After a long silence, suddenly, the magical aura around Quickwall became active. He recited a weak and imperceptible spell at high speed, and the green light concentrated on the "broken wooden stick" in the Gray Prophet's hand.
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"Children of the Horned Rat, fight."

The Gray Prophet waved his staff and shouted these words without any passion, and the green light immediately spread out like a circle.

Not long after, the air was suddenly filled with a strong smell of battle, which was the effect of the collective eruption of the rat men's glands.

For rat people, such a collective gland eruption behavior is obviously unnatural.

However, the warlord has no time to care about natural and unnatural things. Ikrit is looking at his claws, clenching and unclenching them.

"High fighting spirit, no, it's not just that, my movements are more flexible."

Ikrit murmured to himself, and before this posture was revealed for long, he quickly returned to his previous appearance and cast a mocking gaze on the Gray Prophet.

"So many years ago, this is the first time that your Gray Prophets have directly provided me with help. Only Wilski could do that before."

"The Horned Rat is watching you."

In the gray prophet's two eyeball-less eye sockets, the green dimension stone is emitting a magical aura that even a mortal can understand.

The old warlord lowered his head slightly and said nothing.

He could see that the sarcoma on Quickwall's neck was still squirming, as if the sarcoma was thinking for the Gray Prophet, Ikrit thought viciously in his heart.

The gray prophet's wrinkled nose twitched again, and his ears, as thin as cicada wings, flapped, almost tearing off the nearby flesh. The dimensional stones in his eye sockets looked into the air.

"The battle has begun."

Quickwall murmured.

The warlord immediately gestured to his soldiers not to waste time here.

Fifty years ago, when the old warlord made this move, his movements were a little slow and he was almost sent to eternal sleep by Nagash.

"A small team of messengers, follow us."

After casually recruiting a team of messengers, Ikrit stepped on the steps composed of several slave rats and became the tallest one nearby.

The warlord looked down at the lunatic brigade that had just gathered. His sharp rattle made the soldiers' eyes focus on him.

"You short-lived rats, listen up."

"Whether the Horned Rat is watching us or not, we have to go back to the underground fortress, take back our mines, take back our ports, and take back our houses."

"Don't think that you can escape from here smoothly. If there is no fight, I can go back alone, but you... don't think that without the cover of a large army, you can escape the massacre of bones."

"In other words, if you refuse to fight and try to become a thing that lives in the sewer, eating other Skaven's excrement, you will have no chance to eat rat dung. You will definitely be killed by the undead and become the stickman monster.

Eternal service."

"Not even the Holy Spirit of Number 13, the great Horned Rat, can save your soul."

After saying that, Ikrit called to a guard and opened his backpack.

Inside was a flag composed of paw prints and other simple symbols. The warlord jumped down the slave rat steps and handed it personally to the flag bearer of the Psycho Brigade.
Chapter completed!