Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"Ah...this?!"

Darkus let out another soft sigh. From the unique perspective of slowed time, he could see that lightning-fast scene clearly, down to the last detail.

What he saw was not only Imrek's resolute charge, the blinding light from the collision of the star lance and the armor plate, and the final standstill after the failed attempt.

What he saw was a microcosm of the end of a grand narrative, a visual moment in which a long legend was declared to have come to a close.

Imrek's figure seems to be endowed with a kind of tragic symbolic meaning. He is no longer just a dragon prince, but the embodiment of the martial spirit of the entire old era of Asur - who worships honor, believes in individual bravery, shoulders the ancient bloodline and heritage, and is willing to launch the purest, all-or-nothing challenge against seemingly invincible enemies for the sake of his beliefs and homeland.

In this frozen moment, Darkus could even see the almost transparent burning obsession in Imrek's eyes, the fiery pride of the former court of Caledon, the ancient will to tear a rift in the enemy even if it meant being shattered to pieces.

At that moment, Imrek seemed like a hero who had stepped out of mythology, a hero whose destiny had finally illuminated.

That shining star lance was the most brilliant and sharpest blade of ideal that era could forge.

It carries a thousand years of glory and the last stand of the Dragon Knight system. It pierces not only with attacks, but with the understanding and response of an entire ancient civilization to the world.

However, this ideal blade struck Marathex's cold, heavy, rune-covered armor, designed purely for destruction and domination.

The runes flowing on the armor were as cold as the pupils of a deep-sea monster, with a violent yet stable power faintly shimmering within the patterns—the grammar of a new era, an iron law that transcends tradition.

Darkus clearly saw that the starlight flowing on the Star Lance emitted a kind of radiance that was almost a mournful cry when it annihilated each other with the completely different energy system contained in the armor.

That radiance was like the last flicker of a civilization in its death throes, a long sigh from the old value system before its demise.

It wasn't a simple cancellation of energy; it was more like a fierce collision of two laws and two worldviews.

One is the power driven by millennia of heritage, heroic lineage, and indomitable will.

The other is a power built upon absolute rationality, efficient killing, and extraordinary skills.

The outcome was already predetermined.

The spear tip cut into the armor but could not penetrate it completely; in Darkus's eyes, this scene was full of a fatalistic metaphor.

It symbolizes that the sharpest spear of the old era can no longer pierce the hardest shield of the new era. Individual bravery and the glory of inheritance appear so tragic, and so... powerless in the face of systematized and absolute power.

He could even sense a shift in the rules permeating the air around him, like history itself quietly turning a page.

The fall of Imrek and Minasnil, in Darkus's slowed-down vision, resembled a giant scroll slowly being pulled down, depicting a glorious era.

The once vibrant knights, dragons, ancient covenants, and epics on the scroll are rapidly fading and peeling away, eventually turning into nothingness. The fading process is incredibly slow, yet incredibly cruel, like witnessing the embers of a civilization being blown away inch by inch by the wind.

"Perhaps this is... the final swan song?"

Darkus murmured to himself, the words devoid of emotion yet weighing heavily like a stone tablet. He realized that what he was witnessing was not merely the failure of an attack, but the complete end of an era that had lasted for thousands of years and was built upon the legend of dragon knights.

The shock of that consciousness even made him forget the noise of the battlefield for a moment, leaving only the faint crackling sound of history itself in his ears.

Imrek, perhaps the last heir of that era with such spirit and power, brought that era to a tragic yet profound end with his life-burning strike.

The sky remains the same, but the rules have changed.

The era of dragon knights, dominated by individual heroism, collapsed with Imrek's fall. And his new era, defined by Duruci—a more ruthless, efficient, and absolute one—is slowly unfolding, descending irresistibly to the tune of this old elegy.

He exhaled softly, his chest rising and falling as if expelling the weight of the entire world, and the flow of time returned to normal.

That complex sigh subsided, vanishing like a blown-out candle flame, and his gaze returned to its cold and resolute state, as if the surface of a lake had frozen into ice.

The swan song of the old era has already been played, and he will personally compose the prelude to the new era.

"Ok?"

"Ok?"

As Annasara expressed her confusion, she moved. Her movements were so fast that even the air couldn't vibrate in time, her reaction exceeding the normal limits of a living being. Almost at the same instant the dragon mage began to gather the energy for the teleportation spell, just as that tiny spatial ripple appeared, her right hand, adorned with a brass ring, was already clenched in mid-air.

Her fingers slid across the air, creating an eerie ripple, not pointing at Imrek, but precisely gripping the forming spatial bridge itself.

Magic Counter!

The energy surrounding Anasara seemed to be startled by some invisible behemoth, instantly shattering into countless fragments. Then, an invisible yet incredibly powerful energy, like a black tide, burst forth from her body, forcefully crashing into the magical structure constructed by the dragon mage.

That power, accompanied by a tooth-grinding shriek, tore apart the stable energy flow with the most vicious pollution and distortion, attempting to cause the originally stable spatial coordinates to collapse violently, to make the orderly magical structure chaotic and abnormal, and even to tamper with the teleportation endpoint into a void turbulence that devours everything.

Deha!

This is a momentary clash between two top spellcasters in terms of will and skill!

There was no fire, no thunder, only a head-on collision of power against power, spirit against spirit.

The dragon mage's body trembled violently, as if struck squarely in the chest by an invisible hammer. She felt her extended magical tendrils being corroded and broken at an imperceptible speed by the distorted energy, as if they were being injected with strong acid.

The energy from Anasara, cold and corrosive, surged back along the magical link, stinging like an ice blade scraping her nerves, violently impacting her mental core. A strong, metallic taste instantly filled her nostrils and throat—a harbinger of the energy's uncontrolled backlash.

Can't give up!

A resolute light flashed in the dragon mage's eyes, like embers ignited by a storm. She abandoned all defense and evasion, channeling all her willpower and life force into a final, unwavering surge of power into the collapsing spell—a desperate gamble, leaving no way out!
"In the name of Caledo..."

She let out a silent cry from the depths of her soul, her voice trembling yet firm, carrying an unwavering determination like steel.

"puff!"

A mouthful of scalding blood gushed uncontrollably from her mouth, the blood mist spreading in the air, staining her robes and cheeks red. This was the price she had to pay for forcibly withstanding the counterattack of a legendary spellcaster and enduring the collapse of the spell with her life.

At the very moment that mouthful of blood was spat out, the spatial bridge connecting Imrek's falling body, after violently twisting and flickering several times, finally beat stubbornly for a moment like a dying heart.

It's stable now.

That moment was as brief as the blink of an eye, yet it seemed to consume all of their spirits; the danger and grandeur were in no way inferior to the bloody battle between dragons.

It's this very moment!
Imrek's unconscious figure vanished just before being swallowed by the mist. The figure, which had been falling with unstoppable momentum like a meteor that had lost its light, was now lying peacefully on the back of the dragon where Lyandra was, as if an invisible hand had forcefully pulled him back from the brink of death.

Although his breath was faint, almost like a candle flickering in the wind that could be extinguished at any moment, he had finally escaped certain death.

The dim Star Lance, along with Minasnil, disappeared into the mist, completely swallowed up as if falling into a bottomless abyss.

It worked!
Leander sacrificed her life to save Imrek. Her face was deathly pale, almost bloodless, and her body slumped limply on the dragon throne, as if her bones had been drained. Her breath was extremely weak, her pulse so faint as to be almost imperceptible. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest proved that she was still alive, as if she was sustaining her life by instinct rather than will.

Anna Sara, below, narrowed her eyes slightly. Her icy gaze pierced through the air, through the turbulent currents, and through the lingering energy ripples, finally landing on the dragon mage who dared to snatch food from her jaws and succeed.

There was no anger or surprise in her eyes, only a chillingly calm interest, like a predator noticing the unexpected teeth of its prey for the first time.

The confusion came from Darkus. He had no second eye; he wasn't a proper spellcaster. He couldn't see the details of Ana Sara and Lyandra's magical duel, nor could he see the tearing and stitching of the layers of spatial structure. But he saw Imrek's figure, which should have fallen into the mist, disappear, as if he had been dragged away by something invisible to the naked eye.

"puff!"

Another mouthful of blood gushed from Leandera's mouth, the blood arcing in the cold wind as it splashed onto the dragon scales, scalding hot as if carrying the last vestiges of her life. At the same moment the blood splattered, Harald's words from that meeting echoed in her mind once more.

"Why are you here?"

This wasn't the first time those words had crossed her mind since the battle began; she'd lost count of how many times. Every crisis, every moment of pain, would etch those words back into her consciousness like a knife.

In that instant, a look of agony crossed her face, her features contorted and pale. The torment of her body, will, and soul nearly crushed her. She knew that the Kingdom of Caledon's offensive had failed, that the first battle, which was also the decisive battle, had failed. Everything that had happened in Lorthorn today was completely different from what the Dragon Prince and the Dragon Mages had anticipated.

She played a strange role, a role that even she herself couldn't define.

If she hadn't appeared in Ulthuan, if she had chosen to remain in Azsorloth until her death, Imrek would not have been able to awaken the dragons.

There are no maybes, no ifs, this is the established fact!
Imrek's attempt to summon the dragon alone failed. It was with the help of the dragon mages that she found Imrek in that strange world, and it was in that strange world that she found Selenex. (Chapters 805 and 848)
If she hadn't appeared in Ulthuan, if...

This decisive battle will not happen today!
She was certain of this, and yet she still came.

She didn't really want to come, but in the end, she still came.

She made a bet with Darkus, and she… lost. “You mean, Duluqi did this on purpose? That when we think we've figured out Duluqi's intentions, we unconsciously focus all our attention on Lortherne? And that's exactly what Duluqi wants!”
Were they waiting for us in Lorthorn, setting a trap? Was everything she said actually something Duruci deliberately showed her to mislead us? Was even her appearance a deliberate arrangement by Duruci? Was the so-called bet just a pretext to conceal their scheming and manipulative nature?

This was said by Rahil, who calmly and strategically dissected Harald's meaning, revealing it in a single sentence.

When Harald expressed his approval, laughter erupted in the room, laughter tinged with disdain and arrogant contempt.

Leandera didn't smile; her expression was grave, a deep shadow hanging between her brows. She began to recall her journey, the seemingly logical clues, the seemingly inevitable encounters, the coincidences that all seemed too natural.

The suspicion in her heart, like a venomous snake that had been lurking for a long time, slowly raised its head in the darkness. The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt, the more it seemed that everything was a pawn in a game of chess. It was as if an invisible hand was manipulating everything, pushing her, pushing Imrek, and pushing the entire kingdom of Caledor toward this irreversible abyss.

"puff!"

She coughed up another mouthful of blood, too weak to even wipe it away. She simply let the blood flow down her chin, staining her clothes and armor red, while her gaze fell upon Imrek, who had fallen into a coma.

At that moment, she finally understood.

She took all the blame and responsibility upon herself. This realization did not bring relief, but rather a more painful and eternal guilt and self-reproach than death.

She felt the weight of that responsibility as heavy as another mountain, pressing down on her thin chest and making her breathing intermittent.

It was as if an invisible hand had been guiding my entire life toward this destined tragic end.

(Chapter 307 provides a hint: Leandera stood up and stepped onto the soft moss of the forest. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling warmly and peacefully on her shoulders. But the unease from the dream still lingered in her heart. She prepared to go to a Lilith shrine hidden deep in the forest to seek some revelation and solace.)
"Ha, perhaps this outcome is better?"

Despite the excruciating pain that tore at both her soul and body, her fingertips trembling almost uncontrollably, she still managed to reach out and gently touch Imrek's burning forehead. The movement was as light as if she were afraid of breaking an ancient relic, like a mother soothing a sleeping child, her voice as soft as the wind falling on ashes.

"Sleep, child. At least... away from this cruel reality for now."

In this decisive battle, the Kingdom of Caledo's all-out gamble has undeniably failed. Glory, heritage, and hope have all been reduced to dust before the unparalleled power of Duruci.

For a dragon prince who has lost everything and whose beliefs have collapsed, death may be a merciful release.

That utter darkness was perhaps gentler than this cruel reality, like a quiet curtain that shielded Imrek from failure, responsibility, and endless pain.

But Leandera doesn't believe Imrek should have perished in Lorthorn.

She looked at him, at his features that resembled Soriol's, at the blood that had flowed through the veins of countless Caledonian kings—the last spark of a nation, a civilization, an era.

He had to wake up, had to step up and clean up the mess, and fulfill his final responsibility as the leader of the Kingdom of Caledon.

Even if this responsibility is broken, heavy, and almost cruelly unbearable.

then……

Then all of that had nothing to do with her, Leandera.

She knew perfectly well that she had no chance of surviving until today.

A deep, almost calm resolve rose in her chest, making even the sounds of the surrounding battle seem distant.

Since this catastrophe, which was planted by Darkus but lit by her, was ignited by her, it is only right that she should extinguish it herself and complete the final cleanup.

She has no way out, nor does she want one.

"Leave here, Legnius."

Her command was transmitted through the soul link, carrying an unquestionable resolve and containing a chilling aura that even dragons had to remain silent.

Darkus's judgment was correct; this dark gold dragon, whose fighting style was full of ancient wisdom and ruthlessness, was indeed a veteran who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

He was silent and aloof, yet possessed a mottled majesty, like the embers of an ancient era burning in the shadows.

And his name is Legnius.

Legnius was Vlanesh's brother.

This identity adds a touch of destiny to why he chose Leandera.

Vlanesh was once a close companion of Leandera, and the bond between them was so deep that it was difficult to describe. Vlanesh deeply loved this passionate and wise dragon mage and affectionately called her "Daughter of Fire," a name that referred to both the fire magic Leandera wielded and symbolized her fiery, indomitable, and pure soul.

For dragons, that is a quality so rare as to be almost sacred.

Awakened, Legnius sensed the lingering presence and bond between his sister and Leandera, acknowledging the qualities within her that Vlanesh deeply loved. He chose Leandera, becoming her new partner and continuing this dragon rider contract that transcended life and death.

However, at this moment, this bond forged in sorrow and remembrance is also about to come to an end.

Leander ordered Legnius to leave, both because she did not want this ancient companion to perish with her and because she did not want the dragon to suffer any more pain for her.

Perhaps... it was also to sever the last ties of warmth between herself and this world, so that she could complete the task she had to do without any worries.

She resolutely raised the dragon horn, bringing it close to her blood-stained, pale lips. Her fingers trembled, yet gripped the cold, metallic edge of the horn firmly.

Woo!
A desolate, distant horn call, seemingly from the ancient, primordial era, suddenly pierced through the clamor of the battlefield. The sound vibrated the air, like the low growl of mountains dormant for millennia, or like cracks spreading rapidly across a frozen sea. The horn was no ordinary object; it contained a strange and ancient power, like invisible ripples sweeping across the sky.

Not all dragons will respond to its call, but for those dragons with a deep bond to the blood of Caledor, the sound of the horn is an indelible mark on their souls, a battle song that can instantly awaken their bloodline instincts and bolster their last strength!

At the very moment the horn sounded, Legnius, who shared her thoughts, let out a deafening roar.

The roar was deep and hoarse, as if echoing through the ages from countless battlefields piled with corpses. His dark golden dragon body suddenly tilted violently to one side, his enormous wings flapping wildly with minimal amplitude yet maximum efficiency. Each flap of his wings was like a heavy war drum striking the air, enabling him to complete a sharp dive that almost defied the laws of physics, driven by an intense will to survive.

This was by no means a hasty escape, but a tactical decision made in the blink of an eye by a true veteran, almost instinctively precise. He skillfully took advantage of Ashdaron's brief moment of sluggishness after his attack missed, and also accurately captured Calladell's barely perceptible mental lapse caused by the sound of the bugle.

In that split second, he moved like a slippery fish, with savage, decisive and undeniable power, tearing a narrow crack through the blockade woven by the two dark partners!

The speed from the dive surged dramatically, the wind howling and raging around him, making his scales tremble violently. He narrowly avoided Ibas's lightning breath, which was spewed down from higher above, the bolt almost brushing past his spine. The intense lightning grazed his tail, leaving a blinding trail, and exploded in the air into a dazzling electric grid, illuminating his diving figure.

"Now!" Leander bit her lower lip, enduring the intense dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her consciousness, and poured out all her remaining mental energy without reservation, like a flood bursting its banks.

Wings of Fire!
While not achieving the near-space-jumping effect of Malatex, the flames she unleashed were enough to completely envelop Ignius's massive, ancient body in a pair of enormous, blazing wings of pure fire. These wings unfurled as if breaking free from chains in a fiery abyss, instantly propelling the dragon's body to an astonishing speed, transforming it into a streak of dark golden fire that ripped through the sky and tore through the wind!
The distance between Ignius and the several red dragons relentlessly pursuing him widened instantly. Without hesitation, he sped off towards the North Port, northwest of Lorthen.

Just as the sound of the dragon horn blown by Leander was still echoing in the air, conveying the order to retreat and survive.

A roar filled with extreme pain, resentment, and the final, fierce struggle before eternal silence thundered from the direction of the islands. The roar brutally tore through the sky, drowning out all the noise of the battlefield and abruptly shattering the lingering echo of the horns!
That's Selenex!
It was the last sound that Star Dragon made before its life was completely crushed and devoured by Modax, a final, resounding echo deep within its soul!

The dragon's roar that heralded death, and the dragon's horn that symbolized retreat and survival, collided and intertwined under the same sky, forming an extremely cruel and contradictory lament that chilled the soul.

For those dragons who were still fighting desperately, especially those who were trying to break through the blockade and rush to the island to rescue Selenex, this was undoubtedly the most fatal blow and the most devastating mental chaos.

Their souls were torn apart.

A portion of the fire dragon's eyes were instantly overwhelmed by endless grief, anger, and madness.

The emotion wasn't simple anger, but a frenzied agony that burned flesh and seared the soul, as if the entire sky were being torn apart along with their hearts. The fall of their king extinguished their last vestiges of reason, and the flames of revenge, like a volcanic eruption, devoured their instinct for survival. They let out low, broken roars of pain, their voices trembling with despair, each echo like a storm tearing apart the battlefield.

Ignoring the horns of retreat, they charged towards the nearest red dragon with even greater resolve and near-suicidal ferocity. Flames spilled from between their scales, their wing membranes fluttered in the gale. Their battle was no longer about breaking through defenses, but about sacrifice, a final blood sacrifice for the fall of Selenex, with their remaining flesh and fury.

Like burning stars, they trailed blazing tails, tracing tragic arcs across the shattered sky. Knowing they were doomed, they still unleashed their final, most intense light before their demise.

That was the pride of the dragon race, an irretrievable swan song.

Meanwhile, another group of fire dragons, after their agonizing struggle, regained a sliver of cold clarity in their eyes. That clarity wasn't indifference, but rather like the last remaining embers of a dying flame extinguished by a storm. They heard the fall of their king, but they also understood the message contained in the horn: This wasn't a battle…this was annihilation. Continuing to fight would only increase casualties, utterly meaningless.

They let out a low growl, a mixture of sorrow and submission, their voices hoarse and heavy, like a mournful cry squeezed from the depths of their chests. They forcefully twisted their dragon heads, struggling to break free from their entangled opponents, and began their arduous breakout in the direction where Lyandra and Ignius had gone.

The battle, marked by this deathly roar and the cry for survival, saw its final and most brutal division.

At that moment, the sky was divided into two completely different directions—one side of blood and fire, and the other side of struggle and hope.

Some chose a dignified death, buried along with the old era. Their figures fell from the sky like tombstones, disappearing into the chaos of thunder, dragon breath, and flames.

The other group, burdened with shame, pain, and hope, dragged their broken bodies and struggled to fly towards the path of survival offered by the enemy. (End of Chapter)