Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

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POV of Lector of Reinsfeld

The doors of the chapel slammed open, causing the wood to tremble under the weight of the steel . Two men burst in, gasping for air, covered in dust and sweat, but most of all, in a visceral fear—fear that doesn't come from battle, but from the touch of the unholy.

"Lector... Baron Albrecht requires your presence immediately. He found a group of heretics with... with... demons," one of them said, stumbling, as if repeating it alone filled him with shame and horror.

I rose without hesitation. Around me, the other priests were waking from their makeshift beds, grabbing their hammers, rosaries, and holy books.

"What happened?" I asked as I approached them, already surrounded by my temple brothers.

"The baron had another vision of Sigmar," explained the second soldier, his voice still shaky. "He showed him Reinsfeld in danger... we rode immediately and... found a profane ritual, halfway completed..."

"By Sigmar... did you manage to interrupt it?" I asked, a knot in my chest.

The knight lowered his gaze. "Yes... the baron..." He paused, swallowed, but couldn't continue. It was his companion who spoke.

"We were weak. We fell to the seduction of those..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Abominations," the other one completed with a bitter voice.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment. Corruption doesn't always come with claws and flames, but with sweet smiles and whispers that tempt the soul. I extended my hand and gave the order without hesitation.

"Take them to the penitence cells. Let them be watched day and night. If there's a mark of Chaos on their minds, it will be detected. If not... they will receive absolution in due time."

The men offered no resistance. They knew their weakness had put them under suspicion and accepted the penance with a resignation worthy of compassion.

"Where exactly did this happen?" I asked firmly.

"The north, lector. You can't miss it," one of them replied before disappearing behind the stone walls with the priests.

I took my hammer, gritted my teeth, and ran with the others toward the designated place. As we advanced, I channeled the power of our god, and like a divine beacon, I felt a repulsive stain beyond the forest, to the north. A spiritual stench, a shadow that the wind could not dissipate.

We found it.

A nervous horse, without a rider, kicked the ground as if it still smelled the evil. Further ahead, a group of armed men sat silently, their gazes fixed on the mud, carrying a shame that could not be wiped away with words.

And in the center... was he. Baron Albrecht.

Covered in dark blood that reeked of decay, wielding a runic sword still dripping the remnants of the horrors he had slain. His expression was not one of triumph.

"Baron... what happened?" I asked, stopping before him.

"A ritual to summon demons. I arrived in time. If not, this would have been a Chaos nest." He kicked the head of a creature with deformed female features, now lifeless.

"Did your men participate?" asked one of the priests beside me.

"No. They were victims of illusions, nothing more. They did not participate in the ritual by the grace of our lord Sigmar," the baron said.

"And you, baron? Did you resist?" I asked directly.

"Resisting means fighting. I did not fight. It didn't affect me. From the very first moment, I saw what they were: monsters trying to imitate the beauty of human creation. Grotesque copies. Creatures with perfume and shape, but no soul. I felt not an ounce of desire. Only revulsion." He spat beside one of the dismembered bodies.

He pointed with his sword to the corpses of the cultists.

"They wore rings. Don't touch them. I'm sure they're cursed."

I nodded. I took a step toward the bodies, channeling Sigmar's power, and confirmed it instantly: the rings vibrated with an unhealthy energy. They still pulsed with the essence of Chaos, as if waiting for a new host.

"Have them picked up with silver tongs and locked in boxes sealed with holy water. And no one, absolutely no one, is to use them," I ordered.

I then turned toward the baron.

"This night, noble Albrecht, you have proven that your soul still burns with the light of the Comet. But your path is now doubly dangerous. Because if the servants of Chaos have marked you as an enemy... they will not be long in returning."

The rest of the baron's men were taken without resistance to the penitence cells. They would be watched for the coming days to see if they showed signs of corruption. One of them looked away as I passed by, not out of defiance, but out of shame. I felt compassion, but I showed no clemency. Corruption doesn't always leave visible scars.

As for Baron Albrecht... it was different.

We allowed him to return only after he had received prayers, blessings, and was sprinkled with holy water. We performed each of the detection rites. The scriptures were clear: no trace of corruption in him. Nothing. Not the slightest tremor in the consecrated fire, not a single discordant word in the litany. Even the sacred symbols, which often vibrated with rejection at the impure, remained serene. Pure.

It's impossible not to remember what has always been said of the Reinsfeld House.

Each and every one of its members shares the physique of the Heldenhammer himself imposing height, bodies forged as if to wear armor from the cradle, gazes that inspire order and strength. But there's more. They are touched. Blessed. One after another, they have manifested gifts that cannot be explained without resorting to divine favor. For generations, the Reinsfeld barons have possessed the gift of spiritual scent the ability to detect the presence of mutants as if their stench rotted the very air.

But none, none have been so touched as Albrecht.

The visions of the Comet with two tails are frequent. Not simple dreams or illusions like those claimed by other nobles eager for recognition, but true revelations. And there's no record of a single one that has not come true.

Tonight he proved it again. The ritual was interrupted not by chance,but because Sigmar guided him, as he has done so many times. He protects him, no doubt.

I remember perfectly the first time I saw him.

He was a young boy, barely out of his home, still walking poorly, and yet already carrying a gaze too severe for his age. He had the brow of the wise and the eyes of soldiers. I knew, from that day, that this young man was destined for something greater than the titles of his family. A pity he didn't join the clergy. He would have gone far... perhaps farther than even I could imagine. But his father had other plans. Like many nobles, he believed that service in the field was superior to Sigmar's direct service. What a mistake.

We finished the rites with my brother priests at dawn. We drove stakes with the Sigmar symbol into the earth still stained by demon blood. We sprinkled the ground with holy water and chanted purification litanies. The chants echoed through the trees and the echoes dispelled the last traces of the profane stench.

The earth was sealed. The danger, for now, contained.

But our work is not over.

i send one of the priests to the chapel with clear instructions he must write an immediate message for the witch hunters.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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