Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Renn woke up.

The moment the lizardman's unique horn, with its hissing tail, rang out, he opened his eyes. There was no trace of the confusion of waking up, only a cold clarity in his eyes.

He has always been very restrained.

As one of the first few people to come into contact with tobacco, he rarely touched it unless it was in an unavoidable social situation.

As for his alcohol tolerance, it was developed through rigorous training.

Back when we were sailing in the Claw Sea, accompanying Cardov as he dealt with the group of alcoholic North dwarves.

Those drunkards could literally drink from sunrise to the next sunrise. As guests, they didn't need to do anything, so the first thing they did after waking up from their drunken stupor was to drink again.

Bearing this mission, he had no choice but to drink along. That memory instilled in him an almost instinctive stress response to drunkenness, and shaped his later principles: avoid drinking if possible, and when he must drink, strictly limit himself to a minimum.

During last night's revelry, he appeared to be holding a glass the whole time, chatting and laughing as he moved through the crowd, but in reality, he didn't drink much at all; it was all a skillful charade.

At this moment, the hangover headache was no longer a concern for him.

He nimbly rolled out of bed, quickly walked to the window, and looked towards the direction of Zetland.

At first, there were only a few faint, star-like lights, but as the rough horn sounded again and again, more and more lights were ignited and connected, spreading rapidly along the mountain steps and the sacred path, as if the veins of a giant beast were being gradually injected with glowing blood.

Boom, boom, boom!

The rapid and forceful knocking sounded almost simultaneously.

Raine opened the door, and standing in the doorway was Delamar.

The Asur naval commander had clearly been jolted awake from his bed; his clothes were slightly disheveled, his coat hastily thrown on, but his right hand was already gripping his sword tightly. His face showed a mixture of lingering weariness, annoyance at being startled awake, and a deeper, more profound vigilance against an unknown threat.

"what happened?"

Upon seeing Renn, Delamar asked urgently, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room behind Renn before turning to the gradually brightening mountain city outside the window.

Just as Raine was about to explain, he heard the sound of the harbingers' horn. He knew that the horn meant mobilization. He shook his head, stepped aside to make way, and gestured for him to come in.

Delamar slipped inside, and Raine then closed the door, somewhat shutting out the increasingly noisy commotion outside.

Ryan walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He deliberately propped his left elbow on the table, rubbed his temples with his fingers, and pretended to be a hangover with a splitting headache. His eyelids were drooping, making him look completely different from the piercing figure at the window just now.

"What on earth happened?!" Delamar quickly followed to the table, but he did not sit down or place his sword on the table. He still held the sword in his hand, only the tip of the sword was slightly lowered towards the ground.

His questioning became more urgent, his gaze fixed on Renn.

“I know you’re nervous.” Ryan’s voice was a little hoarse, as if it had been tinged with alcohol. He raised his other hand and pointed to the empty chair opposite him. “But don’t be nervous, my friend. Sit down first.”

Delamar stared at Renn for two seconds, his chest heaving noticeably. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, seemingly forcibly suppressing his inner anxiety. Finally, he pulled out a chair, sat down, and sat opposite Renn across the table, his sword resting horizontally on his lap, his posture still taut like a bow.

“They’re going to hold an event, a ceremony,” Raine said slowly, lowering the hand that had been rubbing his temples.

"Because of our arrival?" Delamar immediately pressed.

“No!” Ryan answered with unusual certainty, without any hesitation. “It has nothing to do with us.”

"What's that for?"

“It’s complicated.” Renn shook his head slightly. “It can’t be explained in a sentence or two.”

"Then what do we need to do?" Delamal was more concerned with practical matters.

“The bugle call has already sounded.” Renn pointed out the window. “Go back to sleep?” He shook his head self-deprecatingly. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to sleep. As for why I can’t sleep…” He paused, a subtle smile curving his lips. “You’ll find out soon enough. My suggestion is that we go too. And I’ll take you to see it while we’re at it.”

It wasn't that he wanted to be a riddle teller; rather, he genuinely felt that witnessing certain things about the lizard people firsthand was far more real and impactful than hearing them painstakingly explain a hundred times.

After saying that, he stood up. Seeing that Delamar also reflexively stood up, Ryan added, his tone becoming clear, specific, and commanding.

"Go and make the arrangements. Our people don't need to wear full armor or be equipped with combat weapons. But have them take some... well, small items or supplies they'd like to use for trade. Have breakfast first, then prepare lunch. They won't eat lunch here."

He walked over to Delamar and patted the Asur naval commander's tense shoulder with a light touch.

“Don’t be nervous, my friend.” Raine looked into his eyes, his voice lowered but carrying a strange persuasiveness. “This mission may involve combat. But I assure you, absolutely not here, not now. Relax, this is more like… sightseeing and socializing.”

Meanwhile, Galian had already arrived at the armory. He was halfway through putting on his armor, and as he bent down to put on his gauntlets, the captain's unquestionable voice came from the doorway.

"Stop wearing them! Take them all off and put them back where they belong! Gather downstairs immediately!"

Galian paused, looked up, and met the captain's serious gaze for a moment, without asking a single question.

The military order is like a mountain!

then……

Galian followed the column to the assembly point downstairs in the dormitory building. The sea guards had already formed a loose line, most of them like him, their faces showing lingering weariness and sudden bewilderment. Raine's brief voice rang out from ahead, explaining that this morning's anomaly was not due to an enemy attack, but rather a participatory activity, requiring them to travel light and even suggesting they bring small items for exchange.

After the meeting ended, Galian followed the crowd back to the dormitory to retrieve his belongings. He splashed cold water on his face and wiped his neck with a towel, trying to dispel the sluggish, sticky feeling in his head. He had drunk quite a bit last night; the lizardmen's sweet and sour liquor had a longer-lasting effect than he had expected. The cold water made him a little more awake, but his temples still throbbed slightly.

After washing up, he returned to his dormitory and stared at his meager belongings. Apart from essential daily necessities and the rations he had just received the day before, he had almost nothing. Any odds and ends that held some sentimental value or were worth a little money were left at Cheryon's house and had not been carried with him.

His gaze swept over the inventory: a bottle of spicy chili sauce sealed with oil paper, two unopened boxes of tobacco, three bottles of wine, and five cans of fruit.

He thought back for a moment, and the numbers didn't seem to match up.
Oh, right...

Before going to the canteen last night, he carried a pack of cigarettes and distributed them to his comrades during the revelry; he then enjoyed a bottle of wine and a can of fruit by himself in the midst of the merriment.

Now, they've become a bottle of chili sauce, a pack of cigarettes, two bottles of liquor, and four cans of food.

He squatted in front of the luggage, his fingers unconsciously tracing the items.

cigarette?
He doesn't actually smoke, and the rest of that pack might be handed to a tired companion if needed.

Wine and canned goods?

He had a sweet tooth, and the alcohol and sugar were a rare comfort during the long mission; he had to save them for himself.

Chili sauce… He picked up the small jar, recalling a glimpse he'd seen during his meal: some lizards would carefully dip their flatbread or fried insect skewers into a thick, bright red sauce before munching on them with sizzling, satisfied air.

"This... perhaps they would be interested?"

He weighed the jar in his hand, finally making up his mind. He took out the chili sauce separately and set it aside to carry. The rest of the cigarettes, alcohol, and canned goods were repackaged and stuffed back into the storage box.

After the assembly call sounded, Galian stuffed the chili sauce jar into his inner pocket, hurried downstairs, and returned to the regrouped queue.

After finishing his meal, he walked in the procession with the flatbread he had eaten at noon tucked in his pocket. In the gradually brightening morning light and amidst the strange sounds of Zetland awakening, he silently and orderly made his way toward the ancient sanctuary built of obsidian and emerald patterns.

A water bag full of drinking water hung from his belt, the flatbread in his arms still carried the warmth of the stove fire, and the jar of chili sauce in his inner pocket swayed gently with his steps.

He had no idea what this unexpected event was all about, and could only step onto the misty, unknown stone path ahead with a mixture of doubt and vague curiosity.

As the group ventured deeper into the Zetland mountain town, Galian's gaze was firmly fixed on the scenery along the way. The road beneath their feet was no longer the relatively smooth stone slabs of the dock area, but had transformed into an astonishingly wide, stepped sacred path carved into the mountainside.

Each step is high and deep, with rounded edges worn smooth by time, and its surface is engraved with incomprehensible geometric patterns and star trails. On both sides of the road, at intervals, there are ferocious stone carvings.

The presence of living, breathing guards is even more breathtaking.

At every turning point of the staircase, at every entrance to the arched bridge connecting different levels, and at every edge of a cliff with a wide view, stood a heavily armored, motionless lizardman warrior. They were like another kind of statue, seemingly grown from the stone itself, with only the spears and shields in their hands, gleaming coldly in the morning light, indicating that they were living beings capable of unleashing terrifying power at any moment.

Garian could feel their gazes sweeping over him—not targeted hostility, but a pure, inhuman scrutiny and assessment, as if checking whether the passerby matched some predetermined list of permits.

Even more striking were the reptilians who walked in the same direction as them.

This is not a military mobilization, but rather more like a well-organized social gathering?
Groups of lizards, carrying baskets full of tools on their backs, communicated and exchanged information with their fingers flying across the page.

All individuals followed the same invisible path, flowing towards higher ground in the mountain city, forming a silent and vast biological torrent. The Asur Sea Guards' ranks seemed to be merely a slightly different tributary flowing into this torrent, yet forced to follow its rhythm.

As the road climbed higher, the morning mist gradually thinned under the sunlight, and the view suddenly opened up.

They arrived at a large square.

It was not a naturally formed platform, but a vast space created by a near-miraculous force that leveled and expanded the mountaintop, large enough to accommodate thousands of people. The plaza was paved with huge, perfectly cut stone slabs, etched with intricate and dizzying giant star maps and labyrinthine geometric patterns that covered the entire plaza and extended to the towering fences at its edge.

The fence itself is a feast of carvings, depicting epic scenes of the ancient saints creating the world, shaping the lizardmen, and fighting against chaos.

Unfortunately, these carvings were too abstract for the sea guards to understand.

The focal point of the square is the Step Pyramid, situated on a higher pedestal, directly facing the main entrance. While not the tallest building in Zetland, it possesses the purest and most solemn form, its surface covered in smooth, mirror-like obsidian that reflects a cool, sacred light in the morning sun.

On the wide steps in front of the pyramid, dozens of the most ornately decorated lizard and snake people stood motionless, facing the square, like another group of precision instruments awaiting instructions.

At this moment, a considerable number of spirit lizards and snake people had gathered in the square, standing quietly, while more figures were still converging in from all directions and entrances. The air was filled with a unique aura, a mixture of burning incense, the coldness of stone, and the scent emanating from the massive biological group.

The solemn, expectant, yet imbued with an invisible pressure atmosphere enveloped the entire space as if it were a tangible reality.

The drumbeats had become clear and unified, emanating from a hidden corner of the square. They were deep and slow, each strike feeling like a direct blow to the heart, in sync with the subtle vibrations of the stone slabs beneath our feet.

Garian stood in the ranks of the Sea Guards, gazing up at the unimaginable square and pyramids, feeling the silent yet surging power of unity around him. His previous doubts were replaced by a greater, almost instinctive sense of awe.

He subconsciously pressed the lunch flatbread and the jar of chili sauce he was carrying in his pocket—these tiny things belonging to the mortal world seemed so insignificant in the face of this magnificent, ancient gathering that seemed to follow the rhythm of the universe, yet they so vividly reminded him of his status as an outsider.

Perhaps because they were guests, or perhaps as a result of Rein's communication with the lizardmen, the Sea Guards were not placed in the observation area at the edge of the plaza, but were instead led to the front of the plaza, almost directly facing the pyramid steps. The view from here was excellent, offering a clear view of the entire pyramid, but it also meant that they were completely at the forefront of this unknown ceremony.

The only downside is that it's too close; you have to tilt your head back.

Raine turned his head and whispered a few words to Delamar beside him. Delamar's gaze sharpened slightly, then he nodded, turned to face the Sea Guard ranks, and gave instructions with concise and powerful gestures.

Maintain absolute silence, remain in place and wait for instructions, and do not move without authorization.

What will happen next?
The sea guards knew nothing.

They could only hold their breath, standing in this magnificent square that seemed to have been etched there since the beginning of the world, under the cold and focused silent gaze of countless pairs of reptilian eyes, following the increasingly loud and deep rhythm that seemed to be striking the earth and soul directly rather than beating a drum, waiting for the arrival of a decisive moment.

The drumbeats changed without warning.

The continuous, even roar transformed into a specific rhythm of three distinct bursts, heavy as the heartbeat of a giant beast. This change was like a silent command, and all the lizardmen in the plaza turned their heads in unison toward the tall, arched entrance on one side of the plaza.

Even the air seemed to suddenly freeze and tighten.

From the shadows of the archway, the temple guards emerged first.

They were taller and larger than ordinary lizardmen, with thicker and more ornate armor, but not at all ancient. The Sea Guards knew perfectly well that the armor worn by these temple guards was clearly a creation of the lizardman-like Duruchi, and even the blade of the giant halberd in their hands was.

The temple guards moved in perfect unison, their steps heavy, slow, and imbued with an unshakeable power; with each step, the stone slabs of the plaza trembled distinctly. Twenty temple guards stood in two rows, like moving walls of steel, clearing the path and drawing an invisible, solemn boundary.

In the very center of this majestic procession, Cheng Yu slowly emerged.

It was not a magnificent palanquin, but rather resembled a miniature, mobile altar. The base was carved from a single block of deep black stone, its edges adorned with distorted star and serpent reliefs. Above the base was a seat with an arched canopy, its surface covered with intricate patterns inlaid with jade and unknown gemstones, emitting a faint, pure fluorescence. The palanquin had no wheels, moving as smoothly as if floating, carried by eight exceptionally strong temple guards on special shoulder supports.

Seated atop the palanquin was the Slan Priest!
His presence instantly overwhelmed all vision; his massive, obese body almost filled the entire couch, covered in wrinkled, gray-blue skin with mysterious markings. His eyes were closed, seemingly immersed in unfathomable meditation or a dream, the only proof of his life being the slow, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his breath.

An indescribable pressure emanated from him, not a display of violent power, but rather a vastness and antiquity like the deep sea. The air around him distorted slightly, and the light seemed to be drawn into that enormous form. The moment Slan appeared, all the spirit lizards and snake people present reacted in unison.

They weren't panicked; rather, they instantly entered another state. Whatever they had been doing before froze at that moment, and then, with a fluid and extremely devout posture, they bowed deeply towards Chengyu, almost to the point where their upper bodies were parallel to the ground.

They are crossed in a specific way on their chests or foreheads, forming an ancient gesture of worship. There are no hisses, no conversations, and even the faintest breaths are suppressed.

The simultaneous movement of thousands of spirit lizards and a small number of snake people was like waves of wheat instantly blown down by an invisible wind—silent, orderly, and filled with absolute awe and obedience emanating from the very source of life.

Surrounded by the temple guards, Cheng Yu moved toward the center of the square at a constant, almost time-like slow pace.

Finally, it came to a steady stop there.

Eight temple guards removed their shoulder supports and, with perfect synchronization, retreated to the left and right, standing like eight newly born colossi guarding the eight directions. Cheng Yu stood still, while the Slan priest seemed to remain asleep.

The entire square fell into an absolute silence, deeper than before, filled with anticipation. Only the distant mountain wind howled through the cracks in the rocks, and the thunderous heartbeats of each person.

Is that moment about to arrive?
The instant the Sran Priest's palanquin emerged from the shadows of the archway, Eldrasil's gaze was seized by an invisible force, fixed firmly on that massive, mountain-like body.

As a Storm Weaver, he possesses a second vision and is far more sensitive to the flow and existence of magical winds than ordinary people.

At this moment, he didn't even need to consciously perceive it.

The tangible pressure emanating from Shi Lan had silently engulfed him like a deep-sea undercurrent. It wasn't just magical energy, but a more primal and profound sense of existence, as if it weren't a living being radiating power, but an entire living, condensed ancient law sitting atop Cheng Yu.

He felt a slight tingling sensation on his skin, as if exposed to invisible static electricity. The vibration of every particle in the air became slow and heavy, as if pulled and tamed by the gravity of that obese body.

He could hear a whisper, not a sound, but a hum that acted directly on the soul, composed of pure order and ancient dreams. It was not aggressive, but carried an absolute sense of dominance, instinctively calming and subduing all irregularities, chaos, and minute ripples around him.

Eldrasil could even sense that the winds of Agil, which were usually so easily controlled, had become unusually quiet at this moment, like a stream flowing into an endless ocean, awe of its vastness rather than being suppressed.

That's incredibly powerful...

He silently repeated it to himself, almost holding his breath.

This power differs from the subtle control of elven spellcasters, and is even more the complete opposite of the violent outbursts of chaos wizards.

It is fundamental, a backdrop, like the mass of the earth itself or the depth of the ocean itself; it needs no display, its very existence is the manifestation of the law!
He had no doubt that if this being were to open its eyes at this moment, it might not need any spells or gestures; a single thought would be enough to change the color of the sky above the square or make the magical veins of the entire mountain city dance.

Amidst the shock, an almost instinctive thirst for knowledge and a sense of awe welled up within him. He wanted to know the meaning of the markings on the skin, to understand the essence of that oppressive aura, and even... to hear firsthand the legendary whispers of dreams from Slana that could reshape reality.

But the moment this thought arose, it was overwhelmed by an even stronger sense of insignificance in the face of something beyond comprehension.

Almost instinctively, he turned his head slightly and looked at Renn beside him, hoping to find a trace of resonance or explanation in the eyes of this man who had a close relationship with the lizardmen.

Even just a look that says, "See? That's what I meant."

However, Ryan's expression surprised him.

Unlike him, Raine wasn't immersed in pure shock or analysis. A faint, almost playful smile played on his sharply defined face. There was no disdain in that smile; rather, it seemed to reflect a knowing, even slightly appreciative, familiarity with the scene before him—a scene of 'Sran's arrival, all spirits bowing'—as if he had witnessed countless similar moments and knew exactly what was to come.
The moment Eldrasil's gaze met Renn's, Renn seemed to sense his probing. He didn't speak, but maintained that subtle smile, slowly raising his right index finger and gently pressing it to his lips.

A clear, unmistakable, commanding gesture for silence.

The movement was gentle, yet in the extremely tense atmosphere, it carried more weight than any verbal warning.

It seems to be saying: "Feel, revere, but do not try to disturb with sound or even thought. The silence at this moment is part of the ritual itself, the highest honor offered to this revered one."

Eldrasil's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately withdrew his gaze, turning it back to the Sran priest in the center of the plaza, who stood like a living monument. He forced himself to suppress all the turbulent thoughts and questions. He made his breathing longer and shallower, as if afraid that even the slightest extra breath would break the fragile yet solemn silence constructed by ancient power and absolute obedience.

Renn withdrew his finger, his gaze returning to the top of the pyramid. The subtle smile on his lips gradually faded, and he regained his focused expression, blending into the solemn atmosphere around him.

"Yazhou" is a term in traditional Chinese opera, referring to the penultimate play in the entire performance. The last play is called "Yatai" or "Dazhou".

In this ritual that followed the logic of the lizardmen, the arrival of the Srann priests was the grand finale, establishing an unshakeable authority and sacred tone. The subsequent main ceremony, however, was the key to propelling the gathering to its true climax.

Soon, the gazes of the spirit lizards, snake people, and Asur were naturally drawn to the highest point of the pyramid.

Tehenhoin has appeared.

This greatest red-crowned lizard, Sotigo's chosen one, did not make a grand entrance. He stood on the edge of the platform at the top of the pyramid, his figure a silhouette in the slanting morning light. In his left hand, he casually held the head of a filthy, grotesque Skaven, its severed neck already blackish-brown; in his right hand, he gripped his signature serpent sword, its slender, curved blade gleaming with a poisonous, eerie green light.

A short distance behind him, a high-ranking red-crowned lizard held up the Sotigo plaque. On the surface of the plaque, the prophetic writing and serpentine reliefs seemed to writhe slightly in the sunlight, radiating a primal and unsettling pressure.

Tehenhoin made no unnecessary gestures or lengthy introductions; he simply raised his hands high and began his report with a clear, sharp, and unwavering hiss.

Raine didn't translate; he simply listened quietly with his hands behind his back, standing ramrod straight. However, as Tehenhoin's report continued, his expression grew increasingly grave, his brow furrowing slightly. From those brief hissing and clicking sounds, he discerned a message far beyond the surface—an urgent and ominous one.

The Asur couldn't understand what Tehenhoin was saying, but that didn't stop them from being completely drawn into the atmosphere. They could sense from Tehenhoin's resolute tone, from Raine's gradually darkening expression, and from the almost frozen focus of all the lizardmen around them that this was no ordinary work summary.

Tehenhoin was neither a bureaucrat nor a inflammatory speaker.

His report was extremely concise—location, time, ratman clan insignia, scale of the encounter, number of enemies killed, and friendly casualties.

There was no embellishment, no sentimentality; it was like reciting a cold, precise data table.

The report abruptly ended after only a few dozen breaths.

then……

A silence.

There were no cheers, no applause, no emotional outpouring as is customary in a ceremony. The entire square fell into an almost vacuum-like silence, broken only by the faint rustling of the mountain breeze through the stone sculptures.

The scene was so unfamiliar that the Asurs almost had a delusion—could this really just be an ordinary routine report meeting?
However, in the next instant, the real, brutal process of the ritual began.

With a flick of his arm, Tehenhoin tossed the already stiff ratman head in his left hand onto the platform in front of him as if it were a piece of utterly useless trash.

Its head rolled a few times, its empty eye sockets staring at the sky.

Immediately afterwards, a piercing, desperate scream echoed from above the pyramid. Two serpent-men dragged a living Skaven with thick chains, roughly pulling him to the open platform next to Tehenhoin.

The ratman prisoner was clearly consumed by terror; his muscular body trembled violently, his yellow incisors chattering and making a clattering sound. His cloudy eyes were wide open, darting wildly as he scanned the thousands of silent lizardmen below, finally settling on the snake-tongue sword in Tehenhoin's hand.

It tried to curl up, tried to retreat, but the snake-man's chains were as taut as venomous snakes. A weak, incoherent squeak, somewhere between pleading and howling, escaped its throat—the instinctive reaction of a predator utterly collapsing before its absolute predator.

A foul, fishy stench filled the air—the guy had lost control of his bladder.

Tehenhoin was unmoved by the fear and stench; he didn't even glance at the rat-man, as if it were merely an insignificant living prop about to be disposed of.

He stepped forward, raising his snake-tongue sword in his right hand with precise, steady, and unwavering movements. The slender blade traced a cold arc in the air, its tip lightly touching the center of the ratman's violently trembling throat. That single touch froze all the ratman's screams and struggles instantly, as if they had been frozen in place.

then.

Without any build-up of power or exaggerated swings, Tehenhoin's wrist simply twisted and flicked with extreme dexterity.

puff.

A faint, almost inaudible thud as something slicing through flesh and trachea. The specially crafted curved tip of the Serpent's Tongue plunged into the ratman's neck with the most efficient angle and depth, the movement so fast it was impossible to blink, as precise as if it had been done a million times.

The rat-man's eyes bulged out, all sound cut off in its ruptured throat, leaving only a series of rapid, leaky hoarse sounds. Its body convulsed violently before collapsing.

Tehenhoin withdrew his sword, leaving only a thin line of crimson blood on the blade, which quickly gathered into a droplet and dripped down. Without even glancing at the rapidly dying body at his feet, he reached out with his left hand, precisely grasped the filthy fur on the ratman's head, lifted it up, and twisted it!
Click.

The sickening crack of bones could be clearly heard. A fresh, warm rat-man's head, its expression forever frozen in extreme terror, was held high, blood dripping from its severed neck onto the sacred stone slabs of the pyramid.

Only now did Tehenhoin raise his consistently steady and sharp voice for the first time.

Praise be to Sotigo!

Rein suddenly thought of Queza, of the scene where Tehenhoin held Skuk's heart high above his head, and of Darkus.

Praise be to Sotigo!

At that moment, he seemed possessed by Darkus, raising his fists in mid-air and letting out a deafening cheer, but his genuine emotions did not affect the lizardman.

Because it wasn't necessary, the atmosphere had already been set. Tehenhoin's roar was like a spark igniting a powder keg.

Praise be to Sotigo!

"Hiss—Crack!!!"

Centered on Tehenhoin, a frenzied ripple spread outwards with an almost savage speed. First came the red-crowned lizards and snake-men atop the pyramid and on the steps, who strained to raise their heads, their throat scales trembling violently, emitting the first wave of uniform, almost tearing air-splitting shrieks. It wasn't a chaotic cry, but some ancient, collective war cry with a specific scale and rhythm, short, sharp, and full of aggression.

Immediately afterwards, the sound wave swept down.

The lizards and snake-men in the square instantly entered a state of collective excitement. They raised their heads, opened their jaws, and joined the torrent of sound. At first, it was still possible to distinguish the hiss of different individuals, but soon, thousands of sounds converged, merged, and resonated, forming a continuous and increasingly high-pitched wave of hissing.

The wailing continued for a long time, seemingly without end. It wasn't like a cheer, but rather a collective outpouring and resonance through the vocal cords. The sound collided and echoed among the towering buildings surrounding the square, forming layers of echoes, turning the singular wailing into a vast, chilling sea of ​​sound that enveloped the heavens and the earth.

The air was filled with the rustling sound of scales rubbing together, the scraping sound of claws scratching at the stone slabs, and the buzzing resonance that pierced the eardrums and directly caused inside the skull.

Just as this shriek reached a certain critical point, almost piercing the sky...

In the center of the square, the Sran Demon Priest, who had remained like a sleeping mountain, slowly opened his eyes.

There was no earth-shattering light, but the starlight shining through the two slits was more profound and distant than the deepest night sky, as if directly connecting to a distant constellation. A pressure far greater and more solid than before silently spread out, not as suppression, but like a warm ocean current, instantly smoothing out all the violent and chaotic edges of the roar, guiding it towards a more orderly and sacred rhythm.

Slana's obese, mountain-like body leaned slightly forward as he slowly and solemnly raised his massive, mottled hands, palms facing the sky, fingers slightly spread in an ancient and mysterious gesture.

He's like the DJ in charge of the show at a bar.

This simple action seemed to instantly suck away all the air in the square, causing the boiling hissing to pause for a moment, and then transforming into a deeper, more devout, continuous low murmur, like millions of insects flapping their wings in sync under the starry sky.

The sound was everywhere.

It burrows through the ear canal, rampages through the skull, causing a slight tingling in the teeth; it travels along the bones, causing a numbing tremor in a clenched fist; it even penetrates clothing, raising goosebumps on the skin.

At first, there was a sharp stinging sensation, which then turned into a continuous, oppressive low-frequency hum, as if an invisible giant hand was gripping his chest, making each heartbeat incredibly heavy.

He had seen storms at sea and heard thunder roar at the top of masts, but those sounds were external and could be resisted. This wail, however, seemed to tear him apart from within, squeezing him from all sides, giving him the illusion that he was about to be dissolved and assimilated by the tide of this sound.

That's how Galian felt.

He had to open his mouth slightly to balance the pressure in his ears, and his vision became somewhat blurred and unfocused due to the continuous impact of the sound waves. The stiff backs of his comrades around him, Ryan's raised fists, and even the outlines of distant buildings all distorted and trembled slightly in the continuous sound waves.

Only the statue of Slan, with his hands raised high, in the center of the square appeared incredibly clear and stable, like the only still presence in the eye of the storm.

Galian forced himself to take deep breaths, trying to fight off the overwhelming sound that threatened to drown out his consciousness. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, using the slight stinging pain to remind himself to stay alert.

This is... their ritual?

It is not song and dance, nor speech, but the most primal sound, the most direct sacrifice, and the most ancient awakening.

This is... their other side?
The screech continued, gradually transforming into a rhythmic, undulating sound, like the pulse of the earth, under Slan's guidance.

Galian knew that this voice would be etched into his memory for a very long time.

So long ago... I'll never forget it! (End of Chapter)