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POV of Karl Franz Holswig-Schliestein

Sigmarzeit-18-2492

In Altdorf we were received with showers of flower petals and festive music, as the Imperial army, having finally ended the war with Bretonnia, returned triumphantly, marching through the streets. Everything stopped for this moment, with crowds gathering just to see the brave warriors who had won the war and put an end to two threats that had plagued Imperial trade in the region: the greenskins and the necromancer.

There should have been a sense of peace to benefit Reikland, all thanks to one man who seemed indifferent to the celebrations, as if being hailed a hero meant nothing to him. That was strange, for he was surrounded by nobles who would kill to be in his place, where the Emperor himself showered you with prestige and titles. But he rejected it, preferring instead to fight again—this time to aid the dawi. Some attributed it to Sigmarite zeal, to that branch which claims the only true prayer is obedience to Sigmar's will, that the truest worship is shedding the blood of His enemies. Yet I had observed him through the entire campaign, and I doubt he was ever a religious man. I never saw him pray, nor call upon the protection of the gods.

And so, the military parade returned without the general or many of the troops who had actually won the war. Albrecht knew the Bretonnians as if he had lived among them. Every prediction he made about the campaign came true with uncanny precision. It was almost as though he had a hidden wizard of the Lore of Heavens by his side, for he foresaw Bretonnian moves with ease. Thanks to this, he managed to break the Gisoreux front within days, where others might have been bogged down for months.

This was the man the people now began to acclaim in the streets, even though he was not here to hear their cheers. And as I marched, greeting the crowds as befitted a prince of the Empire, I could not stop thinking that his indifference to glory made him all the more fearsome.

That made him difficult to predict, for I had no idea how to control such a man. Clearly he liked gold, but he only ever used it to generate more gold, almost like a merchant. I doubted that alone could be used to manipulate him, and that was the only basis we had for trying to exert even a shred of control. Beyond that, there was nothing—except that he was far more patient than he appeared, and when necessity called, he never hesitated to put himself in the front line.

I also noticed that he was no politician, no matter how much he proclaimed himself one through war. He had no patience for diplomacy, nor the tact to seal agreements. He ruled over nobles by sheer fear alone, and now they breathed easier knowing he was not looming behind their shoulders like an executioner waiting for the smallest mistake.

But where he truly excelled was in charisma. I had never seen anyone so close to his men. He laughed with them, ate with them, sometimes even shared in labors others would consider beneath them, yet there he was, alongside his soldiers whenever he could. He helped them overcome their fears, spoke to them as if he had lived his entire life in camps. That was what struck me: though he was a little younger than I, he seemed a veteran hardened by decades of service. I know his father put him through brutal training to forge him into the warrior he is today, but even so, the way he moved and behaved was not common in a man his age.

His men adored him, and not only they: many troops of other nobles respected him as if he were their own lord. He was cruel with discipline, yes, but just; never punished without a clear fault, and when he did, his severity left a mark none dared to test again. The more I observed, the clearer it became that his men would follow him blindly. They never hesitated for an instant when he charged against a necromantic army; they followed him straight into the wolf's maw, as though they were marching to glory instead of death.

And that is what worries me most. Not his strength, nor his cruelty, nor even his military cunning. It is the iron loyalty he inspires in others that makes him so dangerous to measure.

My presence in this campaign had not even been planned, but father insisted I take part. Albrecht had offered something that seemed too good to be true, and that meant it could be a trap. Father feared that this whole idea of a centralized Empire was just a ploy to leave him without political support, only to betray him later by backing another candidate for the throne and ruin him. That was why my mission was clear: to discover whether his intentions were sincere, and the true reach of his plans.

Although, truth be told, I may have been somewhat distracted by what I discovered about him.

The celebration with the Grand Theogonist and his priests was solemn, though noticeably disappointed that Albrecht was not among us. Their conviction was restored upon hearing he had gone to aid the dawi, delighted that a noble would be so diligent in fulfilling Sigmar's designs. To them, Albrecht was already the perfect archetype of the Sigmarite ideal: iron obedience, discipline, personal sacrifice, and victory against the Empire's foes. The Theogonist did not hesitate to invite him to another ceremony upon his return from the southern mountains.

And therein lay another of our concerns: that closeness with the Cult of Sigmar which bordered on the extreme. The Grand Theogonist clearly had him as a favorite, and should he ever contend for the crown, the clergy's support could easily swing to him. In that case, what would remain for Reikland? Would we be forced to yield to many of the Cult's demands, sacrificing Imperial authority to maintain balance?

When the ceremony ended, in which the leaders of the army were blessed with solemn prayers, I returned to the palace. I knew that night I would have to speak with father, and finally decide what we would do about the plans proposed to us by the Elector Count of the Westerlands.

"Ah, my son, at last you've returned… well… your absence was shorter than I expected… but I've heard the campaign was almost too good to be true," father said in his private study, surrounded by advisors and spies who had surely already informed him of everything.

"Indeed, Father. I have returned from Bretonnia with good news: the war with Bretonnia has ended completely. We secured a peace treaty with King Feramand, who recognized his defeat at the hands of our new general. In addition, we destroyed the necromancer and wiped out the entire greenskin clan that plagued the Empire's passage into Bretonnia through the Axe Bite Pass," I replied, bowing my head.

"There is something that intrigues me… the necromancer. Were these separate battles, or what happened? The details aren't clear to me," Father asked, while one of his advisors whispered in his ear.

"In our cleansing mission, after waiting for a dawi host summoned by Elector Count Albrecht, we launched the attack. The battle unfolded as an overwhelming victory in our favor, but then the necromancer appeared. It was at that moment that Albrecht threw himself into the fight, and they barely managed to pull him out alive," I explained.

"Did he do something foolish… or anything that drew too much attention and almost cost him his life?" Father asked, frowning.

"No, I fear the necromancer was simply too powerful. His skeletal hosts bore armor consecrated to the Ruinous Powers, and many of their weapons were cursed. He must have been a very strong necromancer to control them. Albrecht charged straight at him, seizing the chance while a gigantic skeletal knight was locked in combat with the greenskin warlord, and managed to kill him. I don't know all the details, since few saw the fight—just a handful of his best men followed him in an attempt to bring down the necromancer," I replied honestly.

"Damn fool… playing with his life as if that doesn't cause me problems… well then, tell me, why isn't he here?" Father asked.

"He decided to head south, to fight for the recovery of a dawi Karak. I don't know exactly when he departed, but he spoke of having secured aerial transports from the dwarfs to move his forces. I fear he must already be far beyond the Empire by now," I answered.

"What do you mean he is no longer in the Empire?… did you not warn him of what could happen if he dies?" Father asked, eyes wide.

"I told him… but he replied that if we did not let him go, he would tell his dawi allies that the reason for his absence was because the Empire forbade him. That would put all the dwarf realms against us… something we cannot afford. To lose their alliances would be disastrous," I said firmly.

"Well… in that case… but damn it… why is he so erratic? Why could he not wait a couple of months to better coordinate our moves?… very well, son… tell me then: what did you learn of his character? Because it is hard to grasp what that man is truly like… and that irritates me," Father said after a heavy sigh.

"Honestly… little. Only confirmed what we already knew. He is a brilliant strategist: from the moment he arrived, he knew how the Bretonnians would move, what they would do, and how they would react. He staged a ruse and every Bretonnian fell for it, leaving him free to seize Gisoreux. Something makes me think the issue with the sewers was the cause, since many buildings collapsed in the city, breaking the wall and allowing him to enter, even though it was guarded by sorceresses and Grail Knights. His troops are blindly loyal to him, and he has great charisma with soldiers. Strange as it sounds, I saw it: all his men adore him. He pays them well, ensures they always have food and fresh water, and unlike nobles who flaunt their status with spiced delicacies, Albrecht eats the same rations as his men. I get the impression his father trained him far too well to be a soldier," I replied.

"That does not change much of what we know of him… I thought he might reveal more of himself during the campaign, but instead he only confirmed what we already suspected. Did he show interest in… I don't know, weapons, horses, women… anything?" Father pressed, searching for some weakness to control him.

I shook my head. "No, nothing. Only that he thinks too much about everything. For example, it is common for him to forget to inform others about certain matters. Did you know he recovered three more dawi Karaks in the Grey Mountains and that he has excellent relations with the dwarfs?"

"No… I did not know that," Father said gravely.

"How good are these relations?" one of his advisors interjected.

"To the point of asking them to send an army… and they actually did so without hesitation, with their thane personally coming to support him. Some dwarfs even asked him to braid their beards… that level of closeness."

My father's advisors looked at one another in disbelief, while even he seemed unable to believe what I had just said.

"To braid their beards… even his thane's?" Father asked, raising his brows.

"I don't know for certain, but they called him 'dawongi', and acted very close," I replied.

At once two advisors leaned in to whisper to Father, who remained thoughtful for several moments before speaking.

"Well… the dawi know how to recognize honor. I suppose that confirms it is possible he speaks sincerely when he says he wishes to aid us in this titanic work of centralizing the Empire. Though I would have liked to discover something more personal about him, and not rely only on these stories to make such an important decision. Be that as it may, we must resolve what to do with the Bretonnian lands," Father said, lifting a brow.

"Albrecht recommended we place some noble at the front who is easily replaceable, tied completely to Reikland… such as a general. Let him defend the frontiers, and have each general appointed be recognized as an elector. That way, when he retires, the office passes to another, but always under our control. In this manner, the vote would remain ours at all times," I explained, presenting Albrecht's suggestion.

"Yes… a good idea. Leave in his charge the fortresses of Montfort, Parravon, and Gisoreux, and distribute the rest of the lands among the Empire's lesser houses. Second or third sons, and let Imperial families move there," Father said, nodding.

"Speaking of that… Albrecht asks as his reward for the peasants of Parravon."

"Again?… Does he not have enough already? I heard he has already taken as spoils the entire population of two Bretonnian duchies," Father said.

"Yes… and still he wants more," I replied.

Father shook his head and rubbed his face. "This is not the time to deny him a reward, least of all now…" he sighed heavily.

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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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