The son of the God-Emperor in Warhammer Fantasy

At dawn, a black figure darted through the forest, moving swiftly with barely a sound.

Dressed in a top hat, cloak, and tailcoat, wearing outdated long trousers and black leather boots, his face was hidden beneath a scarf and cloak, almost invisible except for his clouded, blood-red eyes and the worm-like veins sprawled across his skin.

"Heh heh heh, they think they can catch me with just these few people?" The figure scoffed as he pulled out a pocket watch, sneering as the corrupting power of a dark god continued to infest him, his body increasingly covered in rot and pustules, even feeling maggots squirming in his wounds.

But that pain was trivial compared to the powerful forces flooding into him, every moment feeling his strength surge.

He suddenly found the oath he had once sworn to annihilate chaos laughably naïve. For years, he had fought against evil, battling cultists again and again in the name of a so-called righteous vow to protect humanity.

Protect humanity... Ha, I couldn't even protect the woman I love.

"Ugh~Aaah!" Belter screamed as intense pain seared through him. Having chosen the path of corruption, he had to endure the chaotic transformation, a process so agonizing that even a seasoned demon hunter like himself nearly went mad.

"Not yet!" He spat out a mouthful of black blood, too rushed to wipe it off as he pushed deeper into the forest, his mutation reaching a critical phase.

"Need to endure," the black figure murmured as he vanished deeper into the forest.

Fresh red blood marked the ground, left by another old hunter who had once fought alongside him against evil. Now diverged, and with Belter's newfound corrupt strength, the old hunter stood no chance and was slain. But as Belter was caught in his own transformation, he had no time to pursue his severely wounded former ally.

Days of heavy snow showed no signs of stopping as Ryan stepped out of the town and ventured alone into a world of ice and snow.

Nord Kingdom was thick with forests, mostly cold coniferous types that were heavy with snow during winter. Care was needed as a single large movement could cause heaps of snow to fall from the trees, making significant noise. Although Ryan was unafraid, he preferred to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Stepping towards his destination, the forest was eerily quiet, prompting Ryan to sigh deeply: The forest hadn't always been this way.

Originally vibrant and teeming with life, the forest had been corrupted by chaos hundreds of years ago. Mutated beastmen appeared, leaving behind decayed trees, mutated animals that turned into new chaotic creatures, and polluted lands and waters that reeked and turned barren. Thus, beastmen and alchemy-polluting spellcasters became the prime targets of the Natural Church, ruthlessly hunted whenever spotted.

Here in Nord, the extreme cold kept most beastmen at bay, unlike in Brittany or the Empire to the south, where powerful beastmen tribes were a scourge upon the land, devastating everything in their path. The Empire had waged several wars against these tribes, even leading the Emperor and his royal guards to battle near the capital's forests.

Thanks to these chaotic beastmen, forests had become perilous places where mighty monsters roamed deep within. Lords often decreed that hunters should not venture more than two days' walk into the forest, and yet, towns still lost one or two hunters each month.

Two hours into the forest, Ryan muttered, "A corpse?"

The sun had set, and under a large tree nearby, an old demon hunter with his stomach torn open sat. He appeared to be over fifty, his grayish complexion and dried blood indicating he had been dead for some time. His silver sword was missing, and his steel sword lay broken beside him. His abdomen was ripped open with multiple fatal wounds across his chest. Even in death, under the dim moonlight, Ryan noticed the old hunter still clutched a dagger in his hand, his leather armor torn from a fierce battle. Approaching to investigate, Ryan realized the hunter had suffered a grave injury, made traps, and hid here hoping for rescue, only to die from his severe wounds amidst the freezing cold.

Death was a daily occurrence, and Ryan, having seen his own comrades brutally killed, was no longer easily shaken by a cold corpse. Out of respect, he hastily buried the poor old hunter and took any valuable items as his reward.

"What's this?" Ryan noticed something protected within the old hunter's arms.

After collecting several gold dinars from the body, Ryan retrieved a pocket watch from the hunter's chest.

Pocket watches were rare in this world, made only by dwarves or Imperial engineers. Demon hunters valued time greatly due to their profession, often spending considerable sums on a pocket watch.

Opening the watch, Ryan found a portrait of the hunter's family inside—him, his wife, and their two children, all smiling broadly, looking up at Ryan.

Ryan took a deep breath, clenched his fist tightly, and the bones in his palm cracked audibly.

"Belter! I will catch you!" he vowed with determination.

"What? You mean there's a fallen hunter named Belter being pursued?" Merchant Oliver, sitting in his carriage, overheard a conversation as they encountered a group of paladins on a mission. He immediately connected it to the rumors he had heard and grabbed a paladin to inquire further.

The young paladin he grabbed, barely in his twenties and with a defiant air, unlike the grizzled lead paladin, replied with a tone of disdain, "Yes, we've lost several comrades in pursuit of this fallen hunter, so please do not hinder our mission, sir?"

Oliver bristled at the response, feeling the typical disdain paladins had for merchants—resenting their mercantile cunning and unscrupulous methods. Conversely, merchants loathed the paladins' meddlesome nature and rigid adherence to rules that often interfered with their profits, leading to certain shops and auctions barring paladins, and some paladins preferring hunting or mining over shopping.

But safety was paramount. Regardless of their disdain, paladins were at least rational. Who knew if they'd encounter the dangerous Belter without their protection? Oliver suppressed his anger, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace, "Um, are you planning to cross that forest ahead? If you don't mind, we could travel together for safety."

"Who would want to travel with your kind..." the young paladin began, only to be interrupted by the lead paladin, an older man in his fifties with nearly white hair and a rugged face. He wore a single-handed sword at his waist and carried a shield on his back, his helmet adorned with golden designs indicating his leadership role. "Enough, Alexis, remember the decorum our lord bishop expects of us."

"Of... course I haven't forgotten," the young paladin fell silent.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we are only patrolling nearby and have no plans to enter the forest," the older paladin shook his head, signaling Alexis to be quiet, "Please proceed as you wish, sir."

With that, the paladin squad moved off in another direction.

One of Oliver's guards swallowed nervously, looking at the snow-covered forest ahead, and asked, "Boss, do we continue?"

Oliver eyed the path leading into the depths of the forest, obscured by the dense trees, and clenched his teeth, "Move on! We can't delay any longer!"

"Yes, sir!"

As Oliver's party ventured deeper into the forest, the crunch of carriage wheels on the snow-filled path echoed ominously. Each time the wheels struck a stone, Oliver felt his heart skip a beat.

It was dark, too dark, as he sat in the carriage, peering anxiously into the shadowy depths of the forest, feeling as if something was moving in the darkness.

A profound sense of unease enveloped the merchant and his guards. Oliver pulled out a gold pendant from beneath his shirt and began to pray silently.

"Goddess of Wealth, grant me safety, Goddess of Wealth, grant me safety."

Most merchants worshipped the Goddess of Wealth, though many were either pseudo-believers, proclaiming faith without sincerity, or pan-believers, who prayed only slightly more often.

Their prolonged prayers seemed to help as they made it three hours deep into the forest without incident, but as their horses and guards reached their limits, they decided to rest.

"I'll get some ice," one guard said, taking a pot to fetch ice from a nearby stream to boil for soup.

Unexpectedly, after half an hour, the guard had not returned.

Oliver began to sense something was amiss. Leaning against a tree with a water flask in one hand and a piece of smoked meat in the other, he looked towards the stream again and uneasily asked another guard, "Fack? Why has Myer been gone so long?"

Fack shook his head, "I don't know, boss, I..."

Suddenly, the horses neighed in panic, and a slight tremor ran through the ground.

Thud, thud, thud...

As the sound approached, their faces turned pale. Fack instinctively dropped the soup ladle he was holding and gripped the hilt of his sword, while Oliver scrambled to hide behind his guards, not caring that his fur coat was getting covered in snow and mud. He paled as he looked towards the source of the noise in the deep forest, his heart racing.

Thud, thud, thud...

"Roarrr!" A small warhound appeared first, its face grotesquely scarred and its mouth dripping with foul saliva as it bared its sharp, white teeth.

"Chaos warhounds, it's a beastman raid!" Fack screamed, grabbing

 a crossbow from behind and firing at the warhound charging towards them.

The bolt flew through the cold air, striking the warhound in the head and killing it instantly in mid-charge.

"Yes!" Oliver clenched his fist in a quiet cheer, but before he could relax, a dozen more warhounds surged forward, brutally pushing aside their fallen comrade's body, their blood-red eyes filled with a chilling lust for blood.

Beastmen were here—the dreaded beastmen of the continent, known as the "Scourge of the Earth" and "Harbingers of Calamity."