The son of the God-Emperor in Warhammer Fantasy

"A halfling?" Fugan thought disdainfully, though his expression remained unchanged, showing his eagerness to recruit talent. He pondered the origins of halflings.

Recalling the information from the Empire's book *Geography of the Old World Nations*, Fugan remembered the details about halflings.

Halflings hail from the Mootland in the Empire. Their history and origins have been covered before, so there's no need to repeat them here.

Despite their similar height to dwarves, halflings are never considered a warlike race. They are better suited to being merchants, innkeepers, musicians, and their culinary talents are unmatched in the Old World. While ordinary humans typically cook by boiling, stewing, or roasting, halflings have developed frying, smoking, braising, stir-frying, pan-frying, and simmering. In the human realms of the Old World, a high-end inn or tavern must have a halfling chef, or it won't be considered a truly "classy" establishment.

Small in stature, halflings are natural wanderers, skilled in scouting, thievery, deception, and using simple ranged weapons. With keen eyesight and excellent hearing, they are quick and silent movers. Their speed is unmatched, allowing them to disappear quickly. Halflings place great importance on clan traditions, viewing these bonds as transcending blood and law.

However, halflings are not entirely removed from warfare. Many enjoy adventuring and becoming mercenaries. The race highly values money, though unlike dwarves, halflings express their love for money through spending, not hoarding. They never save their earnings, instead spending it on gifts, parties, and purchases. To them, money measures how well they live in a world dominated by larger races.

Once a halfling accumulates enough wealth to live out their days, they return to the Mootland to enjoy life. However, most can't achieve this, so halfling mercenaries typically finish one job, spend their earnings lavishly, then take another commission.

Optimistic and warm-hearted by nature, halflings remain largely untouched by Chaos corruption. Their humor and boasting make travels less dull, earning them general favor despite their tendency for petty theft.

"Halflings may be excellent scouts and camp cooks, but I need a battle-ready elite army," Fugan said gently, keeping his tone calm. "The expedition is too arduous."

"Habby is a legendary peak rogue, nearly reaching the sanctum of a wandering swordsman. Originally a thief and poacher, he performed miracles upon arriving in Tilea. He once pretended to be a playing, weak halfling and killed a group of bandits with a few daggers. He successfully assassinated a greenskin warlord during a call of nature," Amancio explained, urging Fugan to listen. "His halfling band are all skilled archers and crossbowmen, and they have a secret weapon."

"A secret weapon?" Fugan's interest was piqued.

"The halfling cauldron," Amancio said seriously. "It's a special broth made by halflings. This black soup can burn in water. When it contacts an object, it continues to burn, penetrating flesh to the bone. The fire cannot be extinguished until the afflicted person is reduced to ashes."

"I see," Fugan quickly understood. If what Amancio said was true, this halfling was worth recruiting. "I understand. And what about the Araby genie sorcerer?"

Amancio glanced around, signaling the servants to leave, giving space to the few people at the banquet.

"No one knows this genie sorcerer's name."

"All I know is that he hails from Araby, passed through the pirate republic of Sartosa, and is now in Tilea. He's very mysterious, always referring to himself as a sorcerer. In the past, he's claimed various identities, from a trade prince to a banished elder of the magic academy, and even the Gilded King of Araby. However, he quickly contradicts each claim, so we call him the 'Gold Wizard'."

"He wields a golden scimitar that's always aflame, wears the finest embroidered silk robes, and his skin is covered in gold dust. He looks exotic, speaks elegant but heavily accented High Gothic, and those who witness his prowess never see him as a mere Araby noble. With a single spell, he can summon fire, wind, and sea elementals to attack enemies, create deep-sea whirlpools, and massive thunderstorms. It's rumored he can summon the legendary Araby genie from an ancient jar in times of crisis, but no one has seen it, or those who did are dead."

"Recently, he appeared in Miragliano in Tilea, injured and missing an eye. He publicly announced his need for a helper or partner to assist in his revenge. He possesses vast wealth and knowledge."

"Lord Fugan, this is his contact address. However, my information indicates that all who tried to collaborate with him failed and were killed. So, be cautious!" Amancio handed over a small piece of paper.

"I understand," Fugan accepted the paper, still smiling. "A genie sorcerer? A Gold Wizard? Interesting!"

......I'm the dividing line of Omoriloi......

After the banquet, the group left the Eastern Palace and returned to the National Guest House.

On the dimly lit streets of Magritte, Fugan and Hadrian discussed the day's events. "Kislevites, halflings, Arabyans, Tilea is indeed a chaotic place."

"I don't understand war and military matters, Lord Fugan," Hadrian replied with a bitter smile. "I'm just a merchant."

"A merchant?" Fugan looked at Hadrian, then continued, "Merchants are never simple. How many wars have been declared in the name of profit? How many merchants, under the guise of colonization and exploration, expanded the Empire's territory?"

"You don't need to express your loyalty this way, Mr. Hadrian. Just do your job well. As for who I am and my family's true nature, you will know one day, but not now."

"Ha ha ha," Hadrian laughed awkwardly, feeling uneasy. Unlike Ryan, who recently began to restrain his sharpness, this brother of his was... He resembled an ornate knight's sword, seemingly too decorative to be practical in combat. But even hidden in its scabbard, everyone could feel its power.

Hadrian had seen this sword unsheathed.

The wealthy merchant always felt that Fugan was terrifying. He easily saw through every thought and exposed every unconscious gesture, making Hadrian feel naked. Every thought he had, Fugan already knew.

It's a pity he isn't a diplomat, Hadrian thought.

"I'm not a diplomat because my father wanted me to use my strength in more important areas. During the Great Crusade, my offspring often served as guards and attendants, accompanying my father on diplomatic missions... But it's meaningless to talk about that now. Hadrian, tell me, why is Felix a general?" Fugan asked. "I'm not saying he isn't excellent, but he only has over three hundred riders, right? How does that qualify as a general?"

The only sounds were their footsteps and the faint firelight.

Offspring? Diplomatic missions? Great Crusade? Hadrian felt confused but understood the final question. He laughed, "Lord Fugan, do you know how many marshals and generals Kislev has?"

"How many?"

"Kislev currently has over twenty marshals and more than a hundred generals. That's how Kislev is; they award military titles frequently and generously," Hadrian nodded, explaining the Old World's military ranking system.

After the Great Holy War, Kislev awarded over a hundred marshal titles and thousands of general titles. Kislev marshals are divided into three levels. Besides the Tsar as Grand Marshal, there are currently three Kislev marshals. Additionally, there are "corps marshals," like the Marshal of the Tsar's shooting regiment, the Marshal of the Rangers, the Marshal of the Kremlin Guard, the Marshal of the Cossars, the Marshal of the Winged Hussars, the Marshal of the Bear Cavalry, and the Navy Marshal, among others.

Any formal military unit in Kislev usually has a marshal.

In contrast, the Empire has far fewer marshals, with only two permanent titles: the "Reikmarshal" and the "Grand Marshal of Nuln." Kurt Helborg is the ninth Reikmarshal.

Bretonnia doesn't have permanent marshals either, only appointing one when forming an army group, expedition, or crusade. For instance, the famous Marshal Roland of the Couronne Army leads thousands of troops stationed on the Bretonnia-Empire border. Bretonnia doesn't need formal military ranks because if the current commander dies, the knight with the highest rank and status immediately takes over. Out of chivalric duty, knights follow the new commander.

"Lord High Admiral Spire would be disappointed... We're done here. We won't linger. The day after tomorrow, we head to Tilea," Fugan ordered.

"Yes, sir!"

After successfully recruiting a Winged Hussar unit, the Ash Legion rested briefly before setting off for Tilea.

However, as the Ash Legion's fleet arrived in Miragliano, someone else reached Tilea.

That was Angron and his griffon.

By now, Angron was very familiar with Tilea. Since acquiring the griffon Nukelia, Angron often flew over the Black Mountains to shop in Tilea, avoiding the import taxes of Carcassonne.

In fact, the knights of Carcassonne knew a griffon rider frequently smuggled across the border but turned a blind eye. Firstly

, many kingdom nobles enjoyed flying their pegasi similarly. Secondly, this griffon rider had once single-handedly defeated an entire greenskin tribe, tearing apart a greenskin warlord that plagued Carcassonne.

In the distance, the splendid city-state of Miragliano stood tall. Tilea is divided into many duchies, with Miragliano being the foremost among them.

As Angron landed his griffon, he found the city under lockdown.

This puzzled Angron. The Primarch of the World Eaters had planned to commission a new precision pocket watch for his soon-to-be-born nephew from a renowned clockmaker in Miragliano. The city was home to a famous clockmaster named Patek Philippe, whose watches were well-known in the Old World. Angron came to see him.

If the clockmaker refused, Angron would "persuade" him. If any customers objected to Angron cutting in line, he would "persuade" them as well.

However, things weren't so complicated. The Hadrian Trading Company had a branch in Miragliano, as did the famous halfling Quinsberry Trading Company. Angron had dealt with these halflings many times, so getting a small pocket watch shouldn't be a problem.

Several halflings from the Quinsberry Trading Company spotted the griffon from afar. Such a fierce beast was a rare sight in human realms, at least in Tilea, so the halflings rushed over, crowding around Angron as he landed.

"Mr. Angron! It's the greatest honor to see you again. I swear your appearance is like the sun breaking through the night, like a piece of roast beef in a pile of sauerkraut..." one halfling exclaimed, hugging Angron's leg.

"What's going on? Why is the city under lockdown?" Angron patted the griffon's neck, giving it a piece of raw meat, which it ate contentedly, letting out a satisfied cry.

"Our prince, Borgio the Besieger, was assassinated in the Grand Bathhouse!" the halfling shouted angrily, hugging Angron's leg. "Mr. Angron, our prince was murdered! He's dead. Now the mercenaries in the city are fighting for the princely title. Are you interested? The halflings will support you!"

"I'm not interested," Angron thought, realizing his timing was off, but he had to complete his task. "Where's the clockmaker?"

"Okay, okay, bad Mr. Angron doesn't want to protect Bobby. Bobby will take you there," the halfling merchant's attitude changed instantly, producing a pass.

With the pass, Angron smoothly entered Miragliano.

Despite it being summer, the city's streets were desolate. With Borgio dead, Miragliano had no prince or ruler. The mercenary leaders couldn't agree on anything, leading to commercial decline. No one wanted to do business in such chaotic times.

"Hmph! A bunch of pitiful creatures fighting for power and profit," Angron grumbled. "While people in the north defend against evil invasions, these folks are busy with civil wars."

"Yes, Mr. Angron, our Quinsberry Trading Company's trade routes have suffered. Our profits are down year-on-year... and month-on-month..." the halfling chattered.

"Calm down, ladies and gentlemen!" A preacher-like figure caught Angron's attention. He signaled the halfling to be quiet.

"Calm down, citizens! In these chaotic times, we've learned that the greenskin tribes in the nearby Black Mountains are on the move!" The preacher was very strong, carrying a battle axe on his back and wearing red linen clothes tied with iron chains. "Therefore, I bring you the teachings of the great god of war!"

"Oh, oh, oh! What teachings does the god of war bring?" The gathered people cheered, placing their hopes in the gods during these turbulent times.

"Anger and hatred from the depths of your soul will give us strength! When facing enemies, learn to breathe deeply, then unleash your battle cry. Face the enemy!" the preacher shouted. "Learn to roar, learn to fight, learn to split the enemy's neck and chest with your axe!"

"Oh, oh, oh!" The crowd cheered loudly.

"???" Angron's expression changed slightly.

"Imagine the raging river of blood! Imagine destroying the enemy! A powerful will watches over you. What is it? Is it the blessing of the goddess Myrmidia? Yes, with high morale, you only think of collecting the enemy's heads, chopping off their heads!" The preacher shouted, raising his right hand. The trembling iron chains, dripping blood, and shaking skulls echoed in a strange rhythm. "The god needs sacrifices!"

"!!!" Angron's hand moved towards the pair of battle axes on his back.

"But we have no enemies in front of us!" shouted a Miragliano citizen.

"Yes, we have no enemies in front of us, but haven't you noticed? The heads of these cowards around you will do..."

"Bang!" A gunshot rang out from afar, a mercury bullet flying from a distant alley, smashing the preacher's head, splattering blood and brains everywhere.

The crowd scattered in screams and panic, leaving Angron standing alone. The Primarch of the World Eaters didn't turn around, withdrawing his hand from his axes. "I could smell you three streets away, you sissy."

"His words reminded me of Khorne, but does Khorne have such high intelligence?" The newcomer, followed by several fully armed greatsword officers, held a smoking short-barreled handgun, his silver hair flowing in the sunlight.

"Who knows?" Angron smiled. "Long time no see, brother."

"Yes, long time no see. Interested in meeting the legendary Araby genie?" 

"Of course."

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