To the west, the army of the scurvy clan rats was like a large black wave rolling in the sea, and the slave rats let out a piercing screech, moving quickly and ferociously across the plain on all fours, overlapping with the infantry retinue of Bretonnia to the east, covering all the twilight in sight. Almost at the same moment when the two armies came into contact, a large area of blood flashed. For a moment, the sound of screams, shouts of killing, the sound of weapons colliding, and the sound of dimensional gunfire were mixed together, and all kinds of magic sounds were more like ships exploding on the bottom of the sea, blooming brilliantly under the night of death.

Countless Skaven rat people have swooped out of the woods, and their sprawling presence would have made any army brave enough to face the rat tide in despair, but it could not shake the proud Bretonnians.

In Bretonnia, the goddess of the lake invisibly inspires all patriotic warriors, even the weakest old peasant, to give him a spear and ask him to go forward, and he will do it, while praying with hope and devotion.

The shadows of the night are like the scythe wielded by Mohr, the god of death, harvesting the fragile lives of mortals.

The endless slave rats and the Bretonnian infantry fought to the death, and the battle was more difficult than both sides expected.

Behind the slave rats, on a low hill with a good view, Crookshak ordered several dimensional gun-carrying squads to set up their spear barrels and shoot at the place where the Bretonnian had the most people. The deafening gunfire erupted, and the high-velocity bullets fired from the raised gun, made of delicate dimensional stones, were large enough to pass through shields, breastplates, or the body parts of a heavily armored knight, and the damage caused by the poison of the dimensional stones, such as these glowing green bullets passing through or embedded in the flesh, would be considerable.

The ultra-long-range Dimension Rifle Regiments suffered heavy losses as soon as they entered the battlefield, and the only good news was that many of the slave rats opposite them were also shot by their own men.

Compared to the rat people, who have powerful long-range firepower, Bretonnia's bow and arrow regiment is composed of improvised serfs, and the noble knights disdain to use long-range weapons, but they have to rely on the rain of arrows fired by these old peasants to kill and injure the enemy.

The old peasants may not be as skilled in shooting as the longbowmen of the High Elves and Wood Elves, and they are not as well equipped as the Dark Elves' repeaters, but they have high morale and are also a ranged force with good combat power, led by their lords.

With the determination to defend their home and country, these old peasants stubbornly pulled their bows and threw them into the air with the dimensional bullets that passed by them, killing and injuring the nezumi forwards.

Suddenly, a strange bell rang in the rat army, as if some kind of revered behemoth walked out from the rear, and the rats of the clan who were waiting for the ground to get out of the way one after another.

In everyone's eyes, a large chariot covered with spikes slowly appeared on the battlefield with an ominous giant bell, and the huge rat troll crouched on the board, pulling the rope in its claws and sounding the strange bell.

The ragged, staff-wielding, and mad-eyed Plague Grey Prophet stood on a giant bell and proclaimed the will of the Great Horned Rat in the language of the Skaven.

Screaming Knell, an unclean altar of war dedicated to the Great Horned Rat, the Evil Omen Bell on it can both stir up evil in the hearts of the Skaven Rats and awaken fear in the hearts of their enemies.

The appearance of the Grey Prophet sparked a frenzy of rats, unleashing a deadly plague with the swing of his staff, filling the air with plague and destruction, and as the wind swept into Bretonnia's camp, more and more soldiers grew horrific plague herpes, followed by suffocation in their lungs and foaming at the mouth in a pool of blood.

The Bretonnian army was constantly battered. Fortunately, Alboric had several powerful prophetesses under his command, and she prayed incessantly to send down the miracle of the goddess and save the lives of a large number of soldiers.

The gentle breeze of the sea lifted the mane of the horses from afar, but it was completely unable to shake the trained mounts, who restlessly scraped the earth with their front hooves, like the heroic knight master on his back, eager to fight.

The infantry retinue who served as the vanguard and the old peasants of Bartow formed a local formation that had fought the nezumi to the point of white-hot, and at every moment there were large numbers of figures falling, and Archduke Alboric rode the mighty Donpet, standing on a high hill, his long blue cloak carrying black hair hanging down the back of the vulture.

The personal vulture of the Grand Duke, who accompanied him when he was a young knight, was a particularly fearsome presence of this fearsome species, standing out from the crowd of armoured horses.

Archduke Albert was a resolute and calm man, full of the big picture, and loved his people, and King Lawne once commented that he was like an endless sea, moving like a raging wind.

Seeing the nezumen's infamous Dimension Spear Carrying Team and the Grey Prophet join the fray one after another, the Grand Duke knew it was time to launch a stormy charge and annihilate the enemy in one fell swoop.

Donpet stretched his wings, and the Grand Duke put on the magnificent helmet of the Knight of the Holy Grail, quickly flipped onto his horse, drew his long sword, and shouted to the majestic Knights of the Kingdom behind him, "Fearless in the face of the enemy." Be brave and upright, and be loved by the gods. Be honest and truth-seeking, and die without regrets. Protecting the helpless, giving our lives for the Lady and the King, now is the time to fulfill our vows. Follow me and crush these filthy nezumi to dust! ”

With the echo of the battlefield, Grand Duke Alboric flew into the sky on Donpet's height, leading the thousands of knights below to launch a terrifying charge towards the rat army, the blade of which reached the Grey Prophet.

The knights of Bretonnia lived for their homeland, lived for honor, died for their ladies, did not hesitate, deserved, took the lead, and always rushed to their destined death with the most ease.

This rich land is the home they fought for.

Everyone has a reason to fight for it, and the reason to fight is always so simple on the road to war.

If you are like a tiger, your heart is like glass, and you fight for your faith, then you are not afraid of returning the corpse on the battlefield, these are the knights of Bretonnia.

The strongest of them, the Knight of the Grail is the strongest form that a good person can achieve in the medieval world, and every Knight of the Grail is the most ordinary, but better than ten thousand epic legends.

Nothing stirred the hearts of the Bretonians more than a charge led by a Grail Knight, and some fanatical old Bretonnian peasants even joined the Grand Duke's charging army with the remains of a dead Grail Knight.

The earth shook violently, and the slave rats were quickly routed, their bodies pierced by spears and trampled to pulp by the hooves of thousands of horses, and even the more well-trained clan rats behind them could not stop the Bretonnian knights' desperate charge, and the army was killed like paper.

Crookshak was also desperate, ordering all the Storm Rats to join the battlefield, but in the face of Bretonnia's unstoppable Iron Hoof, he was a big step behind in terms of momentum and strength.

Meanwhile, Helmer and Eliden ride black horses and are forced deep into the center of the meat grinder-like battlefield.

In front of him, countless storm rats screamed with halberds in their hands, and the knights of Bretonnia behind him were already close at hand, and Hemer's robes were even lifted by the strong wind they brought, and the sound of hunting was heard.

If Hemmer still had a glimmer of hope at the beginning, his heart cooled down at this moment.

He didn't expect Alberic's army to appear here, and he overestimated the initiative of one person on the battlefield, he and Eladen were too small in front of the army, like a drop in the ocean.

Looking at the endless battlefield, Hemmer felt a sense of powerlessness for the first time, and his cleverness was mistaken by cleverness, and he became a prophecy before the war, but he didn't expect that it was himself who experienced retribution.

Embattled, the dark steed sitting down was on the verge of exhaustion, snorting and panting, Hemmer avoided the most fierce battle, trying to protect it as much as possible, but there were many nezumi, and in the chaos, the dark steed still suffered a lot of damage, and it didn't take long for a halberd that came out of nowhere to slash the horse's leg, and the dark steed fell with a cry of blood.

Hemmer and Eliden fell to the ground before they could react, and scarlet blood sprayed on Hemmer's black armor, staining Eliden's clothes red. Ever since he became the Dreadlord and the dark steed had fought countless battles with him, his chest was full of anger: "Damn rats!" ”

Without giving him a chance to vent, countless nezumi suddenly surrounded him with spears and halberds, and Hemmer drew his sword and fought back, slaying the nezumi who rushed up one by one, and he just brandished the lord's sword and stabbed every enemy who attacked him.

The rapidly changing situation prevented Eliden from condensing large death spells with peace of mind, and could only unleash some small magic points to kill the clan rats that rushed up rashly.

The two faced a steady stream of clan rat troops, and Hemer's physical strength gradually became overdrawn. And every time he saw those rat men stabbed by swords, the blood gushed like a spring, and his mind was even closer to the brink of collapse.

There were so many dead on the battlefield that the cacophony of trumpets and iron horses mingled in my ears, and the cold wind came from the other side of the battlefield, rolling up waves of fear and raising a piercing roar that blew away the clouds in the air and the muffled snort of Hemer.

At some point, he was stabbed, and the long sword in his hand almost fell. After a few seconds, a bright red liquid flowed down the edges of the armor, staining the leggings and boots red.

Eliden behind him had exhausted all his mana, but there were still countless nezumi who were going crazy, and the sorceress looked at Hemer's side face and smiled miserably, "Looks like we're going to die here, Hemer." ”

"We're not going to die here, absolutely not, trust me."

Suddenly, Hemmer turned his head and stared at Eliden earnestly, the dim light of death magic shining on his face, his skin pale and his eyes dark blue, like bottomless pools.

"I'll get you out alive, no matter what it takes!"

At this moment, Eliden was suddenly stunned, and in the face of Hemmer's resolute expression, she thought that it would be good to die here like this.

Anyway, the world is boring, and it would be nice if you could accompany the person you like to die with.

Suddenly, just as Eliden had the idea, an endless purple mist emerged from Hemer's body, enveloping the area in an instant.

Through the thick fog, she couldn't see Hemer's appearance clearly, and could only vaguely see a huge figure dozens of meters high slowly walking out of the fog.

The gesture of her steps was like that of the most noble goddess in the night. Dressed in graceful clothes, he tilted his head slightly, and his eyes were empty and spared Eliden in the distance, and where the blade swung, none of the nezumi at his feet were completely dead, either without a head, or with only a head and no limbs on his body. The thick smell of blood was in the air.

With a gentle smile, Ez grabbed the neck of a storm rat and said softly like a doctor extracting a child's teeth, "What a fragile creature." ”

Then there was a click, crushing the other party's neck.