Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Aislin leaned against a long pillar, a thin wisp of smoke rising from the cigarette in his mouth. The smoke trembled slightly in the wind, sometimes rising straight up, sometimes being torn into ethereal fragments, forming a strange contrast with the chaotic and magnificent battlefield before him.

His expression was calm, even with a hint of scrutinizing indifference, as he watched the dragon fall with a mournful cry like a hunted bird, and as flames and blood mist exploded in the sky.

His eyes were slightly narrowed, as if he were watching a drama that had nothing to do with him, or as if he were calculating the probability of the future from countless acts of bloodshed and destruction. Only he himself knew that beneath that calm exterior, his heart was far from being as calm and undisturbed as it appeared. It was a mixture of cold pragmatism, long-suppressed resentment, and a heavy gamble on the future.

He was a naval commander, a helmsman.

His duty was to ensure that his ship, his sailors, and his entire force survived the storm and sailed toward a stronger future. When he found his old ship riddled with holes, its keel eaten away by worms, its rigging broken, and its planks teetering on the brink of collapse, destined to sink, choosing a stronger, more stable new ship and serving under a more capable captain was, for him, the only logical choice.

This has nothing to do with personal likes or dislikes, but only with survival and development.

And of course, there is faith.

When the tides of an era are changing, those who turn their backs on the tide will eventually be swallowed up.

That's why he can stand here smoking and watching the show.

Otherwise, he might have already died in the battle with Duruchi? Died protecting Lorthen? Like the dragons and dragon princes of today, or even worse, the old navy of Asur would cease to exist, leaving not even embers to teach future generations a lesson.

He was one of the first among all the Asur to deal with the new era of Duruci's army.

In those first encounters, the power that Trucchi displayed—his ruthless efficiency, precise coordination, and tactics and equipment ahead of its time—startled even this veteran naval commander, instilling in him an instinctive fear, followed by a near-desperate understanding.

He knew all too well that, in the face of such absolute power, Asur's old methods were utterly ineffective.

Duruci represents a more efficient, more ruthless, and more logical order that fits the logic of this dark age.

His pride made him unwilling to admit or face the truth.

That pride was like a steel needle, piercing his heart, causing both pain and numbness, leaving him constantly wavering between self-deception and awakening.

After the Tar Iris conference, his understanding became clearer and changed.

That day's conversation was like an invisible hammer, shattering the last vestiges of his confusion and forcing him to confront a cruel reality—the old era was dead, and a new order was irreversibly descending.

Standing here, watching the old world's order being forcibly torn apart by iron and blood, he felt a twisted sense of pleasure. That pleasure was dark and cold, yet incredibly real—the instinctive reaction of someone who had been bound by the old order for many years, witnessing its collapse.

The ancient ruling class of Ulthuan had long since rotted away in millennia of stagnation and internal strife, clinging to past glories while remaining blind to the real threats and dramatic changes in the world.

They corrupted power, stagnated institutions, dulled the navy's blades, and suffocated countless loyalists under outdated shackles.

He was once one of them, but he wasn't.

He was like a foot-binding rag, forced to stay within that corrupt yet self-proclaimed noble system. His behavior in this environment became radical, almost cruel fanaticism, and his ruthlessness, comparable to Trucchi's, deeply disgusted many traditionalists—they condemned him, yet couldn't live without him; they both needed him and feared him.

He tried to save it, he tried to warn it, he tried to prevent the navy from sinking in his own way. But his efforts were misunderstood, met with hostility, and stifled in those meeting halls filled with power and arrogance.

But now, he is very clear that he is no longer one!
He was no longer one of their kind, no longer a remnant of the old order, nor was he the naval commander whose limbs were bound and who could only struggle futilely in a rotten system.

He exhaled a puff of smoke, the gray mist dispersing in mid-air, like the lingering smoke of an old era.

Those who understand the times are the heroes.
A slight smile played on his lips, a smile that was both cold and stern, yet carried a certain ease born of awakening.

maybe.

He felt a momentary pang of sorrow for the fate of certain individuals. The names that vanished into thin air under the blood and shadow of dragons, the faces that had debated strategy with him on the bridge and stood shoulder to shoulder with him against the storm on the deck, all flashed by like flickering candles at this moment.

But he had no regrets about the end of the Asur era as a whole.

That indifference wasn't cold-bloodedness, but rather the weariness that followed the final curtain call of a funeral that had dragged on too long and decayed too deeply. His gaze had already passed over the blood-stained lagoon, over the burning wreckage and the falling dragon, and was now fixed on the future ocean, seemingly even darker, yet perhaps harboring even greater power, beneath the black banner of Duruci.

It was a sense of liberation, a feeling of being freed from constraints, finally no longer having to pay the price for foolish orders and outdated traditions.

It's like the exhilarating feeling of ironware that has been submerged in the deep sea for many years finally being salvaged and reforged into a sharp blade.

At the same time, he also saw that under the new order, on a broader stage, he and the naval forces he represented would gain greater authority and room for development.

No longer burdened by the infighting of ancient families, no longer bound by the vanity of stubborn nobles, no longer subject to the meddling of fools who can only recite laws from three thousand years ago.

Darkus is undoubtedly the son of Matheran, but it is also quite clear that he is preoccupied with other matters.

This man, who is devouring the old order at an alarming rate, needs someone who can control the ocean and quell the entire tide for him. And he, Aisling, is the most suitable candidate, certainly one of them.

What he had to do was remove the word "one of".

This was a painful yet sober choice, a cold loyalty belonging to a pragmatist.

Loyalty is not based on blood ties or honor, but on the future. Standing behind the right people means that even the ocean will make way for you.

"it's over……"

Trevor stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the distant battle. When the faint sound of the dragon horns, a symbol of retreat, reached his ears, and when he saw the remaining dragons begin to turn around in disarray, he let out a sigh of relief mixed with endless complex emotions.

Trevor was a Lor'thorn, a direct descendant of the Aislins. In another timeline, he became the commander of the western seas of Ulthuan, and at the end of the world, he fought alongside Tyrion against the forces led by Marus Blackblade. He commanded many renowned units, including the elite Sea Guard company—the Spear of Dabarok, and the elite Skybreaker fleet—the Sons of Karaganda.

Now, the Sons of Karaganda are following around Fennubal, attacking the dragons that are trying to break out, while the Spear of Dabarok has been deployed inside the sanctuary as a reserve.

At this moment, Trevor had already foreseen the ending, and he also foresaw that history was being rewritten before his eyes.

“Yes…” Aislin sighed.

The voice was deep and hoarse, like a long-suppressed tide finally finding a small opening.

Isaya Weiss, standing on his other side, remained silent, gazing at the battlefield like a statue, without uttering a word. (As introduced in 691, she's the one-eyed female lord from TOW.)
However, just a few seconds later, the slight sigh on Aislin's face vanished instantly, replaced by a sudden and solemn expression.

His ears twitched slightly, like an old cheetah suddenly sensing a scent in the wind. His fingers, holding the cigarette, involuntarily loosened, and the half-smoked cigarette fell straight to his feet, sparks exploding on the stone slab, scattering and jumping like startled red worms.

He seemed to hear... that sound he least wanted to hear?

Woo-woo-woo-woo~~~~
Three short, sharp, alarm-like notes, followed by a long, undeniable tone, suddenly pierced the noisy sky of Lorthorn!
Immediately following, a deafening explosion rang out, as if to mark the sound of the horn. It was as if a huge rift had been torn open in the heavens and earth at that moment, and the echo of the explosion reflected in layers between the lagoon, the city, and the city walls, making everyone's mind go numb.

Aislin abruptly turned to look at Trevor beside him, and Trevor looked at him almost simultaneously. Both of them were filled with shock and disbelief, emotions that seemed to have been ripped from the depths of their chests by a sharp blade and exposed to the blinding sunlight.

Aislin's gaze quickly swept over Isaya. When Isaya looked back at him, his once cold and icy face instantly lost all color, as if some indescribable fear had drained all warmth from his face.

They all knew what that horn signal meant; it was one of the worst-case scenarios in the contingency plan!

Deep down, they may still be clinging to a sliver of hope, unwilling to confirm or face this sudden, ultimate crisis, as if it will never truly arrive if they don't acknowledge it.

Before the echoes of the distant explosion had completely dissipated, the three short and one long horn blasts pierced the sky once more, carrying a sharp edge that seemed to tear apart all hope, and came clearly!

This time, there is absolutely no possibility of misjudgment!
The last vestige of hope on the faces of the three was utterly shattered, turning into cold fragments in the air like broken glass, replaced by a resolute and ruthless determination to face the abyss.

Aislin's already cold and stern face was now so dark it seemed to drip water. His jaw muscles were taut, and even his breathing became sharp. He took a deep breath, his chest clenching as if compressed by some immense force and then bursting open. He then shouted sharply, his voice like a drawn sword, cold, sharp, and filled with urgent killing intent.

"You know what to do!"

Trevor nodded heavily, almost fiercely. In that instant, his eyes seemed to transform from a calm sea into a swirling abyss. Without a word, he turned and shot like an arrow, his boots slamming onto the stone slabs as he charged toward the warhorse beside him with near-pouncing momentum.

"I will fight to the very last moment!"

Isaya's words were brief and clear, carrying an iron will and an almost solidified, cold determination. Her voice was like a hammer striking an anvil, resounding and sharp.

Before she finished speaking, she had already turned around, her movements swift and without the slightest hesitation, and she charged nimbly toward her mount, her blue cloak billowing violently behind her like a blade whipped by a storm.

Just as Aisling himself charged toward his warhorse.

Woo-woo-woo-woo~~~~
The three short and one long horn calls rang out for the third time!

The cheers that had erupted on the streets of Lorthorn in anticipation of victory, and the sighs that had been uttered in response to the dragons' breakout, all fell abruptly at this moment, as if they had been cut off by some enormous, invisible force.

All the noise and restlessness were completely drained away in an instant.

The whole world seemed to have been muted, leaving only the three short and one long horn sounds that tore through the sky, pouring into the ears of every living being like ice water, freezing everyone's heart in a half-beat.

Then, the deathly silence was broken by an even more terrifying sound.

It was the hoarse shouts of officers at all levels, filled with an irresistible command, fear, and urgency, like the first roar before a storm engulfs everything.

(I'm a bit slow today, I'll write less on weekdays) (End of Chapter)