Chapter 297 The Call of War

"Triumph? No! I! The great, great Ikit Claw, refuse to cease fire with the dead!"

Nagash is willing to pay a certain amount of dimensional stone to get rid of the rats who have been fighting with him for a long time.

But the chips it offered were far less important than the ones that the Grey Prophet Bo'orel offered to Ikit.

Ikit didn't know what good killing Nagash would do to the warlock, but it gave too much, so much that Ikit gave up on tracing the source.

The chief warlock engineer of the Skryre clan kicked away the ratman warlord who was helping the vampire messenger to deliver the message. The warlord who reported the news ignored the pain in his body and obediently withdrew from the pit where the chief warlock was.

It didn't straighten its back until it ran to a place where Ikit couldn't see it.

The Warlord spoke orders to the Clanrats and Stormvermin in a high-handed tone, relaying orders from the Warlock Engineers.

"Kill that blood-sucking thing! Blow up Duncanhof Castle as planned! Use the new stuff developed by Clan Skryre."

In Dunkenhof Castle, an uneasy premonition rippled through Nagash's soul. The Great Necromancer chose to follow his perception without hesitation and teleported to the top of the castle, above the clouds in the blink of an eye.

It had just stood firm in the clouds when a green light pierced through the sky and tore through the clouds with a shock wave.

The ground shook violently in the earth-shaking explosion, and the terrifying dimensional nuclear explosion turned the former castle into a huge deep pit.

The earthquake was spreading far away, and the dark green dimensional radiation was also flowing far away in the atmosphere. The terrifying sound alarmed half of the empire. As long as you looked up from the house in the direction of Sylvania, you could see a dispersing mushroom cloud.

Those Skaven must be mad, the thought occurred to Nagash.

Following the astonishment was a surge of anger. The furious Undead Supreme raised his left hand, and all the green clouds in the sky were taken into his palm.

This time, the meta-energy was reshaped under Nagash's superb magic skills. The undead that had been sleeping for a long time woke up one after another, and invisible commands flowed into the magic wind and spread to the distance.

The Great Necromancer wants to summon vampires. No matter how useless those trash are, it is better for it to fight alone.

Of course, there were some redeeming qualities to the original vampires.

Nagash used the energy from the radiation to weave one functional spell after another, and compressed the remaining energy into a ball of light that was about to explode, and threw it fiercely at the area where it predicted the ratmen's nest was located.

It swore that sooner or later, it would eradicate these squeaking dimensional stone rats.

But before that, it had to break free of their entanglement and march towards the northern kingdom called Kislev.

It was just another ordinary day, except that a prisoner of the Skylin tribe was forced to be freed.

After killing the Norsemen who tried to give him a red dragon tattoo, Visen Whaler was freed from his cage by a champion warrior.

He is no longer a laborer in the Doomsday Fortress. What the leader of the Skelling tribe, Egil Stybjorn, the "Immortal Butcher", needs is warriors, and he will accept all who come.

The burly chief who looked like a devil killed all the shamans who advocated that "it is not advisable to send troops". War was inevitable because Egil's desire for offspring even exceeded his desire for promotion.

The White Wolf God's Chosen One walked confusedly in the snow and ice, among the Blood God's followers.

He returned to the North to escape the gaze of his former companions, but the North did not give him any room to escape.

Bretonnia was not a kingdom that Vissen was familiar with. The only thing he remembered was one or two adventurous knights and the Holy Grail Knight John, who had fought with him in the other dimension.

Strangeness is not a reason to kill at will. He has finally let go of the blood he once stained with and will never get caught up in it again.

A sudden shout came from the newly thawed coast. Wesson hesitated for a moment, and finally chose to approach the people in need and help them break the ice that froze the longship.

Weisen and other warriors were repairing the plunderer longship, but their minds were not on the approaching war.

"Here! Good stuff from the South, sweet!"

The Norseman at the side furtively handed a piece of yellowed milk to Visen. He didn't look very old and probably had never been to sea.

Noticing Weisen's surprised look, panic flashed across the young man's eyes. He tried to act ferocious and imitated those tribal warriors in an evil tone, but he couldn't learn that bloodthirsty taste: "I robbed a merchant ship on the sea and killed all the people on the ship.

The skulls of the Southerners were not as strong as my fists, and they would only beg for mercy, and try to get rid of me with a few pieces of these sweets. I scattered eight pieces on their bodies, kept eight pieces for myself, and threw the rest into the sea.

After saying that, he tried to smile strangely, but in Visen's calm gaze, the evil smile awkwardly turned into silence.

After the other Norscan who had lent a hand left, the young man approached Weisen cautiously and asked in a low voice:

"Are you from another tribe? I heard that other tribes would do business with the Yankees. Is that true?"

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Weisen looked down at the young man who couldn't suppress his admiration. An inexplicable sadness blocked the White Wolf Champion's breathing. He nodded slightly in response.

There are indeed tribes that coexist peacefully with the Southerners, but when war comes, the peace will be easily torn apart.

His response seemed to give the young man some confidence, and he kept asking questions, wanting to know more.

Wisen did not respond. He just remembered the Imperials who cried and begged for mercy in front of him when he first went out to sea, and the massacre of the village by his companions.

He thought again of the old warrior who had killed hundreds of people alone, and of the experiences of following the warships under the leadership of Euric the Great several times to bombard Norse settlements along the coast of the Norse Peninsula for "revenge."

The war seems to never end and there is no right or wrong.

After sunrise and sunset, Holy Grail Knights and Holy Grail Maidens spread the king's call throughout Bretonnia. Magical messages and busy scouts ran throughout the Knight Kingdom, presenting the oracle of the Lady of the Lake to all the knights.

One by one, the knights hung up their noble swords that symbolized honor, brought their servants and lances, as well as heavy knight armor, and led out their war horses with elven bloodlines.

They took military rations that tasted bad but could restore their physical strength, abandoned their land, bid farewell to their wives, and rushed to the city of Cologne.

Battle flags flutter across the land of Bretonnia, and the family crests of various shapes on the flags speak of the knights' pride that comes from their blood.

The gods asked them to go to the border between Kislev and the Empire, to the plains beside the World's Edge Mountains, and fight a life-and-death battle with an enemy of unknown species.

Whether it's greenskins or undead, dragons or chaos legions, every knight who responds to the call is ready to fight to the death.

The Imperials have no chance of stopping them from crossing the border. Anyone who dares to stop tens of thousands of knights from heading to the battlefield of the holy war is an enemy, and their lances will destroy anything that dares to block their way.

(End of this chapter)