The son of the God-Emperor in Warhammer Fantasy

In the old world, in the Empire, within the domain of Prince Rick, lies a simple village in the western part of Rick's territory.

In the midst of January's deep winter, the land remains engulfed in frost. Villagers stay within their warm homes, enjoying the remnants of the Winter Festival. Each household keeps its doors shut tightly, and only the smoke rising high from their chimneys is visible to any traveler.

The lands of Rick are fertile and wealthy, even in winter. The self-sustained villages often organize their own militias for patrolling.

Rick and Aver are among the richest provinces in the Empire, boasting a high number of yeomen farmers. These farmers are only required to pay taxes to the Emperor or the Elector Counts. The local lords can only levy trade taxes and poll taxes. The yeomen cultivate their own lands and sell their produce in village markets or town fairs, earning profits and accumulating wealth.

However, because of this, yeomen do not receive protection from the nobility's armies, unlike in Bretonnia where serfs can seek help from the knights, who usually respond unless in extraordinary circumstances—a practice that has remained largely unchanged for a thousand years.

The situation is different in the Empire, especially in the affluent province of Rick, where the nobility seldom care about the welfare of the yeomen, some even wishing for their demise to seize their lands.

Under these circumstances, yeomen must arm themselves for protection, or else hire mercenaries.

In the midst of a snowstorm, a witch hunter riding a lean horse approaches.

His face is unnaturally pale, and he carries two swords on his back—a two-handed steel sword and a fine silver sword—along with a short hand cannon at his belt. He wears a set of brown scale armor and a peaked cap.

The witch hunter is visibly weighed down, his lean horse somewhat unsteady as it trods through the snow, arriving at this simple village.

He appears to be in a hurry, and upon reaching the entrance of the village, the witch hunter quickly dismounts, kicking up a cloud of snow.

"It's a witch hunter!"

"The witch hunter has arrived."

"Maybe he can handle that job."

The villagers whisper among themselves, discussing the arrival of a witch hunter.

Compared to Bretonnia, the Empire's villagers are more familiar with witch hunters. While they resent the witch hunters' frequent abuses of power in searching for corruption, they also hope that the witch hunters can help solve various problems and concerns, leading to a complex perception of them—welcoming when needed, but wishing they would disappear when not.

The witch hunter, accustomed to a life of travel and often subjected to various forms of disdain and prejudice, takes no offense. He strides towards the village notice board.

Several notices are posted there, including someone in town buying piglets, Emperor Carl-Franz recruiting for a transport team, and Hemgart urgently needing sewer cleaners with competitive pay.

After scanning quickly, the witch hunter finally spots a bounty notice.

"Beastmen sightings reported 15 kilometers from Rickwald Forest. Likely a beastman tribe active in the area. Village requires personnel to scout the tribe's activities. Extra 30 gold marks for the beastlord's head."

"Bounty: 15 gold marks."

The witch hunter exhales lightly and tears off the notice, observed by many villagers.

He finds the village mayor, an elderly man with graying hair standing by the door of the largest house in the village. The mayor, dressed in thick wool clothing and a soft hat, with many strips of cloth hanging from his body, greets the witch hunter.

"Is this your notice?" the witch hunter asks, handing over the bounty poster.

"Yes, that's from us. Are you taking it?" The mayor shrugs, his demeanor towards the witch hunter not particularly welcoming, barely maintaining civility: "If you're taking it, I can have someone show you the way. If not, please put the notice back on the board."

"I'll take it," the witch hunter quickly responds. "Since I've taken the notice, I intend to accept this commission."

"And you want to negotiate the price?" the mayor asks skeptically. "Everyone says witch hunters are greedy, devils that don't spit out bones. Speak then, devil. What are your terms?"

"15 gold marks is too little; normally, such a task should merit at least 20 gold marks," the witch hunter argues, his scarred face making him look fierce, though he speaks softly, trying to bargain with the mayor.

"That was the old rate. This is the price now," the mayor replies evenly. "15 gold marks isn't too little; it's enough for you to spend for three months."

"Can you make it a bit more?" the witch hunter bargains. "In winter, weapons become icy, and firearms are less reliable. Entering the forest, I face considerable risks, and this is also for the village

's safety. I need more money to properly prepare and maintain my equipment."

The mayor looks the witch hunter up and down, examining his gear and scars, then nods: "Alright, considering you're risking your life to enter the forest and deal with the beastmen, the village can give you three extra gold marks, but you must leave by sunset tomorrow."

"Deal... and," the witch hunter nods in agreement, looking like he wants to say more.

"What else?" the mayor turns back, having started to leave: "What else do you need?"

"I haven't eaten since noon yesterday..." the witch hunter admits sheepishly, clearly hungry. His funds depleted, he only has a few pieces of stale bread left and hopes to run a tab.

"What's your name?" the mayor suddenly asks.

"I'm Albert, from Hemgart," the witch hunter replies.

"Mr. Albert... how can you complete the task if you can't eat properly? Let's arrange for the inn in the village to prepare some food for you, and we'll deduct the cost from your payment."

"Thank you!" Albert is genuinely appreciative of the mayor's understanding, nodding repeatedly: "Thank you very much."

"No need for thanks, just don't arrest me as a heretic or a follower of chaos," the mayor turns away again, heading back inside.

At that moment, a flurry of hoofbeats approaches the village gate, causing the mayor to turn around once more, slightly dizzy from the motion.

The experienced witch hunter, Albert, realizes that a noble must be arriving.

At the village gate, a group of nobles on tall horses enters the village, led by a grand noble riding a pure-blooded elven warhorse, dressed in a Bretonnian noble's silk garb and a white fox fur coat, holding a thundering warhammer, with a Grail Knight badge on his chest.

Two knights in silver full plate, richly decorated, accompany him. The crests of the Iron Cross, Skull, and Laurel on their knightly order badges are enough to grant them passage anywhere in the Empire.

As expected, the previously indifferent mayor instantly changes his demeanor, his face splitting into a broad, ingratiating smile. He hurries forward, limping on a wooden cane and kneeling in the snow: "Welcome, welcome, welcome! Guards of the Emperor! Welcome to Smirk Village."

"Hello, mayor. We are under the Emperor's orders to escort a distinguished guest to Hemgart. We will stay here tonight. Prepare your two best houses," a Rick Guard says haughtily, pulling out two gold marks bearing Carl-Franz's face from his pocket and tossing them in front of the mayor, signaling him to rise: "Make it quick."

"Yes!" The mayor loudly agrees, his excitement and thrill palpable as he scrambles up from the snow, running and shouting at the top of his lungs: "The Rick Guard has come! The Rick Guard has brought the Emperor's mission to Smirk Village!"

The entire village erupts like it's Midsummer Festival, with all 300 villagers pouring out to witness the two Rick Guards, cheering and greeting the party. Many kneel, even offering up exquisite handicrafts.

The two Rick Guards merely smile and wave, conveying the Emperor's will, commending the villagers' labor, and inquiring if there have been any incidents of the nobles overtaxing them.

The Rick Guards, akin to the Grail Knights in status, represent one of the core strengths of the Empire and have the authority to monitor the regions and report directly to the Emperor. Since their founding, they have fought ceaselessly against evil alongside the Emperor, earning the common people's respect and affection.

"At least on the surface, the people here seem to be living well," one Rick Guard comments to Ryan walking beside him.

Having turned thirty-one after the Winter Festival and now married, Ryan carries himself with an even greater air of maturity, less of the youth's impulsiveness and more of a genuine noble's gravitas.

"I'm surprised you actually gave money to the villagers," Ryan smirks slightly. "In Nordland, it's considered a blessing for peasants if knights stay in their homes."

"Savior Ludwig taught us that everyone is entitled to be rewarded for their labor, at least in the southern provinces of Rick and Aver in the Empire," the Rick Guard speaking is actually a recruit named Rudolf Lichtenstein, the eldest legitimate son from the house of Duke Lichtenstein, serving in the Rick Guard.

"Yes, or rather, it's only so in the southern Empire," another Rick Guard interjects. "In fact, in the northern Empire, it's still common to hear the saying 'Where you're born is what you're meant to be.' If you're born a peasant, you remain a peasant your whole life. If born a noble, then a noble you remain for life."

This recruit is Wagner Schmidt. These two young knights are tasked by Emperor Karl to escort Ryan

 to the border at Axe Bite Pass in Hemgart. Though they are but recruits, Rudolf leads a retinue of eleven knights, and Wagner has five, plus Sulia, Veronica, Theresa, and Sulia's servants, forming quite an impressive cavalry entourage.

"I always thought it was only in Bretonnia that such strict distinctions between serfs and knights were maintained," Theresa, riding a half-elf warhorse, asks curiously, the striking sorceress inquiring.

"Things vary by place, Lady Trovick," Rudolf responds less warmly to Theresa, the duke's son maintaining his dignity: "Many nobles dislike this practice because it cuts into their profits. They always pay lip service but secretly obstruct it, always resisting Emperor Ludwig's teachings. But we must be thankful to the Savior. Without him, you wouldn't be able to walk the streets so openly."

The Empire's nobility still harbors prejudices against wizards, both needing and fearing their power. Neither Theresa nor Veronica are certified by the Imperial Royal College of Wizards.

That's why wizards long to become the Chief Imperial Wizard—it's a symbol of status and trust from the Emperor, and it grants the respect that wizards covet.

The elegant Sulia speaks up, the countess's smile captivating: "He is a great emperor. Without him, the old world would have perished in chaos long ago."

"I'm glad we agree, Lady Sulia," Rudolf smiles understandingly, his gaze drifting to Albert standing in front of the village house: "My God, has chaos spread here too? I can't believe I'm seeing a witch hunter!"

"Oh! It's Albert! Long time no see!" Ryan, quick to notice, greets the witch hunter with a smile, dismounting and approaching Albert, clapping him on the shoulder: "Mr. Albert, it's been a while."

"A pleasure, Count, long time indeed," the witch hunter greets stiffly, forcing a polite smile and shaking hands with Ryan.

"What brings a witch hunter to this village?" Rick Guard Rudolf asks loudly: "Have you detected heresy, or have you taken on a commission?"

"I've accepted a commission," Albert acknowledges, aware of the other's prestigious position. He is not one of the witch hunters governed by the Church, who have the authority to oversee the Empire's nobility. Albert belongs to the loosely organized Witch Hunters' Guild.

"Good luck with your task," Wagner says, wanting little to do with the witch hunter.

Nobles are not fond of witch hunters.

"What commission?" Ryan, however, is intrigued.

"About..." Albert begins to explain the commission when Ryan notices his pale face and the rumbling of his stomach, indicating the legendary fighter is still famished, evidently having a tough time: "This isn't the place for a chat. Let's discuss this over a warm fire and good food!"

"I agree!" Rudolf raises his hand, the Rick Guard recruit speaking up: "Let's head to the inn and see what they have to eat!"

Twenty minutes later, at Smirk Village's Butterbeer Inn, Ryan, Sulia, Rudolf, Albert, and Wagner sit at a simple table by a warm fire. The wealth of the noble knights is clearly not something a witch hunter can match; Ryan casually produces several silver coins, ordering a lavish spread from the innkeeper—fragrant meat soup, a basket of barley bread, delicious stews, and refreshing butterbeer.

"So, you're saying... there's a beastman tribe active in Rickwald Forest, about fifteen kilometers from here," Ryan muses, stroking his chin and turning to Albert: "You've taken on the villagers' commission to investigate the beastman tribe? But you're alone; it's a dangerous task. Where's your partner, Jules?"

"Jules has returned to Tal's Horn Fortress for the winter... the fortress is in a hidden part of the Grey Mountains on the border of Hemgart," Albert explains. "Repairing and maintaining my gear has drained my savings, so I had to seek commissions right after the Winter Festival or starve."

"A beastman tribe, is it?" Ryan thinks for a moment, then says, "Since we're here, let's help Carl-Franz and his province of Rick with this."

"Albert, you handle this. Enter the forest depths to scout the beastman tribe, then find a way to lure them out."

"This time, let's exterminate these disgusting agents of chaos once and for all!"

Updated, seeking your votes!

___________________

(Support with power stones, comments or reviews)

If you guys enjoy this story, In support me on Patreon and get access to +200 advance Chapters

Read Ahead

Patreon.com/INNIT