The son of the God-Emperor in Warhammer Fantasy

Ryan quickly abandoned the idea of drawing his sword. He sensed powerful magical energy gathering at the caravan's last stronghold.

The sorceress had finally acted.

After a long period of preparation, Theresa had gathered enough magic. Unlike her previous blue ice magic, this time, the magic around her was a dazzling gold and red.

"Psychic Scream!!!"

The mountains shook, and the forest trembled.

This was the most powerful spell the Garland Council member currently possessed, a seventh-circle psychic spell, Psychic Scream.

A fear that emanated from deep within the soul pierced the nerves of all the surviving members of the caravan like needles.

Several arcs of light circled Theresa's graceful figure, then swept through the entire forest from her as the center. The golden-red ripples passed through the woods and the land, extinguishing all torches in an instant. Amidst the roar of mountains and seas, all the beastmen that had stormed into the camp clutched their heads and crouched down in pain. The golden-red lightning in their minds burned their souls. Many beastmen dropped their weapons in agony, and the weaker lesser beastmen, Chaos warhounds, and Razorgors had their heads explode like balloons, spraying blood everywhere.

The caravan's survivors were also severely affected. The weaker mercenaries clutched their heads and wailed in pain. Only a few elite individuals could barely move through the intense mental shock. Taking advantage of this, Rost, Eck, and others held their heads and killed the incapacitated beastmen in the camp.

"Hurry! My magic won't last long!" Theresa's face was pale as she shouted at Ryan and urged the mercenaries and guards. "Quick, hurry up!"

"Howl~~~" Just as Theresa finished speaking, a high-pitched roar came from deep within the forest. In the darkness, a blood-soaked war banner rose from the dense pine forest, made entirely of human skin with a severed head atop it.

This roar seemed to pierce through one's heart. The caravan members, who were initially intent on pursuing the enemy, felt a profound sense of fear. A bone-chilling cold spread through their bodies, causing them to slow down and hesitate, as if something terrifying was lurking in the forest.

"What?! What is that?" Estelle, who had dark vision, trembled as he shouted.

"What's that?" Rost, clutching his ribs in the darkness, couldn't see anything.

"That's the head of the Druid, the Planter. He's dead. His skin has been made into a banner, and his head is a trophy!" The half-elf could see in the dark, but now he wished he couldn't.

The sight was so terrifying that it drained the already exhausted Estelle of any will to pursue.

Hearing the roar, all the surviving beastmen who were still dazed suddenly became alert. They dropped their weapons and fled back into the forest, the sounds gradually fading. As the noises disappeared, Ryan felt a filthy and chaotic gaze sweep over him before vanishing without a trace.

"What was that? A Chaos Greater Daemon? If it was, none of us would have survived." Ryan could feel the terrible power filled with rage, bloodlust, and filth. That must be the great unclean one that Ulric mentioned.

The enemy was a warband of beastmen who worshipped the Blood God. This was still within Ryan's expectations. Blood God followers didn't like to operate in groups. Ryan also gave up the pursuit. In the dark, chasing beastmen in the forest was akin to courting death. Seeing the beastmen retreat, Ryan returned to the camp.

A foul stench of blood filled his nostrils.

Yes, the beastmen had retreated.

There was no joy of victory in the camp, no wine or songs of celebration.

There were only countless corpses on the ground and a camp in ruins. Ryan trudged through the sea of bodies and blood, spotting a mercenary on the ground. The mercenary's body had multiple fatal wounds and had been gnawed horribly, but Ryan recognized him immediately.

It was Simon, the young mercenary who had clashed with Ryan at the dock. Simon's lifeless eyes told the story.

"Simon! Simon! Wake up! Wake up! It's Banda! Get up! We can't stay here! Get up!" A young figure appeared, throwing himself onto the corpse, wailing loudly.

"...Banda? Get up. He's already dead." Ryan stood behind Banda and spoke.

The young mercenary ignored him, continuing to cry.

The Blood Axe Mercenary Group had suffered heavy losses in this battle. Only a dozen members remained standing.

Ryan turned away, drawn by the sounds of intense arguing. Weert stood before Theresa, his voice filled with anger and sorrow. "Ms. Trovik? You promised me."

"...I..." Theresa, supported by Emilia, could barely stand. Her face was pale, and she bit her lip, unable to respond to Weert's accusation.

"You promised me!!!" Weert threw down his greatsword, charging towards the sorceress in a frenzy. Theresa instinctively backed away, a hint of unease on her beautiful face. "I didn't know..."

"Alright, Weert, calm down a bit. None of us wanted this to happen." Ryan quickly intervened, sensing the hostile atmosphere among the mercenaries.

"Ms. Trovik, remember the Blood Axe Mercenary Group. When we left Winterhold, we were fifty strong, with two left behind. Now, only thirteen of us remain. What did you say then? You needed us as your guards, and you would protect us with your magic?"

"But now? You can't even protect yourself, and you want us to sacrifice our lives?"

"I asked you in Karlzen Haven, and you assured us there would be no more battles like this."

"We need an explanation, Ms. Trovik!" Weert advanced, but Ryan held him back, his expression calm. "Watch your tone, mercenary! Or I'll fulfill my duty."

Weert glanced at the White Wolf Knight emblem on Ryan's chest, then fell into an awkward silence, finally calming down. "I'll be waiting for your explanation, Ms. Trovik."

"I'll give you and the Blood Axe Mercenaries an explanation, Mr. Weert. But please apologize for your rudeness. Remember, without my spell, you wouldn't have survived." With Ryan by her side, the sorceress regained her composure. She gently pushed Emilia away, signaling that she was fine.

"I apologize for that." Weert walked away without looking back.

Ryan was about to say something when Theresa leaned against him, whispering, "Support me. I've exhausted my magic."

Ryan nodded, his strong arms holding the sorceress. Despite the blood covering him, Theresa merely frowned, not pushing him away. Ryan led her to a safe spot.

Gray Blade Bilge approached Oliver, speaking in a low, hoarse voice. "Gray Blade lost sixteen men in this fight. We demand adequate compensation."

"We will pay the amount as agreed." Oliver frowned, knowing that as a merchant, he had to agree. But logic told him it wouldn't be that simple.

"No, we need adequate compensation." Bilge's face was grim. This battle had severely weakened his mercenary group, and he needed more money from the merchant. "Mr. Oliver, the previous price was the previous price. The situation is different now. You didn't tell us your cargo included seastone. That's deception. Gray Blade suffered heavy losses, and we demand our due compensation."

In other words, he wanted to raise the price.

"Bilge, this isn't according to the agreement!" Oliver said with difficulty.

"Yes, the situation has changed, Mr. Oliver. If you still want our protection, you'll have to pay more." Bilge pressed on, his face full of mania and greed.

Seeing the seastone, everyone was consumed by greed.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries began arguing among themselves.

"If you had shot and covered him then, Simon wouldn't have died!" Banda initiated the conflict, targeting Mat, Oliver's guard.

"You brat, what do you know?"

"Enough, it's your fault!"

"Watch your mouth, you little punk!"

The argument intensified, especially with the involvement of the wandering knights. The dispute escalated: "Mr. Mats, hand over the seastone. We bled to protect you. The seastone belongs to all of us, doesn't it?"

"Indeed, Mr. Mats, hand over the seastone." Several wandering knights, armed with swords and shields, approached, speaking illogically. Only Eck stood aside, looking conflicted.

"Don't even think about it!" Estelle, hired to protect Mats, naturally stood against the knights.

The guards surrounded Mats, while the wandering knights gathered on the other side. The injured wandering knight, Goodson, appeared most deranged, his wound seemingly affecting his sanity. Drawing his sword, he approached threateningly. "Hand over the goods or die!"

"Enough!!!" A furious shout brought everyone back to their senses. Ryan, supporting Theresa, roared at the crowd. "I don't care what you're negotiating about. Don't do it here! Look around! Where do you think you are?"

The crowd looked around, realizing the blood-soaked, corpse-littered camp was no place for negotiations. Yet, they felt an inexplicable anger and fury, as if they wouldn't be satisfied until they tore everything apart. Anxiety, anger, and hatred spread like wildfire, each person a powder keg ready to explode.

Ryan knew this was Chaos's corruption. It insidiously seeped into people's hearts, making them vulnerable. Many brave soldiers who repelled Chaos on the battlefield fell victim to its corruption afterward, eventually turning into Chaos warriors.

The stench and sight of corpses were beacons for carrion

 creatures and other beings, not to mention attracting undead and other monsters.

Ryan's shout momentarily halted the arguments. They quickly cremated and buried the bodies, gathered their belongings, and decided to leave immediately for the high mountain fortress on Skavell Mountain's peak.

The wagons were heavily damaged, and most of the horses were lost, but the cargo remained mostly intact. With half their number gone, the caravan struggled with the reduced resources. They relit their torches and resumed their journey. Unlike before, the guards and mercenaries were now distinctly separate, watching each other warily. The guards were particularly cautious of the wandering knights trailing the caravan.

Rifts began to form...

In the dark forest, the Planter Eldrad's head hung from the beastmen's war banner. His face still bore the despair and fear of his final moments, making him the perfect trophy for the beastmen.

Under the banner, a blood-filled altar and a throne made of druid bones stood as offerings to the beastmen. A mysterious symbol above the altar glowed blood-red in the night.

"Cheap... sacrifices." The massive minotaur moved through the night. The moonlight faintly illuminated its crimson face, where armor melded with flesh. This was the same minotaur that had fought Eldrad. It was significantly larger than the other minotaurs.

The other beastmen gathered around it, prostrating themselves. It was clear this minotaur was the warband's Beastlord.

"No sacrifices... no blessings. Need... sacrifices." The giant minotaur raised its battle axe.

In a flash, it decapitated a minotaur. The giant head rolled aside, releasing filthy, blood-red energy. Something in the dark void seemed to respond to the sacrifice.

"How about this little gift?"

The Blood God never asked where the blood came from.

"Not enough. More..." Several more minotaurs lost their heads. Despite this, the remaining beastmen dared not move, still prostrating, awaiting their leader's next command.

"Enemies... two... sorceresses are powerless... that White Wolf Knight will be... a pleasing sacrifice..." After killing twelve of its followers, the giant minotaur finally received the satisfaction of a mysterious presence.

"Tomorrow... I will duel the White Wolf Knight..." The Beastlord raised its massive battle axe, pointing it to the sky. Suddenly, it roared, "Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!!!"

"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!!!"