Warhammer Divine Throne

There was an extremely painful wailing and screaming sound, a cry of agony that not only stirred up waves in the realm of mortals but also formed strong echoes in the Subspace. It was the power of Chaos, the blessing of the Evil God. Everywhere in the Chaos Domain was chaos and madness. In the Skalings’ camp, eight Chaos Mages were all turned to ash by the fierce Chaos Storm, with only Chakoy, at the Legendary Tier, surviving.

Not being Chaos Mages, the Barbarian Warriors unable to sense the Wind of Chaos shivered constantly under this terrifying Chaos Storm. They all knelt down and loudly praised the names of their respective Evil Gods.

Tears glistened on Egil’s weather-beaten face as he reached out his hands and gently cradled the swaddled baby.

The child was strong, with intense eyes of ice blue like his father, holding a lump of blood in his small, tightly clenched fist, a symbol of power and the Blood God’s blessing.

This was a little guy with a bit of spirit.

Egil’s eyes were blood-red; he extended his hand, gently caressing the child’s face. His son was still young, unable to wield axes and swords, but that didn’t matter; Egil could wait, he could wait, for his life was still long.

Chaos Mage Chakoy finally struggled to regain his sanity from the terrifying Chaos Storm. He scrambled to Egil’s side, announcing joyfully that the foster father’s family had a new member, and the nearly twenty thousand Barbarian Warriors cheered loudly for the future Chief.

Under the night, Skalings’ camp was bright as day, a grand celebration held in the Barbarian’s camp. Everyone enjoyed the great victory. Now, the Brittania people had lost their Champion; all they could do was hide within the castle, anxious and uneasy, waiting for the judgment of fate. The Barbarians, however, feasted generously, breaking open grain storage, attacking every shop and workshop, plundering everything they saw, eating meat heartily, drinking soup in large bowls, singing loudly.

The Barbarians had no reason not to celebrate, a great achievement already forged. They had inscribed their military honors with Brittania blood and destruction. Tomorrow, they would attack the sole Inner Castle in Leonais, decorating the Throne of Khorne with Brittania skulls and flesh.

Egil happily embraced his son. After cradling the baby for a long time, he remembered the child’s mother, Hengest, or rather Elizabeth, who was lying pale on a large table.

The woman looked at Egil with pleading eyes.

She didn’t want to die; she knew what her future fate would hold, she was begging.

Yet Egil showed no reaction. He waved his hand, and Chaos Champion Cowende entered from outside: ”My King?”

Egil said nothing, merely pointed to the woman lying on the bed and then clenched his four fingers together, forming a hand blade, slicing downward.

The Divine Chosen Champion of Khorne turned his gaze to Cowende.

Cowende immediately nodded in understanding.

The King of Skalings, cradling the baby, walked out of the tent and celebrated wildly with the Barbarians.

”Rip!” Just after Egil walked out of the tent, a sound came from inside, blood staining the coarse cloth of the tent red, and Egil sneered endlessly.

This was how it should have been; many unexpected events occurred, but the conclusion returned to the predetermined track after all.

What’s left is the joyful time of celebrating victory.

Joyful moments are always fleeting. After celebrating for several hours, Egil heard an unusual faint horn sound, the horn sounded mighty and majestic. The Barbarians, still in a state of bewilderment amid the mad celebrations, many drunk till they were senseless, couldn’t react to what was happening.

Barbarians were always like this; chaos-worshipping, they were always synonymous with disorder and chaos.

Egil was also overwhelmed by the birth of his son, having completely forgotten to assign sentries. He felt the alcohol from the two barrels of malt he’d consumed eroding his thoughts, but the Divine Chosen Champion of Khorne quickly overcame the power of the alcohol and immediately realized something had changed!

”Enemy night raid! Enemy night raid! Warriors, pick up your weapons, prepare for battle!” Egil shouted the command sky-high; the weather suddenly changed, dark clouds billowed, and subsequently, a massive flaming meteor plummeted from the sky directly towards the Barbarian camp.

The meteor exploded in the Skalings camp, instantly killing over one hundred fifty Barbarian Warriors, a massive airwave sweeping across the entire camp.

At the same time, distant thunderous cannon sounds rang through, several shells glowing with magic light traced beautiful arcs, falling into the Barbarians’ camp afterward.

Cannons roared, shells burst, artillery attacked the Barbarian camp, each cannon shot blasted dead a dozen Barbarian Warriors and a large Barbarian tent. These shells were the infamous bursting shells, Egil’s face changed upon hearing the cannon sounds. He, having fought the Northern Empire and Nord Kingdom for years, understood the sound of these cannons.

This is Dwarf Cannon’s sound!

Brittania... does it have dwarves?

No, Egil shook his head repeatedly, the Empire and Dwarves have a sacred alliance, while Brittania’s relationship with Dwarves can only be described as fair. How could there be Dwarf Cannon sounds here?