"Loyal sons of the Empire, blades of the Empire!"
His voice was not loud, but it carried a strange rhythm that etched every word deep into the soul of everyone in the Square.
"Look north!"
Archbishop Herimon thrust an arm toward the dark northern horizon.
"That forgotten land! Demons have built their profane lairs there, and rat vermin gnaw at the foundations of the world from the shadows! They defile our land, mock our strength, and dream of drowning the Empire's glory in their filth!"
Archbishop Herimon's voice rose, edged with bitter cold and burning fury.
"Do they think that by murdering our cavalry through tricks and schemes, by spreading chaos and destruction through the Empire with fel energy and sheer numbers, they can make us retreat?"
"They are wrong!"
The cry exploded over the Square like thunder. Archbishop Herimon stepped forward, his dark red robes snapping in the wind.
Rain spread in rings across the ground. Wisps of white mist began to seep from the warriors' visors.
"Today, you who stand here are the answer! You are the Empire's strongest shield and its sharpest sword. You will become the storm of destruction sent by the Emperor, crush their filthy bones, and burn their loathsome souls to ash!"
"No mercy! No hesitation! No retreat!"
Archbishop Herimon's voice reached its peak, filled with an absolute will that brooked no doubt.
"Blood for the Human King!"
"Skulls for the Throne!"
Annan shot to his feet. "What did you say?!"
"The State Religion Army is leading the Three Great Legions from Old Val Town straight into the Northern Frontier!"
Annan pulled out a map and studied the Imperial Army's route. If they made no detours, their target was... the Ratfolk Royal City!
Once the shock passed, he could only marvel. That was...