Chapter 312: Council of Thirteen

The ensuing battle was nothing out of the ordinary; after being battered by the naval mines, the remnants of the Dreadfleet possessed less than half their original combat strength. Under the cover of several rounds of shelling, the Dwarf navy boarded the Xuexing Lueduozhe Hao.

The scattered Undead were reduced to only Count Noctilus, the Necrolith Colossus beneath him, and his elite Deep Sea Guard putting up a desperate struggle. They were elite Vampire sentinels, clad in ancient Undead armor and sustained by a Vampire curse.

Unlike the common Undead crew, the Deep Sea Guard were not raised from mobs who died at sea, but were carefully selected warriors who had received the Kiss of Blood before being brought aboard the pirate warship to serve their master.

Their resistance caused some casualties among the Dwarfs, but as Gotrek and the Sigmarites joined the fray, brandishing great axes and hammers, the final resistance collapsed. Count Noctilus leaped onto a Terrorgheist that descended from the sky, attempting to flee, but a warhammer flying from the waves dashed his final fantasy.

"Go back to the Graveyard of Sunken Ships with your ship, Noctilus; this is for your own good!"

With the help of his subordinates, Sinuoli rose from the seabed. Watching the Terrorgheist—its wings broken and flightless—and its master being hacked to pieces, Sinuoli muttered a sentence.

Checking the "Dreadfleet Sunk" achievement and its accompanying naval leadership buff in the system, Sinuoli understood that Count Noctilus was thoroughly dead. This battle had cleared most of the pirates from the shipping lanes; it was foreseeable that his fleet would have a long period of peace.

After cleaning up the battlefield and collecting the wealth carried by the pirates, the Dwarf fleet set sail once more, heading for the Southlands. Carrying two scrolls of Nagash, it was better to avoid any complications that might arise from delay.

Just as the fleet was riding the waves, the demon city in the Withered Swamp in northern Tilea was not peaceful. Pale green toxic mist circled the ruins of the city walls and the shattered districts, while Warpstone flames erupting from time to time in the ground fissures further tormented the surface structures.

Most Skaven structures were located underground, but in the center of Skavenblight stood a massive clock tower—the Broken Tower; legend had it that the evil bell that brought about the birth of the Skaven hung at the top.

The original color of this tower had been blackened by pollutants, its dark surface covered in wet, sticky, and crumbling filth and rot. A nightmarish cloud of toxic mist shrouded the clock tower year-round, the mist seeping through the gaps in the heavy doors and windows into the interior.

The location of the Council of Thirteen of the Skaven Empire was set here—the place closest to their Great Horned Rat. In the room directly beneath the great bell, a round table was arranged, with thirteen seats placed around it.

The most elaborately crafted and largest throne was inscribed with the number thirteen, positioned directly facing the entrance, with a Divine Statue of the Great Horned Rat carved upon it. The remaining thrones were smaller but ornately decorated, each hanging with a family crest to identify ownership.

"Those who can come have come. Those who won't come will not come."

Now, illuminated by the Warpstone magic fire on the table, a total of eight chairs awaited their masters. As the bell tolled, an old rat sitting to the left of the Great Horned Rat statue straightened its posture, flicked its whiskers, and began to speak.

"The great Great Horned Rat will eventually descend upon the Mortal World; the era of the rat-kind is coming!" It slowly tapped its scepter and led the recitation, and the other Councilors followed suit. It was evident that this phrase was often on its lips, as there was none of the stuttering common among the rat-kind.

This was the leader of the Grey Seers, the Grey Claw High Priest—Kelitesilike. No rat knew exactly how long it had lived, but it was certain that its strength was peerless among the rat-kind, and its mastery of destruction magic was profound. As the most favored spokesperson of the Great Horned Rat, it also possessed the additional ability to cast Divine Art and summon the Decaying Lord.

"Eshin, news brought by Clan Eshin, beard-things, just started, started a big meeting. These few years, they, they have changed quite a bit." The Grey Claw High Priest spoke very slowly, using its nearly hairless claw to touch the rat sitting next to it, signaling it to continue speaking.

"Yes! Yes!"

Beside the first seat was the third seat; the creature in the chair kept its voice very low. It wrapped itself tightly in a black cloak, its form flickering in the green fire, almost blending into the seat itself.

Although this black rat looked unremarkable, once its name was heard: Snikch—the Night Lord of Clan Eshin, no Skaven Warlord dared to turn off the lights to sleep.

"Black Thirteen, Eshin, Eshin's sharpest fangs, sent back the news of the beard-things' meeting."

The Assassin Masters of Clan Eshin were ranked from one to thirteen, with higher numbers indicating greater strength. Above Black Thirteen, there was also the most legendary and most lethal "Deathmaster."

"Those, those stone-heads, want to expand, expand! South, North, and, and the West side too!"

The Night Lord's intelligence caused the Council of Thirteen to erupt. Since the Skaven also lived underground, they could be said to have a sea of blood-deep hatred with the Dwarfs. The slaughter between the two races could be said to have continued from the day the Skaven appeared until now.

"Qui, quiet! Give me quiet!"

Kelitesilike pounded the table; even though it had extended its life indefinitely through Warpstone and other technologies, its energy could no longer return to its prime. The strange, shrill voices of the rat-kind gave it a headache.

"Speak, speak the point!"

"The beard-things want, want to abandon Pillar City, and instead, connect, connect the Southlands and Tiefengbao." Snikch did not get angry; the Night Lord spoke calmly about the information gathered by its subordinates.

Clan Eshin had gone to Zhendan and Nipeng in the East thousands of years ago to develop, and upon their return, they received help from the Grey Seers; therefore, they held some respect for these horned fellows and were also known as the "Hand of the Council."

"Further south than Pillar City?"

"What will happen then?"

The Councilors shouted; back when they migrated south, they encountered the tough guy Nagash and were blocked in Nehekhara, never having been able to penetrate deep into the Southlands.

"Gaga-ga! Mors, the fools of Clan Mors are going to suffer!"

Sitting in the position across the Great Horned Rat statue from the Grey Claw High Priest was a fellow fitted with various mechanical prosthetics, barely recognizable as a rat; it was Mostita—the Arch-Warlock of Clan Skryre.

The Arch-Warlock's gloating laughter drew responses from the other participants. In recent years, the strength of Clan Mors had expanded too rapidly, even enough to threaten the four Great Clans, which made even that Skaven leader feel the pressure.

"Creak, creak!"

Watching the ugly behavior of the Councilors, the High Priest was so angry it ground its teeth. It detested the lack of unity among the rat-kind; if they could work together, the Great Horned Rat might have descended upon the Mortal World hundreds of years ago!