Warhammer Divine Throne

On the cold mountain path of the Gray Mountain Range, Duke Casvan of Paragon and his army were struggling to travel. The knights’ armor gleamed brightly, and the glory and enthusiasm of the expedition once radiated on their faces as they were full of confidence in this expedition.

The march of the Bretonnian knights in the Old World was a striking sight, an unrivaled beauty on the monochrome Path of the Gray Lady. Every knight carried three to four warhorses, each covered in finely-crafted superior horse armor. The hundreds of family crests from the ten or so duchies of the Knight Kingdom would take the kingdom’s Master of Heraldry a long time to gradually identify.

Behind the formation, a long caravan comprising several hundred free people formed a long dragon, with the gentry, coachmen, cooks, commanders, priests, and a peasant infantry corps following behind. Sergeants supervised the baggage, forming a beautiful vista.

But this was at the time of departure.

Now, continuous rain descended from the high skies. This dreadful mix of rain and snow inflicted great damage on Casvan’s army, the penetrating cold scraping the enormous cliffs on both sides of the road. The clouds above roared and wailed, releasing greyish rain sheets from massive air masses, tormenting Casvan’s forces.

The enthusiasm for the expedition, thus, became hard to sustain. Only those who personally experienced the terrifying mix of rain and snow in the high mountains knew its dreadfulness. The knights’ morale suffered severely; the exhausted knights bowed their heads in silence as they marched, while those still with energy cursed ceaselessly, complaining about the dreadful damned weather.

The knights could still endure this weather, but the peasant infantry corps suffered heavy losses. Their fur cloaks or woolen clothes might provide warmth on regular days, but they were helpless against such cold of this magnitude. Every day, people died, leaving many shallow graves along the march.

Even so, Casvan’s army continued to cross the Gray Mountain Range at a relatively fast pace.

Target, aiming straight at Hemgart.

......

The evening in Hemgart, at the Emperor’s Rest Hotel.

As an important military garrison of the Empire, Hemgart boasted a dedicated imperial palace. Now, the Emperor’s Rest Hotel was hosting a lively banquet, as scouts indicated that Casvan’s army would take at least three days to reach here.

The banquet was very lively. The war between the Empire and Bretonnia drew the attention of the Old World Human Realm. Aside from the likes of Laine who came from afar, Duke Fulcard of Montfort from Bretonnia was also present, along with several Prince-Electors from the Empire.

Everyone wished to witness the war, an important opportunity to assess the Empire’s might and Emperor Carl Franz’s capability.

Not all attendees wanted to participate in the banquet; at least Julius and Jerald disliked it, sitting dully in a corner, silently eating.

Some, however, thrived at the banquet.

”Hey! Boris! I’ve seen your constant sour face again!” Laine, dressed in count attire, raised his wine glass, smiling as he pointed at Boris Todbringer, Wolrich Prince-Elector and Duke of Midland: ”You always have that brooding expression, it’s a real downer to look at!”

”Hey! Laine, you scoundrel, if I get the chance, I’m going to shove your pretty face into the cold marshes of the Drakwald Forest, so you learn what cruelty is!” Boris, upon seeing Laine, finally managed a slight smile on his typically stern face: ”Alright, by Yurik, we meet again. I still vividly remember our last tale of driving the Great Nurgle Demon from the Kulona Plains, praise Yurik, that was indeed a magnificent victory.”

After speaking, Boris intentionally glanced at Emperor Carl Franz standing beside Laine.

The Emperor pensive, smiled towards Laine and said: ”I knew you were acquainted.”

Boris had once been a contender for the throne; his maternal grandmother married Ludwig, the Savior’s, brother Heinz. Compared to Carl Franz’s grandfather Leopold, Boris’s lineage was even closer to Ludwig.

Thus, Carl Franz always regarded him with apprehension. In a sense, the opposition between Boris and Carl Franz represented the division in the Empire between the Northern Sect led by Yurik and the Southern Sect headed by the three main Churches.

”Yes, Your Majesty Franz, we’ve known each other for a while, just not well until the last battle on the Kulona Plains,” Laine said with a hint of amusement, standing slightly taller than the Emperor: ”If it weren’t for Boris, I might not be here.”

”That truly was a great war...” As Carl Franz was about to continue, a Champion Knight from the Griffin Knight Order stormed into the banquet: ”Where’s that scoundrel! The one who refuses to call His Majesty the Emperor? I want to duel him!”

The fully armed knight quickly spotted Laine. Due to Laine’s refusal to address Carl Franz as the ”Emperor,” most people understood, as Laine was not an Empire noble at the moment. But many loyal Imperial Knights felt deep dissatisfaction towards this Divine Chosen Champion, who had risen from Nord and had strong ties to the Empire. They were eager to tear Laine’s pride to pieces.