Al really hoped the script would play out exactly as he envisioned.
That would be best for everyone, except for the bad people.
Sounds like nonsense, but it's true.
Of course, there was also the possibility that this world didn't really need him. When the End Times arrived, the mortal races would unite under the leadership of their endless stream of heroes, struggling but not breaking, cooperating sincerely; they would defeat the Everchosen—riding his black horse, wielding the Slayer of Kings, intent on slaughtering from Kislev all the way to Nehekhara, destroying every bastion of civilization from the Great Bastion of Cathay to the frigid Great Wall and the New World—crush his grand army, and once again, justice would prevail! The mortal realm would endure!
So grand, bright, and righteous.
But after deep consideration and drawing enough lessons from history, Al believed that staking his own survival, and that of his tribe and lovers, on the mere possibility that the mortal races could unite to push back the tidal wave of the End Times was somewhat irresponsible.
It would be like waking up every morning and playing a round of Russian roulette.
Therefore, banners like "The End Times approach, who but I can save us," "Beastmen are people too! Beastmen are a human sub-species," and "Hold high the banner of resisting Chaos, saving the world, unity, and solidarity without wavering" were Al's righteous causes and justifications for expanding his territory, founding a nation, and ruling the masses. Whether the big three—Bretonnia, the Empire, and Ulthuan—believed it or not, this slogan had to be shouted. Otherwise, if Al just yelled "I am a barbarian!" and heedlessly annihilated and swallowed Estalia whole, before Archaon even set out from the Realm of Chaos, the chivalric armies of the Empire and Bretonnia would already be at his doorstep.
To use Paradox game terminology, it would be Infamy + Overextension explosion. A containment coalition would form outside, while General Luddites (rebels) would rise up one after another inside.
It wasn't that Al necessarily couldn't win, but if that happened, any talk of development and construction would become empty words. After exhausting himself fighting the containment coalition to the bitter end, when the world-ending army arrived, casually destroying Altdorf and marching south, Al would have to seriously consider running away to the New World.
And once the failure of the End Times became a foregone conclusion, according to the Four Mothers, the despairing negative emotions of this destroyed world would flood into Chaos, wiping out their existence and letting them be reabsorbed by the Four Gods.
As their employee, Al wouldn't be able to run either; he would definitely die a horrible death.
So, naturally, he fervently hoped his plans would progress smoothly.
For example, the Estalians—currently limited, of course, to the refugees seeking shelter under the tribe's banner in the Piña Forest—could be a bit more "mindful of the big picture" and "yearn for the king's civilizing influence."
To voluntarily and swiftly toss the decayed faith of Myrmidia—which was no longer capable of protecting the people of this land—into the garbage bin of history, and embrace the omnipotent, eternal true faith of the Four Goddesses that would bring them a better life.
As for the benevolent governance of the new dynasty after their conversion... Al felt the Estalians had completely messed things up themselves. The Greenskins had swept across half the country, and the remaining half was teetering on the brink. From the Church to the nobles, who among them had managed to turn the tide at a critical moment?
Goddammit, being stuck with a bunch of parasites like this, how can we possibly achieve a national revival!
Let me do it!
Unfortunately, in most cases, people do not proactively embrace and accept the progress of the times.
The wheels of progress need to crush the limbs of the innocent, the guilty, the hateful, the pitiful... and shed the burdens of the old days before they can advance at high speed.
Al was very angry right now.
These guys in front of him were more or less ignorant of the big picture.
He really wanted to earnestly persuade them, to speak from the heart and move these refugee representatives—the vast majority of whom were councilors from the city councils of Veling and Magus.
A minority were newly emerged leaders who had performed outstandingly during the migration and won the trust of others.
But as the words reached his lips, Al suddenly realized that regardless of appearance or bloodline, everyone—both the Estalians and the Beastmen themselves—viewed him as a "part" and a "symbol" of the latter.
The Estalians saw the boy as a Beastman, and the Beastmen saw the boy as their fanatical leader.
Even though the former were now completely seeking shelter under his banner, from an objective standpoint, their relationship was still "ally to ally," not "overlord to vassal."
Just like when the Empire and Dwarfs, or Dwarfs and Elves, were on the best of terms, they never directly interfered in each other's internal affairs, let alone in a situation involving the assassination of the previous king...
They could die for each other on the battlefield, but the traditions and internal affairs of a civilization and a race were very hard for outsiders to interfere with.
So when the representatives once again made a righteous and stern declaration regarding the Fleur-de-lis, Sword, and Grail Knightly Order:
Regardless, these knights remain highly suspicious in the assassination of the City Prince. If possible, we (hope) they will proactively go to Bilbali to face questioning (interrogation) by the Northern Council and the Grand Master of War to clear their names (or face the consequences of their guilt).
Al also realized two things at this moment:
First, although they had fled their homes and were in a sorry state, the Estalians were not completely subordinate to him. Even with a massive disparity in combat strength, as long as Al still wanted to maintain the facade of "friendly relations between the tribe and the kingdom," he couldn't manipulate them like a patriarch or a big brother.
Second, not everything would go according to Al's plans.
Al could make his scions and subordinates earnestly execute his orders and follow his instructions, even if the order itself was unreasonable or meant danger.
But for the Estalians, they had their own traditions, dignity, and ruling systems.
They might respect your suggestions, but they wouldn't necessarily follow them.
Even that respect might just be superficial, more likely forced by circumstances.
Al still remembered how, right after he lifted the siege of Veling and smashed tens of thousands of Greenskins, the envoy sent by the Veling Council had the audacity to tell him not to enter the city, suggesting it would be best if he rested on the spot and immediately rushed west to reinforce Magus. The arrogance and humiliation of ordering him around like a mercenary.
Although the Veling Council later offered a sincere apology and compensation, clarifying that this was purely the rogue action of a "small handful" of stupid xenophobes worried the tribal allies would affect their power and businesses.
Naturally, Al didn't completely buy that story.
The refugee representatives showed a resolute attitude, refusing to yield on a major matter concerning the dignity of their nation.
Al guessed that perhaps these people were worried that if they made a decision here, once word reached the Northern Council—the current nerve center of the Estalian Kingdom—they would be displeased.
They had fled their cities and migrated into the forest to seek refuge with the tribe. They had tried their best to take whatever they could, but their losses were still massive. Their only hope was that after things settled down, they could rely on merits like "finding allies" and "protecting the people" to secure benefits for themselves in the future.
But on a major matter involving the foundation of the nation—one could say all of Estalia's current disasters started with the assassination of the Prince—they naturally dared not speak carelessly. This would affect their futures. Showing a resolute attitude was also to block Al from bringing it up further.
Originally, Al's plan was to communicate with the representatives in advance, slowly leak the story out, and lay the groundwork.
Then hold a banquet to welcome the "friendly chivalric knights from Bretonnia joining the alliance to jointly fight the Greenskin bandits," let the commoners eat, drink, and be happy for a while, and then publicly announce the matter: The culprit behind the assassination of the Prince has been found, blah blah blah, it was the Skaven assassins who caused a disaster and almost destroyed the Southern Realms a hundred and fifty years ago! (Commoners: What the hell are those?)
These filthy, despicable, foul-smelling, evil, cunning, disgusting, corrupt—anyway, use every negative word in the world to describe them—evil race assassinated our beloved City Prince, framed the knights, provoked conflicts with our neighboring country and North-South antagonism, and even helped the Greenskins invade Estalia!
The source of all evil, guilty of the most heinous crimes!
Fortunately, our brave, honest, kind-hearted, blah blah blah... knight friends, after being misunderstood, not only didn't get angry, but worked hard to help the Estalians find the truth. Finally, after going through untold hardships, they successfully caught those despicable Skaven assassins, paid a heavy price to kill them, avenged the Prince, avenged the Estalians, and cleared their own names!
Universal celebration!
That was the gist.
Al thought it was a pretty good plan. It could both smooth over the defection of the Fleur-de-lis and Grail Knights to avoid future problems, and also unite people's hearts against a common enemy.
However, it got stuck right at the very beginning.
The boy sighed. A young officer from the Blood Oath Brotherhood walked up to his side, bowed, and whispered a few words.
Watching the officer, the representatives had mixed expressions and chaotic thoughts.
These officers who had changed their faith from the Goddess Myrmidia to the tribe's "Bloodmother" originally shared similar backgrounds and statuses with many of them. The representatives naturally knew about the wave of conversion slowly growing among the refugees recently. But because they were living under someone else's roof, relying on their weapons and eating their food, no one said a word.
The Priests of Myrmidia, who cared most about matters of faith, had also been overt and covertly tormented by Al to the point where they were no longer a significant force. The most steadfast among them could only persist in going out to preach every day, offering a bit of encouragement, with minimal effect.
Very few among the representatives had converted, and basically none from councilor or noble backgrounds had. No matter what, the Goddess of War—a title that, before the Prince's assassination, some local churches were already trying to elevate to "Goddess of the South" governing everything in the Southern Realms—was the kingdom's orthodox faith. They still hoped to gain more benefits and continue climbing the social ladder in the future, so naturally, they dared not do anything impious.
Therefore, the representatives' views on these officers who "suddenly had a brain fart" and converted to the tribe's gods were somewhat complex.
Of course, they didn't know that this was the path Al had prepared for all of them.