Return Of Reckoning Fix -

Kaelen Ironhand knew better. The mist was a lie, just like the peace.

Elsbeth’s eyes narrowed. “You speak of a counter-offensive. With what army?” return of reckoning

Kaelen counted the chimes. Seven. The number of Nurgle. The number of years the mist had held. Kaelen Ironhand knew better

Kaelen pulled a crumpled parchment from his belt. It was stained with rust and something darker. “This came by gyrocopter last night. Karak Eight Peaks is not reclaimed—not fully—but enough dwarfs have retuned to their anvils. King Belegar promises two hundred Ironbreakers, if we can hold the line for thirty days.” “You speak of a counter-offensive

“Then we become the aid.” Kaelen stopped before them, shorter than both but somehow casting the longer shadow. “The Festering Court is a staging ground. If we take it, the Nurgle cults lose their foothold in the northern valleys. If we don’t—” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “We die trying. That is the dwarf way.”

Kaelen touched the rune-brand on his forearm—the mark of the Slayer’s Oath, though he had never taken it. Not formally. His shame was not failure, but survival. Three winters ago, in the tunnels beneath the Howling Heights, he had watched his entire Stonebeard throng fall to a Bloodthirster’s axe. He had been the last, trapped under a collapse, listening to the daemon’s laughter fade as it turned toward the surface.