Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The alarm first sounded on the mountains east of Lorthene, the wind carrying the sound of the alarm like a gentle reminder echoing in your ear... No, it was not a reminder, but a reminder piercing the night, a chilling sound that abruptly pulled one from a half-awake state.

Then, the alarm sounded on the east bank of the lagoon. The sound came in layers, like some kind of invisible radiation, first gently touching the eardrums, and then spreading out, enveloping the heart as well.

Within moments, alarms sounded on the western shore of the lagoon, echoing each other like sparks falling into dry grass, igniting a vast expanse of flames.

The entire city of Lorthion was instantly enveloped in the piercing, chilling siren, as if a giant hand had descended from the sky and dragged the city out of its slumbering illusion.

The whole process took less than a minute.

But that minute felt infinitely stretched, so long that it made your heart race unnaturally. Although there were no people on the streets, no pedestrians running, and no soldiers in formation, the atmosphere had completely changed.

Lorthorn has awakened, and an invisible tension and order are gathering strength.

The moment the alarm blared, Darkus's eyes snapped open. He stared at the ceiling, stunned for a moment, then, as if pricked by a needle, a jolt ran down his spine, and he abruptly rolled over and jumped out of bed.

The moment he sat on the edge of the bed, Drusara, who had been sleeping inside, quietly turned over. Her movements were light and swift, as if she had been waiting for this moment. Her figure appeared on the edge of the bed almost simultaneously with Darkus.

The two looked at each other.

In that instant, without words, they both understood each other's tension and clarity. They stood up at the same time, as if it were a tacit understanding rehearsed countless times.

Genevieve, who had been sitting quietly at the table with a novel she usually used to pass the time, did not hesitate for a moment when the alarm sounded. She put down the book, stood up, and left the room with firm steps.

“This feeling is strange.” Drusara reached out and embraced Darkus, her breath brushing against her lover’s ear.

“Yes.” Darkus let out a long breath, as if releasing the pent-up frustration that had been building up in his chest for so long. His tone carried relief, a sense of calm, and an unspeakable heaviness.

The preparations beforehand were like a boot hanging in mid-air, not falling, yet bound to fall sooner or later. It was like repeatedly checking the windows and stockpiling supplies before a typhoon hit, quietly waiting for the first gust of wind to lash out. That agonizing feeling of it not falling, not coming, was the most torturous.

The days stretched endlessly in that anxiety, each second feeling so thick and viscous that it seemed impossible to flow.

And now, the enemy has arrived.

This fact, on the contrary, severed the sticky fog, like the first torch finally being lit in the darkness. Although it meant danger and tearing, it allowed people to breathe clearly and see the road ahead.

When Genevieve returned to the room, they were already dressed in an orderly fashion.

"Wash your face first." Genevieve placed the water she had brought back on the table, her voice devoid of any panic, as if it were just a detail of daily life.

“Yes, sir!” Darkus replied in a formal tone, as if receiving an order in a marching column.

Next came the process of washing up and putting on armor. The subtle sounds of water splashing, the dull thud of metal rubbing against leather, and the rhythmic clatter of breathing all intertwined to create the unique atmosphere of the pre-battle period.

What happened in this room is just one of countless events unfolding throughout Lorthorn.

Countless families, countless eyes, countless individuals, awaken from their slumber at the same moment, each carrying their own panic, courage, or composure, as they plunge into the storm that this city is about to face.

Kalentil opened his eyes the moment the alarm sounded, his eyes flashing with a sharp and clear light, as well as a hint of coldness that he couldn't hide.

If we were to categorize or classify him, he is both a commoner and a respectable person from a good family. This seems contradictory, but it is not contradictory at all. The fusion and coexistence of these two traits and identities is very common in Lorthern. The background of a respectable person and the life of a commoner can be said to be a true reflection of many families in Lorthern.

This is not merely a social phenomenon, but rather a city's character passed down through generations. The birth of a respectable family brings a sense of self-awareness rooted in blood and family, an imprint of etiquette, dignity, and upbringing; while the life of an ordinary citizen is the daily grind of reality, the hardships and meticulous calculations that must be faced under the guise of daily necessities.

The two intertwined, forming a true reflection of many Lorthern families.

They often come from relatively respectable backgrounds, but have not achieved remarkable success on a personal level.

Therefore, in their daily lives, they are mostly ordinary wage earners, needing to carefully budget for daily prices, trivial expenses, and their children's upbringing. Deep down, they retain the upbringing and qualities characteristic of well-bred families, but in the actual operation of their daily lives, they also have to practice the pragmatism and thrift of ordinary citizens.

Such contradictions are not occasional, but rather something we face every day.

They can haggle with vendors at the fish market, not letting go of a single silver coin, but when it comes to important social occasions or when it comes to interpersonal relationships, they will never appear stingy or lose their sense of propriety.

In them, pragmatism and spiritual pursuit coexist. They are very aware of the importance of money and material possessions, so much so that they must be aware of every expense and carefully consider every income and expenditure.

For this reason, they worked tirelessly, never daring to slack off. But at the same time, they insisted on having their children learn something extra—a kind of spiritual commitment that transcended the mundane realities of daily life, a tenacious resistance against being completely swallowed up by life.

They are down-to-earth, yet discreet. They can interact with all sorts of people and sit down with neighbors to chat about the most mundane daily matters. But deep down, they always maintain a clear boundary, knowing what they should and should absolutely not do. This boundary is the bottom line and code of conduct for respectable people, a principle instilled in them from childhood.

The education of their children is a complex mix of contradictions and unity. On the one hand, they use the wisdom of ordinary people to teach their children how to protect themselves, how to gain a foothold in competition, and how not to be easily bullied or schemed against. On the other hand, they strictly demand good character from their children according to the standards of a respectable family, requiring them to be knowledgeable, polite, and never lose their sense of propriety. This alternation between the two approaches is both pragmatic and idealistic, both worldly-wise and noble.

This is a very typical social phenomenon in Lorthorn.

However, this state is not always harmonious; deep down, there is often tension and inner conflict.

Their inherent pride sometimes makes them look down on the vulgar behavior of petty bourgeois people, feeling that they are, after all, from a different background; but the heavy pressure of reality forces them to imitate and practice the survival wisdom of these petty bourgeois people. They must frequently switch between these two states, maintaining a decent appearance while calculating gains and losses, and such a life inevitably leaves them feeling physically and mentally exhausted.

More often than not, however, it is an extremely tenacious wisdom for survival. It allows a person to live a down-to-earth life, so as not to be trapped in a dream by vain idealism; and at certain moments, to look up at the stars and pray to the gods, to maintain the pursuit of order, culture and dignity, so as not to be completely overwhelmed by the trivialities of life.

They are beings who constantly struggle and compromise in reality, yet ultimately always find a way to reconcile themselves. They are multifaceted and real people, with weaknesses and contradictions, as well as resilience and perseverance. Their very existence reveals the complex face of Lorthene society, and the tenacious, almost indestructible vitality they possess in maintaining dignity and pursuing a better life.

In Lorthorn, there are countless beings like Kalendir.

If the high-ranking nobles are the head of Lor'then, the center of decision-making, then they are the backbone, the skeleton, the flesh and blood. They are the true force that supports Lor'then; they are the ones who allow this city to stand tall on the coast of Ulthuan, shining brightly as the most dazzling pearl; and they are the ones who uphold Lor'then's proud Sea Guard, making this army not only the pride of the Kingdom of Ithaa, but also a reflection of pride for every commoner.

When Karendir opened his eyes to the sound of the alarm, millions of Karendirs opened their eyes at the same time. It wasn't the action of one person, but a chain reaction, like a collective awakening, like a tide surging in an instant, like the nerves of the entire city being triggered.

Unlike Cherion, who was still serving (described in chapters 735 and 806), and his two sons and daughter, Kalentil had long since retired, much longer than Galian. But even so, the marks left from his service had not faded with time; they were something etched into his very bones, causing him to reflexively open his eyes the moment the alarm sounded.

Upon opening his eyes, he didn't immediately get out of bed. Instead, he turned his head to glance at his lover beside him. She was still fast asleep, breathing evenly, but her brows were slightly furrowed, as if she felt the heaviness even in her dreams. His heart tightened. He first sighed softly and reached out to wake her, but just as his hand was about to touch her shoulder, he noticed her eyelids twitching slightly.

That was a sign that I was about to wake up.

He knew she would open her eyes soon, so he stopped and slowly withdrew his hand.

He sat up, his movements stiff yet nimble, and reached for his work clothes on the clothes rack beside the bed. It was a uniform issued by Duruci, oddly styled with sharp lines, carrying a foreign flair, completely different from the traditional Asur style. But it had to be admitted that it was sturdy and durable, made of thick fabric, and neatly sewn, capable of handling even the harshest environments.

He put on his clothes one by one, then took off the boots that had also been given to him by Duruci, slipped his feet into them, tightened them, and bent down to tie the shoelaces. Just then, his lover woke up behind him.

"They're here?" Her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable certainty.

"Hmm." Karendir responded in a deep voice, his hands moving without stopping, tying a knot in his shoelaces and pulling it very tight.

A long sigh echoed in the room, followed by a silent stillness.

The people of Lorthorn know that Kaledo is preparing to attack Lorthorn.

However, their attitudes are complex and contradictory. Comrades who once fought side by side have now become enemies facing each other; while former adversaries with whom they had a blood feud have now become comrades they must rely on.

This transformation is both absurd and cruel.

As ordinary citizens, they had no choice but to drift with the tide, pushed forward by the waves of the times.

After tidying up, Kalandil turned around and embraced his lover. They held each other tightly, as if trying to steal a moment of tenderness. After a few moments of embracing, he whispered, "You get ready first, I'll go wake them up." With that, he released her, turned, and left the room with firm steps.

Karundir owns the building, where his large family of fourteen lives. His four children are currently serving in the military, scattered across different units; those remaining are his wife, his youngest daughter who is not serving, his daughter-in-law, and his grandchildren. As an elder, he knows what he should do and understands his responsibilities.

He walked into the corridor and began knocking on each door. Each knock was deliberate yet carried a force, as if declaring an inescapable reality. After calling everyone, he turned and went downstairs to the storeroom on the first floor.

Before Duruci's arrival, the houses of Lorthern never had cellars, because there was no need for them. The damp sea breeze and peaceful years meant that the Asur people never considered digging pits under their houses. And after Duruci arrived, there were still no cellars at first, after all, there was no need for them then, but now, there are.

Because now there is demand.

Once Lorthene entered a period of stability, the Duruci government organized the people to guide them on how to properly dig cellars, how to set up ventilation openings, and how to ensure safety when entering and exiting to avoid suffocation due to confinement. They also distributed a set of digging tools, from shovels to planks, to everyone.

Kalandil entered the storeroom to check the ventilation vents to ensure they were working properly and would be usable soon. As for the carriage that had been parked in the storeroom…

After doing all this, he returned to the second floor and knocked on each door again to make sure that the person behind each door was awake and starting to tidy up. Then, he picked out the remaining practical items, such as bed sheets and blankets, and began to put them away.

Finally, all of these items were packed into the cellar without leaving a trace.

He knew very well what the alarm meant—it wasn't a drill, it wasn't a false alarm, but a real crisis. He also knew very well how much time they had left to respond after the alarm went off, how long it would last, and how much they could accomplish.

Fifteen minutes later, when the last item of clothing was placed in the corner of the cellar, he straightened up and let out a long sigh. His gaze first lingered on the neatly arranged food at the back, then shifted to the other side, where the everyday items were stacked. Everything was there, everything was prepared, but he felt no relief whatsoever.

He sighed deeply, shook his head, and a hint of weariness and helplessness flashed in his eyes. He took his youngest daughter's outstretched hand, climbed out of the cellar, and when he saw her clear yet slightly uneasy eyes, he immediately pulled her into his arms, hugged her small body tightly, and gently patted her back to comfort her.

Having done all this, he reached out and pushed the heavy wooden lid up with a dull thud, then locked the cellar securely. When he arrived in the garden, his family was already dressed and waiting. Each person's expression carried complex emotions—tension, unease, confusion—yet also restraint and composure. He said nothing, simply walked to the door, slowly pushed it open, and let the sea breeze and the outside noise rush in.

After the gate opened, he didn't immediately go out. Instead, he turned back to the garden, stood there quietly, and looked up at the familiar building where he had lived since birth. His gaze slowly swept over every brick and tile, over the empty chicken coop in the courtyard. His eyes held a deep longing, as if he were silently saying goodbye—goodbye to this home, goodbye to the life he had once protected.

After a long while, he slowly sat down on a stone bench in the garden. The noise outside grew increasingly louder: hurried footsteps, the clanging of metal, and intermittent shouts from the street. Occasionally, soldiers would march by in formation, carrying weapons or supplies, and a sense of urgency washed over the courtyard like a tide.

Five minutes later, a Trucchi official wearing the Assati insignia strode into the courtyard.

Kalentil immediately stood up to greet him, and as he walked, he reached into his pocket, his fingertips touching the pack of cigarettes he had deliberately left behind. When he stood in front of Duruci, he handed over the unopened pack of cigarettes.

Duruci's movement as he took the cigarettes was almost imperceptible, like a magic trick. When he raised his whiteboard, the pack of cigarettes had vanished, as if it had never existed.

"Ten people?" Duruqi's voice was urgent. As he spoke, his gaze swept past Asur to the crowd behind him, scanning them one by one. Only after confirming that there were indeed ten people did he nod.

"Go wait on the street."

After saying that, he glanced at Karendir again, a subtle, unspoken understanding in his eyes. Then he turned and strode away, but as he reached the edge of the courtyard, he suddenly turned back, a smile playing on his lips, and added, "Don't close the door before you leave!"

Kalentil nodded silently, then turned back to his family. He offered a few words of reassurance and advice, calming their uneasy emotions. He glanced around the courtyard one last time, his gaze filled with complex emotions.

Then, he left with his family.

He deliberately walked at the back, and only stepped onto the street after confirming that everyone had left through the gate. At that very moment, another procession of a hundred people swept across the street.

They carried sandbags, crossbows, and arrows, their bodies laden with heavy equipment, yet their movements remained perfectly synchronized. The spacing between ranks was impeccable, their speed incredibly fast; every detail revealed them as seasoned veterans.

As a retired sea guard, Karundir could tell at a glance that these men had definitely seen blood. That sharp and murderous aura couldn't be faked.

He had seen countless such troops since Duruci occupied Lorthorn. Each time he saw them, a complex mix of emotions welled up within him: familiarity, strangeness, dull pain, and repression.

The hundred-man squad quickly came to a stop. The centurion leading the squad exchanged a few words in hushed tones with an officer. After the exchange, the centurion gave an order, and the soldiers at the front immediately turned and entered the buildings on both sides of the street.

Soon after, the entire hundred-man team vanished as if into thin air, disappearing from the street, leaving behind only the still-flowing tense atmosphere and the increasingly heavy air.

As the hundred-man squad disappeared, Karendir knew that the soldiers had gone to the rooftops to set up defenses. Soon, this street would become a battlefield, or more accurately, an air defense position.

His home will soon become like that too.

Two days ago, Duruci had visited and conducted a thorough assessment of his home. The people there didn't say much; once inside, they calmly looked around, tapping on beams and columns, measuring corners, and checking the load-bearing capacity. Afterward, they reinforced the key areas.

Karendir understood very well that home was no longer just a shelter, but an integral part of a larger defense system.

Then, as expected, just like one group after another, two more teams of a hundred men crossed the street. Their steps were synchronized and their movements were swift. They quickly entered the buildings on both sides, climbed up the wooden stairs and stone steps, and soon appeared in silhouette on the rooftops, beginning to deploy their offensive and defensive formations.

In a short moment, a layer of cold metal and crossbow shadows appeared on the street, as if the sky itself had been nailed to this small space.

Just as Karendir thought more troops would appear, the Black Knights and Sea Guards suddenly came into view. Their arrival eased the previously oppressive tension in the air.

The Black Knight first exchanged a brief conversation with the Duruqi official, then turned and whispered a few words to the captain of the Sea Guard. Immediately afterwards, he raised his voice, signaling the Asur to follow in sequence and in groups.

There was no chaotic scene of panic here, no scene of people rushing barefoot to the shelter without even putting on their shoes after the alarm went off.

Everything is in order.

It's all about order, nothing but order.

The crowd was divided into segments and numbered, and like flowing water, it was diverted and grouped, moving in an orderly manner toward the shelter.

The Duruci official in charge of managing the streets calmly checked the number of people in each household, meticulously verifying each item to ensure accuracy. Only when the crowd reached a certain size would the Black Knight and Sea Guard take over and lead the Asur to the nearest shelter.

This process was executed silently, as if it had been rehearsed countless times, even though this was only the first time.

They hadn't walked more than a few steps when a low gasp suddenly erupted from the crowd. It wasn't chaos, but an instinctive reaction to being enveloped by the enormous shadow cast by the sky.

Everyone instinctively looked up, and there in the sky, a colossal, deep red dragon with a metallic sheen was soaring upwards. Its scales gleamed with a cold, hard crimson light in the dawn's glow, like a mirror smeared with blood and iron filings. Its massive body swept across the sky, the wind rushing down with a menacing roar. Around it, a squadron of ten raiding ships flew alongside, their black hulls cutting through the sky like swords.

There were only gasps of surprise; no one panicked and fled, no one shouted that the enemy was coming. Because they all knew that it was Duruchi's dragon, the red dragon from Elsin Alwyn.

Duruci did not arrive today, nor did he only begin to display his power yesterday.

The taking off and landing of dragons has long been a daily occurrence. On a clear day, one can always see dragons soaring across the sky when looking up, which has become one of the few sights and pleasures in Lorthorn's life.

"That's our dragon! Don't stop, keep moving!"

The exclamation was only subconscious, but it didn't stop the Black Knight from comforting and guiding her.

Soon, Karendir led his family into the shelter. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw several familiar faces—neighbors from the next block. Their eyes met, but without exchanging many words, they simply nodded in acknowledgment.

He led his family to their designated area, where three carriages were parked: one belonged to their own family, one was issued by Duruqi, and the other belonged to Galian, carrying the skeleton of a sea monster and some miscellaneous items.

Kalandil first went to his carriage and skillfully untied the ropes binding him. His rough hands pulled and tugged, the ropes creaking and scraping. He lifted the canvas and pulled out a rolled-up blanket. Then, with his youngest daughter's help, he slowly spread the blanket on the hard ground so his family wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

This refuge, located inside the hills, is extremely spacious, almost like an underground city, a fortress that even dwarves would admire.

The building was brightly lit, and the walls and beams revealed heavy steel supports and reinforcements. There were several entrances and exits, several interconnected areas, with emergency exits at key points. Ventilation equipment was readily available, spare water tanks were stacked in the corners, and emergency food supplies were stored in the storage area. The overall layout was well-organized, clearly designed with the needs of long-term stays in mind from the outset.

Even in the details, Duruci displayed a cold kind of thoughtfulness. Considering the varying incomes and transportation capabilities of different families, they provided all families with wagons, along with canvas and ropes for carrying and loading supplies. Inside the shelter, each family had a designated area, with enough space to park four wagons.

This is both control and appeasement.

Karendir understood the meaning behind it, but he could only accept it silently.

After settling his family in, he didn't sit down or try to communicate. He simply stood there quietly, like an iron stake driven into the ground, completely still. His gaze pierced through the air, landing on the entrance, as if awaiting some inevitable arrangement. He didn't speak, but his breathing was unusually heavy, each rise and fall of his chest a reminder to himself—there was still a little time left.

When Duruci, who was in charge of his street, appeared at the entrance and waved, his lover stood up first. For a moment, a faint smile appeared on his lips; he tried to make it look relaxed, like he was going home anytime.

Then, he stepped forward and gave his lover a brief but exceptionally tight hug, as if he wanted to press the weight of his entire life into those few seconds. Then, he turned around and gave his family, who had all stood up, a reassuring smile. The smile wasn't big, but it had a powerful, comforting force, as if telling them: everything is still under control.

He finally moved, his steps steady and slow as he walked towards the entrance. As he moved, some of the Asur also stood up, their shadows stretching out, falling on the wall and facing upwards. Among them were men and women, elderly and still-young faces, their silence carrying a shared understanding.

When they appeared together on the street, they avoided the entrance and surrounded Duruci.

Duruci reached into his pocket, his movements slow and casual, as if it were an ordinary afternoon. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes that Karendir was very familiar with, then roughly tore open the seal, skillfully pulled one out and put it in his mouth, before handing the pack out to the Asurs, gesturing for them to come and get some as well.

The smoke quickly dissipated, sparks igniting one by one, faces blurring and intertwining in the smoke and dim light. Finally, Duruci stuffed the cigarette pack with only two cigarettes left into Karundir's hand, thus returning the cigarettes to their rightful owner in a different sense after this act of giving them away.

“It won’t make a difference.” Duruci squinted, smoke drifting from the corner of his lips, his voice muffled yet carrying a feigned calm. He was already familiar with these Asur, though their actual interactions had lasted less than two months.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Asur, who was also smoking, suddenly spoke casually, his voice carrying a feigned indifference.

But after he finished speaking, the Asur around him all turned their gazes to Duruchi, waiting for his response.

“What else? Go inside and wait?” Duruci retorted, pointing to his uniform and then to the Black Knights in the distance. “They won’t agree.”

The Asur looked in the direction indicated and saw a knight clad in black armor standing motionless, like a cold statue. After a moment of silence, they all laughed, a laugh filled with bitterness and self-mockery. By now, all the people of Lor'theon understood what the Black Knight truly did.

“I am the head of your neighborhood, and that is my battlefield. Although I will not take up arms, although I come from Nagarus, from New Hagrid Graves, and am a…Druch.”

Duruci withdrew his gaze. What he said was highly compelling, carrying a strange sincerity. However, his tone was like a weary groan, weak and feeble, hanging on by a thread, as if he were on the verge of death.

That contrast makes it even harder to ignore.

Then they started chatting, their topics scattered but all revolving around what might happen that day. Some sighed, some sneered, and some remained silent, simply passing the time by smoking. Layers of smoke swirled and lingered in the street, making time seem to stretch out.

When the cigarette burned out, Duruci threw the butt on the ground and stomped it out, crushing the sparks into black ash. He looked up, his eyes suddenly sharpening, and then raised his right hand, clenched into a fist, his voice hoarse yet powerful.

"Our neighborhood!"

"Our neighborhood!" The Asur responded without hesitation, raising their fists high, their voices converging and echoing through the empty streets. For a moment, even if only briefly, they seemed to be on the same side.

Then they got moving and returned to their neighborhood.

Meanwhile… (End of Chapter)