Warhammer: The 11th Primarch - The Black Emperor

Leman Russ looked at the crowd and spoke.

"For the second hunt, your target is the Ice Dragon known as Witherwing, who dwells atop Mount Eitr, the highest peak on Fenris."

"Witherwing is the aerial overlord of Fenris. Only a true hunter, a true warrior, can slay it."

Jorin's murky yellow eyes gleamed as he turned to Sanchez, who had just dismounted from his thunderwolf.

"The victor will be me. I'll chop off that foul dragon's head and decorate my battle axe with its claws."

Surrounded by the Fenrisians, the "Provoker" remained calm and replied:

"The outcome will speak for itself."

The Reaper Lord gave a slight bow to Leman Russ and said:

"Primarch, my battle-brothers are also excellent hunters."

"Fenris is a world made for hunters. I want them to be tempered here."

The Wolf King looked at Sanchez with approval and let out a hearty laugh.

"You've already proven yourself a great hunter by completing the first hunt."

"Your brothers are welcome on Fenris."

Before leaving, he turned to the Reaper Lord:

"Sanchez, you're more polite than your father."

"He didn't even tell me before taking men to hunt in the sea."

Sanchez frowned. Even though he was alone, he couldn't tolerate a slight against the Primarch.

"My lord, with respect, you've yet to conquer Fenris' oceans. The island tribes have not submitted to you."

Those words from the "Provoker" enraged the Fenrisians. Their beards bristled and blew wildly in the wind.

Jorin drew his axe and roared:

"Sanchez, shut your mouth!"

"If not for the Allfather's arrival, the Wolf King of Fenris would have united this world!"

Sanchez rested his hand on his sword hilt and said coldly:

"He hasn't yet… so Father has not overstepped."

Snowflakes swirled through the air, and though the Reaper Lord stood drenched in sweat beneath the Wolf King's fierce gaze, he remained defiant.

Something inside Sanchez felt like a phantom star had exploded; he was one step closer to becoming a true "Provoker."

The power surging within him helped him stand tall and unyielding.

The eyes of the Fenrisians burned with rage. They could not tolerate anyone questioning Leman Russ.

Jorin raised his axe and charged Sanchez.

Others followed, drawing weapons and rushing toward the "Provoker."

But the Wolf King appeared in a flash and blocked Jorin.

"Stop!"

To the Fenrisians, he declared:

"If you strike him down now, Jorin will never reclaim his honor."

"Do you want one of Fenris' old hunters to sulk in his wolf-hide tent, licking his wounds of failure?"

"No!" the Fenrisians roared in frustration.

Russ turned his fierce gaze on the "Provoker," who had returned his sword to its scabbard.

"You've got guts. I hope your skill matches your mouth."

"If you win the next two hunts, I'll tolerate your insolence today."

"I will win," said the Provoker.

The "Hunter" was drenched in cold sweat. He didn't wipe it away, letting the icy wind freeze the droplets into crystal shards.

Inside, something felt like it was melting; he could sense he was close to fully mastering the power granted by his Primarch.

"Good," said Leman Russ, retracting his aggressive gaze. "The second hunt begins now."

The "Provoker" could feel the hostility toward him in the Fenrisian camp. No one offered him meat or drink.

Sanchez mounted his Thunderwolf King, with six thunderwolves carrying wolf pups following behind him.

After leaving the camp, he touched the communication bead in his right ear and broadcast a message over a private channel to the other "Hunters" and candidates.

Moments later, the Reaper Lord distributed the thunderwolves, six to seasoned "Hunters" and seventeen pups to newly promoted ones.

Sanchez shouted to the twenty-three "Hunters":

"Take your wolves and go hunt in the wilds of Fenris!"

Then he turned to forty-nine candidates:

"If you wish to prove your worth and enter the court, go hunt in the icy wilderness of Fenris. Bring your prey back to offer to the Primarch!"

While the "Provoker" and the "Hunters" roamed the icy plains, another hunt was underway at sea.

Szczesny and Jorginho each led a fleet hunting in the Sea of Storms.

When Sanchez arrived at the base of Mount Eitr, Jorginho's fleet was caught in a storm.

Barometric pressure plummeted. The dark clouds sagged like an iron curtain. Wind gauges spun wildly. Gale-force winds lashed seawater against the portholes with a deafening crack.

Waves ten meters high crashed down like glaciers shattering against the bow. The steel hull groaned like bones snapping. The entire ship shuddered violently.

In the captain's cabin, Jorginho did not call for orbital support.

Jorginho took the helm himself. Even as the ship was tossed hundreds of meters by the waves, the tribesmen of Fenris had to cling to masts and railings. Yet Jorginho, blessed with the exceptional ability of "balance", stood firm on the deck.

The "Seafarer" sensed instinctively that about 70 nautical miles northeast, a new whirlpool was forming as warm and cold currents collided.

As a scholar of astronomy and geography, he instantly calculated the variables.

The "Seafarer" spun the wheel and gave orders over comms to the two other dragon ships under his command:

"Full rudder left! Reef three sails!"

Known also as the "Storm Priest," Jorginho's three dragon ships surged through the storm.

Fenrisians watched in awe as torrential clouds hurled hail upon the dragon ships.

The "Seafarer" showed no fear. Guided by instinct, he read the ocean currents and led the vessels forward, riding the flow through the storm.

After being flung about endlessly, the Fenrisians were shocked to find they had emerged from the tempest without losing a single ship.

Overwhelmed, they knelt before the "Storm Priest," shouting in Vlka tongue:

"Messenger of the Allfather! Priest of Storms!"

Jorginho felt something phantom-like within him break, and water flowed around his body. Despite his fatigue, he felt as if he were soaking in the warm cradle of the ocean.

'He was now closer to becoming a true "Seafarer."'

Just then, his communication bead beeped. He answered. It was a scout's voice.

"Captain, a fjord ahead! It's a U-shaped valley formed by glacial erosion, with steep cliffs on both sides."

"A pod of sea serpents is swimming there, likely driven in by the storm."

Jorginho's pitch-black eyes gleamed. Over vox comms, he shouted:

"Brothers! We've just weathered a storm. Now, it's time to hunt!"

The Shadow of Order warriors leapt from their ships, leading the Fenrisians in the hunt.

This time, the Fenrisians weren't wielding bone or stone weapons; they held iron-forged arms crafted by the legion's tech-servants.

As Jorginho organized the sea-serpent hunt, Sanchez climbed to the summit of Mount Eitr…

..

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