15 Chapter 15

As the clash of steel echoed through the training grounds, Atlas felt a surge of exhilaration coursing through him. Each swing of his blade, each parry and thrust, seemed to flow effortlessly, guided by the newfound strength pulsing within him. His senses were heightened, every movement of his opponents was anticipated with preternatural precision.

The undead knights he sparred with, once formidable adversaries, now seemed like mere shadows compared to his newfound prowess. With each strike, he felt the weight of his magical sword cutting through the air with deadly precision, the energy coursing through him fueling his every movement.

His undead heart, long dormant and cold, now beat with a renewed vitality, the blood energy within him swirling and pulsating in harmony with his every action. It was as if a dam had been breached, unleashing a torrent of power that flowed through his veins, empowering him in ways he had never imagined.

With each passing moment, Atlas could feel the transformation taking hold, his body adapting to the influx of energy with remarkable ease. His muscles, once stiff and unyielding, now moved with fluid grace, each motion infused with a newfound strength and agility.

As he sparred with his undead companions, Atlas felt a sense of liberation wash over him. No longer did he feel constrained by the limitations of his undead form; instead, he revelled in the boundless potential that now lay within his grasp.

With a triumphant roar, Atlas pressed on, driving his opponents back with relentless ferocity. His movements became a blur of steel and shadow, his blade striking true with every blow. And as he emerged victorious from the fray, he knew that he had crossed a threshold, ascending to a new level of power and mastery.

Turning to face the horizon, Atlas stood tall and proud, his gaze fixed on the challenges that lay ahead. With his newfound strength and determination, he was ready to face whatever trials awaited him, confident in his ability to emerge victorious. For he was no longer just a fledgling vampire seeking his place in the world—he was now a Vampire knight, destined for greatness.

Hearing the drums momentarily distracted him.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Plans and schemes he had been concocting this time to secure his freedom flooded into his mind. It was time for action now. The final act had come at last.

As Atlas led his unit forward, the drums of war pulsed in his veins, their rhythmic beat echoing the call to battle. With each step, his undead legion advanced, a formidable force grown stronger with every victory. Behind them, the undead horses pulled laden wagons laden with the spoils of their conquests—treasures pillaged from every settlement they had raised, books of knowledge collected from the libraries of fallen cities, and rare tomes traded with other vampires for favours and false alliances.

Once a mere newborn vampire, Atlas now commanded the respect of his peers as a fierce warrior and a master of dark arts. His reputation as a gifted mage and necromancer had spread far and wide, earning him a place of prominence among the undead aristocracy. As they marched across the fertile ground, leaving behind a trail of crumbling and devastated lands, Atlas knew that they were drawing ever closer to their ultimate goal: Altdorf, the heart of the Empire.

With every mile they covered, anticipation swirled in the air, mingling with the scent of decay and death that clung to their ranks. Atlas could feel the tension building, the excitement of the final battle electrifying the air around them. Each member of his unit marched with purpose, their undead hearts pounding with anticipation as they neared their destination.

As they approached the towering walls of Altdorf, Atlas felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was it—the moment they had been waiting for, the culmination of their journey.

Altdorf, the illustrious "City of Spires," stood as a testament to the grandeur of the Empire, a beacon of power and prosperity in the heart of the Old World. Nestled along the banks of the mighty River Reik, it served not only as the capital city of the Empire but also as the seat of the Imperial Court—a bastion of authority and governance that commanded respect and awe.

As the bustling hub of trade and commerce, Altdorf attracted a diverse array of people from all corners of the known world. Merchants haggled in the crowded markets, their wares ranging from exotic spices to fine silks, while adventurers and fortune seekers sought their fortunes in the city's labyrinthine streets. The air hummed with the energy of ambition and opportunity, drawing in ambitious souls eager to make their mark on the world.

Yet, beneath the facade of prosperity lay a darker truth—a city teeming with corruption and vice. In the shadowed alleyways and hidden corners, thieves lurked, preying on the unwary, while corrupt officials lined their pockets with ill-gotten gains. Assassins moved like shadows in the night, their blades as sharp as the tongues that whispered secrets in the ears of those in power.

But amidst the chaos and intrigue, Altdorf was also a bastion of knowledge and learning. The Colleges of Magic, renowned throughout the Empire and beyond, stood as beacons of enlightenment, where scholars and wizards delved into the mysteries of the arcane. Here, the finest minds of the Old World honed their craft, mastering spells of unimaginable power and unlocking the secrets of the cosmos.

Surrounding the city, towering white walls with red slate roofs stood as a testament to Altdorf's strength and resilience. Guard towers loomed at regular intervals, their watchful gaze ever vigilant against potential threats. Within the city, a formidable garrison stood ready to defend its walls, bolstered by the presence of several knightly orders, including the legendary Reiksguard—the pride and glory of the Empire.

As the undead legion approached the outskirts of Altdorf, the city's imposing silhouette loomed on the horizon, a symbol of both hope and fear. Atlas knew behind those formidable walls lay the gathered strength of an entire empire – something no-one; not even Vlad, could ignore. It was a testament to the Empire's determination to defend its heartland against the encroaching darkness of the undead horde.

At the forefront of this mighty host stood the Captain and Generals of the Empire, each boasting its own standing army meticulously trained and disciplined for the defence of their lands. From the verdant fields of Averland to the rugged mountains of Middenland, soldiers from every corner of the Empire had answered the call to arms, united in their resolve to repel the undead menace.

Leading these valiant warriors were the Generals of the Empire, appointed by the Elector Counts to command their province's armies in their stead. These seasoned commanders, some born of noble blood and others risen from the ranks of the soldiery, stood as beacons of leadership and inspiration amidst the chaos of battle.

Marching in lockstep with the Generals were the Captains of the Empire, junior officers entrusted with carrying the army's Battle Standard into the fray. Though younger and less experienced than their superiors, these stalwart leaders had proven themselves time and again on the field of battle, earning the respect of their comrades through courage and valour.

The backbone of the Empire's armies was formed by the State Troops, professional soldiers trained to fight together in regiments. Halberdiers, spearmen, swordsmen, handgunners, crossbowmen, and archers stood shoulder to shoulder, their varied skills and weapons complementing one another in a deadly symphony of warfare.

Among the ranks of the State Troops marched the elite Greatswords, clad in Dwarf-forged plate armour and wielding massive zweihanders with deadly precision. These seasoned veterans formed the vanguard of the Empire's armies, their unwavering courage inspiring those around them to stand firm in the face of adversity.

In times of dire need, the Free Company Militia and Huntsmen were called upon to bolster the Empire's ranks. Though lacking in formal training, these brave souls fought with a fierce determination born of necessity, their makeshift weapons and rural skills proving invaluable in the defence of their homeland.

Hovering above the battlefield like avenging angels were the Knightly Orders, independent brotherhoods of warriors bound by strict codes of chivalry and honour. From the Knights Panther to the Knights of the Blazing Sun, these noble warriors rode to war atop heavily barded warhorses, their lances levelled and their swords ready to strike down any who dared threaten the Empire.

Among the Knightly Orders rode the Imperial Knights, an elite force of heavy cavalry renowned for their skill and bravery in battle. Clad in the finest arms and armour, these noble warriors formed the backbone of the Empire's cavalry, their thunderous charges breaking enemy lines with devastating force.

In the skies above, the Pistolkorps rode to battle, their units of light cavalry harassing the enemy flanks with deadly fire from their pistols. Led by the Outriders, these impetuous young nobles performed daring hit-and-run manoeuvres, their reckless bravery earning them both glory and renown on the field of battle.

But perhaps the greatest strength of the Empire's armies lay in its formidable artillery, manned by the skilled gunners of the Imperial Gunnery School. Great Cannons, mortars, Helblaster Volley Guns, and Helstorm Rocket Batteries stood ready to unleash devastation upon the enemy, their thunderous roar heralding the Empire's wrath.

And overseeing it all were the Battle Wizards of the Empire, masters of the arcane arts who wielded the Winds of Magic with deadly precision. From the Celestial Hurricanum to the Luminark of Hysh, these powerful sorcerers channelled the raw power of the cosmos to smite their enemies and protect their allies, ensuring that the forces of darkness would find no quarter within the walls of Altdorf.

The gathered armies caused such a scene as had not been seen in the world for an age. Atlas sighed, almost regrating his foreknowledge of the results of the battle – almost.