Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

From the moment Springtwin swooped down with overwhelming force to the moment Kous swiftly and fatally punched the Dragon Prince, the river of time seemed to be forcibly compressed, folded, and frozen. That moment, which should have had countless details and extensions, was constricted into a sharp beam of light, flowing for only half a minute.

However, the information density, tactical maneuvering, and psychological warfare that erupted in those short thirty seconds surpassed the clamor and chaos of an ordinary battle that lasted a whole day or even several days.

This is the singularity of time, the collapse and rebirth of all power, will, and wisdom in an instant.

Perhaps, in the future, when the dust settles and dynasties change, when scholars peruse yellowed archives and battle reports, this half-minute will be extracted separately and become an independent unit of time that will be repeatedly deconstructed and studied by countless people.

Military historians meticulously calculate the initial height, angle, and acceleration of each red dragon's dive. They repeatedly reconstruct the airflow model of that moment, attempting to recreate that devastating instant from both a physical and command perspective.

Dragonology experts will write books and articles, meticulously analyzing the various aerial combat patterns of dragons displayed in this short period of time: dive, reverse turn, sideslip, spit, turn, formation and counter-formation. This half minute has almost become a condensed encyclopedia of "Dragon Combat Science".

The spellcasters wouldn't let this miracle go either. They would obsessively analyze the multiple magical interventions that Annasara completed in that fleeting moment. The timing of each spell, the flow of energy, the angle of intervention, the priority selection of the target... would all be broken down into countless tiny sequences and written into countless scrolls and data models.

That was no longer just a tactical study, but a fusion of magic and the art of combat, a pinnacle of practical spell application.

The memoirs of the actual participants, however, may present a completely different picture, devoid of cold jargon and formulaic analysis, revealing only subjective chaos and passion.

Different perspectives provide countless commentaries on the same miracle.

This half-minute was like a supernova ignited in an instant, its light illuminating the entire sky at the moment of its explosion, leaving even time speechless. After its brief burning, its afterglow will continue to shine and influence future generations for a long time to come.

It will be remembered not only for changing the course of the battle, but also for demonstrating, in its most extreme form, the perfect fusion of strength, wisdom, courage, and timing on the battlefield.

Countless ancient books, documents, papers, and even orally transmitted bard poems will become an endless attempt by future generations to understand the inner mysteries of this supernova.

Darkus, on the other hand, is a typical post-90s generation, born in 1992. Of course, he's not exactly typical. Because this 1992 refers to the Imperial calendar, not...

According to Asur's calendar, he was born in X, 489, which is the 489th year of the reign of the tenth Phoenix King. Bel-Hasor ascended to the throne in Imperial Year 1503. He arrived in this world in Imperial Year 200/8, which is X, 505.

The Battle of Lorthorn took place in X, 593. (The algorithm is explained in detail in Chapter 716.)

Time flies like an arrow, and years pass like a tide.

Time flies, and eighty-eight years have passed in the blink of an eye, almost a whole century.

Eighty-eight years is a period of generational change for humanity; but for him, it was a period of accumulation, tempering, and the limit of waiting.

Therefore, this half-minute was not an isolated miracle.

It is not a chance flash of inspiration, nor a hero's sudden burst of genius, but the ultimate crystallization of will and knowledge accumulated over a long period of time.

That half-minute was like a lit fuse, finally detonating a giant explosive buried for a century.

This is the culmination of a century of planning, preparation, and growth; an explosion that encapsulates a century's worth of foreshadowing, strategy, sacrifice, and patience. All the prior investments—resources, time, lives, wisdom, beliefs, and hatred—converge, collide, and are released in this moment, compressed into a dazzling yet brutal thirty-second spectacle.

Amidst this overwhelming momentum, all conspiracies, plans, and beliefs were finally realized in their purest form.

However, this only lasted for half a minute.

Time did not truly stand still.

It continues to flow, the wind continues to howl, the flames continue to burn, and the battle... continues.

Darkus looked around and realized that he seemed to have become an idler, a bystander forgotten by the battle itself, standing on the periphery of the storm—an observer.

He slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, and after confirming that he was at a relatively safe height, he looked up, squinted, and gazed into the distance, past the billowing smoke and afterglow.

In another timeline, after Fennubar became the Phoenix King, a bizarre scene is unfolding on the islands designated as inhabited by alien races.

In the center of the main island, the colossal and awe-inspiring figure of "Dragon Mother" Modax was entangled with a Star Dragon. Her body was crouched low, her wings half-spread, and her massive dorsal fins undulated like blood-red mountains, while the Star Dragon was firmly pinned beneath her.

The scene illuminated by the firelight was so ambiguous that it bordered on absurd.

They appear to be mating?

Are they having a conversation?

Darkus's lips twitched slightly, and a hint of helplessness flashed in his eyes.

Mating and such... he doesn't think it's realistic.

If that's the case, we'll have to ask Modax if his health still allows it.

He knew about Modax.

The title "Dragon Mother" is not arbitrary; it carries the weight of bloodline and lineage. Those red dragons who chose to follow her and usher in the "New Era of Red Dragons" are partly her descendants and partly the descendants of her collateral branches. They are the extension of the maternal bloodline and the root of the entire red dragon lineage.

Scarlet Skarazak, who came to Dragonburg to attend the meeting, did not choose to join, but stubbornly continued to cause trouble for the dwarves, adding fuel to the fire of the dwarves' Book of Hatred.

Skakuzar, also known as Marok, yes, Marok has his own name.

"Malok" is the dwarven name, meaning "resentment." Among the elves, Malok is called Elendark, which means "Dragon of Elendar," or, to put it bluntly, "Hound of Elendar." After Malok inflicted heavy casualties on the dwarves, Asur in Elsin Alwyn also began to call him Malok, and the former quickly replaced the latter, whose name was gradually forgotten over time.

And Skarlandir, he remained in Krakarond, by the side of the Nightbringer Maranul, and did not participate in the Battle of Lor'then.

But that doesn't matter. What matters is that whether it's him, Skarazak, or Skakuzar, their bloodlines all originate from the same source—Modax.

Those were her offspring, born of her and raised by her.

However, all of this is ancient history before the great invasion.

As that catastrophe approached, Modax was struck by a terrible curse... (I've mentioned this before, so I won't go into details).
Since then, Modax has been tormented by the dual forces of curse and chaotic corruption, a pain that even the gods would not wish to behold.

You could compare them to Rianna Silver Stag, but their situations are on completely different levels. If they were to switch places, Modax would be fine, while Rianna would explode on the spot, with a high probability of becoming a Chaos Egg.

If we were to draw a comparison, her condition is like that of a whale with cancer—vast and resilient, yet slowly eroded within; or like a mother animal suffering from radiation—still powerful, but no longer capable of giving birth to a complete life.

Her years of struggle against chaos were long and silent. Before meeting Dakous, she was already able to barely suppress the backlash of her illness. After that, through some treatment, or more accurately, intervention, her condition was further stabilized, and her will and blood were enough to keep herself in check.

Unless they encounter a Chaos Demon or a high-ranking being who directly takes advantage of their vulnerability, like what happened to Garlauh. (Garlauh's situation is discussed in Chapter 208; he will appear later.)
Unfortunately, she was no longer able to have children.

The title "Mother of Dragons," which she was unable to bear, became an irony of fate in her case.

Powerful enough to incinerate the sky, yet unable to continue its bloodline. That was the pinnacle of power, and also the end of loneliness.

She was infertile, a physical limitation, but that didn't stop her from raising the red dragon in another way. The world's wonders were far greater than imagined: other fertile female dragons; countless dragon eggs that looked no different from stones; and dragon incubators.

Modax is a dragon, not a horse other than an elven warhorse, so it can be returned to its original owner.

In other words, Modax has no need to mate in the traditional sense anymore. She also doesn't have a partner of that caliber, unless she encounters someone of the same era and caliber.

And now, it seems she has encountered something?

But the prerequisites are there, so mating is simply not an option.

There is no such thing as dragons being inherently lustful in this world.

Darkus didn't believe that Modax would be so clueless or out of touch with reality, unless her personality had drastically changed or she had run into an old flame.
He chuckled inwardly, concluding that Modax had met his old friend and was reminiscing in a strange, even primitive, manner.

Modax had told him about the years before the ancient saints descended, then descended, and then left again. He had told him about the chaos and destruction of the dragons during that time, when there was no distinction between fire dragons and red dragons.

They have only one name in common: dragons.

In Darkus's view, the dragon's internal form resembled both a tribe and a solitary beast.

They are like tribes because they gather around a powerful dragon king and there is order and rules between them;

Like a ferocious beast, because every adult dragon eventually leaves its mother's territory to find its own sky and valley.

If we consider a tribe, Modax's position is undoubtedly that of a chieftain, leader, or ruler. However, his organizational structure is more loose than that of any tribe, almost resembling the instincts of a wild beast.

The dragons who chose to come to Ulthuan were different. They were a true tribe, living together in groups of chiefs, maintaining a certain order and traditions, but they spent most of their time sleeping.

Mature/Jurchen and Unmature Jurchen?

(This is a prelude; the dialogue between Modax and Selenex was cut and moved to this part and the following meeting. Didn't a Star Dragon run away before this?)

Without a doubt, the Star Dragon captured by Modax was the leader.

The island group was located on the western side of the lagoon, and the capture of the chieftain instantly disrupted the fire dragons' nerves. As a result, the fire dragons that had been active on the western side of Lorthen, almost simultaneously, like a red storm being pulled apart, launched a headlong attack on the island group in an attempt to relieve the siege.

A thrilling turn of events unfolded, escalating from a skirmish into a pincer movement to annihilate reinforcements. The Starry Dragon captured by Modax became the focal point, a highly valuable target that the enemy absolutely could not afford to abandon. It was the kind of creature that could force the enemy to make irrational decisions, a natural bait.

In a tactical sense, this is a classic psychological trap, using a bargaining chip that is enough to shake the enemy's rationality to lure them into walking into the trap.

The fire dragons that rushed to the rescue from the west side of Lortheon, disregarding everything, had their actions anticipated and turned them into a passive rescue team trapped in a tactical snare.

Springtwin is paired with Begg-Shun and Cecin-Hal; 'Majestic' Sculex is paired with Azogalon and Caminus; 'Mother of Dragons' Modax is paired with Kudnos and Carmine; in addition, there are Malok and Malekith who have come to provide support.

The interception force, consisting of three elite combat teams and a single-unit assault team, is no longer the attacker, but a mobile and efficient hunting party, waiting in ambush on the inevitable route of the reinforcements.

By capturing the enemy leader, Duruci's side acted as if they had seized the most crucial piece on a chessboard, successfully orchestrating the subsequent battle and firmly grasping the initiative on the battlefield.

As for dividing the enemy and luring them into traps, that doesn't exist.

Because this is low-altitude air combat, a three-dimensional killing field, with no clouds, no cover, and no place to hide, all tactics must be used to survive the collision of speed, angle, and energy.

The outcome of this battle is destined to be a head-on clash.

However, Duruci's side still maintained absolute initiative through control points. They were like an invisible net woven in the sky, with altitude, speed, direction, and timing as threads, forming a hub that could control the rhythm.

They completely controlled the rhythm of the battlefield and the movements of the enemy.

Three well-rested combat teams face off against a group of anxious, disorganized, and furious fire dragons.

This contrast is like a hunter facing a raging beast, where calmness and order confront madness and instinct.

They can be defeated one by one; their momentum has been established, and the offensive and defensive strategies can be reversed in an instant.

This is also why Darkus became an observer and pondered aimlessly on the outskirts of the storm.

Looking at the sky, he suddenly felt a strange, indescribable feeling. He seemed to be very close to the battlefield, yet also as far away as a spectator watching a tragedy unfold.

What he saw was a swarm of fire dragons, like an enraged swarm of wasps, dragging long, fiery tails, charging recklessly toward the islands where their leader was imprisoned. Meanwhile, three long-sharpened blades of death, having already completed their encirclement and prediction from high above, waited silently in their path.

The moment their speeds overlapped, the entire sky seemed to be torn apart.

At the heart of the interception formation were two imperial dragons, as imposing as moving mountains—'Majestic' Scrux and 'Destroyer' Marok. With their unparalleled size and absolute strength, they stood like two fortresses suspended in mid-air, fiercely guarding the densest path of the fire dragon reinforcements' charge.

They didn't perform any fancy maneuvers, nor did they need to; simply hovering and flapping their wings caused the air to tremble. Every breath stirred up a wave of air like a dragon's roar, and every slight movement created a thunderous resonance.

Between them, Kaminus used his excellent mobility to shuttle and support, his agility allowing him to leap up and down between the two mountains, filling any gaps that might appear. He used high-speed dashes and reverse turns to constantly disrupt the enemy's rhythm and provide cover and flanking attacks for the two main forces.

Together, these three form an unshakeable first line of defense, an ironclad line of defense that separates life and death, and an unshakeable canopy.

Their mission was extremely simple, yet extremely brutal: to withstand and crush the enemy's fiercest attacks head-on with the purest power.

Springtwin, Begg-Shuen, and Cecin-Hal, about to take their positions, became shadows on the battlefield. Due to their late entry into the fray, they chose to avoid direct confrontation with the enemy, instead using their exceptional speed to roam the edges of the battle lines. Like predators, they specialized in hunting down those dragons that were blocked from the front and attempted to flank, or those that had been wounded and separated during the attack.

Although the Dragon Mother herself is currently suppressing the Star Dragon, her team is the most powerful magical anchor in the entire interception system.

Kudenos, the "Master of Flames" and "Sky Splitter," is a terrifying combination of a doomsday fire dragon and a storm dragon, embodying the very concept of natural disaster.

On one side of him was the Akshaar Flame, which consumed everything, the scorching fire streams passing through the air, distorting even the light; on the other side was the Agil Storm, which tore the sky apart, lightning leaping between his wings, arcs of electricity winding like veins, and a roar that shook the heavens.

Carmine brought another form of terror. The dragon breath she spewed was not flames, lightning, or acid, but a colder, more mysterious power—extreme decay and decay.

When the wind whips up, the air cracks with a dry, cracking sound, like thousands of withered bones rubbing against each other. The fire dragon struck loses the luster of its scales at a visible speed, turning from a bright crimson to a deathly dark brown; those scales, as hard as steel, become as fragile as withered leaves, its flesh shriveles and weathers away within seconds, its muscles atrophy, and its bones are exposed, as if it has been forced to traverse a thousand years in an instant.

She is the embodiment of death, not in a symbolic sense, but in the real existence of 'death' itself.

Any living being that gets close to her can immediately feel the chill that draws death away; it's a chill that makes the soul tremble, as if life is being slowly stripped away by the sands of time.

And on her back is the legendary mage of the new generation—Coronia.

The combined fighting power of the two is no less than that of the 'Terrible' Marathex and Anasara, who are wreaking havoc on the other side.

Azogalon, the Storm Dragon, focuses on precise and deadly strikes.

He wielded lightning like a divine arbiter, each flash signifying death somewhere. His silhouette left long arcs of electricity in his wake.

Whenever a fire dragon attempted to mount an effective attack or threaten the ironclad defenses, the sky would be silently torn apart. A violent bolt of lightning, descending from the clear sky like a divine spear of judgment, would pierce the air, scorch flesh, and reduce the fire dragon to a brief arc of electricity and charred remains. The moment it was struck, the fire dragon didn't even have time to scream before its body was vaporized by the intense heat, leaving only charred wings and falling specks of light.

Fortunately, Aedana, Veltiri, Belorda, and Marin, who were skilled at manipulating the winds of Aegir, chose to fight in a different way, instead of riding on the backs of Kudnos and Azogalon. Otherwise... even the wind itself would probably have been torn apart, and the air would have been disrupted by energy overload.

On the other side of the defensive line, however, lies a true shadow of the battlefield.

After Marok became the chopping block that bore the brunt of everything, Malekith stepped in without hesitation. He made no grand entrance, nor did he shout anything earth-shattering; he simply slid into the gap naturally, like a shadow finding its home.

Dakos just watched.

Watching both sides take their positions, watching the distance gradually shrink, watching the fierce battle, watching fire, thunder, wind, and blood intertwine in the sky to form layers of curtains, watching the fire dragon fall, collapse, and shatter into specks of light.

He stared at it silently for a moment, then shook his head.

In his view, this is a multi-layered, all-encompassing web of death, a web woven from power, energy, order, and will, so intricate as to be almost an art form.

Faced with this three-dimensional defensive system that perfectly blends absolute power, elemental destruction, the decay of time, and precise point-and-click attacks, the fire dragon reinforcements' charge became a doomed suicide.

They not only couldn't break through, but they couldn't even understand what they were facing. It was no longer a simple battle, but a systematic art of ultimate destruction, a cold interpretation that elevated war to an aesthetic level.

He sighed.

I cooked a table full of dishes, but two tables of guests showed up. How am I supposed to eat this? But now the situation is reversed: I cooked a feast, but only one table of guests showed up. How am I supposed to collect the gift money?
At that moment, he was like a director who had seen through the ending, and also like an actor who had lost his audience.

The battle continued, but in his eyes, it had all become a perfectly executed performance.

The reason for this is simply that the generation gap is too large.

It was so big that he had the illusion of playing against a human robot.

It was a chilling, utterly overwhelming feeling, like a seasoned, fully equipped veteran facing a group of children wielding wooden swords.

It was so great that he had the illusion that he had energy but nowhere to use it.

That familiar fighting spirit was trapped in his chest, burning like a raging fire, but he couldn't find an enemy who could withstand this blow on equal terms.

There were more guests than at this banquet.

There was so much food that there wasn't enough room to sit down, so much that we had to sit on the floor with a bowl to eat.

Only in this way can these guests rely on their absolute numerical advantage and the dense, sky-covering dragon shadows to play that almost barbaric dragon sea tactic, like waves crashing against rocks, using layered impacts to make up for the irreparable generational gap.

The problem is, he prepared a feast, but only one table of guests showed up.

He knew that, unlike the red dragons active in Elsin Alvin and the dragons led by the Dragon Emperor in the Clarion Empire, the fire dragons living in Ulthuan numbered in the thousands. This was no exaggeration; they really existed!
(The beginning of the War of the Longbeard trilogy, where a coalition of elven and dwarven armies led by Malekith fought against the Chaos Tide. Twenty thousand dragons participated in that battle—ah, amazing GW mathematics!)

Unfortunately, not as many came this time.

Imrek only awakened a very small portion of them; this offensive, with the Sun Dragon as the main force, the Silver Moon Dragon as the backbone, and the Starry Dragon as the suppressor, totaled no more than a hundred.

The hundred dragons unleashed their mighty power, but in the face of the shattered sky, they seemed insignificant. Flames were torn apart by the wind, their scales and bloodstains mingling in the sunlight to create a blinding crimson.

After a moment of reflection, he looked up at the sky, and for a moment, the sunlight was so bright that he could barely open his eyes. After getting used to it, he simply gazed at it quietly, then slowly shook his head.

Perhaps the fire dragons should break out immediately, instead of fighting to the death or trying to escape. In his view, this was the only way to gain a sliver of hope.

otherwise……

Open the champagne at halftime?

no……

As time passed, the raiding fleet was about to take its position. It should be noted that in the battle plan, the raiding fleet was the main killing force, and the time left for Fire Dragon was really running out.

He exhaled a long breath, expelling all the stale air from his lungs. Then, he turned around, calmly raising his gaze to the other end, where the battle was also raging.

Smoke, firelight, and the afterglow of magic intertwined to form a blood-red sky, with bursts of explosions echoing as if the sky itself were cracking. To him, the broken-winged fire dragons, the churning waves, and the flames struggling to rise were no different from a final struggle, merely a final burst of glory.

And after the bloom... (End of Chapter)