Two rounds.
Marius Leitdorf, Grand Duke and Elector Count of Averland, was sent flying like a ragdoll.
His body was thrown off his beloved steed, Daisy II, and he landed helplessly on the black soil of Black Fire Pass. His runefang, *The Mother's Lament*, flew far from his grasp.
"Ya mule, still fightin' for da weak!" Wargaz Ironjaw laughed maniacally, grabbing Marius by the collar and slamming him into the ground.
The impact shattered several of Marius' ribs and left his internal organs in turmoil. The Elector Count was then lifted into the air, as the greenskin warlord's laughter turned to rage.
Its massive boar mount had fallen, slain by Marius' runefang. In the moment they had crossed paths, Marius, the madman, had chosen not to attack the warlord but instead plunged his blade into the boar's side!
Wargaz Ironjaw quickly realized that this mule hadn't intended to fight it at all—he had only wanted to take down its boar.
"Ya humie, tryin' ta trade one for one, eh?" Wargaz Ironjaw grabbed Marius by the hair, lifting him high with one hand.
A trail of blood dripped onto the ground as the Elector Count was hoisted into the air. The greenskin warlord opened its foul mouth wide. "Still breathin', huh? Not givin' up? I told ya, today, ya ain't gettin' any good fruit!"
Marius was barely conscious, but he still managed to respond. He spat in Wargaz Ironjaw's face.
"Karl… will… defeat… you."
The greenskin warlord wasn't bothered. It crushed Marius' throat with a single hand, slamming him into the ground and shattering his spine with a single punch.
Around the battlefield, the Golden Fleece Knights were still trying to rescue their leader, but Wargaz Ironjaw was already savoring its victory. These mules were utterly defeated, their pathetic corpses soon to be trampled into dust. The remaining humans were still fighting its boyz, but when they saw their leader's broken body in its hands, they would surely flee in terror. Or so it thought.
But something unexpected happened.
A wave of hopeful cheers erupted from the human lines, as if a new strength had surged within them. Every eye turned westward, and the warlord couldn't understand what was happening. It turned to look.
In the distance, one of the Idols of Gork and Mork was on fire. Two cannon shots had struck its surface, sending chunks of stone flying. And there, a young human was riding a tall steed, charging straight toward the idol.
This human was challenging an idol over ten times his size? Wargaz Ironjaw was stunned. It even forgot to deliver the final blow to Marius' broken body.
Meanwhile, Frederik, riding his purebred elven steed and wielding a runic longsword, darted across the battlefield. His horse's superior agility allowed him to weave through the chaos.
The Idols of Gork and Mork were simply too powerful. There was no good way to deal with them.
But Frederik had an idea.
He had once heard his father tell a story about his early adventures in Nordland. Leon had encountered a massive silver boar in the wilderness. The boar was ferocious, but Leon had defeated it with a single move—a sliding tackle! As the boar charged, Leon slid beneath it, exposing its vulnerable underbelly, and struck it with his hammer, killing it instantly.
This story had filled the young Frederik with admiration for his father. He had repeatedly told his mother, "I can do it too! I can!"
Recalling his mother's exasperated expression and her lecture about how people's physiques couldn't be compared, Frederik couldn't help but smile as he charged.
Indeed, Leon's tale had spread far and wide. Many young knights and squires had tried to imitate the Knight King's move against large beasts, only to end up as meals for beastmen.
But I'm different! My blood carries my father's legacy.
Kings are not proud of their bloodline, but bloodlines are proud of their kings!
Watch me, Mother!
"Voltaire! You can do a sliding tackle, right? You can, can't you?" Frederik shouted to his purebred elven steed. "You must be able to!"
The horse neighed in response, its incredible agility allowing it to weave through two orc boss regiments and charge straight at the Idol of Gork and Mork!
"Waaagh!" The idol noticed Frederik's charge and let out a deafening roar. It swung its massive arm, trying to smash the human and his horse into the ground.
The blow missed Frederik but sent a group of goblins flying. Frederik saw his chance! He fired all eight shots from his revolver, taking down six orc bosses in quick succession. He then tossed the gun aside, drew his Asrai Starfire runic sword, and cut down two more orc bosses before plunging the blade into a black orc's chest. The black orc's two-handed axe sparked against Frederik's master-crafted runic plate armor as the shadow of the idol loomed over him.
He was almost beneath the idol's crotch!
"Now!" Frederik roared. His steed, Voltaire, immediately understood. It lowered its body and slid beneath the idol, its iron-shod hooves and the horse's side scraping deep grooves into the ground.
A single sliding tackle!
"Ahhh!" Frederik let go of the reins, sliding on his backside. The friction between his armor and the ground generated intense heat, but he endured the pain, raising his Nuln-crafted quad-barrel grenade launcher and firing at the idol's underside.
The first grenade exploded against the idol's lower abdomen, shattering the greenskin symbols carved into it.
The second grenade struck the stone surface, blasting a hole in it.
Through the hole, Frederik saw a glowing green energy core. He knew that was the idol's power source!
In that moment, Frederik's mind flashed to the face of his uncle, Clarkson. The raven feather on his chest resonated with him.
So, Uncle, how would you rate my sliding tackle?
The grenade launcher fired again. The third shot missed, flying into the sky.
Frederik didn't lose heart. He took a deep breath, aimed, and fired the final grenade.
"Whoosh~" The last grenade flew through the hole and into the idol's core.
"Boom!" Amid a burst of flames, the Idol of Gork and Mork collapsed, its massive stone body disintegrating into hundreds of pieces.
The invincible idol had been destroyed by Frederik's daring move.
"Frederik!"
"Frederik!"
"Frederik!"
Inspired by this feat, the morale of the Imperial left flank surged. Soldiers chanted Frederik's name with fervor.
At the same time, the thunder of hooves shook the earth. The ground trembled as the sharp, piercing sound of war horns echoed across the battlefield, mingling with the terrified screams of goblins.
Fifteen hundred human knights, led by the emperor, charged like a storm toward the greenskin warlord on the right flank.
"For Sigmar! For the Empire! For Ghal Maraz!"
In the eyes of the greenskin warlord, a hammer-wielding boss was leading a charge of humie tin cans. Their assault looked impressive, and the boyz and bosses were caught off guard.
Goblins were trampled underfoot, orc boys were skewered by lances, and bosses were thrown to the ground. Wherever the knights passed, greenskin blood sprayed and chunks of flesh flew.
Meanwhile, Duke Ivan and Count Anton of the Griffon Order finally emerged from the woods. Ivan had heeded the emperor's call, and hundreds of demigryph knights, along with a dozen griffon knights, charged from the flanks to encircle the greenskins!
The initial assault was highly successful. The humans seemed to have the upper hand. Their charge deeply penetrated the greenskins' chaotic formations, with hundreds of orcs falling every second. But against the overwhelming numbers, the humies would soon realize they couldn't achieve their goal.
There were simply too many greenskins. The flanking cavalry broke through the first, second, and third lines, but by the time they reached the fourth, their momentum had slowed. At least two more greenskin formations stood in their way. Duke Ivan desperately wanted to join the emperor, but even the demigryph knights couldn't break through the fourth line of orc bosses.
The remaining Idol of Gork and Mork blocked the griffon knights' final efforts, while Duke Ivan faced Wargaz Ironjaw's lieutenant, the black orc chieftain Bargla Ironjaw.
The black orc chieftain challenged Ivan to a duel. Seeing the entire black orc regiment and the countless greenskins around him, the duke had no choice but to focus on the enemy before him.
Meanwhile, the knights' charge had nearly spent its force, but the Imperial knights fought on. They died, they fell, and Reiksguard were pulled from their horses and hacked to pieces. But the hammer-wielding boss was truly brave, felling enemies with a single strike.
This hammer-wielding boss had some Waaagh! in him! Wargaz Ironjaw had accurately judged that, compared to the hammer-wielding boss's cavalry charge, the griffon knights on the other flank posed a greater threat. It decided to send the black orcs to deal with the cavalry while it led the boar-riding bosses and orc bosses to crush the griffon knights.
But when its eyes fell on the hammer in the boss's hand, Wargaz Ironjaw froze.
*Ghal Maraz, the Skull-Splitter.*
No greenskin was unfamiliar with this weapon. In the myths passed down through generations, this hammer and the name of Sigmar were constant symbols of their race's downfall. If the human leader on horseback wielded this hammer, he must be the greatest and most Waaagh!-worthy warboss of all humies, the one they called the "Emperor."
Wargaz Ironjaw's battlelust ignited.
It was the Emperor! That bald humie had said that if it killed the Emperor and took the hammer, all humies would kneel and surrender. It would become the greatest, most Waaagh!-worthy warboss in history, and greenskins from across the world would flock to its banner, plunging the world into Waaagh!
By Gork's green fist! This enemy was worth fighting!
The black orc regiments formed up under Wargaz Ironjaw's command. They abandoned their assault on the Averland forces, and all black orcs received the warlord's order: clear the path. It would duel the Emperor.
Meanwhile, Karl-Franz reined in his horse. By now, fewer than seven hundred knights remained with him, all wounded. The emperor looked around and saw nothing but a sea of green.
"Fred," Karl-Franz suddenly said to his godson, Frederik, behind him. "Look, this might be your godfather's final battle."
The emperor's expression was calm, even showing a standard eight-tooth smile. He tugged on the reins, slowing his pace.
He had something to say to Frederik.
"Godfather?" Frederik was covered in dirt, his golden hair stained with grime. He had been trapped under the rubble of the destroyed idol for several minutes before Gelt himself rescued him.
"Look, look at the beautiful countryside of Averland and the Moot. This is what we're fighting to protect." Karl-Franz's arms ached, but he gazed fondly at the Empire in the distance. "We guard it with our lives!"
"Without sacrifice, there can be no victory," Frederik said quietly, sensing the emperor's resolve.
The young baron knew that if Deathclaw were here, his godfather might have had a chance against the greenskin warlord. But without the griffon, he knew his godfather was no match for Wargaz Ironjaw.
"It's a pity, Frederik," the emperor laughed. "I'm not as strong as Leon, who's an army unto himself. I don't have his tactical genius to turn the tide. I've done my best, but often, I feel like a cautionary tale. Maybe I'm not worthy to be your godfather."
"No, you are, Godfather," Frederik said urgently. "You're our Emperor."
"Then do you trust your Emperor?" Karl-Franz dismounted.
"Of course!"
"Then run! Mount your horse and escape. You have a purebred elven steed, Fred. The greenskins' boars and goblin wolves can't catch you."
"Run, run back to Nuln or Altdorf." Before Frederik could respond, Karl-Franz had already dismounted. "If you can, retrieve Ghal Maraz. If you can, avenge me."
"If that day comes, I have only one request. Listen well, Frederik von Liebwitz-Benadetto!" The emperor's voice was firm and resolute, almost咬牙切齿 (gnashing his teeth) as he spoke.
"Do not kill your sworn brother, Luitpold II!"
Frederik's face turned pale. The baron opened his mouth but couldn't find the words. He understood Karl-Franz's plea.
This was his godfather!
His godfather wasn't as exceptional or powerful as his father, who always seemed to handle everything with ease.
But compared to his father, his godfather was more human—flesh and blood!
From Karl-Franz, Frederik had received equal paternal love. The emperor had taught him as his own, loved him, but loved the Empire more. He was willing to sacrifice himself for it.
And the emperor hoped Frederik would love the Empire as he had loved him.
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