The port city in central-western Estalia.
Magus.
It had been fallen for many days. Under the Greenskins' devastation, it had turned into half a ruin shortly after the walls were breached, despite the Warlord's orders.
However, with the support of slave labor and human labor sent from Magritta, the city was quickly repaired, especially the vital port facilities.
Hundreds of warships and an army of over a hundred thousand were ready to deploy.
They awaited only their commander's order to march north, invading the northern territories to sweep and pillage, just as the green beasts had done in the south.
But inside the city of Magus, at the Warlord's headquarters,
the atmosphere inside the grand tent was exceptionally heavy.
Even the most belligerent and loud Big 'Uns didn't dare cause trouble, fearing the wrath of this force.
Including pirate allies, human cannon fodder, mercenaries hired for coin, mysterious Skaven reinforcements, and even Chaos Beastmen who had emerged from the southern woods...
Many of these tribal cousins had chosen to merge with the Greenskin horde during the WAAAAAGH!, continuing the sweep and bringing fire and destruction to humanity.
Even after excluding the fifty thousand sent into the Piña Forest to wipe out the "tribe" and find a way to flank the Northern Council,
there remained a terrifying force of over two hundred thousand.
This was the army of the undisputed "Big Boss."
Gorkamorka Wyvern!
A cunning, powerful, and—by Greenskin standards—"weird" Warlord.
The Warboss of the largest WAAAAAGH! the world had seen since the era of Grimgor Ironhide.
The reason why Gorkamorka—who usually possessed a "steadiness" and "rationality" alien to Orcs—was so gloomy was obvious.
It was the total annihilation of his vanguard of nearly sixty thousand Greenskins, led by one of his most trusted generals, Tank Bone-Club.
Gorkamorka Wyvern was very displeased.
Until now, aside from the setback at the hands of that "Beastman Tribe" in the Piña Forest, his conquest had been smooth sailing.
His proudest achievement was successfully subduing the capital of a nation.
Now, Gorkamorka was considering: how exactly should he deal with this Beastman tribe that had popped out of nowhere, about whom even the humans had no reliable intelligence?
A hooded figure ignored the busy Greenskins, guards, and sentries.
Walking as if no one were there, the figure strolled casually until stopping just outside the perimeter of the Wyvern Guard.
The figure then revealed its presence.
The Warlord's bodyguards soon discovered this mysterious intruder.
They alertly summoned troops, surrounding the hooded person whose gender and race could not be determined.
A mage suddenly asking to see the Warlord—this was a rare event.
Meanwhile, on the other side, Al was speaking to his scions:
"That Greenskin Warlord is our enemy. From its performance, we can see that this fellow is undoubtedly a special kind of Orc—a 'Smart Greenskin'."
"Lileath's mist has shrouded Piña. We hold a natural, absolute advantage here. Until the Greenskins find a way to break it or accumulate enough overwhelming force to crush us, we are effectively a third party in this war—in a state of 'absolute safety' where we won't be proactively attacked."
"In this situation, that fellow doesn't look like a typical Orc. He wouldn't leave an enemy capable of destroying his fifty-thousand-strong army on his flank while he takes hundreds of thousands north."
"He wouldn't risk us launching a sudden raid to cut his retreat or hitting his flank during a decisive battle. Based on my judgment, if he is a commander with normal strategic capacity..."
Al looked troubled as he reached this point.
Why the hell did the Greenskins come to hit him?
He had exposed his own strength and threat for nothing.
Now the Orcs didn't dare go north to hit the Estalians and thoroughly muddy the waters.
His plan to fish in troubled waters and eat both sides was becoming hard to implement.
At this thought, Al completely forgot that he was the one who went to help Veling first, then Cerebrio and Magus, proactively revealing his power and making the Greenskins take the forest enemy seriously.
But on second thought, the fact that the Greenskins were this steady—fighting with a logic completely unlike a "WAAAAAGH!"—was mostly... no! Entirely the fault of that Orc Warlord!
Even if Al hadn't caused trouble, the Greenskins moving north by land and sea wouldn't have ignored a forest the size of Piña.
If they moved north by land via the Veling-Demontrei road, they would face fortress after fortress and fortified city after fortified city.
If they could march through Piña, they could follow the Thomas River directly up, bypassing Demontrei and Sahagan—including the newly built "Bulwark of Saint Monna"—to strike the northern heartland and reach the walls of Bilbali.
The Greenskins would have invaded the forest either way. Since Al's home was the forest, they were destined to clash...
If he killed that Warlord, the WAAAAAGH! already in motion probably wouldn't fall apart completely.
More likely, the generals would fight among themselves, and a winner would take over the Orc war-machine.
Then they would likely charge heedlessly at everything in sight until they leveled the enemy—or smashed themselves to pieces.
Such Greenskins would be much easier to deal with.
He considered it but realized it wasn't feasible. Regrettably, he had no units like Khaine Assassins or Raven Guard.
Furthermore, the Warlord was in the middle of a vast army, protected by the favor of Gork and Mork and the WAAAAAGH! field. He wasn't that easy to assassinate. He dropped the idea.
"In this situation, both we and the Greenskin commander are trapped in a position where we can neither retreat nor advance..."
"I 'eard you beast-fings can fight. Did a big fing, gave my 'ard lad Tank a real wallopin'..."
"We won't give up the forest unless we lose the ability to fight. With Lileath's mist, we are naturally invincible in Piña. We want the Greenskins to go north and attack the Estalian remnants, but they can't just ignore a force as threatening as ours..."
"Don't mess wiv me when I 'it the North stunties?"
"Willin' to give up the West road? Won't send a single beast-fing North till I 'it Bilbali?"
The Warlord stroked the non-existent beard on his chin, falling into deep thought.
Beastmen...
What the zog are they up to...