Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

As he walked, Delamaril subtly slowed his pace. He turned his head slightly, his gaze falling on Imralion beside him, attempting to convey a silent question or warning through his eyes. It was a meaningful, subtle yet sharp gaze, as if silently striking the other's heart.

Unfortunately, Imralion's attention was completely captured by the strange sights around him. His eyes were almost constantly fixed on the scene, like a falcon captivated by bright colors, oblivious to the gazes of his companions, his eyes gleaming only with enthusiastic curiosity and almost childlike wonder.

Delamar sighed inwardly, took a deep breath, and turned his gaze to Eldrasil on the other side. This Stormweaver was always composed, but at this moment he was also immersed in observation, looking around just like Imralion, as if trying to dissect everything unfamiliar in front of him and incorporate it into his own cognitive system.

Sensing Delamaril's gaze, Eldrasil finally turned his head, his face filled with utter bewilderment. He blinked, his confusion—as if asking, "Are you looking at me?"—was practically written all over his face. He clearly didn't understand the deeper meaning in Eldrasil's eyes, barely raising an eyebrow in politeness.

This made him look speechless. His gaze lingered on Eldrasil's face for a moment before moving down to the seemingly ordinary yet extraordinary box in the other's hand.

The box gleamed with a subtle yet solemn metallic sheen in the light, its tightly sealed clasps seeming to proclaim its importance, or perhaps its danger. He stared at the almost silent, pulsating patterns, and the turmoil of doubt within him subsided slightly.

All three of them came from Dawn Keep.

De La Maril is a composed second-in-command;

Imralion is a brave but somewhat reckless third-in-command;
Eldrasil is the Stormweaver;
The true commander of Dawn Fortress was Letalis Stashad, known for her iron fist and wisdom.

(The second and third in command are from White Dwarf Magazine: Chaos Dwarf Special Edition and Chaos Dwarf Fourth Edition Military Book, while the other two are from tabletop role-playing books, hence the long names.)

Unlike Imralion's fiery temper and impulsive nature, De la Maril has always been known for his thoughtfulness, prudence, and resourcefulness. His composure is not feigned, but rather a deep-seated calmness honed through countless near misses and crisis management experiences.

After Lydia steps down, barring any unforeseen circumstances, he will naturally take over as the commander of Dawn Fortress and be promoted to admiral... It is a clear and solid path, a future that almost everyone accepts.

But that's all in the past...

The times have changed.

At this moment, Delamar tried to make eye contact with his two companions because he keenly sensed a slight discord.

It's not an obvious danger, but a logical inconsistency, a subtle misalignment that makes a mind accustomed to analysis automatically flash a dim red light.

Didn't that lizard priest say he was going to take them to "see the big fish they caught"?

Why were they heading in the opposite direction from the aquaculture area on the left side of the dock, which was filled with deep-sea simulation tanks and underwater ecological nets? That area was now reflecting bright blue light on the water, clearly where the 'catch' should be.

Instead, they turned to the other side of the dock, to that neatly arranged warehouse area with its doors tightly closed.
The warehouse... was certainly a reasonable place to store the catch, but an instinctive wariness still rose within him. As footsteps echoed in the open space, he could clearly feel the muscles in his back tense slightly—an intuitive reaction he had never ignored.

Is it...

A thought flashed through his mind: Duruchi and the lizardmen were in cahoots, and now was the time to attack these Asur?

He then cursed himself for being stupid; it was no secret that Duruci and the Lizardmen were close allies who were in cahoots.

Then, the next step in the deduction becomes logical: should we use the pretext of "watching the fish" to separate the three commanders from the sea guards and attack them separately?
The moment the three of them stepped into the dark depths of the warehouse, the ambush would begin.
The sea guards who entered the military camp were locked up and beaten, and besieged by lizardmen warriors.

But he quickly assessed his own situation and felt it didn't quite seem like it. Although he and Imralion weren't carrying shields, they were wearing armor, and the swords at their waists were within easy reach; with just a slight turn, the hilts would be pressed against their palms. Eldrasil, in particular, gripped his jeweled staff tightly in his right hand, while his left hand carried the seemingly ordinary but actually crucial restraint box.

Delamar knew exactly what was in that box—the Arcane Orb.

The fleet's swift passage across the vast ocean to this location was entirely due to the powerful force continuously emanating from this sphere, guiding the winds of Eldrasil. If the lizardmen and Duruchi truly intended to turn hostile, there would be no reason for them to allow such an important item to leave the ship and be held by Eldrasil.

This does not conform to the basic logic of risk control.

Too rash, too arrogant, and too unlike them.

Delamar's gaze returned to the briskly walking lizard priest ahead and the composed Rein, his brow furrowing slightly. A complex emotion, a mixture of professional vigilance and pure curiosity, lingered in his mind.

He subconsciously adjusted his breathing, making the rise and fall of his chest more stable; he brought his fingers closer to the hilt of his sword, slowly stroking the spot that had been smoothed by years of battle, maintaining a vigilant posture that was relaxed on the outside but tense on the inside. He silently adjusted his posture, caught up with the group, and headed towards the warehouse area.

Is it...

His gaze once again locked onto Renn's back in front of him.

As a seasoned warrior, Delamaril possessed a beast-like intuition for danger. He could sense that there was something extremely dangerous hidden within Raine, like a sharp blade humming in its sheath—seemingly silent, but capable of being drawn at any moment.

But he couldn't define the danger precisely: was it pure force? Or some kind of insidious skill? Or both?
What troubled him most was whether, if a conflict broke out, Raine could close the distance, break through the defenses, and deliver a fatal blow before Eldrasil could activate the Arcane Orb.
The thought felt like ice water poured over the back of his neck, leaving a chill down his spine.

He subtly adjusted his pace, leaning slightly closer to Eldrasil. If the worst-case scenario came true, and the battle broke out in the narrow warehouse passage, he hoped he could at least withstand a surprise attack, buying the Stormweaver even a breath or two of casting time. Sometimes, a breath or two could determine the course of a battle.

Meanwhile, another part of his brain was still rapidly assessing the overall situation.

What about Haiwei?
Although the Eagle Claw crossbows were not unloaded from the ships, the eight hundred-man squads that landed were all fully armed and well-trained. If a battle broke out, they could immediately abandon their luggage and supplies, form a tight defensive formation on the spot, and fight their way back towards the ships at the dock.

Could the real killer move be from the Spinosaurus?

But... is all this reasoning really necessary?

A strong sense of self-doubt began to grow, like a cold tide quietly rising from the bottom of my chest.

The scene before me, Renn's calm attitude, the lizard priest's excited gestures that seemed to be a display of his harvest... could all of this really just be me being too sensitive and paranoid?

His emotions struggled between reason and instinct, causing his breathing to become slightly disordered for a moment.

He forced himself to return to reason and examine the legality of this action.

Although it was a secret and temporary operation, its formality was beyond doubt.

Inside his chest lining, he carefully kept the order document personally signed by Darkus. In addition to Seryuan Yutao's seal, it was clearly stamped with three seals and signatures that could not possibly be forged—Darkus, Dulias, and Aislin.

This means that the operation has been planned at the highest level, and the necessary supplies are being coordinated and allocated by Finnubar himself.

If a mission of this magnitude were to ultimately degenerate into a despicable ambush, it would be tantamount to political suicide, utterly tarnishing the reputation and credibility of the issuer and shaking the entire political structure of the elves.

More importantly, what was the motive?

Delamar's rationality told him that if Duruci truly intended to completely annihilate the Asur navy, they had countless better opportunities and reasons back in Anaheim to wipe out the entire Asur fleet and sink them to the bottom of the sea, instead of playing Blood Bowl football. They didn't need to wait until now, in this remote lizardman port, to act in such a roundabout and clumsy way.

It makes no sense.

It is neither politically logical nor in line with tactical interests.

He took a deep breath of the air, which smelled of the sea and dust, letting the rough taste fill his lungs in an attempt to calm himself down.

Perhaps... the problem lies in something simpler and more fundamental?
Is there a communication problem?
The communication between Raine and the Lizard Priest may involve a fundamental cognitive bias. The specific meaning, symbolism, and even the category of "object" referred to by the lizardman language for "big fish" may be completely different from the "big fish" in the Elsalin language.

Thinking of this, his tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension that seemed ready to erupt at any moment gradually receded by half a step. His gaze returned to the heavily constructed warehouse ahead, its stone walls bearing the mottled marks of dampness, while the lizardman warriors standing at the entrance remained as steady as statues; the spirit lizard priest beside him was gesturing excitedly, his tail thumping lightly on the ground, urging them to hurry up, as if afraid they would miss some spectacular sight.

What awaits them there may not be the expected executioners, but rather some kind of... a true "big fish" in the lizardman's cognitive system, beyond his current imagination.

His fingers, which had been resting on the hilt of his sword, finally moved away slightly, but his professional instincts kept him at a minimum level of alertness. He gave Eldrasil, who also had an inquiring look on his face, a subtle look that suggested he was waiting for the right moment.

Raine wasn't stupid. As they walked, he sensed Delamar's doubts and confusion, his pace that was sometimes fast and sometimes slow, and even the sense of vigilance that clung to his back like a deep-sea undercurrent. It felt like being watched from behind by an experienced hunter, ready to judge whether he would suddenly turn around and draw his sword.

But he was too lazy to explain.

On the one hand, he himself was also wondering why he had to come to the warehouse area to see the fish.
On the other hand, he understood the behavior logic of the spirit lizards all too well. These guys might seem comical when they're too excited, but they almost never lie when carrying out clear instructions like 'showing' or 'conveying information'.

He chose to trust.

At that moment, he stopped in front of the heavy warehouse door. As if remembering something, he suddenly turned around and looked at Delamar, whose expression still carried a hint of caution. A slightly mischievous, knowing smile appeared on his lips, a smile that carried a touch of teasing, a hint of nonchalance, and a hint of knowing you're overthinking things.

It's as if it's saying, "Relax, friend, being so suspicious is exhausting."

However, his confident smile was put to a severe test the very next second.

As two silent lizardman warriors slowly pulled open the heavy warehouse door, the iron hinges emitted a low, rough scraping sound, as if foreshadowing something unusual. The dimly lit interior gradually unfolded as the door cracked open, and a damp and chilly smell rushed out.

Ryan turned his head with that calm smile and looked into the warehouse, but his smile instantly froze on his face.

It was as if someone had splashed a bucket of icy seawater in his face; the effortless smile froze completely, and his facial muscles twitched subtly. He even forgot to blink; in that instant, his eyes shone brighter with astonishment, and his gaze quickly filled with disbelief and bewilderment.

He abruptly turned his head to look at the lizard priest beside him, whose face was beaming with excitement. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he pointed a finger, somewhat speechless, into the dim depths of the warehouse.

"Big fish?"

His voice was filled with a questioning, almost doubtful tone, with a noticeable rise at the end. "A big fish!"

The lizard priest's answer was resolute and full of pride, its tail even slapping the ground excitedly, seemingly completely unaware that Renn's worldview was cracking on the spot.

He even released his staff, stretching his arms out dramatically towards the warehouse in a grand gesture, as if displaying some unparalleled treasure. The exquisitely carved staff, now unsupported, began to slowly tilt to one side, the gem at its tip tracing a faint yet delicate arc in the dim light. Just before it crashed to the ground, the priest, as if suddenly remembering, reached out with lightning speed, catching the staff back in his hand with a precise snap.

The movement was so fluid that it seemed the slip of his hand wasn't an accident, but rather an essential part of the entire performance, only lacking an exaggerated "da da da" sound in the background as a special effect.

“A big fish…” Renn watched the priest’s seamless demonstration—mishap—retrieval of the staff combo, then glanced back at the items in the warehouse. The last shred of composure on his face crumbled. His previously serene expression transformed into a complex look that seemed to say, “Why did I think I was going to see something normal?”

He raised his hand and rubbed his temples, his fingertips lingering on his skin for a moment. He needed time to process the vast difference between the scene before him and his expectations. He took a few deep breaths of the air, a mixture of rust and dampness, before turning to the three Asur behind him, each with a different expression but all in varying degrees of shock. He spoke in Elsalin, his tone filled with a resigned irony and helplessness.

"Alright... welcome to the Zetland special edition of the Big Fish."

“The Great Fish…” Delamaril repeated the word in a low voice in Elsalin, his tone like that of a scholar trying to swallow the absurdity, while his face showed a speechless expression. Nevertheless, his feet moved forward half a step involuntarily, and then half a step again, until he was closer, and his gaze finally fell on the outline of the behemoth in the dimly lit space inside.

That was not the form he had imagined any marine creature should have.

But if you insist on calling it a big fish... well, you can't just force it.

At least, it is indeed large, and it is indeed fish-shaped.

Lying quietly in the center of the warehouse is an underwater vessel with an extremely bizarre shape, full of patchwork and rough industrial feel. It looks like a monster that was instinctively created by some madman without supervision, budget, or aesthetics, with only a large number of metal plates and even more rivets.

Its entire body was covered with rusty, haphazardly riveted dark metal plates, the gaps between the plates crooked and uneven, like wounds that had been bitten by a giant beast and then hastily patched up. The overall shape resembled a bloated and deformed iron fish, but the lines were so stiff that a single glance from the blacksmith would make him faint on the spot.

Several pairs of complex mechanical arms extend from both sides of the hull, with drill bits, hooks, or serrated cutters at their ends. At this moment, they hang limply on the ground, like the limbs of an insect with its spine broken.

The bow was inlaid with a huge, murky green glass or some kind of lifeless crystalline material, its surface covered with cracks and seaweed-like spots. Behind it, the outline of a complex, almost chaotic control panel could be vaguely seen, like a jumble of instruments, levers, and rune grooves randomly stacked together.

The entire structure reeked of a heavy odor, a mixture of rust, cheap grease, some kind of chemical agent, and... a faint smell of blood and decay. The stench permeated the warehouse like a tangible mist, making one suspect that this thing had once swallowed a living creature and carried out some violent chemical reaction within its belly that should never have occurred.

However, what is most striking is the shocking wound on its top.

On the raised spine of the submersible, a huge, irregular rift grotesquely tore open the metal shell. The metal plates at the edges curled outward and twisted into ugly spikes, as if they had been instantly blown away by the enormous pressure difference and devastating impact. The metal fragments still bore the bluish-black streaks formed by being scorched by the high temperature.

The area around the crack was covered with charred burn marks and nodules of molten and solidified metal. The solidified lumps were bizarrely shaped, like some kind of liquid metal that had been forcibly frozen after burning out of control. Through the crack, one could see the intricate network of pipes and mechanical structures inside, now a mass of charred scrap metal, intertwined, melted, and broken, like a charred python's lair.

It also contained some hard-to-identify, charred fragments.

The shape and texture of the debris made it difficult to tell whether it came from some kind of machinery... or from former crew members.

This was by no means a navigational accident or natural damage.

The shattered shape and concentrated burn marks were clearly caused by some kind of high-energy explosive—not from the outside, but from the inside.

The lizard priest had already hopped to the side of the submersible, his movements as light as a small predator in a state of extreme excitement. He extended his slender and flexible four fingers and proudly tapped them on the hull. The sound of his knuckles striking metal echoed in the empty warehouse, carrying a strange, dull vibration.

With the rhythm, he emitted a series of excited, almost distorted hissing and clicking sounds, his tail slapping and thrashing on the ground like accompaniment to some kind of victory celebration.

His gestures became increasingly exaggerated, even mimicking the movements of the battle, waving his arms wildly as if to demonstrate how the shockwave of the explosion shattered the sea surface; his body suddenly leaned back, as if reenacting the moment the submersible was lifted out of the water; then he suddenly lunged forward, making a dragging motion, as if to tear the entire metal monster out of the deep sea and drag it ashore.

His pride was as if he hadn't just blown up a submersible, but had single-handedly hunted down some epic sea monster.

Delamar finally understood the true meaning of "big fish" and instantly comprehended the frozen silence and barely suppressed rage of Raine.

This is hardly a catch.
This is not a fish at all, and it cannot even be considered a normal creation.

It was an ugly, rough, and unsettling metallic monstrosity, as if some aesthetically challenged, twisted blacksmith had welded resentment out of scrap metal. He was even certain that he wouldn't try to start it even with a knife to his throat—not only because it was ugly, but also because it exuded an intensely perverse aura of insecurity.

"What is this?" Imralion asked with a look of disgust.

"A submersible? A Skaven's submersible!"

Raine didn't answer immediately. He first quickly searched his mental lexicon, trying to find the corresponding words for El Salin from the chaotic pool of information.

When he finally found it, his expression had gradually shifted from silence to a solemn, serious, and subtly displeased alertness. He took a deep breath and organized and translated the message the lizard priest had just conveyed, adding his own judgments and speculations.

"The ratman tried to pilot a submersible into the Misty Sea to find Zetland... but before he could even reach the heart of the Misty Sea, he was discovered. However, he didn't attack immediately. Instead, he watched the thing circle around in the Misty Sea for a long time, like a lost, rotting fish, before he took action."

At this point, he silently turned his head and glanced at the lizard priest—a look that said, "I know you've only told half the truth."

This is what the other party told him, but Ryan didn't think so at all.

He is more inclined to believe that the lizard priest probably thought it was a whale or some kind of sea creature.

It wasn't until half a day later that the lizard priest realized something was wrong.

"He used a staff."

Raine paused as he spoke, then raised his hand and pointed to the lizard priest's staff.

Although the lizard priest couldn't understand the complex, convoluted sentences of Elsalin, his eyes shone like two emeralds, and he immediately grasped what Renn meant. He straightened up instantly, striking an exaggerated and heroic pose—as if demonstrating to everyone the moment a hunter slays a behemoth.

Looking at the lizard priest's posture, Raine couldn't help but chuckle, a smile that contained both helplessness and a hint of indulgent compromise.

"He dispersed the seawater above the submersible and discovered..."

He paused again, turning his head slightly to save face for the lizard priest and make the hunt sound more respectable.

"Pteranodon dive bombing!"

After he finished speaking, he pointed to the ugly, hideous, huge crack on the back of the submersible.

"The big fish isn't for eating... but for research, or more accurately, for warning. It was a surprise gift from the Skaven, caught from the sea by our lizardman friends, with even the packaging neatly shattered."

He shrugged, a gesture that carried a kind of helpless yet philosophical calm.

As for what happened next, he didn't intend to talk about it at all. He skipped over the details of the lizardmen salvaging, dragging, pulling ashore, and placing the lizards.

In his view, that was not part of the story structure, but rather something that should not cause visual pain to the audience.

At this moment, his expression became even more solemn, the shadow between his brows seemed to deepen, so heavy it was almost dripping with cold water. It was a calmness that came from being shrouded in a real threat, yet it carried an undeniable sense of heaviness.

The Skaven changed their strategy, shifting from searching on land to searching for Zetland via water.

This is not a simple tactical adjustment, but a dangerous attempt forced upon us under immense pressure.

In other words—they were driven to desperation.

The Skaven are desperate to find Zetland and destroy it.

This indicates that the war between the Lizardmen and the Skaven in the Southland has quietly approached a critical point.

It's like a string stretched to its limit; it hasn't broken, but with just a little more force, it will explode with a deafening roar, unleashing a catastrophic storm.

He knew how to traverse the fog, and he knew that the seemingly miraculous natural barrier was not truly invincible. The fog could not stop time, could not stop obsession, and could not stop a group of crazy people from relentlessly pursuing their goals through trial and error.

As time goes by, the Skaven will eventually find a way through the fog.

The elves and the lizardmen of the continent of Lustria must do something, they must prepare in advance, and they must take action before that claw completely pierces through the fog.

Thinking of this, an indescribable sense of oppression welled up in his chest, as if his entire future was covered by dark clouds, and if he was not careful, it would be torn apart by a sudden storm.

I wonder how things are going in Ausuan. Is it progressing smoothly, or has it hit some kind of stalemate?

These questions swirled in his mind, eventually turning into a barely audible sigh that slowly escaped from his lips.

He looked again at the gruesome gash, the gaping wound coldly gazing at the outside world like some malicious omen. He stared for a few seconds, then slowly added, his tone tinged with bitter irony and a faint chill.

"Moreover, it seems the guests who gave gifts won't have a chance to swim back on their own." (End of Chapter)