Warhamer40k & MonsterGirlQuest: A Double Traitor

POV Grand Master

Flashback

The banners—torn, scorched by flames. But still held, not surrendered to the enemy. Steel in the mud, blood, and slime. And the faces of the soldiers: people, warriors, victors. Heroes, about whom the seventh army of Druella was shattered.

"Today I have won! I have destroyed the demonic beasts! I drowned them in blood!" Captain Marion de Falkorn shouts arrogantly from the earthen rampart. He does not lower his gaze to the "dirty soldier cattle," looking above their heads, above the grey soldiers' cloaks, above the men who wrenched victory from the claws of the monster-girl. Edward stands behind him, to his left, at the very edge of the knightly formation.

"The monsters were defeated by the suzerain and the vassals of de Falkorn!"

"For Falkorn! Hawk and field!" the vassal knights shout loudly and falsely, but immediately fall silent, for their shout drowns in the heavy silence of the army.

The soldiers remain silent, frowning ominously, the sergeants cross their arms over their chests. The centurions are silent with stony faces. Edward remains silent—because the truth is not in pride, not in vanity, but in humility.

A toothless swordsman in half-torn mail with a dented shield looks him in the eye. The man who saved the left flank in a suicidal attack. A warrior who fought in the front lines, first on horseback, and then, when his horse fell, on foot. He fought hopelessly, desperately, bravely. A knight from a not-so-noble and rather poor family, who still managed to take down the horned bitch-leader and stop the unstoppable charge of the mamono.

The swordsman gruffly shakes his head, spits through a gap in his teeth; his face hardens, his wide jaw tightens, and his eyes burn with grim fire.

Without looking back, he decisively steps out of the formation—challenging the captain, the puffed-up nobles, and their entourage. Marion stares at the soldier in shock. He opens his mouth, but before his words come out, the warrior's steel voice rings out.

"Edward!" The voice rings, and in time with it, the steel of his blade rings as it strikes the shield. "Edward!"

The captain regains his composure.

"Take him away!" Marion yells at the squires. They rush forward, but immediately stop, for a lanky pikeman steps out of the line and strikes the ground with his spear.

"Edward!"

And behind him, one, two, "Edward!" Dozens, hundreds of soldiers; the silence is replaced by a roar and the rhythmic clang of swords, halberds, and spears.

"Edward! Edward! Edward!"

The knights, the vassals of de Falkorn, braver than their entourage. They try to descend, to approach the cattle, who had deluded themselves into thinking they were people, not rabble, fighters, not the flesh of bloody storms. But the soldier's formation bares its iron teeth, cruelly, stubbornly, unyieldingly, just as it had six hours ago, meeting the endless waves of mamono. And the knights retreat because mamono are one thing, but five thousand enraged warriors, victors, united in one impulse of "Edward! Edward!" are something else entirely.

Marion de Falkorn turns red with fury. His cheeks flush with blood, and above the field, someone's name rings out, becoming a battle cry, a motto, an invisible banner that cannot be taken away.

"Edward!"

The captain proudly turns, waving his cloak, putting on a brave face despite the situation, and leaves under the roar of the soldiers. Behind him follow the vassal knights and their retinues, their heads bowed like beaten dogs. Only one remains, a free knight, unbound by any oath, whose name is shouted by thousands of voices.

He raises his hands in a calming gesture: "No, I am not better than you, I am just a man, like you. People, warriors, brothers. No need."

But it's in vain. The soldiers roar his name.

And they cannot be stopped.

***

Edward scooped up a second spoonful of porridge, blew on it, and sent it to his mouth. Thank the Goddess, at least his teeth still serve him! Though if it was something hard, he wouldn't risk it. Well, so be it, bread, soup, and porridge—our food, as they said in the poor estate where he was born. Later, the Grand Master had to unlearn the colloquial speech, learn manners, because officers do not speak like that, not at all…

After Dortass, Edward was finally noticed. And not by some nobleman, not a duke, not even a king, but by the Order itself—the best of the best, the beloved children of the Goddess.

"State your name," the Junior Master says sternly to the knight kneeling before him. Around them, gray cloaks and habits darken the air.

"Edward."

"Do you swear to uphold the vow of obedience, honesty, and integrity?"

"I swear!"

"Do you swear to observe the commandments of the Goddess in the name of light and justice?"

"I swear!"

"Do you swear to…"

He was accepted into the Order and appointed captain. Edward fully lived up to the expectations of the monks and warriors who had vouched for him. In his new position, the knight demonstrated exceptional tactical talent. Not relying on maps, he personally inspected the battlegrounds. Edward knew every stone, every tree, every stream, and he actively applied his knowledge in practice.

Yes, many monsters are stronger than humans—Minotaur, Vampire, and Lamia. Yes, many monsters—Lizardmen, salamanders, Dullahans—are better with a sword. When it's one crowd against another, sword against scales, against steel muscles—humans have no chance in a direct fight. Humans are weak… and doubly weak, because the body craves sin, and mamono are beautiful and available. Just surrender, just falter… and the sword falls, and willpower melts away like a candle…

But monsters also had a serious flaw. A huge weakness that regular armies lacked. Disorganization. Once they captured a man, most mamono simply ran off, leaving the rest to their fate. Monsters were reluctant to follow orders that took them away from their coveted goal—the man and a handful of children.

Humans did everything differently. Disciplined, united in one formation, where each man could rely on his comrade, humans had more room for maneuver. Proper movement, diversionary attacks, and feigned retreats leveled the playing field. Individually, soldiers were weaker. But together, under competent leadership, they struck like a clenched iron fist.

Using the terrain, well-established reconnaissance, and setting a personal example, Edward learned how to defeat even vastly superior forces of mamono. And more—he learned to demand, to impose firmness and outward severity, because humans are weak, and only a strong hand can stop them at the edge of the abyss.

Then came two years of war. No respite—barely had Edward cleaned his sword and offered his prayer before he was sent to a new place, to fight new enemies, and to win again. Tunja, Bez-Ferran, Fertreik—he fought everywhere, mercilessly slaying the seductive creatures. The Order's leadership could not praise the knight enough, and even the angels of the Goddess smiled gently upon hearing his name.

Edward was offered a position as Junior Master and invited to join the Circle. At the same time, the head of the wealthy de Morua family invited Edward to his domain. He wished to marry his daughter, Philippa, a woman of inhuman beauty and charm.

The knight was sent a portrait of the beautiful girl, both enchanting and arrogant at the same time. Edward gazed at the face of de Morua's daughter for a long time. Then, for the first time in his life, he felt doubts. Should he accept the invitation? Become the heir to a wealthy family, live out the rest of his days in comfort and leisure? The girl was incredibly beautiful, and the de Morua family was noble and powerful. What more could a knight from a poor family want?

With a heavy heart, he declined both offers. The first—joining the Circle—was too much of an honor for one he considered unworthy. The second—stepping away from the Order's path.