Warhammer Divine Throne

"Alright, Viert, calm down a bit. None of us wished for things to end up like this." Laine quickly stopped Viert, sensing the hostile emotions among the surrounding mercenaries.

"Lady Trovik, please remember the Blood Axe Mercenary Corps. When we left Frost City, we had a full complement of fifty men, with two staying behind." Viert no longer cared about Laine's status. The deputy commander, in his thirties, had bloodshot eyes and a hoarse voice: "And now? We have only thirteen left. What did you say back then? You needed us as bodyguards, and you would protect us with your magic?"

"But now? You can't even protect yourself, so you throw our lives into the mix?"

"Back in Kaltenhaven, I asked you directly. You promised we wouldn't face fights like this again."

"We need an explanation, Lady Trovik!!!" Viert approached, but Laine quickly stopped him, the White Wolf Knight's expression calm: "Watch your attitude, mercenary! Otherwise, I'll fulfill my duty."

Viert's gaze fell on the White Wolf Knight Badge on Laine's chest, followed by an awkward silence. He finally calmed down: "I await your explanation, Lady Trovik."

"I promise to give you and the Blood Axe Mercenaries behind you an explanation, Mr. Viert. But please apologize for your previous rudeness. Remember, without my spells, you couldn't have survived." With Laine by her side, the female sorcerer regained her composure and gently pushed Amelia away, signaling she was okay.

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

Just as Laine was about to speak, Teresa softly pressed her body against him and whispered in his ear: "Support me, I've exhausted my magic power."

Laine nodded, his strong arms supporting the female sorcerer's arm—even though blood covered him, Teresa merely frowned without pushing him away. Laine led her to a distant spot.

Gray Blade Billger appeared before Mr. Oliver, speaking in a low, hoarse voice: "Gray Blade lost sixteen lads in this battle, and we demand proper compensation."

"We will pay this sum, as agreed." Oliver frowned, his business sense telling him he must nod, yet his rational mind knew it wasn't that simple.

"No, proper compensation." Billger's expression was equally grim; his mercenary corps had suffered significant losses, needing to extort more money from the merchant: "Mr. Oliver, the previous price was the previous price; circumstances have changed. You didn't tell us the cargo included Sea Heart Stone; this was deception. Gray Blade suffered heavy losses, and we demand the rightful price."

Implying he wanted to raise the price.

"Billger, that's against the agreement!" Oliver said with difficulty.

"Indeed, circumstances have changed, Mr. Oliver. If you still want our protection, pay more." Billger pressed further, his face fraught with frenzy and greed.

Upon seeing the Sea Heart Stone, everyone's greed was ignited.

At the same time, a sudden quarrel erupted among the mercenaries.

"If you hadn't failed to fire and cover him, Simon wouldn't have died!" Banda was the first to provoke, targeting a caravan guard, who was Mather, always with Oliver.

"Brat, what do you know?"

"Enough, it's your fault!"

"Watch your mouth, you little punk!"

The quarrel intensified, especially with several wandering knights intervening, escalating further: "Mr. Mats, please hand over the Sea Heart Stone. We bled to protect you; isn't the Sea Heart Stone rightfully ours, not for the caravan?"

"Indeed, Mr. Mats, please hand over the Sea Heart Stone." A few wandering knights holding sword and shield approached, uttering illogical words; only Aik stood afar, face full of hesitation.

"No way!" Estelle, as Mats' hired guard, rightfully stood up to confront these wandering knights.

The guards surrounded Mats, while on the other side were the wandering knights, among them Goodson, who had been stabbed through the shoulder by a Beastman, looked the most crazed. His wounds seemed to drive him mad; his sharp sword unsheathed, he approached irrationally: "Hand over the cargo or die!"

"Enough!!!" A furious shout brought everyone back to reality. Laine, supporting Teresa, yelled at the crowd: "I don't care your current situation, whatever you want to negotiate, don't negotiate here, alright? Look at where we are!"

Everyone snapped out of their rage, the bloody and lifeless camp revealing it was not the place or time for talk. Yet they couldn't help but feel unfounded anger and madness, as if they wouldn't relent until everything before them was torn apart. Agitation, fury, and hatred ran rampant between people, everyone like a powder keg ready to explode, eager to kill everything to the last.

Laine understood deeply; this was the corruption of chaos, always creeping into the human heart unnoticed. The terror of chaos lies not in its mighty combat and destruction, but in its insidious erosion of hearts. Many brave soldiers repelled Chaos Army's attacks on the battlefield, only to suffer corruption post-battle and ultimately degenerate into Chaos Warriors.

The smell of corpses and blood was like a beacon in the night for scavengers, a deadly temptation, even attracting Undead and other creatures.

With Laine's shout, the quarrels ceased temporarily, they hastily performed fire cremation and burial of the corpses, tidying things up. After such a bloody battle, the caravan decided to head directly to the High Mountain Fortress atop Scavell Mountain overnight.

The carriage was heavily damaged, horses lost over half, but most cargo survived intact, putting the caravan, with over half its members lost, in abject shortage. They relit torches to proceed, unlike before, the guards and mercenaries remained distinct, exchanging cautious glances, guards especially wary of the wandering knights trailing the caravan.

Gradually, divisions formed...

In the dark forest, the head of Tree Planter Elldrad hung from the Beastman's battle flag, his face still showing despair and fear of his final moments, making it all the more fitting for the Beastmen.

Beneath the battle flag, an altar filled with blood and a throne made of Druid bones served all Beastmen, a mysterious symbol sat atop the altar, glowing red in the dark.

"Cheap...sacrifices." The giant Minotaur moved through the night, faint moonlight casting on its scarlet face, armor embedded into its face, welded with blood and flesh, the Minotaur who fought Elldrad earlier, its size a whole circle larger than other Minotaurs.

Other Beastmen gathered around it, prostrate before it; clearly, it was the Beast King of this Beastman Warband.

"No sacrifices...no...blessings, need...sacrifices." The giant Minotaur raised its War Axe.

A flash of cold light, a Minotaur's head was lopped off directly, its huge head rolling aside, filthy blood energy releasing from it. Something in the dark void seemed to answer the ritual.

"How about this little gift?"

The Blood God never asks the source of blood.

"Not enough, continue..." Several more Minotaurs lost their heads; nonetheless, all Beastmen dared not act, continuing to prostrate, awaiting the Beast King's next move.

"Enemies...two...witches without combat strength...the White Wolf Knight is...the Blood God's exhilarating sacrifice..." After killing twelve subordinates in succession, the giant Minotaur finally received a satisfying reply from the mysterious existence.

"Tomorrow...I shall duel the White Wolf Knight to the death." Raising its massive War Axe high toward the sky, the Beast King roared suddenly: "Blood sacrifice to the Blood God! Skulls to the Skull Throne!!!"

"Blood sacrifice to the Blood God! Skulls to the Skull Throne!!!"