed around it, distracting opponents with incessant buzzing and giving its blood-encrusted double-headed axe the opening it needed to hack down foes in whole groups at a time. Clearly, this was one of the Corpsecaller's Primary Captains, one who had received the dubious blessings of Grandfather Nurgle. A Plaguebull Commander, then. That would not be easy to put down.

As our army marched into position to begin the attack, however, I spotted something in my optics. Three people, atop the main gate of Mantreda, one Old, Weathered Man with a Crossbow, one Young Girl in a Green Robe who couldn't have been much older than sixteen, and another, Slightly Older Girl in a scavenged Morion Helmet and Piecemeal Armor over a Padded Jack with a Spear. As I watched, the Green-Robed Girl managed to stun one of the Gors climbing to the top of the gates with a touch, allowing the Slightly Older Girl to impale it on her spear, even as the Older Crossbowman fired a bolt into the eye of a Gorebull that was attempting to break through the already buckling oaken gates with a crude ram made from a felled log.

All around them, crossbows fired and spears thrusted into the mass of braying, bleating, chaotic flesh. The Militia of Mantreda was still fighting, even if they wouldn't be able to hold out for long. As I saw that, I drew my runeblade and then drew upon the Charisma-enhancing abilities of my Helm as I projected my voice loudly over the din, so that our whole force could hear me.

"Mantreda still fights! Let us not waste their courage! Advance!" I called out.

Then I kicked my heels into the flanks of my mount, Radamenes bounding alongside me, along with Ruggiero, Ion, and Francois de Montjoie. Even as our cavalry began to charge forward, with me at the tip of the spear, the Gryphon Gun-Howitzers began to open up on the rear ranks of the enemy, canonballs scything through packed, bleating ranks and mowing down dozens of Gors and Ungors as they bounced through what could only be charitably called a formation. My dragoons also charged, horses bearing them into position on the enemy flanks, even as Black Steel-clad Lieutenants bullied the Gors, Gorebulls, and Ungors into position to face the coming attack.

It wasn't our dragoons, or even our cavalry that struck next, however, but the Port Donkerzee Skirmish Guards. Their Longbows had amazing range and power, and as a Bretonnian from Mousillon, Martine de Luxembourg knew how to utilize longbowmen well. After all, in the absence of Chivalry, the remaining communities of Mousillion often relied heavily on such peasant warriors, which the remaining, non-attainted, Duchies of Bretonnia would never even think of doing. As Martine called out for her Guards to nock, aim, and then loose, a volley of arrows scythed out from their ranks and plunged down among the Beastmen like razor-sharp raindrops. More were cut down from that just moments before our charge reached the enemy lines and Ion's Strigany Horsemen flung javelins and darts into their ranks to further break their cohesion. Then our charge hit the Beastmen's lines, and carnage ensued.

I found myself slashing out with my Runeblade, cutting down through the leather-clad torso of a Gor with a steel halberd that had clearly been plundered from a dead member of the Khypris Border Guards. I wrenched my Runeblade out of his body just in time to parry a thrown javelin from an Ungor out of the air, drawing my enchanted Streltsy revolving autorifle and putting a round between the unfortunate Ungor's eyes in response. Moments later, I parried an incoming swing of an Ungor's axe with my Runeblade, the runes flaring as my Runeblade cleaved the black iron head off the axe to the Ungor's surprise. His bestial features were still frozen in a look of shock even after my riposte cleaved his head from his shoulders.

I looked around to see how my companions were doing. Next to me, Radamenes tore the throat out of a Gor that bleated out in fear as my Sabretusk Companion pounced at him, and I saw Ion take the throat out of another Gor with his sword, even as he swayed aside from a javelin thrown by an ungor, before flinging a dart into the heart of the offending Beastman. Nearby, Ruggiero had thrust his lance through the chest of a Gorebull, pinning it to the ground even as he cut a Gor's arm off as it tried to crush him with a spiked club and shoved his fighting dagger through the eye of an Ungor leaping at him to try and bear him off his mount. Francois de Montjoie was doing better than last time as well, having trampled a pair of Gors under his mount's hooves, his spear stuck in an Ungor's back near the initial point of contact.

That was all I had time to take in, however, as a Gorebull tried charging me. Its sword was more of a pitted giant slab of razored metal than a proper blade as it tried to bisect my horse and myself in a single swing, only for me to catch the blade on my Runeblade in a parry before shunting it off to the side with a flick of my wrist. The Gorebull's massive blade dug into the turf to the right of my mount, even as I worked the lever action on my Enchanted Autorifle one-handed and put a second and third round into his face. My mount reared up and smashed its two front hooves into a second Gorebull, bowling it over and allowing my Runeblade to carve the top of its skull off with a downward stroke. That was when I seemed to have drawn the attention of another of the Black-Armored Lieutenants.

It charged me with its loping gait, braying a war cry in the unfathomable tongue of the beastmen. I parried its first axe swing, though it leaped up in response and slammed its horns into my helmeted head. My chin was busted open in the attack, thanks to the dark steel horn caps the thing was wearing. First blood went to it, but last blood would go to me. As it landed back on the ground, it tried to cut me in twain with its axe again, but I was able to parry and my riposte shoved my Runeblade into its eye through the slit in its dark steel visor. It died with a plaintive whine, and I spat the blood from my mouth out onto the ground, managing to get my head back into the game just in time to gun down a third charging Gorebull with a trio of shots that sent it crashing to the ground just short of me.

Suddenly, I heard a roar from behind me, and I turned in time to see Radamenes leap onto an Ungor that had been sneaking up on me from behind with a pilfered short sword that clearly had belonged to a Guard that had been slain further north. I turned to see Ion cut down a Smaller Minotaur with his sword, even as another lay peppered with darts and a third had its chest caved in by his horse. Even as Ruggiero engaged with a pair of smaller Minotaurs, slaying one with his Sword before beginning an exchange of blows with the other. Francois de Montjoie had just thrust his sword through the chest of a fifth Smaller Minotaur, while a sixth lay bleeding out onto the turf behind him.

As I saw all this, however, the rest of our forces managed to engage. First, my Dragoons fired off a trio of volleys into the flanks of the enemy, disintegrating their right flank. Next, Quintevalla's Quarrelers began to open fire on the enemy's left flank, firing a pair of volleys just as Von Hagedeorn's Halberdiers charged into the left flank. All the while, the Gryphon Gun-Howitzers pounded the enemy with cannonballs, and Martine's Skirmisher Guards showered more arrows upon them, though she had kept her Spear Guards and Cavalry Guards back, just in case.

That proved to be a wise decision, as the Center clearly couldn't hold, and the Plaguebull Commander of the Beastmen Force clearly understood that. It put a gnarled, curled, ram's horn up to its fanged maw that glowed with foul magic and Dhar to my mystic senses, and blew two notes. As soon as it did that, there was a shimmer from nearby, accompanied by the scent of sulfur, as a Bray Shaman appeared. It was an Albino, with a coat white and pale as a corpse. Its arms and hands were covered in growths, and its eyes were filled with blood, the marks of more of Grandfather Nurgle's dubious blessings. However, the Bray Shaman didn't appear alone. No, it brought with it around one-hundred-fifty Centigors, armed with two-handed clubs of gnarled, fire-hardened wood, two-handed axes of black steel, looted Khypris Border Guard Halberds, and other such weapons. The Bray Shaman snarled something in its bestial tongue before once again disappearing in a shimmer of green light and plume of sulfur, smelling like passing wind.

Then the Centigors charged only for Martine to rally her reserves to meet them. I unfortunately couldn't do anything to help, because the enemy Commander was charging at me. It roared out in challenge, and I suddenly realized that I didn't have time to reload my Enchanted Autorifle before he managed to attack. What I did have time for was to draw on the power stored in the Arabyan Puzzle Box in my saddlebag, already pre-configured to draw in Chamon. As I holstered my Autorifle in the saddle holster, I drew on that power, making a fist as I brought my left arm back up and incanting in the language of magic.

As soon as I did that, a burnished gauntlet of golden light, its fingers clenched into a fist, materialized in mid-air and flung out at the charging enemy Commander. The one proper combat spell I knew how to cast with the aid of my Arabyan Puzzlebox struck the enemy Commander flush in the snout, crossing its eyes on impact from the hit before vanishing. That gave me just enough time to charge the enemy Commander with my Runeblade, digging my spurs into the flanks of my mount and racing forward. Somehow, I wasn't quite sure how, the Enemy Commander managed to avoid my attack, even with the opening my Combat Spell had given me, swaying aside in time to turn a blow that would have hacked into its side deep enough to kill it into a glancing cut that just barely managed to do cosmetic damage.

Its riposte, however, was powered with the strength of a champion of the Chaos God of Death, Despair, Destruction, and Decay. I had to activate my various enhancements just to compete, managing to parry, if only just. It snarled, breath fetid with the foul rot that spread across its black fangs as it leaned in to take a bite out of me. I knew then that if it managed to do so, it would infect me with some sort of horrific warp-borne disease that wouldn't be quite so easy to get rid of, even for me as a Perpetual, though I would eventually manage it. I still couldn't afford to be hit with that sort of thing, and as my Sandy and Kerenzikov jacked my reflexes past peak human and into the superhuman, I managed to sway aside from the bite. I didn't manage to avoid the punch that came with the power of being a Chosen Warrior of a literal God behind it, though. My breastplate and mail coat stopped it from doing more than cracking my ribs, even with the Scarab Bone Sheath, but it was still a wound.

I staggered for a moment from the punch, and up came the second head on the double axe. Fortunately, I was able to snap off a textbook parry, forestalling my demise. That seemed to take the enemy Commander off guard for a moment. That was just long enough for me to draw in more Chamon from my pre-set Arabyan Puzzle Box and speak a few mystic syllables. I transferred the drawn Chamon into an Alchemist Spell, Channeled Shock. It was meant for use in crafting. To help create things like Nitric Acid with Magic-based Electrolysis, or for Electroplating Metals. In a pinch, it would serve just as well repurposed as a combat spell, however. It wouldn't cause any lasting harm, but it could stun an opponent for a moment if they weren't braced for it.

A moment was all I needed. The Enemy Commander drew back in shock, briefly stunned, and that gave me my opening. My runeblade scythed through the air, and this time, whatever mechanism Nurgle had lent his Champion to be able to blindly dodge attacks didn't kick in. My runeblade entered through the side of its neck, the scabs failing to stop a blade that was emblazoned with the Master Rune of Alaric the Mad, and came out the other side. The Enemy Commander collapsed to the turf, body falling in one direction while its head fell in the other. I'd managed to kill a Plaguebull, one of the Corpsecaller's Captains. That was no mean feat!

Of course, as soon as the Plaguebull Commander went down, the gates to Mantreda opened, and out came the remaining, ragtag militia. At the head were the two Girls and the Older Crossbowman, exhorting their forces to finish the fight. Between this, being attacked on all sides, and the death of their commander, the Beastmen practically disintegrated. Their forces lost all cohesion as animal instinct and panic took over, no longer being directed by the savage cunning of the Plaguebull. Looking around, I saw none of the other Black Steel-clad Subcommanders either. It seemed we had killed all of what passed for officers among this portion of the Corpsecaller's Horde.

On seeing the collapse of the main force, the Centigors that had been engaged in battle with Martine's Reserve Force called it quits, turning about and galloping off back toward the North, harassed the whole time by arrows from the Donkerzee Skirmisher Guards, and pursued by the Donkerzee Cavalry Guards. The rest of the battle only took half an hour to finish up. By the time everything was said and done, only just over an hour had passed since our arrival, and five-hundred-sixty Beastmen lay dead outside the walls of Mantreda. In return, we suffered only eighty casualties between killed and wounded.

Unfortunately, as we would come to find out later, after conferring with Esteban Cortez, Henrietta Steiner, and Ygraine De Salignac, as the Older Crossbowman, Spear Militia Girl, and Younger Hedgefolk Apprentice Girl were named respectively, Mantreda's Militia had suffered far worse in the attack, with a little over thirty percent of their scratch force being killed or wounded. It was clear that what assistance could be provided on that front would clearly be minimal. We needed to call a council of war to sort things out.

It would take place in the Great Hall of Mantreda that evening, after we had sorted out the aftermath of the battle. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here we have the next chapter. In it, we see the Battle of Mantreda, which is another crushing victory for the MC against the forces of the Corpsecaller, including one of the Corpsecaller's Direct Subordinates, a Plaguebull of Nurgle. We also got to see him use Magic in combat for the first time. Unfortunately, they didn't manage to get to Mantreda before over thirty percent of the Mantreda Militia was wiped out or wounded, and while some of those wounded can be helped with Alchemy, there isn't going to be a whole lot of reinforcements that Mantreda can offer on the march North against the Corpsecaller's Main Force. We also got to see the first appearance of the Corpsecaller's Bray Shaman, the aptly named Deathcoat, thanks to his Albino Fur and whole Nurglite Oeuvre.

At any rate, the next chapter will include the War Council of Mantreda, then I'll have an interlude with what's going on with Eric Dahl in Pugno while all this is happening to his east. I'll also have another character sheet and some more images out before then as well.

Stay tuned. . .