Wyverns are often considered one of the scourges of the Old World. These creatures, several meters long, nest in dark caves and high mountain peaks. They are wild and irrational, attacking any intruders in their territory and frequently targeting formidable opponents like griffons and hippogryphs. This often leads to their deaths at the hands of these noble beasts. However, some wyverns manage to win these incredible battles, their love for combat and chaotic nature making them similar to Greenskins. Many wyverns choose to become the mounts of Greenskin warlords, a partnership that needs no reason.
Expedition Knight Karad frowned at the sight of the beast. That gray-green figure, the sharp horns on its head, the barbed tail, and its clumsy wing flapping in the air—it was unmistakably a wyvern.
And a hungry one, out in winter to forage for food.
"Take cover! Prepare to fire!" Bellegar's shout snapped everyone into action. Under his command, the dwarfs squatted down, seeking cover in the wilderness, while Bertrand yelled, "Get down! Take cover!"
The beast's roar echoed across the wilderness. Forced out of its mountain lair by hunger, the wyvern knew its foray was dangerous but had no choice—it needed to eat!
This made it even more ferocious. It awkwardly used its wings to glide, spewing crimson flames from its mouth. The stench of the beast filled the air, making it nauseating.
The serfs were terrified, screaming as they scattered. The dwarfs ducked for cover. The wyvern's low intelligence was evident as it breathed fire too early, the flames landing thirty to forty meters from the fleeing serfs. Amid their frantic retreat, Bertrand's loud command regrouped them, and they raised their longbows and crossbows toward the wyvern.
"Fire!" A flurry of arrows shot skyward, aiming at the wyvern. Karad, seeing this, merely shook his head. If wyverns were so easy to deal with, they wouldn't be such infamous monsters.
As expected, the hail of arrows barely scratched the wyvern's tough scales. The beast's hard scales rendered the arrows ineffective. It let out a mocking roar, its wings beating down the arrows as it prepared to dive.
The dwarfs, however, smirked. Hal-Havre "Gold-seeker," the chief engineer of Clan Angrund, raised his dwarven handgun.
With a "Boom!" the thunderous shot drowned out the battlefield noise. A sharp explosive projectile tore through the wyvern's flesh, sending a stream of dark red blood into the air. The round, deeply embedded in the wyvern's flesh, then exploded.
Flesh and blood splattered as the wyvern's back was torn open by a burnt, bloody hole. It screeched in pain and plummeted to the distant wilderness below.
"Explosive rounds are wonderful, but unfortunately, we don't produce enough. We rely on that Bright Wizard and her apprentices to make them, and I hear they only produce fifty a month," Bellegar said to his chief engineer. "I wish all our thunderers could be equipped with these."
"Good things are always scarce," Hal-Havre replied. "We also have the shrapnel rounds. We can test their power during this bandit suppression."
"Agreed."
Seeing the fallen wyvern in the distance, Karad frowned.
Dwarfs using ranged weapons struck Karad as dishonorable. It disrupted his plans—he had hoped to offer the wyvern as a tribute to the Lady of the Lake during the Winter Solstice.
But Karad knew he couldn't hold dwarfs to knightly standards. Dismounting, he walked toward the fallen wyvern.
Despite its injuries, the wyvern remained fiercely aggressive. In fact, its wounds made it even more enraged.
"Lady, please continue to grant me victory. My heart and soul belong to you," Karad prayed, raising his holy sword, Durandal, ready for battle.
Whenever he gripped his sword, Karad felt the spirit of Ulysses, the kind Grandmaster of the Grail Knights, fighting alongside him. This bond, forged in knightly valor, made him feel closer to the Grail with each fallen foe.
The injured wyvern roared furiously and lunged at Karad with its mouth wide open.
Karad deftly sidestepped, his body infused with immense power from years of battle. Never had he felt so in control or his strength so potent. The wyvern's gaping maw and forked tongue snapped at air as Karad's muscles tensed, and Durandal sliced through the air, stabbing into the wyvern's neck.
"Take that, beast," Karad thought. The recoil almost sent him flying, but he steadied himself. The blade dug deep into the wyvern's neck, but its dense muscle, tight scales, and sturdy bones prevented decapitation. Karad didn't push further. Instead, he withdrew his sword and raised it.
"Clang!" The wyvern's barbed tail lashed at him, but he parried the blow, cautiously channeling his fury. He swung his sword again, severing the tail spike. The wyvern's pained expression brought Karad grim satisfaction. He regretted not decapitating it earlier, missing the chance for a swift kill, extending their battle.
Fighting a beast wasn't like training; the wyvern wasn't a mere target. The creature, in its agony, rammed its horns into Karad's chest. His finely crafted armor groaned under the pressure. Karad struck back, his blade sparking against the wyvern's horns. With another lunge from the beast, Karad had to block, sending him flying several meters.
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his chest, Karad struggled to his feet. Fortunately, the wyvern faced a new assault. Sir Bertrand's arrows, infused with starlight, struck the monster from the side. "Sir Karad, do you need assistance?"
"…" Gripping his sword tightly, Karad pondered what had turned his advantage into a disadvantage. Was it arrogance? Overconfidence? Or pride?
"This is another test from the Lady," Karad thought. "Either I die, or the beast dies." He declined Bertrand's aid, determined to face the wyvern alone.
Raising his sword, Karad charged again. The wyvern, now heavily injured and bleeding profusely, realized it had to fight for its life. But Karad wouldn't give it a chance. "For the Lady!"
Durandal pierced the wyvern's neck again, the blood soaking the blade and staining Karad's robe and the surrounding snow. In agony, the wyvern thrashed, nearly throwing Karad off. The expedition knight clung on, drawing his sword and thrusting it into the wyvern's open mouth. "In the name of the Lady! I sentence you to death, monster!"
The sword tore through flesh again and again. The wyvern, shrieking, tried to beat its wings. But Karad wouldn't relent. Grabbing one of its horns, he plunged the sword deep into the creature's skull.
"Woooo…" As the blade sank in, the wyvern's struggles ceased. Its body stiffened and then went still.
"Ah… for the Lady…" Karad, now bearing several wounds, exhaled deeply. He severed the wyvern's head and knelt in reverence, praying and thanking the Lady for his victory.
His prayers were not in vain. In the mists and the Lady's divine light, a beautiful figure appeared, smiling at Karad before fading away into the ether.
Seeing the fleeting image of the Lady of the Lake, all the serfs knelt.
Karad felt an indescribable joy. The Lady's blessing had strengthened him.
"Do all the Grail Knights of this land train like this?" Bellegar muttered from afar. "By the gods, how many must die in the process?"
"And yet, I am very envious… I don't even have the right to undertake an expedition," Sir Bertrand mused, stroking his beard. Then he called out, "Sir Karad, do you need a rest?"
"No, this was just a minor incident on the journey. Go ahead and clear the battlefield," Karad replied stoically. For him, this was just another tithe to the Lady on his journey.
The soldiers quickly surrounded the wyvern, especially Bertrand, who drew a dagger to carve out its heart. He planned to use the wyvern's heart to craft new black arrows.
After cleaning the battlefield, the army marched on.
A day later, the army met up with a group of errant knights sent by Duke Harken of Gisoreux. The leader of these knights was a kingdom knight named Sir Coulson. "It's an honor to join you here, King Bellegar, Sir Karad, and Sir Bertrand."
"Greetings, Sir Coulson. Where is the base of the rebels?" Bellegar asked loudly. "I want to resolve this quickly and start building the trade post."
"As you wish, I will lead you there."
...
On the mountain road, the serf army trudged along slowly. Captain Raymond clutched his long pike, exhaling cold breath with each step. "Damn, I miss my mother's stew. Fighting in the Winter Solstice isn't a good idea."
"But you're the count's soldier. If the count orders us to march, we must," Bertrand, walking nearby, said with a hint of pride in his voice. "At least, the count has given us full rations and pay, hasn't he?"
"Yeah, I never expected… I thought the count just needed me to farm and work the land. But I've become Pikebearer Raymond, and now Captain Raymond. I'll forever be grateful to the count for lifting me up," Raymond said quietly, his chest proudly adorned with a fine breastplate, his tight pants, and a round hat with three plumes. "Sir Bertrand, do you think the dwarfs would take my brother Thomas as an apprentice?"
"Your brother?" Bertrand looked thoughtful, his quiver now filled with five fresh black arrows crafted from the wyvern's heart.
"Yeah, I have an old mother and a younger brother. Mother's in town now, doing needlework for some knights, making about ten or so silver coins a month. Thomas is apprenticed to a carpenter, but I've heard the carpenters there aren't very skilled," Raymond hesitated, unsure how to continue.
"I think it's possible. Compared to dwarven craftsmen, human ones are indeed inferior," Bertrand sighed. "If I have children someday, I'll make sure they get a good education. I support your idea, Raymond."
"Good, I'll talk to Mr. Hecs… I mean, Baron Hecs, when I get back. Thank you for the advice, Sir Bertrand," Raymond said excitedly.
"Don't get too ahead of yourself, Raymond. Focus on the task at hand first," Bertrand chuckled. "Everything you've achieved is through brave fighting. You need to show your worth now. Our dwarf allies are right here. Impress them, and there might be even better opportunities for your brother."
"Right! I'll do my best!"
The rebels' mountain stronghold loomed ahead, perched on the distant peaks of the Grey Mountains. These makeshift fortresses, built from simple wooden and stone materials, were defended with short bows, slings, and numerous traps. In the Empire, such bandit camps would have long been crushed by regular troops or conscripts.
But in Bretonnia, the knights had trouble dealing with these mountain bandits. Trebuchets couldn't be brought up the steep paths, and small forces couldn't storm the strongholds effectively, while large forces weren't practical either, as Duke Harken needed his troops to maintain order in the duchy.
"In the name of the Duke, rebellious serfs, come out and surrender to the noble Duke Harken of Gisoreux, the rightful heir of the first twelve Grail Knights, and Belen's most legitimate successor!" Sir Coulson shouted up at the stronghold.
The ragged rebels on the ramparts responded with a sparse volley of arrows.
"Negotiations seem to have failed," Karad noted with a frown.
"No, the negotiations are still ongoing. We just need a different approach," Bellegar said, standing on his ancestral oath stone. "Human friend, there are many ways to negotiate. Yours clearly isn't working."
Behind him, a dwarf heavy cannon was loaded and aimed. The engineer overseeing it gave a thumbs-up, "Elevation, 5°13′!"
"5°13′!"
"Fire!"
With a thunderous boom, the cannon roared, sending a flaming shell arcing toward the stronghold. It struck the watchtower, sending earth and timber flying, and obliterating the seven or eight rebels stationed there.
"Excellent. Now, Sir Coulson, please continue with the negotiations."
"In the name of Duke Harken, rebellious serfs, come out and surrender to the noble Duke Harken of Gisoreux, the rightful heir of the first twelve Grail Knights, and Belen's most legitimate successor!"
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