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Sommerzeit -23-Nachgeheim-15,2490 IC

As soon as all those social events ended, I didn't take long to depart for my domains to gather my men for the next campaign in the Drakwald. This time, I traveled much heavier than the last, for there were far too many cannons to move, and Middenheim was far removed from my comfort zone. I had no choice but to gather hundreds of extra horses to transport the cannons and all the necessary supplies, since this time the supply line would not be just a day away from my home, but four or five full days until reaching Middenheim.

For that reason, I had to march with as much weight as possible, carrying enough provisions to establish a camp capable of enduring for as long as the beast hunt lasted. For two whole days supplies were loaded: food, salt, gunpowder, many newly made firearms, dawi cannons, hundreds of spare suits of armor, and—most importantly—a vast cache of Shallya's potions. This time the cleansing would be thorough… and I would see it done properly.

So, as soon as it was feasible, we began the march toward Middenheim. We repeated the same path as before, though in Schilderheim it was difficult to find someone willing to charter ships for my transport; many regarded me with suspicion, and the city itself looked run down. In the end, only one merchant eager to fill his purse with gold agreed to take me north, into Middenland.

That delay cost us nearly a day, but soon we were back on the road, bound for what would be a grand military campaign.

In Carroburg I was received by the local Elector Count, who had already been informed by the Ar-Ulric that I could recruit men from his city and the nearby villages. He raised no objections; rather, he allowed it as a form of thanks for the previous cleansing, which had reduced the problems caused by the beastmen.

In that region I recruited about four hundred young men eager to serve under my banner. They were immediately issued old muskets, blue uniforms, full packs, and light armor to cover their most vital parts.

Later, in Kutenholz, I recruited another two hundred. The routine repeated itself: encamp, drill them in the basics of the musket, teach them to reload, and enforce discipline.

In the trio of villages—Brockel, Guthugel, and Kupfengrube—we managed to raise five hundred more, swelling our ranks even further. The local nobility, though suspicious at first, were satisfied when they heard my mission was to hunt beasts. To them, it was far better to give up dozens of sons to the army than to lose entire villages to the monsters.

In Mittelweg and Derbez I recruited two hundred each. Altogether, we reached fifteen hundred new recruits marching under my command. After that last stop, the march led straight to Middenheim.

There, the Elector Count himself awaited us, along with several nobles who had joined the cleansing campaign. The Ulricans had amassed an enormous quantity of supplies to stave off hardship: food, medicine, weapons, and further reinforcements. Before beginning, I recruited an additional five hundred Ulricans in Middenheim itself, bringing the total to two thousand musketeers—not counting my veteran troops.

"Then, Graf Albrecht, where should we begin this hunt?" asked the Elector Count of Middenheim, pointing to a map of possible areas to cleanse.

My finger fell at once on the ideal point. "Issenbutel… it is the best site for the cleansing. In this way we cover a large portion of the Drakwald and prevent massive beast migrations that could devastate larger towns. We cannot defend every village, so I recommend evacuating the surrounding areas. I know the harvest is near, but this is necessary to avoid heavy casualties," I said firmly, while all the nobles studied me.

"If you deem it necessary, I will evacuate my peasants to secure positions. Could they be quartered temporarily in Middenheim?" asked a local noble.

"Yes… I will see to it that our brothers in faith are kept safe," replied Boris Todbringer.

"Good. That said, I also believe the village itself should be evacuated. Attacks will come from all directions, and it would be prudent to leave it empty. We cannot scatter ourselves; we must concentrate in one place, build fortifications, dig trenches, place artillery batteries, and create kill zones," I explained, pointing to a hill near a lake as the most suitable site.

"So it shall be… but what is a kill zone? It sounds like sorcery… do you have wizards?" asked another noble suspiciously.

"No. It's the term for an area where two lines of fire converge on the same enemy group. Where our fire concentrates, nothing survives," I replied.

"Ah, I see," said the noble, smiling in relief.

"Very well then… someone must lead the operation without disputes of command. To avoid conflicts of interest, are there any objections if I take that role?" I asked.

All the nobles turned toward the Elector Count of Middenheim. "I will not deny that right to the expert hunter. You know more than anyone about the beastmen. For now, I accept your leadership, young Graf. Prove your worth in the eyes of Ulric," declared the Elector Count.

"So it shall be. We must move quickly. You will see more beastmen than you have ever imagined in your lives," I replied.

With that, we marched south with more than twenty thousand souls prepared for the great hunt.

The next day we reached the chosen village, which lay along one of Middenheim's trade routes to Marienburg, vital to keeping mercantile flow secure.

After ordering the evacuation of villages near Middenheim, the hard work of fortification began. The local lord's castle was useless: it was too closely hemmed in by houses, and half the town would have to be torn down to use it. Instead, the hill near the lake was perfect. There we began digging trenches, raising wooden walls, and felling forests to clear the ground. Little by little, the wooden fortress took shape, ready to house our troops and withstand what was to come.

Over two relatively quiet weeks, what had once been nearly pristine forest became a gigantic timber fortification. Multiple firing positions rose, walls bristled with well-placed cannons, and warehouses brimmed with hundreds of potions ready for the musketeers' use.

The forests had been pushed back several kilometers, and beastmen attacks were few during the construction. The fortress was incredibly defensible, with several inner walls, overlapping kill zones, and artillery deployed with care. If it had been built of stone and given more time, it would surely have been nearly impregnable, modeled after the Italian trace. We had even diverted part of the nearby lake to fill defensive moats, leaving only a single possible entrance to the fortress.

When everything was mostly ready, we began preparing the traps to lure the beastmen. Dozens of pigs were slaughtered and hung from the trees, writhing in agony as their fresh blood dripped onto the earth. It only took a few minutes before the first beastmen appeared in the clearings.

They wasted no time in throwing themselves at us, and immediately the muskets thundered without rest. With warehouses full of supplies, tons of gunpowder and lead, the great cleansing had begun.

On the first day, we played aggressively: I myself, accompanied by much of my forces and several nobles, led a bold attack alongside a group of Ulrican priests against a herdstone. We quickly overran the few hundred beastmen that guarded it, and the priests performed the rite of purification, burning the stone after offering prayers to Ulric. The dense sense of Dhar in the air confirmed the wisdom of the plan. Before, it had taken us two weeks to destroy one stone; this time, we achieved it on the very first day.

Upon returning to the fortress, we witnessed a great migration of beasts, drawn by the magical disturbance.

On the third day, a massive war herd crashed against our defenses. Thousands of ungors hurled themselves with suicidal fury against the fortification, only to be cut down like wheat under the fire of the organ guns. The cannons roared, and hundreds fell in seconds. Meanwhile, the muskets boomed without pause. The newly recruited Ulricans were nervous at first, but soon grew accustomed—especially when they realized they had the best fields of fire they could have ever imagined.

Days passed, and with them mountains of corpses piled before our defenses. There were days when thousands died in a single battle, leaving entire fields covered in shrapnel and torn flesh. The priests of Ulric could not keep up with the purifications; the slaughter was so constant that the cult sent dozens more clerics to maintain the rites.

When the beastmen did not attack, we used the time to restock ammunition, repair and extend fortifications, dig new trenches, and secure the passage of supply caravans. Every day was a routine of blood and steel: attack their herdstones, destroy them, and draw more beasts into our killing trap.

The enemy losses were colossal. We had purified more than eight stones in the first week alone, exterminating thousands of corrupted females and humans. The south was practically clean, from Bashdal to the east.

The following week, we shifted the offensive north while another horde gathered in the south. We cleansed the forests of Fintel, destroying ten more ritual stones in a short span. Many of the gor warriors had already perished in previous assaults, leaving only the weak to guard the breeders.

Everything was going splendidly. Our own casualties were minimal, and enemy concentrations fell one after another. Even charges of minotaurs and war-gors clad in armor consecrated to the ruinous powers were useless: with so much concentrated fire, no charge made it within a hundred meters of our lines before being reduced to a heap of corpses. The simultaneous volley of five organ guns created true massacres.

Thus the battles continued for days. Every night, black smoke and the stench of burned flesh became routine, shrouding the fields of death that surrounded us.

But then I began to feel it: the Dhar thickened more and more with each day. The beastmen shamans multiplied, and the magical corruption saturated the air.

And it was on one of those days that an old rival appeared: a monstrous beastman of colossal proportions, carrying a massive boulder in his four arms, while several shamans used their magic to control him.

"Cannons… cannons! Here comes the finest prey of all," I said, grinning from ear to ear.

The beast began charging toward us, running with the enormous rock in its arms. It had barely advanced a few meters when the first explosion echoed from one of the most fortified sections of the wall. A projectile shot out at great speed, striking the monster's leg squarely and sending it crashing heavily to the ground.

It roared with fury, forcing itself back up. Its bellow was so deafening it could be heard for miles. Limping, it charged again at our defenses, slower but no less lethal. Several detonations shook the air; some shots missed, but others struck squarely in its chest. Another projectile smashed into its head as it tried to duck, tearing away part of its face and leaving its skull mangled.

The creature glared at us with pure hatred, staggering, trying to summon the strength to hurl the boulder. Its muscles tightened, but the cannons kept thundering with relentless precision. Each impact tore away chunks of flesh and bone until, finally, a blast louder than the rest marked the end: the colossus collapsed, crashing to the earth, while the shamans who controlled it stood stunned, unable to maintain their hold.

There was no time for celebration. After the monster's fall, a brutal charge shook the field. Armored wargors led the assault, followed by thousands of gors and ungors. The ground trembled beneath their hooves, and the air filled with warhorns and savage howls.

"To the walls, do not yield a step!" I shouted, raising my gauntlet toward the artillery positions.

The deafening roar of the organ guns answered my command. The batteries fired in succession, tearing massive chunks out of the horde. Muskets and cannons joined in, turning the field into an inferno of fire and steel. The charge ended the same as all the others: with thousands of corpses piled high, bodies shredded, and blood flowing like rivulets before our defenses.

The few survivors fled back into the forest, leaving behind a momentary silence broken only by smoke and the groans of the dying.

"Their momentum is spent… now it's our turn to strike," I murmured, my grin widening.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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