As Reiksmarshal Helborg and Standard-Bearer Ludwig shouted in alarm, the assassin's dagger raced toward their beloved Emperor, Karl Franz. Once again, the Emperor's quick thinking saved him; he released his grip on the runeblade and tried to block the dagger with his arm. The sudden defensive move disrupted the Tzeentch assassin's rhythm, but it didn't stop his attack. In less than a second, the assassin regained his momentum and drove the dagger down toward the Emperor with lethal force.
There was nowhere to run.
The Silver Seal, the magical artifact worn by the Emperor, emitted a blinding light, its immense energy shielding the Emperor from the corruptive powers of Chaos. However, the Silver Seal could not fully protect against the dagger's sharp edge and the deadly poison coating it.
In that critical moment, the winds in the forest roared to life.
Emerald green gales, infused with boundless fury, whipped through the trees, creating a twisted whirlwind of leaves. A brilliant green light filled the forest, and the Emperor's body was enveloped by the raging winds. Just as the dagger neared his throat, an extraordinary blade emerged from the void to intercept the assassin's strike.
"Clang~"
A ghostly figure, clad in exquisite ancient armor and radiating green light, appeared in the storm. Ivy entwined his body, and irises adorned his armor. "No one passes here!"
"Bless me, Tzeentch!" the assassin, now losing his sanity, yelled as he swung his dagger again. But the green specter gave him no further chance. The spectral blade sliced through the assassin's arm, severing it cleanly. The hand twisted, and the blade thrust forward, piercing the assassin's throat. The Tzeentchian follower convulsed a few times before collapsing, lifeless.
The specter withdrew his weapon and, with emotionless green eyes hidden behind his helmet, glanced at the shaken Emperor. He extended his hand, as if offering to help him up.
"No! Stay where you are, raise your hands, and drop your weapon!" Reiksmarshal Helborg finally arrived with the Reiksguard and the Gryphon Greatswords, encircling the Emperor protectively. Although the assassination attempt had lasted less than five seconds, Helborg's heart had nearly leapt from his chest. Unsure if firearms would affect the ghostly figure, the Reiksguard aimed their pikes and pistols at the specter. Helborg drew his runeblade, "Obey, now!"
"No, stop!" Emperor Karl Franz extended his hand. The ghost pulled him up, and the Emperor was surprised to find that the specter had a tangible form. Suppressing his astonishment, the Emperor waved off Helborg and the others. "If he had wanted to harm me, I would already be dead. Soldiers, lower your weapons. I recognize him. He is the Green Knight, the embodiment of knightly virtue, the defender of secrets, the protector of the righteous. I'm very grateful for your help. May I know your name?"
"In the long span of history, I have had many names," the Green Knight's voice was ethereal, as if it didn't belong to this world. "But that is not important."
"Very well." The Emperor smiled awkwardly, signaling Helborg and Ludwig to lower their weapons. Karl Franz then stepped over to the assassin's body and removed his helmet.
Beneath the helmet was a face twisted beyond recognition. The Emperor shook his head. "This is not my man. Something must have happened to Schmidt."
"Damn it! Have the cultists infiltrated the Reiksguard?" Helborg felt deeply responsible. The fact that an impostor had slipped into the Reiksguard under his command was a grave failure. Frustrated, he said, "This is my fault, Your Majesty."
"No, it's not your fault." The Emperor shook his head, examining the face more closely. "He looks exactly like Schmidt and even had his full set of equipment."
"A foolish attempt," the Green Knight spoke, his voice thick with a Bretonnian accent. Some of his words were archaic, long obsolete. If the Emperor wasn't well-versed in ancient languages, he might not have understood him. "I have left my homeland to stand before you, Emperor of the Empire. My Lady sent me here. You must not fall, nor can your Empire. Otherwise, in a few decades, we will all bow before the Everchosen."
"The Everchosen?" The Emperor paused at the mention of the term, then fell into thought.
Another prophecy about Archaon, the Everchosen. Over the past century, the Imperial Court had collected more than ten prophecies concerning him. Witch Hunters and Warrior Priests had made countless attempts to eliminate the threat while it was still dormant, but Archaon remained in the Chaos Wastes, unreachable by any of the Empire's forces or other factions.
"I was sent here by the Lady of the Lake. I must return to Bretonnia to fulfill my vow, but before I leave, I must inform you that on the Day of the Lady this fall, Ryan-Marcus, Duke of Mousillon, and rightful heir of L'Anguille, will ascend to the throne in Couronne. I strongly suggest that you, Emperor Karl Franz, should attend the coronation and meet with the new king," the Green Knight continued, his green aura flickering slightly.
"That's not a suggestion; that's a demand, specter!" Helborg stormed forward, his elaborately groomed mustache quivering in the air. He glared at the Green Knight. "Whether the Emperor attends the coronation is not for you to decide. We will discuss it ourselves!"
"No, inform Ryan that I will attend, in person," the Emperor interrupted, waving for Helborg to calm down. Assassination attempts were so common for Karl Franz that they had become routine. He smiled broadly. "He is my friend."
"But we are not always friends," Helborg muttered under his breath. The Reiksmarshal insisted, "As at the Battle of Helmgart, if you come in peace, we greet you with wine and flowers. If you covet the Empire's lands, we greet you with swords and spears."
"That was the former king's mistake…" the Green Knight murmured in an even older language. A spectral green horse materialized from the void. He mounted it effortlessly. "The dark times are coming. We must unite. Not only the Everchosen but soon, there will be an Avenger whose wrath will engulf the entire Empire."
"Who?!" the Emperor tried to ask, but the Green Knight had already vanished into the green light, his spectral steed rearing before disappearing into a nearby thicket.
The winds calmed, leaving only a ground covered in leaves and the slain Tzeentch assassin.
After the chaotic encounter, neither the Emperor nor his troops felt like continuing the hunt. They quickly gathered their spoils, burned the assassin's body, and regrouped to return to Altdorf.
The Reiksguard and the Gryphon Greatswords were silent as they rode back, their spirits dampened. The Emperor led the way on his half-breed elven steed, followed by Reiksmarshal Helborg and Standard-Bearer Ludwig, both riding Imperial warhorses from Averland. Though Ludwig remained silent, everyone knew the veteran warrior blamed himself for the Emperor's brush with danger, while the Emperor was clearly deep in thought.
"So, you plan to attend Duke Ryan's coronation in person?" Helborg hesitated before asking.
"Should I not?" Karl Franz responded with a question.
"I do not intend to criticize you. My duty is to follow your orders, my Emperor," Helborg said in a low voice. "But you seem to have a suggestion?" the Emperor inquired, sensing Helborg's unspoken thoughts.
"You should not make such a decision so hastily, Your Majesty. You are the Empire. Your every word and action represent the millions of descendants of Charlemagne. I have never doubted your excellence and ability. Without you, the Elector Counts, whether old, weak, arrogant, or with divided loyalties, might have already fractured the Empire. You have bravely taken on this responsibility, and in that, you have done better than your father," Helborg said, nodding. "But in matters of diplomacy, you seem somewhat reactive. We are the Empire."
"Reactive?" The Emperor chuckled at Helborg's seemingly contradictory words. It seemed appointing him as Reiksmarshal had been the right decision. "The knights are not our enemies, Kurt."
"But they are not always our friends," Helborg insisted.
"If you do not understand betrayal, you do not understand politics. If you do not understand compromise, you do not understand politics, Kurt, my friend," Karl Franz sighed softly. "You cannot apply military logic to diplomacy and domestic affairs."
"…" Helborg remained silent.
"Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if Boris Todbringer had won the vote. What would have become of the Empire?" Karl Franz mused as he gazed at the forested landscape of Reikswald, his expression wistful. "He is experienced, a valiant warrior, and has extensive experience dealing with other nations' leaders."
"If Todbringer had become the Wolf Emperor, we Reiksguard would have been shipped off to Araby or Kislev en masse," Helborg stated loudly. "He only trusts the White Wolf Knights of Ulric. The accumulation of your grandfather, your father, and now you, three generations, would have been lost. You might still live comfortably as an Elector Count, enjoying your wealth and titles
as Grand Prince of Reikland and Duke of Altdorf, but your talents would have been wasted. You would watch as the Church of Ulric rose to dominance while the light of Charlemagne faded."
"But Ryan has the full support of the Lady of the Lake's church, while I am still negotiating with Archbishop Vikmar," the Emperor replied noncommittally, shifting to a second topic. "Sometimes, I feel like a beggar, or a newspaper boy going door-to-door, trying to sell my wares."
"If the Empire loses its faith, what will it have left?" Reiksmarshal Helborg's response was grave. "You know very well, my Emperor, that the Empire's army is not enough to eliminate all the threats we face. This nation is at war every month, not for victory, but for survival."
"Good," the Emperor said, as if he had finally clarified something in his mind. Helborg noticed that something seemed to have changed in Karl Franz's demeanor.
"I will have my court prepare a grand gift. I will personally lead the Reiksguard and the Altdorf Royal Demi-Griffon Knights to Couronne to attend Ryan's coronation. That is an order!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
… The Freedom After Faith Dividing Line…
In the frantic preparations for the coronation ceremony, time flew by, and within a few months, autumn arrived in Bretonnia. Golden waves of wheat swayed in the warm autumn breeze across the plains of Couronne. The unrest caused by the rebellion of Mallobaude had become a thing of the past, and under Lauen's diligent governance, Couronne had regained its former prosperity.
Now, the entire kingdom was focused on the upcoming coronation. In a few weeks, Duke Ryan of Mousillon would receive the scepter from old King Richard and be crowned king in front of all the dukes and past kings.
Ryan was thirty-nine this year. It had been fifteen years since he had set out from Nord's Winterfell.
Today, Ryan and his entourage, including his Old Guard and knightly retinue, arrived in Couronne. Once the greatest city of the Elves in the Old World, Couronne was now the capital of the Bretonnian Knightly Kingdom and the heart of its faith. The great wonders of the Old World, the Couronne Lionring Hippodrome and the Cathedral of the Grail Champions, stood here, bearing witness to the ancient history of the Knightly Kingdom.
Ryan and his company settled into the Couronne Royal Hotel. Although he could have stayed in the Couronne Palace, Ryan declined the offer. After all, he was not yet king, and to flaunt his victory and enjoy royal privileges before his coronation was not in keeping with the champion of the Lady of the Lake or the embodiment of the Eight Knightly Virtues. In just a few weeks, he would be the true king; showing such eagerness now would only be unbecoming.
The coronation ceremony required numerous rehearsals and preparations, and Couronne had been getting ready for months. Regent Lauen had been busy overseeing the preparations, spending a significant amount of the treasury. Once the coronation was over, there would be a parade rehearsal, followed by a week-long Royal Knightly Tournament. This tournament would be open to the entire human realm, and even the Wood Elves had said they would send participants. Ryan had prepared a large supply of food and drink, promising that both noble knights and common serfs would be welcome to attend.
As night fell, Ryan and his family had just finished dinner. In the grand suite of the Royal Hotel, Sulia was holding little Devonshire, telling him stories of the twelve founding Grail Knights and the glory of chivalry. Little Devonshire listened intently, occasionally waving his toy lance, imagining himself as a great Grail Knight, charging into battle, destroying evil, and spreading the Lady of the Lake's will throughout the kingdom, fighting to protect his home and country.
Ryan smiled as he watched his wife and son. He sipped his coffee when Olica approached him from behind. "Master, there's a guest. He wants to speak with you."
"A guest? Who?" Ryan set down his coffee cup.
"It's King Richard. He says he wants to have a word with you."
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