Horten's home, the County of Göttingen, was situated on the northeastern edge of the Duchy of Lotharingia, near the modern-day Ruhr region of Germany. In the Middle Ages, it was a barbarian's homeland, dense with forests, swamps, and rivers, and teeming with all manner of rogues and bandits. The soil here was heavy and difficult for common ploughs to till, leading to widespread agricultural backwardness. Commerce relied primarily on the rivers, with the various abbeys and free cities serving as the main economic engines, while the savage knightly lords typically knew only how to exploit the poor.
In this semi-magical time and space, this added another layer of danger.
Horten knew that the most critical aspect of an army was a clear chain of command. He immediately appointed captains and standard-bearers for his three units and decreed that the bowmen would march protected between the two spear formations.
Although his force numbered only 120 men, Horten still spent the better part of a day familiarizing himself with the various details of military command. While these men were enhanced by the System, understood basic orders, and had some military discipline, they were still, at their core, basic militia. It was inevitable that they would fall behind, stumble, and even twist their ankles while marching.
After marching for eight kilometers, they were nearing the hill mentioned in the Countess's plea for help. With his army already exhausted, Horten ordered a rest.
While they ate, Horten dispatched two clever bowmen to scout ahead.
The bowmen soon returned with a report: no less than three Greenskin tribes were swarming the hill where the Countess was besieged, their total numbers reaching several hundred.
Greenskin Orcs were a cancerous race found all over the world. They were composed of three sub-species: the smallest were Snotlings (also called Pissants), then the small-statured Goblins, and finally the tall and sturdy Orcs. Snotlings were no taller than a child and served as both emergency food supplies and cannon fodder. Goblins were cunning but weak, often operating in swarms. The Orcs were tall and ferocious, forming the core of every Greenskin warband.
Greenskin tribes lived by plunder, occasionally cultivating a few mushrooms. When a great Orc chieftain emerged within a tribe, one skilled in raiding, they would be elevated to a Greenskin Warband. When that Orc chieftain's fame spread, striking fear into neighboring tribes, he earned the right to organize a "Waaagh!", a great raid. At this point, he became a Great Warlord. To become a Great Warlord required not only martial prowess but also a sharp mind for strategy and organization.
Evidently, Horten had stumbled upon a rare, small-scale raid orchestrated by a budding Greenskin Warlord.
This information was all recorded in the abbey's museum, which Horten had been fortunate enough to study.
"Boss, are we really going to save that dame?" the captains asked, their hearts filled with dread. What peasant force had the ability to fight against such overwhelming odds, even if the enemy was mostly cowardly Goblins?
"Observe carefully. Find their warlord. That is our only path to victory," Horten said, calming his mind as he carefully studied the distribution of the three Greenskin tribes.
Soon, he identified the tribe with the best position and the largest number of warriors as the one harboring the Greenskin Warlord.
Horten summoned his subordinates. "You will hide in the bushes, and do this..."
On the hill, the beleaguered members of the Göttingen Household Knights were taking advantage of a brief changing of the guard to rest and recover their strength.
Every great noble of the rank of Count or higher organized their own Household Knights as their core fighting force, and Countess Canossa von Nossenbarg of Göttingen was no exception.
A light breeze blew past a carriage, lifting a corner of its curtain.
"So, you're telling me my esteemed Master of the Stables, Knight Howard, has simply abandoned me? Heh, how laughable. A mere upstart, what does he know of the shifting politics within the Duchy?"
From within the silent carriage, a soft, enchanting voice emerged.
But no handmaiden would be foolish enough to think the woman on the bed was helpless and pitiful.
She was one of the most venerated nobles in the Duchy, a descendant of a long line of kings. Her status could be discerned from her long string of middle names alone: Canossa von Nossenbarg.
As the curtain lifted, her beauty was breathtaking.
She was a mature and alluring woman with a magnificent figure. Skin as smooth as pearlescent jade was tantalizingly veiled by a silk gown. Her figure was a work of art, with an impossibly narrow waist that flared into generous, shapely hips. This was contrasted by a voluptuous, full bust, creating a stunning silhouette. Her delicate face, as fair as frost and snow, was marred by a hint of anger in her eyes. The two snowy mounds of her chest were pressed together, forming an astonishing cleavage that was especially seductive in the dim light. Her black hair spilled like a silken waterfall over her heaving bosom, and her emerald eyes seemed to capture one's very soul.
Without a doubt, Canossa von Nossenbarg was a beauty of the highest order.
She was cunning and full of stratagems, having unexpectedly seized the County of Göttingen from her competing brothers.
But now, even this poisonous rose faced the plight of betrayal. Her beauty was understood by men, and Greenskins understood it too. The tragic fate that awaited her should she fall into their hands had been made vividly clear by erotic artists and traveling bards.
"If Howard hadn't found an excuse to take the spearmen and bowmen escort with him, we wouldn't be stuck fighting a war of attrition against these Greenskins with our precious knights! Howard deserves to die!"
The one cursing Howard was the Captain of the Household Knights and Canossa's confidante, the female knight Joan 'the Flash'. She was another lady renowned for her beauty, but she was now covered in grievous wounds.
Of the 65 Household Knights and their squires, dozens had already fallen.
If the battle continued, the elite knights of Göttingen would be wiped out, and the county's independence would be impossible to maintain.
"My... My Lady! There are militia appearing in the forest!"
Suddenly, the knights all pricked up their ears at the excited shout of a messenger.
Countess Canossa, forgetting her graceful posture, rushed out of the carriage on her tiptoes, joining Joan to watch for the arrival of reinforcements.
But as they looked left and right, all they could see was a lone monk on a donkey, milling about at the edge of the forest.
Horten was sweating bullets, trying to calm his agitated donkey.
Beside him were two large carts, looking as if their axles had broken, forcing them to a halt.
This was the entire army's food supply for a month.
You have to risk the bait to catch the beast.
To the perpetually impoverished Greenskins, these two carts and the donkey were a trove of riches! A great swarm of Greenskins mobilized at the sight, but the largest tribe quickly drove the other two away, preparing to enjoy the spoils alone.
Horten, watching all the while, began moving toward the forest, feigning a panicked escape, as if he was abandoning even his food.
As expected, the lure was too tempting. The budding Greenskin Warlord in the tribe could not resist and gave chase, riding a massive boar.
Just as Horten predicted, the Greenskin tribe was also short on mounts. To chase him, the Warlord would have to separate from his troops.
But compared to the two-meter-tall Orc, built like a wild bull, Horten looked frail and weak. Even the knights on the hill were shaking their heads and sighing with pity.
The Greenskins roared and beat their shields as their proud Warlord closed in on the "panicked" Horten.
At that moment, nearly everyone believed Horten was a dead man.
However, it was at this precise instant that Horten abandoned his donkey to save his own skin, slapping its rump to send it running into the forest.
The Warlord immediately gave chase to the fleeing donkey. Livestock was more valuable than a human.
As soon as he had vaulted off the donkey's back, Horten's 40 Peasant Bowmen rose from their hiding places, aiming their arrows at the greedy Greenskin Warlord.
He was alone.