Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Is it true that Shermara is adapting to local customs?

As the saying goes, in Nagarus he is Duruchi, in Ulthuan he is Asur, and in Azsorloth he is...

He has been to all three of these places, and more than one; he has also been to Lauren Loren.

This is a survival philosophy he developed in private, a flexible instinct formed through countless trials at sea and navigating between different groups. It allows him to be flexible, adaptable, and to change his tone of voice, habits, and even his facial expressions.

He was not ashamed of it; on the contrary, he was proud of it.

He initially followed Bell Eihall like a bodyguard or a guard. But after Duluci's new era arrived, he became dissatisfied with this situation and began to show his ambition. If that group of Duluci could do it, why couldn't he?
He was deeply involved in the construction of Haiwei, which essentially exposed the secrets of Haiwei.

Equivalent to the one on the Tianliao-Dining warship...

But he ultimately did not join the Durouche Navy, nor begin another military career as a captain. Instead, he returned to Bel Eiholm's side, continuing to hone his skills and awaiting the crucial moment—the moment when Durouche successfully reigned supreme over Ausuan, relying on his seniority…

He wasn't the kind of fool who plunged headlong into burning ambition; he knew how to take a step back and let his experience gradually ferment into something that could determine his future.

He was doing just fine in Lorthorn when he was summoned by Raine.

The reason for summoning him is simple: he speaks the Lizardman language, and after arriving in Nagalos, he has traveled between Nagalos and Eichriel with Bel-Aihol many times, making him a Lizardman expert. Moreover, he is also a Seaguard, and can serve as a link between the Seaguard and the Lizardmen.

But he genuinely had no idea what the mission was about.

Once the ships entered the fog, the Sea Guardians no longer needed to maneuver them. Guided by the Spirit Lizard Priests and the Storm Weavers, the ships moved swiftly instead of drifting slowly.

The wind was compressed into narrow pulses, the sea surface was parted by an invisible force, and the masts left light, dark shadows in the mist. Each tremor of the ship felt as if it were being gently pushed forward by an unseen hand.

Shymara came up to the deck and explained to the seated sea guards what to be aware of and what to avoid when entering Zetland. She explained what should and shouldn't be done.

"Did you set up the fog?"

With nothing to do, Delamar glanced at Silmara, who was giving a lecture, and then looked at Renn beside him.

At this moment, Shermara took himself as a living example. He stretched out his hands, solemnly tucked his two ring fingers back, and showed the remaining four fingers.

Then, a series of hissing and cracking sounds came from his throat, as if his airway was blocked by ten-year-old phlegm, and his expression instantly changed to one of wide-eyed shock. His head began to turn rapidly from side to side at bizarre angles, sometimes suddenly tilting to the left, sometimes swinging to the right, and finally dramatically tilting his head back. The whole set of movements was fluid and smooth, like a precision instrument that suddenly went mad.

This brilliant impromptu performance unsurprisingly caught the attention of another spectator on deck—the pterosaur carrying the spirit lizard priest.

It was resting half-lying down, occasionally twitching its wing membranes, appearing extremely relaxed. However, just as Sylmara began its series of hissing and neck-twitching movements, its actions seemed to be paused, and the entire pterosaur froze.

The next moment, it jumped twice with great enthusiasm, its paws making a crisp tapping sound on the deck, and trotted directly to Silmara's side. Its huge head tilted slightly, staring at him with confusion, like a big dog that couldn't understand commands.

It blinked its exaggeratedly bright almond-shaped eyes, slowly and cautiously leaning its head forward. It stared at the two-legged creature that was hissing and snapping wildly, its neck twisting and turning, observing it silently for several seconds, a layer of almost anthropomorphic light clearly appearing in its eyes.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

"Are you possessed by a spirit lizard?"

"Wait a minute... isn't that hissing sound a bit too loud?"

"Hahahaha!" Renn was the first to break down, bursting into laughter. His laughter was unrestrained and as cheerful as waves crashing against the bow of a ship, a kind of exhilarating feeling of shaking off the dark clouds.

Imralion then burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking and his breathing becoming erratic.

The two men's smiles seemed to lift some kind of restriction, instantly shattering the tense atmosphere on the deck, which had been oppressed by the fog, and deflated like a punctured bladder.

Thelmara's overly enthusiastic, realistic, and absurd lizard impersonation show was already teetering on the edge of a dangerously high level of humor. The pterosaur's close-up and eye contact were like a precise kick to the detonator.

The sea guards finally couldn't hold back anymore, and low chuckles seemed to emerge from the cracks in the deck. First, there were a few suppressed snickers, and then, like sparks igniting dry tinder, they suddenly burst into uproarious laughter.

Thelmara, who had been engrossed in teaching just moments before, froze as if struck by lightning. His expression shifted from focused concentration to blankness, then to embarrassment, and finally to a desperate urge to jump into the sea.

A surge of heat rushed to his head, and his entire face flushed red at a visible speed. It wasn't an ordinary red; it was the deep red of old armor that had been baked by the scorching sun of the South for three days and three nights, almost turning into iron, even bordering on purplish.

"Go! Go! Go!"

He completely lost his temper, turned around angrily, and tried to drive away this huge, curious, and particularly tactless spectator. He shoved his hands into the pterosaur's rough, cold jaw scales and pushed forward with all his might.

His movements were full of anger and embarrassment: "What are you looking at! Get away from me! Why are you, a pterosaur, glaring at me? Stay away from me!"

The pterosaur swayed slightly as he pushed it, its neck wrinkles twitching. But instead of retreating, it moved even closer, as if to confirm whether the two-legged creature's behavior was a symptom of an attack. Its golden eyes carefully scanned Sylmara's face, then his neck, then his hands, and finally it sniffed the awkwardly hot air that seemed to condense into mist.

That serious look in his eyes seemed to say, "Getting anxious? Why are you getting anxious?", "Dude, your imitation isn't quite right, can't I point it out?", "No... what's wrong with you?"

The joyful atmosphere on the deck grew thicker and thicker, almost so thick that it could be torn off a piece of the air.

The entire ship was filled with this sudden sense of absurdity and ease, as if even the oppressive feeling of the surrounding fog had been somewhat diluted.

"The fog was set up by Master Hui." After the show ended, Ryan casually replied, his tone still carrying the lingering warmth of his earlier laughter, as if he had effortlessly steered the conversation from the banter back to business.

“Master Hui…?” Imralion frowned slightly, his voice questioning.

"Yes, Master Hui, the second-generation Slan Priestess, Lord Huini Aitanqui."

Renn's tone shifted dramatically, becoming serious as if he were addressing someone he couldn't ignore. After the introduction, he added, "If nothing unexpected happens..."

As he said this, his gaze slowly shifted to Delamaril and Imralion, a smile in his eyes that held a profound and unfathomable meaning, seemingly hinting at a predetermined future.

“Fifty years ago, there was no fog here,” Delamar sighed softly, his voice low and filled with an indescribable nostalgia. His gaze was fixed on the gray fog in the distance, as if he could see through layers of storms to the clear sea of ​​many years ago.

"You've been here?"

Ryan asked casually, but not carelessly; it was as if he were confirming details of an old story.

"Ah."

Imralion responded to him. His tone was calm and even, but the certainty in it was as real as a stone falling into water.

Ryan nodded, showing no surprise whatsoever; he had expected this.

Dawnhold is located at the southernmost tip of Southland, and it is perfectly normal for Dawnhold to pass through this sea area when traveling to and from Ulthuan.

Asur can create a fog barrier around the Drifting Islands, using intricate illusions to keep the Yankees out, and the Lizardmen can do the same.

However, the lizardmen's methods are more ancient, more mysterious, and more... unpredictable.

This sea route was originally pristine, with Zetland itself buried deep in the mist, like a forgotten ancient gem shrouded in a natural barrier. But with the arrival of Lord Huyny Atanqui, everything here began to change dramatically.

The fog appeared.

It's not ordinary sea fog, but a mysterious fog tide that even the wind dares not easily disperse.

Gradually, both the lizardmen and Duruchi began to refer to this transformed inland sea by a single name—"The Misty Sea."

Not only is the Mist Sea shrouded in mist, but Zetland's mist defense mechanism has also been strengthened, since Master Hui is a master of manipulating the mist. In addition, Nakhto, which is located across from Zetland, is also shrouded in mist.

The Misty Sea is not only shrouded in mist, but its interior also contains a circulating, high-speed current channel, a circular conveyor belt. Like a baggage carousel in an airport, it allows ships to travel along a fixed route.

The conveyor belt can both allow lizardmen-guided fleets to reach Zetland at unimaginable speeds and leave intruders with nowhere to go.

After all, the lizardmen currently lack a proper blue-water naval force, and don't need one; while Duruchi...

Ships that rashly venture into the Misty Sea without a spellcaster proficient in the Winds of Aigil and Urku are left to their fate.

Let it drift.

Like being lost in a maze, circling in the fog.

Easy to get in.

come out?

That's not a question of whether it's difficult or not, it's that there's simply no way to get out!

These ships will forever wander in the misty sea, their sense of direction swallowed by the fog, the sun and stars completely obscured, until the crew can no longer even remember where they came from.

Theoretically, they would starve to death on the ship, or drown by jumping into the sea before starving, or... find the core of the ritual and destroy it, dispelling the fog, but the probability of that is...

In reality, they often don't even have time to starve to death.

Although the Lizardmen do not have a systematic blue-water navy, they do have a systematic yellow-water navy, brown-water navy, and air force.

Of course, Raine also knew that Delamaril was not talking about this matter, but rather about another level of sentiment, such as the changing times, the shift in power, the rise of religions, and the upheaval of the world order.

A thick fog enveloped the three of them, silent yet heavy with tension. After a moment, Imralion finally spoke, breaking the heavy silence.

Is it necessary to do this?

“The lizardmen are the elves’ most important allies! Unfortunately, they don’t have a navy, so…” Renn said meaningfully.

He spoke these words in a calm and unhurried manner, as if reiterating to the two Asur naval commanders a fact that was both ancient and poised to become crucial for the future.

The two Asur naval commanders exchanged a glance, a glance that contained understanding, helplessness, and longing.

Then, the two nodded at the same time.

They all understood what Ryan was trying to say.

It is known that the Lizardmen are the Elves' most important allies, and that they lack a navy. Therefore, it is inevitable that the Elven navy will fill this gap. This is not only an obligation, but also an unavoidable trend of the future. Furthermore, the Sea Guards cannot remain on their ships indefinitely; the Asur's interactions with the Lizardmen will become a regular occurrence, even a tradition.

Therefore, it is indeed necessary.

“I’m kind of looking forward to it,” Imralion said with anticipation, his eyes even brightening as he imagined the ancient temple city in his mind.

“Speaking of this matter, Fenafen is…very experienced.”

"he?"

"Ah!"

Delamal and Imralion simultaneously let out disdainful sneers, their voices like two sharp blades lightly clashing, cold and crisp. But that was all; both restrained themselves, refraining from further criticism of Fenafin, after all, Renn was right there.

Raine simply smiled and didn't reply. He had brought up Fenafen on purpose; he understood the turmoil within Asur and knew about the long-standing conflicts and undercurrents between Twilight Keep and Dawn Keep.

The three chatted casually, their conversation light and conversation revealing a wealth of information. In the long wait, they slowly whiled away the time with their lighthearted banter.

Meanwhile, on deck, Shymara finished his presentation amidst laughter and cheers, and then stepped onto the gangplank leading to the Falcon ship.

Time passed by minute by minute.

When Thelmara returned to the deck of the Aetheron after circling the five Falcon ships, the scene before her was completely different from before.

The sea guards had already neatly arranged their personal belongings and weapons, and now they were each performing their duties, making final preparations. Some were meticulously wiping the blades of longswords and spears, the soft rustling of cloth against metal mingling with the scent of maintenance oil and the damp coolness of the sea breeze; others were checking bowstrings and quivers, the slight vibrations as their fingertips brushed the strings sounding like a buzzing; still others were performing final maintenance on the ship, putting all the tools back in their places.

At the other end of the queue, the sea guards were receiving the supplies that had been distributed.

Garian received his share: a bottle of hot sauce, two packs of cigarettes, three bottles of wine, and five cans of fruit.

He carried the items back to his spot, gently placing the package at his feet, then casually pulled out a bottle of wine. In the dim light filtering through the mist, he raised the bottle, examining it like a trophy.

The dark glass bottle bore an intricately drawn label, its patterns winding and intertwining like jungle vines or echoes of ancient elven designs. He studied the lines listlessly, trying to discern which winery in Ashirael it came from.

As he watched, his movements involuntarily slowed down.

He gently turned the bottle's mouth between his fingertips, then suddenly looked up and gazed out of the ship's side.

There was still an endless fog there, churning and rolling in layers, like a living white mountain breathing, but Galian, the old sailor who had spent most of his life at sea, narrowed his eyes slightly.

He felt it—the deck beneath his feet tilted so slightly, almost imperceptibly.

This was the real reason he looked up. Moreover, he could even smell a faint, almost indistinguishable, yet undeniably present, damp scent of distant land and vegetation in the air.

It turned around.

He was convinced.

This is not judgment or guesswork; it is an instinct possessed only by veteran sailors, a rhythm of the sea remembered in their bones and blood, and the oldest and most reliable perception of their course.

After confirming, he lowered his head again and continued to caress the cold bottle. His fingertips slowly traced the intricate patterns on the label, whiling away the last, uncertain moments before the fog of uncertainty lifted.

Just then, a sharp, sudden, and synchronized gasp filled the air. This was followed by several uncontrollable screams, like seabirds whose tails had been stepped on exploding in the fog.

Garian's heart skipped a beat, as if something had struck it.

He immediately looked up.

The fog has disappeared.

It didn't dissipate gradually, but rather like a ship suddenly crashing through an invisible barrier, or like a thick fog being instantly wiped away by an invisible giant hand. The dazzling, long-awaited sunlight poured down without warning, as if a heavy curtain had been abruptly lifted from the darkness. The blinding brightness stung everyone's eyes, causing those accustomed to hazy vision to involuntarily squint, and some even instinctively raised their arms to shield their brows.

Then, that city came into view of all the Asur.

The hidden city of Zetland.

It is not built on a flat coastline or river valley, but a mountain that grows out of the sea, and the mountain itself is a vertical city. Its abrupt and enormous outline seems to rise from the seabed, like the spine of an ancient beast breaking through the waves, so majestic that it makes one's heart tighten.

The first thing that catches the eye is the massive, almost vertical rock formation rising abruptly from the sea, its color a deep, dark brown, soaked in wind, rain, and sea salt. The sea breeze sweeps across its surface, creating a soft, rustling sound, as if whispering tales of centuries of wind erosion and silence. And atop that incredibly steep cliff face and mountainside, layers upon layers of dazzling buildings cling to, are embedded in, and even seem to grow directly from the stone in a way that defies logic; some buildings even appear to float in the sky.

The massive step pyramids are the city's most prominent feature. They don't exist in isolation, but are connected by high-arched stone bridges, wide passageways carved along the mountain ridge, and countless corridors and platforms embedded in the rock walls, forming a vast, complex, yet rigidly geometric three-dimensional network. These bridges, crisscrossing high in the air, resemble energy veins frozen in reality, making the entire mountain city seem to pulsate.

The building's stone shimmers with a strange texture; some resemble polished obsidian, gleaming with a cold, eerie light in the sunlight; others possess a warm, jade-like green texture, as if they were living jade, subtly shimmering with a breathing rhythm as the light moves through them.

Sculpture is ubiquitous.

The sides of every step, the lintels of every archway, and the surface of every supporting column are covered with dense, dynamic reliefs. They depict ancient star trails and countless geometrically beautiful symbols that they cannot comprehend. The lines intersect to form a structure resembling a star map or an almost ritualistic array, as if they might come alive under the sunlight at any moment.

All the previous ease, curiosity, and even playfulness were completely washed away at this moment by the unimaginable and awe-inspiring spectacle before them. The sea guards forgot to talk, forgot their work, and simply looked up, mouths agape, gazing at the miraculous city that seemed to come from another era, another world's logic.

Zetland.

The sacred mountaintop realm of the lizardmen.

And so, with an absolutely dominant and unquestionable stance, it stood in the consciousness of all Asur.

However, contrary to expectations, there was no deathly silence that kept people at a distance. On the contrary, life was overflowing from every crevice of this black mountain city in a way they had never imagined.

What first grabs their attention is the smoke.

It wasn't the smoke of war, nor the incense of sacrifice, but rather wisps of smoke rising from hundreds of kitchen fires, carrying the aroma of food. These trails of smoke stretched soft, grayish-white paths in the dry air, mingling with the moisture brought by the sea breeze, casting a hazy, warm veil over the entire steep, black mountain. That veil flowed gently in the sunlight, like breathing, lending this geometrically massive stone city an unexpected warmth and human touch.

Immediately afterwards, a sound surged over.

It was a deep, dense, and vibrant hum, the crisp clang of a hammer striking stone, the muffled sound of wood being split, the clinking of pottery against pottery, and countless hissing and clattering sounds of rapid conversation blending into a continuous wave of background sound. The sound wasn't noisy; rather, it had a rhythm, like the calm yet powerful heartbeat of the entire city.

Interspersed among them were deep horns, like the low growls of a giant beast, which they had never heard before. Perhaps it was some kind of work signal, or perhaps it was just the cry of the transport beast.

Then, they saw the color.

Between those magnificent buildings with obsidian and emerald patterns, on both sides of the straight sacred path, and on every slightly flat plateau, vibrant colors and life are everywhere.

The city still maintains that breathtaking sense of geometric order, with each platform and bridge precisely fitting into the grand design. But now, this intricate structure is no longer cold; it has been completely activated by the warmth of daily life. The lizard people move back and forth, carrying timber, pulling ropes and dragging stones, exchanging supplies—everything is as orderly as gears, yet it carries a wild vitality.

The smells carried by the wind were incredibly complex: the smoky aroma of grilled fish, the scent of some spicy plant, the dusty smell of stone powder, the salty and fishy smell of seafood, and the scalding smell of molten metal... all mixed together and wafting towards me.

The flavor was rich and authentic, almost as if telling all the newcomers: This isn't...

There was silence on the deck, but this silence was unlike anything before.

The sea guards were no longer stunned by the inhuman spectacle, but rather bewildered and amazed by a complete overhaul of their understanding. They stared wide-eyed, trying to process the contradictory scene before them. Such an ancient, sacred, and strictly ordered place was simultaneously so...vibrant, so noisy, so full of the energy of everyday life.

“Matheran above…they…they eat too? They do business too? They…” Garian unconsciously gripped the bottle in his hand, muttering to himself.

“They follow the ancient saint’s grand plan meticulously, but the grand plan doesn’t forbid cooking the fish a little better, nor does it prohibit bargaining under the watchful eyes of the stars.” Silmara’s voice rang out at the opportune moment, this time with a subtle, almost mischievous smile. He raised an eyebrow slightly, as if he had been expecting this expression from the Asur for a long time.

Welcome to Zetland!

Although it was his first time here, that didn't stop him from saying that.

He turned to face all the sea guards, his smile faded, and his tone became serious again.

"Now, put away your astonishment and excessive curiosity. Remember, their daily life is still a foreign land that requires our utmost caution. Do not step on the wrong stone slab, and do not touch the statues you should not touch."

He paused, letting the warning settle. The sea breeze blew, and his cloak fluttered gently in the wind, as if emphasizing the weight of his silence.

"Stay in awe, stay observant, and then... learn to breathe this air; it's far more complex than you think!"

As the unplanned fleet docked smoothly at the pier, an army emerged from the jungle and disappeared into the fog that shrouded Zetland. (End of Chapter)