"Sorry, Lord Ikrit, I need to confirm something with the leader of the Plague Clan."
The engineer warlock interrupted their conversation and said to the leader of the Evil Plague clan.
"The flamethrowers of Clan Skryre are not produced by me. They are kept strictly confidential from me. The operators are also subordinates of other engineering warlocks. Can you describe to me what that thing looks like."
The Evil Plague clan scratched his dirty scalp and said.
"A bronze pipe about three claws thick, from which green flames scented with warpstone can be emitted."
bronze? It seems that the temperature of the flame is not high.
Esky has been thinking about how to control the flames with the added dimension stone.
Although it cannot be ruled out that his colleague just doesn't care how long the product lasts, this at least opened up Esky's thinking.
The caliber of the three claws, that is to say, is at least about 200 mm.
The engineering warlock licked his nose, trying to make his dry nose moist again.
A weapon of this caliber could only be the work of El Chapo Gadgets, part of the Skulli Original Thief series.
After thinking about it, I gave up my plan to make this thing in a short time.
If he gets it out now, not only will it be stolen, but the engineering warlock whose job was ruined in Skaven City will also come to settle the score with him.
It's better to be conservative.
The two rat men, who were several rounds older than Esky, once again cast their eyes on the hilltop opposite, as if something was happening over there.
Afraid that Nagash would follow his gaze and find this place, Esky immediately pulled the wizard spirit and hid again.
This caused both the leader of the Evil Plague and Ikrit to burst into harsh laughter, humiliating the young rat.
On the opposite hill, the battle failed again. The Gray Prophet was able to gather fewer troops this time than last time.
Likewise, they fell more quickly, as if they had learned from their previous defeat how to escape from such a steep rocky slope more quickly.
The leader of the Evil Epidemic Clan looked at it and shook his head.
The secret of the Ratmen's military use is not only to make them blinded by greed, but also to put them into a situation with no retreat on the battlefield.
Only when there is no way out will the desperate rat burst out with the most powerful fighting ability in his life.
But this technique requires very sophisticated calculations.
It requires the superb command skills of the warlord, so that the rat men's troops are not aware of it before they step into the dead ground, but they immediately become aware of their situation the moment they step into the dead ground.
In this way, the smell of fear in the rat's glands will be transformed into the smell of battle as quickly as possible, making the rat's fighting will stronger than that of the undead.
On the open ground, the rats will have the intention of escaping anyway, because the warlords cannot even make most of them pay the price for escaping in this kind of terrain.
As long as the warlord punished some of them, the others would scatter in the wilderness.
The troops currently fighting did not belong to the original expeditionary force. They were troops recruited by the Gray Prophet Staden through his own connections.
The Barrier Breaker Clan, the Plague Clan, and all other clans from the first expedition have grown to a huge group of 110,000 clans/storm rats, plus tens of thousands of slave rats in the past ten years.
Compared with the 50,000 soldiers and less than 10,000 slave rats during the first expedition, it was already a lot better.
When these damn bastards bring back the news of the failure, they immediately launch a military coup on the front lines.
No, it's not a coup, it should be called "bringing order to chaos."
Ikrit touched the amulet on his waist. He was an agent personally appointed by the parliament.
=
Dividing line
=
Nagash's mood was already a little better than before.
Although the dirty, foul-smelling rats are still emerging in endlessly, if they can continue to be as stupid as they are now, the army to destroy Nehekhara can still be built at a slow speed.
There is no need to continue to lose it like it was more than ten years ago.
Although this time needs to be calculated in hundreds of years, it is better than continuously weakening more than ten years ago.
He still remembered that insidious and cunning player, like a python, entangled his troops and made them unable to breathe.
As long as he launches an attack, that despicable rat will sneak up on the flank from nowhere. In the end, the troops will inevitably become weaker and weaker. If they go too deep, they will even be surrounded and annihilated.
It's like a Total War player facing another Skaven player with unlimited underground threats and almost no CD.
The rats in front of him seemed to be playing house with him, attacking, fleeing, attacking again, and fleeing again.
The number of his troops lost in the flight was greater than that in the frontal battle.
So boring.
He came out in a sedan chair today because he was afraid that these rats might play some new tricks on him, and the result would be just like that stupid attack four months ago.
These ground attack rats don't even know that his troops are afraid of fire.
"I hope the stickman can cause more damage to that bastard named Staden. Why don't you come out and face Nagash yourself, you who grew up eating shit in a filthy feces-stained breeding pit?"
On the other side of the mountain, Ikrit cursed.
"Matchstick Men?"
The engineer warlock looked at them puzzled.
Although I am vaguely aware that this is the nickname of the undead, it seems that matches and the undead are not connected?
For example, the dwarf thing, the pointy-eared thing, the hairless monster, it sounds very clear.
"Those skeleton things and those carnivorous things are like matches, they light up when pressed, and the ashes after burning look like large matches. We call them stick men."
Ikrit explained.
It's been decades, and he doesn't even remember who the funny rat gave him this nickname.
"My greatest battle was when I lit eight stickman mines in a row and burned tens of thousands of necromancers. The necromancer must have been mad."
The leader of the evil plague clan looked at the big sedan opposite and said with a smile.
"You are hysterical. Most of that battle was done by my troops."
Ikrit immediately retorted.
"That was about thirty years ago. I think you are hysterical."
The two sides quarreled again.
Two old guys who were several times older than the physiological limits of rat men had a heated argument over this inexplicable issue.
The corner of Eski's mouth twitched. The relationship between the two was really good, better than most Skaven relationships.
When most Skaven have a dispute, it will most likely end with one party sideways.
Just as he was thinking about it, a mouse jumped on him.
The letterbox on its back is engraved with the emblem of the Skryre clan.
"Details of the next meeting will be handed over at your factory tonight."
