Kemmler's head fell to the ground, his once menacing gaze now vacant and lifeless, reflecting the distant La-Maisonele Monastery nestled in the high mountain valley. There lay the Staff of Nagash, his lifelong obsession. But it was over. His long saga with the ancient tomb legion had come to an end.
With Kemmler's death, the entire undead army began to collapse. The once mighty Barrow Guardians and skeletal warriors, those terrifying undead creatures, and the Chaos-chosen undead champions all crumbled into piles of bones. Bereft of their sustaining magic, Geul's body disintegrated, beginning with the words, "My master is…"
"Na…" The Chaos Champion's words were cut off as he vanished, his form dissolving into gray smoke. Unlike the other undead, who simply decomposed into dust, Geul left nothing behind, as if some force had forcibly whisked him away.
The battlefield outside the monastery was now a graveyard, littered with corpses and blood-filled craters.
"Victory!"
"Victory!"
"Victory!"
It took a few minutes for the human army to realize their triumph. François was the first to stand over Kemmler's corpse. He looked at the necromancer's head with a fierce expression and then picked it up, smashing it onto the ground with a resounding "Smack!" The head, full of unquenched malice, lay in a pool of blood, covered in filth.
François then stomped on Kemmler's head with his iron boot, crushing it repeatedly until it was a mangled mess.
"Kemmler! After all these years, I have finally avenged my father!"
"Father! I have avenged you!"
Ryan had never seen François so unrestrained. The Duke of Winford's deep-seated hatred was evident to all, and tears streamed down his face as he used a handkerchief to wipe them away, unable to control his emotions.
François' father, Tancred I, had been killed by Kemmler at the Battle of Montfort Bridge and resurrected as an undead. To flaunt his victory, Kemmler had even flayed Tancred's face and stitched it onto his robe. This had been a profound disgrace for François and the House of Winford. From the moment François assumed the dukedom, he swore vengeance, leading to his revenge at the first Battle of La-Maisonele Monastery over twenty years ago.
But it wasn't enough. It wasn't over until today, when François finally completed his retribution. The Duke of Winford breathed a long sigh of relief, his face filled with satisfaction. Drawing his Unicorn Sword, he proclaimed loudly, "Victory! Gentlemen, let us revel in this epic triumph, savor the glory! Today's victory will be etched in history, our honor will be sung through the ages, even to the world's end! Our enemies will never forget this day!"
"Victory!!!"
The Battle of La-Maisonele Monastery concluded with the death of Heinrich Kemmler, the necromancer who had terrorized the Old World and left deep scars on the Empire and Bretonnia. His defeat marked the end of the ancient tomb legion. The forces of order in the Old World had vanquished a formidable foe. Through their joint efforts, humans, dwarfs, and wood elves secured the tranquility of the Grey Mountains, freeing southern Bretonnia from Kemmler's shadow and ensuring a peaceful environment for development.
The defenders cheered together, united in their joy. Many soldiers wept tears of happiness, basking in the immense honor. The mountains and valleys echoed with the jubilant celebration of victory.
Amid the thunderous cheers, François laughed heartily. He nodded to Ryan—there was no need for words between in-laws. Then, François extended his hand to Duke Theodoric of Berleon: "Duke Theodoric, your timely support was a surprise and a delight. Thank you for your assistance!"
The rough-featured Theodoric shrugged, showing his injured arm as a reason he couldn't shake hands. Clearly proud of his contribution, he responded, "When I heard the news, I knew my presence was needed here. The kingdom needed me, so I came. It seems the outcome wasn't bad."
"Yes, the outcome was indeed good." François retracted his hand, his mood exceptionally bright after avenging his father.
Though François and Theodoric didn't get along well, they were fellow humans and knights of the Lady of the Lake. They shared a common goal in facing external threats.
"Heh heh heh, Duke Theodoric's timing was impeccable." Ryan, battered and bloodied, appeared with a teasing tone.
"It wasn't by choice, young Ryan." Theodoric, sensing the underlying meaning in Ryan's words, leaned on his age to respond. "With only two hundred men—now just eighty—I had to pick the right moment. Otherwise, we'd just be feeding the undead."
"Hmmm…" Ryan didn't argue, understanding that, as Theodoric said, his two hundred knights had played their role perfectly when the battle hung in the balance.
The duke's fearless charge had greatly troubled Kemmler. Initially focused on countering Ryan, Kemmler was forced to divert his attention to fight Theodoric.
Those mere twenty or thirty seconds were critical. Theodoric's impact was akin to Ryan's duel with Geul, forcing Kemmler to split his focus and lose his best chance to escape or command his undead to cover his retreat. Otherwise, the necromancer might have still found a way to flee.
In Sanctuary-level combat, defeating an opponent was easy; killing them was the real challenge.
Reflecting on this, Ryan's demeanor softened. Regardless of Theodoric's personal character, his timely support had been crucial in this war. It might have been opportunistic, but as the primary beneficiaries, François and Ryan owed Theodoric a debt of gratitude, and it was only fair to let him bask in his moment of glory.
Having spent nearly a decade in Bretonnia, Ryan had learned the intricacies of court and politics: "Thank you for your support, Duke Theodoric."
"No thanks needed. If you really want to show your gratitude, help with some compensation for my men." Theodoric shook his head, glancing at his battered knights. The once proud two hundred were now reduced to eighty, but they still looked at him with unwavering loyalty. "They are the backbone of this kingdom! Knights shouldn't bleed and weep."
"Agreed!" François had no objections and readily agreed to fund the compensation.
"Heave-ho! Heave-ho!" Bellegar arrived with the Angrund clan dwarfs, the first to reach the scene. "Hey! You Bretonnians! How come you finished everything before we got a chance to show off?"
"You'll get your chance, King Bellegar." Ryan winced through his injuries. "You and your clansmen have shown us the honor and resilience of the dwarfs. It's an honor to fight alongside you."
"Likewise," François added with a smile.
"Heh heh heh! I killed a hundred and fifty-nine! I kept count!" Bellegar, pleased with the compliments, brandished his Angrund Hammer. "Dwarfs never disappoint their friends. Tell me, Brother Ryan, how many did you kill?"
"It doesn't matter how many I killed. What matters is that I'm glad to see you safe." Ryan had no interest in competing with Bellegar. "My friend, King Bellegar."
"Me too, Brother Ryan." Bellegar was momentarily stunned by Ryan's response, then mumbled in a peculiar tone, "Alright, I admit, that was a good line. You must have spread some of our Angrund clan's secret barbecue sauce on your words."
"Hahahahahahaha!" The battlefield erupted in laughter, even drawing a smile from the usually stern Wood Elf lord Alaric.
After the laughter subsided, François' expression grew serious. He approached Kemmler's headless body, removed his storage ring, and handed it to the Lady's prophetess for purification. Then, gripping the black arrow lodged in Kemmler's chest, he called out, "Who shot this arrow? Who hit Heinrich Kemmler? Step forward!"
"It was me, my Duke. It's my black arrow." Bertrand, the leader of the Chalons Forest Rangers, stepped forward nervously, his heart pounding. Facing the powerful François, whose strength had subtly advanced after resolving his inner conflict, Bertrand licked his lips and bowed deeply. "It's my black arrow! Everyone can attest to it!"
"That's right, it's Bertrand's black arrow. He showed it to me once," Ryan confirmed.
"Hmm… Made from a wyvern's heartstring, designed to pierce magic, this dragon-heart arrow indeed penetrated Kemmler's body." Alaric extracted the black arrow from Kemmler, inspecting it before grudgingly acknowledging its effectiveness. "Though it's a waste, it did its job."
"Yes… yes!" Bertrand trembled under the Duke's gaze. As a former peasant and outlaw, now directly conversing with the Duke was an honor beyond words.
Many peasants never spoke to a baron their entire lives. Talking face-to-face with a duke was an unparalleled glory.
"Kneel." François commanded sternly.
"Thud!" Bertrand immediately knelt upon hearing the Duke's order. François clapped his hands, and a servant brought forth a gleaming Unicorn Medal.
"Wow!" Everyone realized what was about to happen. The peasants' eyes turned red with envy, jealousy, and longing.
The shining medal! A noble title! The peasants swallowed hard, almost tasting the honor.
"Descendants of the Purehearted Radmond never break their word. I remember my promise."
François took the silver tray from his attendant and handed it to Ryan. "He's your subordinate, Ryan. This honor is yours to bestow."
Ryan's standard-bearer, Armand, took the tray. Ryan drew his sword, the Vengeance Goddess, its blade burning with platinum flames, and rested it on Bertrand's shoulder.
"I, Ryan-Macado, Count of Glamorgan, Baron of Gisne, and Champion of the Lady, hereby grant Bertrand the honorary title of Winford Knight! May you, through your deeds and honor, continue to defend this land and fight for the glory and light of Bretonnia!"
"Yes!" Bertrand's body trembled with emotion. Tears filled his eyes as he knelt and bowed to François and Ryan.
Touching both shoulders and pinning the medal to his chest, the ceremony was complete.
No words could capture Bertrand's exhilaration. From a peasant to an outlaw, from a sergeant to a knight.
From this day forward, he was no longer the peasant Bertrand, the outlaw Bertrand, or the sergeant Bertrand.
He was now Sir Bertrand, Honorary Knight of Winford!
This outlaw's story was destined to become another legend.
As night fell, the entire army celebrated with wine and song. At the grand feast, everyone drank until they were merry. Even the usually composed François was thoroughly inebriated. They all sang "The Lady Protects Bretonnia," and the knights jubilantly celebrated their victory, turning the monastery into a sea of joy.
Halfway through the revelry, Ryan slipped away from the feast. The cold autumn wind on his face sobered him slightly. He sighed, exhaling a breath of alcohol, "Phew…"
The La-Maisonele Monastery, vibrant with joy and firelight, contrasted starkly with the distant, snow-covered Grey Mountains. Ryan nodded to himself, then reached out to catch a bundle tossed towards him. "What's this?"
"You fought bravely, Sir Ryan." Alaric the Brave, the Wood Elf hero, appeared calmly from the shadows. "Choosing you as a trade partner has pleased Athel Loren. We are delighted with this victory. This is venison jerky, processed and blessed by our kin, symbolizing our friendship with you."
"Thank you. Unfortunately, I have nothing to give in return." Ryan understood the value of the venison jerky, a delicacy only seen at royal feasts in Bretonnia.
"This victory is the best gift." Alaric nodded, standing beside Ryan. "What's on your mind? You seem troubled."
"I'm wondering if we're celebrating too early. Mathieu Bard and Mousilon… Well, for now, our forces are exhausted, and our casualties are heavy. Humans aren't dwarfs. After this battle, Mathieu Bard and his undead will at least stay quiet for a few years." Ryan frowned, contemplating. "Victory is always fleeting."
"The world is like that. But in this moment, we can still celebrate our triumph."
"Indeed!"
After a brief conversation, the Lady of the Lake's prophetess, Morgiana, approached. "Ryan?"
"Yes?"
"Come, I have something to discuss with you."
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Updated! A bit late today, but still asking for votes.
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