In the ancient times, before the world was divided.
Everything was still shrouded in fog. The world was full of rocks, giant trees, and immortal ancient dragons.
Until one day, the ancient sages came to the mortal world. They built two portals to the North and South Poles.
Changes were born. New races, new civilizations. The ancient sages changed the world according to their wishes. The dragon race was still powerful, but they no longer had the power to rule. Differences were born.
Noble elves, stubborn dwarves, and complicated humans.
Cold and hot, life and death, light and darkness.
The mortals once foolishly chose to believe in the power of order. They gradually evolved their own culture under the guidance of the ancient sages. The elves learned magic from the ancient sages' servants. The dwarves learned forging and smelting techniques from the ancient sages.
The humans learned the ancient sages' indecisiveness and learning ability.
How foolish.
Finally, the true gods from the subspace brought true civilization to the world.
The servants of the four gods came to the mortal world. They destroyed the portals of the ancient sages. Endless demons poured out of the portals.
The true gods were once only one step away from ruling the world. However, they finally met with some insignificant setbacks.
The first Phoenix King, Ainarion, led the elves to stand out. He released the power of the Sword of Cain and allowed the elves to complete the great whirlpool.
Grimnir, one of the three main gods of the dwarves, went deep into the realm of chaos. He stopped the plan of the first demon prince to become a god. Since then, chaos could no longer give birth to new gods.
In the end, Charlemagne defeated the first generation of the eternal gods of chaos, "Unifier" Moka, in the last expedition of his life. He established the majestic territory of today's Empire.
Since then, the era of humans had begun.
However, there would be a day when the fire would be extinguished. When that time came, the world would only be left with darkness.
At the end of February, 2515 of the Empire's calendar, Auster's territory, the fallen area of chaos, near the ruins of Von Zhukov's castle.
With a terrifying groan and howl, the Hellfire Sword and Black Iron Battle Axe spun like a hurricane, slicing off chunks of flesh from an Auster civilian's body. No matter how the civilian wailed and begged for mercy, or how he was on the verge of death, the executioner did not stop at all. It was only until all the flesh on the Auster civilian's body had been sliced off that the executioner put down the sword and axe in his hand and kicked the skeleton away.
The skeleton fell down a small hill. Along the slope, there was a huge pit the size of two or three castles. White bones were piled up in this huge pit like a mountain. It was unknown how many corpses were piled up in the pit.
Ebon Motekin was wearing a full set of black armor bestowed by the God of Chaos. He put down his Hellfire Sword and Ebon Motekin's battle axe. He closed his icy-blue eyes behind the black mask and enjoyed the moment.
The joy of revenge greatly motivated this new God of Chaos. He could feel that his tired and depressed heart was comforted. He seemed to have the strength to continue fighting.
Temporarily, it was only temporary. The Eternal God of Chaos looked at the huge pit of corpses, where more than 300,000 human corpses were buried. The taste of revenge was so sweet that Motekin finally felt that he had regained some of his passion.
The passion to continue fighting and conquering.
"This is the price. This is the price you have to pay for slaughtering my hometown, Auster's people." Motkin put down his weapon. He wanted to speak, but he found that the language that came out of his mouth was not the low Gothic language of the Noskas, but a demonic language. The language was low, distorted, and full of echoes from the subspace.
These voices could still be understood by his subordinates. No one knew why, but just like how people wanted to eat when they were hungry or drink when they were thirsty, everyone could understand what Motekin was saying.
Oleg von Zhukov had to die.
Von Zhukov Castle had been reduced to ruins. The once glorious castle full of all kinds of souvenirs, paintings, and historical relics was now just a piece of white land. After conquering the castle, Motekin ordered a massacre three times. The first time was when the outer defense line of the castle was breached. The second time was when the gate of the castle was blown open. The third time was when the army of the Empire and refugees resisted using the internal defense facilities and tunnels of the castle. Motekin even coldly ordered the whole castle to be burned down.
Countless axes and swords burning with hellfire witnessed the destruction of Von Zhukov Castle and the massacre of at least 300,000 people. Now, the ancestral castle that the Kurfürst family was so proud of had disappeared from the map. Oleg had witnessed it with his own eyes. In the future, he could only look for memories of his home in the ruins.
Thinking of this, Motekin almost laughed out loud.
This was the price. This was the price for Oleg's evil deeds!
You destroyed my hometown, and I will destroy you as well!
We didn't cross each other's paths. We didn't know each other. We had our own kingdoms. It was you! It was you who ruined everything. Since you did this, don't blame me for being ruthless!
Motekin had already ordered all the graves of the ancestors of the Von Zhukov family to be dug up. The ashes of all the ancestors of the Von Zhukov family were scattered, and then everything was burned down with fire.
The Eternal Chosen One of Chaos looked around. He was surrounded by his personal guards, the "Crimson Reaper" legion blessed by the Four Gods of Chaos. These loyal and brave warriors of the Eternal Chosen One of Chaos swore to follow Motekin until the end of the world.
Motekin laughed savagely. It had been hundreds of years. During this period, the Champion of Chaos felt that his vitality had returned to his body. Revenge was the only thing he had to consider.
Oleg von Zhukov had to die.
This was the only reason why Motekin was still holding on.
What no one knew was that the soul and body of the Eternal God of Chaos were sinking into the quagmire of Chaos. The blessing from the Four Gods of Chaos was also a terrible curse. Ordinary people would not be able to enjoy the gift of the evil gods, but even Motekin, a champion lord with great power, was being tortured. Motekin knew very well that the will of Chaos that he had spent hundreds of years fighting against was corroding and corrupting his will. The humanity and character that he had tried to preserve for hundreds of years were being worn away at an accelerated rate.
"Power comes with a price," the Black Iron Avenger muttered to himself. He raised his hand and said, "The fire is about to be extinguished."
He had been fighting against the corruption of the Evil God with the anger of revenge, but now, his wish was half fulfilled. His anger was slowly being extinguished. Without anger, it was difficult to resist the corruption of Chaos.
If this went on, he would sooner or later become a plaything of Chaos, a tool used to destroy the world. He, who had lost his sense of self, would continue to lead the army southward until the whole world fell into the flames of war … or fall into eternal darkness.
Motekin did not want this. The powerful king of the North had always believed that the people of Noska and the people of the Empire could coexist peacefully. They were originally compatriots. Although they had chosen different paths and different gods, they should not be in a life-and-death relationship.
But this was fate. Since he prayed for power from Chaos, everything was irreversible.
If he, Black Iron Motekin, was destined to fall into darkness, then he only had one small goal left. It was the last mission, the last debt to be settled.
Near the ruins of von Zhukov's castle, tens of thousands of Chaos soldiers were gathering. Hundreds of Chosen One of Chaos, Warriors of Chaos, Wizards of Chaos, War Chiefs of Barbarian Tribes, and Shamans of Barbarian Tribes were waiting for the order of the Eternal Chosen One of Chaos. His flag bearer was holding up the military flag with the seal of Kagerhank the Khorsh.
More than seventy thousand Chaos soldiers were dressed in black armor, their murderous aura soaring to the sky.
More than ten Chaos Demons were rubbing their hands together, waiting for Motekin's order to hunt the souls of mortals and enjoy destruction.
The Chaos Demonic Dragon Scroox the Great also spread its wings and circled in the sky.
Motekin looked at his army and the Warriors of Chaos who were waiting for his order. A feeling of guilt rose from the depths of the Eternal Chosen One's heart.
It was him. It was all his orders.
Barbarossa's initial plan was extremely successful. The Chaos army had split into three groups and headed south. It was supposed to be enough to invade the heart of the Empire before the Empire could react. It was supposed to be an opportunity to inflict heavy losses on Charlemagne's Empire and make them tremble before the will of the God of Darkness.
But his desire for revenge and stubborn orders crushed everything. He kept giving orders to attack head-on. In the battle of von Zhukov's castle, Chaos had lost more than a hundred thousand men. In addition, he had failed in the battle of Becafen due to his lack of personal command. He had also ordered Cruel Getwo to lead the Orc army to deal with the Knight King Laing. This had led to the tragic failure of the Battle of the Three Kings.
The Battle of Becafen had cost more than fifty thousand men. The Battle of the Three Kings had almost wiped out the Orc army. In addition to the losses in the Battle of Örengrád and the Battle of Herzig, the Chaos army had lost close to three hundred thousand men.
Motekin, you are a scumbag! Bastard! Trash! You are the eternal God of Chaos. How many good men in the Northern wasteland, Kurgan, and Norska have lost their lives in the Empire for your selfish desires? How many foolish and pitiful souls have you sent to the True Gods for revenge? How many of them have you made their playthings?
It's all your fault! Motekin!
It's all your fault!!!
The feeling of guilt made Motekin feel as if a knife was being twisted in his heart. Everything was as the four True Gods had hoped. The invasion had satisfied the four True Gods. Their army had fallen too far and was beyond redemption. They all felt that they were on the path to glory and ascension. They would win the blessings of the four True Gods through the war and obtain unimaginable rewards.
Only Motekin knew deep in his heart that everyone was the playthings of the four True Gods. Their lives were worthless in the eyes of the four True Gods. They were just playthings that the True Gods would play with if they found it interesting. If they were bored, they would throw them away.
The King of the Northern Wasteland cursed himself. He knew that not only could he not stop this depravity, but he was also adding fuel to the fire. These loyal warriors would soon join the Battle of Wolfenburg.
The news that the Empire had received that the Army of Chaos still had two hundred thousand soldiers was false. Including the troops on the periphery and Motekin's main force, which had been attacked by the Undead Knights recently, there were only about a hundred thousand soldiers left. That was all he had left. Now, in the entire Auster territory, the eternal God of Chaos had no more soldiers to mobilize.
Yes, there were two hundred thousand new reinforcements of Chaos gathering in the Northern wasteland. But Motekin knew that he could not wait any longer. The Knight King Laing -Macado's army had arrived at Herzig. More than sixty thousand soldiers from the south of the Empire had arrived at Tara Beheim. There was no time to wait for reinforcements to arrive at the frontline.
If he wanted to take Wolfenburg and Oleg's head, he had to be quick.
They don't know anything. Motekin thought bitterly in his heart. They don't know anything. A bunch of idiots.
Are you satisfied now, Motekin? You've ruined the lives of three to four hundred thousand good men in the Southern lands.
Is it really worth it?
The sky of Auster territory was still shrouded in black smoke. The army had been assembled. The loyal Crimson Reaper army had formed a tight formation around Auster territory, waiting for Motekin's orders. His military advisor, Zetch's Chosen Hal, the eternal Eye, had put away the dissatisfaction in his eyes. He was also waiting for Motekin's orders.
The fire was about to be extinguished. The future of being swallowed by darkness was just ahead.
The passion of battle and the passion of facing challenges were fading from Motekin's body. Deep guilt and self-blame filled the heart of the champion of Chaos. Now, only the power of revenge was driving him forward.
The King of the North stood up from the throne made of the bones and funerary objects of the Von Zhukov family. He slowly walked towards his personal guards under the watchful eyes of the crowd.
"Now, my revenge has reached the last step." The majestic figure of the King of the North flashed with red light. A huge amount of Chaos energy surrounded Motekin's body and formed an energy field. Such a scene was undoubtedly a sign of the favor of the God of Darkness. Motekin could totally control this energy and turn it into a war machine to destroy fortresses.
"I don't have the right to ask you to die. Everyone, this is my revenge." Motekin slowly picked up his weapon from the ground. The icy blue eyes under the helmet emitted the Light of Chaos. The light was so thick that it was almost like smoke.
Above the ruins of the castle, there was silence. The King of the North strode forward. Every step he took made a crisp sound on the ruins.
"But are you willing to follow me, for the last time?"
The personal guards, the Crimson Reapers, formed a straight formation. These Chosen Warriors who were blessed by the Four Gods of Chaos could feel the determination of their king. None of the warriors said a word. They all raised their weapons, placed them in front of their chests, and knocked on their breastplates as a sign of respect.
This was the highest level of etiquette among the Northern Barbarians.
They would follow Motekin forever, even in the realm of Chaos.
"There is only one goal, the head of Oleg von Zhukov!"
"For Chaos! For Ebon Motekin!!! "
"Let's go!"
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