Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Rewind half an hour, and the wind howled high above the inland sea.

"Just stay here like this?" Ellisand narrowed his eyes slightly, a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"What else? Just charge down recklessly and become a complete laughingstock?" Rahil turned his head, gave Elisander a cold look, raised his right hand, and pointed it over the dragon's neck at the distant city.

Elisande opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing, only pursing his lips to conceal his inner turmoil. Rahil didn't bother to say anything more; he tilted his head back, his gaze piercingly fixed on the thick clouds above.

Although the naked eye could not penetrate the clouds, his warrior's intuition told him that some enormous creature was lurking within the rolling white waves. Those observers hidden in the clouds did not show any aggression, nor did they launch a deadly dive; they simply maintained a chilling silence.

If Ignimus had advanced even just one more kilometer...

But the experienced Ignimus did not. He precisely adjusted his flight trajectory, neither rushing forward aggressively nor retreating hastily, but instead began to calmly circle and hover on this delicate edge. While giving himself room to maneuver, he also displayed an undeniable presence downwards.

Alexander stood quietly on the dragon's spine, overlooking the entire land. He looked at Lorthorn, where ruins and new life intertwined in the distance, at the massive fleet that blotted out the sky in the direction of the vast ocean, at the densely packed, bustling figures on the North Harbor docks like a swarm of moving ants, and at the orderly ships shuttling back and forth in the lagoon.

As the saying goes, seeing is believing.

The brief overview gave him an unprecedentedly clear understanding of the war potential embodied in Duruch. This understanding made him feel oppressed, but he knew very well that his purpose in being there was not reconnaissance, much less to launch a desperate, lone charge that was doomed to fail.

"coming!"

Five minutes later, Rahil called out in a low voice.

A speechless expression appeared on Ellisand's face. He wasn't blind, so he naturally noticed the unusual movement on the horizon.

A lithe griffin, accompanied by five agile raiding ships, rose from the mountains east of Lorthen. After takeoff, they rapidly gained altitude, heading straight for their designated airspace with a chilling efficiency.

Ignimus stopped hovering and remained in place. Its enormous wings steadily beat against the air currents, awaiting the approach of its visitor.

Five minutes later, the Sharp Claw landed smoothly on the broad, flat back of Ignimus, while the five raiding ships, like loyal wingmen, circled the dragon in a menacing patrol.

Arslan Silverstar leaped down from the griffin's back, his gaze immediately falling on the banner fluttering in the wind in Elisande's hand. He then let out a heavy, complex sigh. He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness, but did not break the silence first.

He seemed to have absolutely no desire to talk, so he simply handed over the initiative to the other person.

There is no social stalemate here, nor is there a game where whoever speaks first loses.

Alessand also let out a heavy sigh. He had known Arslan for a long time, both being in the upper echelons of Ausuan. Although they didn't have a deep personal relationship, they were still somewhat familiar with each other.

He knew all too well why Arslan was silent at this moment. In this awkward and strange situation, what could he say? Should he offer the most sarcastic sarcasm, or a hypocritical consolation?
Faced with such a turning point in fate, any words seem pale and ridiculous.

"Is Finnubal there?" Elisander took a deep breath and made the first tentative question.

"Yes!" Arslan nodded heavily, his voice low.

"I want to meet with Duruci's top management."

"Does the Caledo side... still intend to continue this war?" Arslan did not directly answer the other party's request, but instead astutely evaded the topic and countered with the most pointed question.

A look of undisguised desolation appeared on Ellesander's face. His left hand, which had not been holding the flag, lay out limply, as if displaying some kind of pale emptiness.

Arslan stared into his eyes, slowly extended his right hand, and forcefully jabbed his fingertips into his heart. His face was grave as he silently gazed at Elisander, saying nothing.

A deathly silence fell over the surroundings.

Although neither of them uttered a word, in the elf's subtle and profound communication, this moment spoke volumes.

Elisander inquired about Finnubar's whereabouts in the hope of finding a bridge to survival and negotiation in this chaotic situation devoid of any semblance of trust.

The Kingdom of Caledo and Duruci were sworn enemies, and at this moment, there were no diplomatic channels or buffer zones between them.

Despite the controversy surrounding Finnubar's past actions in the eyes of many nobles, Elisandre still acknowledged Finnubar's character.

What else can we do? This is the only option we have.

If Finnubar were present, Duruci might have been more restrained and wouldn't have dared to commit such a reckless act as killing and humiliating the envoy.

Arslan's counter-question was Daedalus's way of putting pressure on Caledo's bottom line. His actions and expression conveyed a clear message: given enough sincerity, he was willing to act as the bridge between life and death.

Elisander was a politically astute man, and he understood how to exchange sincerity within the framework of aristocratic etiquette. His left hand, which had been outstretched, was now clasped together, solemnly held across his chest, making the most solemn vow.

"In the name of Caledo, I swear on the peaceful intentions of this journey!"

Seeing this, Arslan said no more. He climbed back onto Sharp Claw's back, looking down at Elisande and Rahil on the dragon's back, and let out a long sigh.

“Darkus anticipated your arrival. Come with me.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Sharp Claw suddenly spread its wings, took off, and transformed into a golden streak of light.

Guided by the Sharp Claw and under the close surveillance of five raiding ships like jackals, the Ignimus began to steadily decrease its flight altitude.

As it drew closer to the ground, the Shining Star Dragon felt an intense sense of urgency. Below in the North Port area, countless gleaming ground-based ranged weapons were locked onto its wings.

As he was descending, he had no way to avoid the danger in the air. And in the far distance, two red dragons, even larger and more imposing than him, were rapidly approaching him with a chilling aura.

Ignimus's dragon eyes darted around uneasily, and he subconsciously glanced at the clouds above.

In the swirling fog, he saw an even more terrifying scene—two enormous figures, faintly visible in the depths of the clouds, like judges guarding the edge of an abyss.

It's a big gamble.

He had nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape, and not even a chance to fight back desperately. If the enemy launched an attack, the best he could do was cause a negligible amount of damage to the port.

In the oppressive and suffocating atmosphere, he landed steadily on a relatively empty berth in Beigang.

Then... a deathly silence fell.

Elisand and Rahil, these two once high and mighty nobles of Caledon, now resembled two down-on-their-luck visitors awaiting an audience in the cold wind. Of course, if one ignored the ballistae aimed directly at the dragon's body and the Duruci army, on high alert with icy eyes, the scene did indeed have a diplomatic flavor.

Arslan patted Sharpclaw's neck, and the griffin gracefully flew away. He stood alone in the clearing, silently keeping these three uninvited guests company.

A moment later, a muffled whooshing sound came from the distant horizon, and 'Mother of Dragons' Modax and 'Majestic' Scyrex roared in with overwhelming pressure.

The way the former landed was completely beyond Ignimus's comprehension, so much so that the old dragon, who had intended to move its massive body to make room, was frozen in place. Just as Modax was about to touch the ground, her sky-covering dragon body unexpectedly contracted rapidly, scales and muscles reorganizing under the surge of energy.

A majestic dragon-born figure stands proudly on the earth.

Meanwhile, Sculex hovered low above Ignimus like a harbinger of death, its enormous wings blocking out the sunlight, ready to respond to any unforeseen event.

Ignimus's vertical pupils were filled with shock and astonishment, while Elisande and Rahil beside him wore even stranger expressions. They had heard Leandera describe it, but seeing it in person was still...

Only Arslan, who was accompanying them, spread his hands expressionlessly, clearly having become accustomed to such miraculous scenes and even somewhat aesthetically fatigued by them.

"Why are you here in Lorthorn?" Modax took two steps forward. Although her size had shrunk several times, the aura of a high-ranking dragon from the depths of her bloodline remained undiminished. She looked up and stared directly at the huge dragon head, her tone cold.

Faced with the Dragon Queen's oppressive presence, Ignimus showed no arrogance whatsoever. He obediently prostrated himself in submission, pressing his massive dragon head tightly against the ground to express the highest respect.

"For my offspring... for the uncertain future of the dragon race."

Modax nodded thoughtfully. She looked up and gestured to Skurex in the air, who let out a deep growl that shook the air within a hundred meters before turning and flying away, disarming and locking on.

"Why...why did you choose to pledge allegiance to Duruci?" After much hesitation, Ignimus finally asked the ultimate question that had been troubling him.

“It’s not loyalty, it’s cooperation! You’ve got it wrong.” Modax made a crisp closing gesture, correcting his wording.

Then, the two dragons from different eras began to converse in their obscure, ancient, and resonant dragon language, oblivious to the world around them.

The elves standing nearby were completely unable to get a word in edgewise.

Arslan was completely ignorant of dragon language, while Elisande and Rahil, though able to grasp a few scattered words, understood that in the face of the conversation between two top dragons, they not only had no right to speak, but even the space to listen seemed insignificant.

As agreed before their departure, Ignimus brought them here on an adventure where each got what they wanted: elves playing against each other, and dragons conversing with each other.

Five minutes later, Aislin appeared at the edge of the harbor. The general who commanded the Asur navy remained calm and composed, showing neither the contempt of a victor nor the guilt of an Asur. He merely nodded slightly to Elisand and Rahil, fulfilling the meager courtesy of old acquaintances, before silently standing beside Arslan.

After another long ten minutes, the communication bridge that Aldersande had been dreaming of finally appeared with Duluqi's senior management.

Trust and consensus in this world are indeed so difficult to establish; even when they are close at hand, they require a great deal of groundwork.

The way Darkus and Finnubal made their entrance was stunning, or perhaps more accurately, unexpected.

They did not travel in a magnificent carriage or ride on a majestic beast. Upon learning of the arrival of the messengers of Caledon, the two most powerful elves in Lorthorn each rode a modern, industrial-looking two-wheeled bicycle, clanging and jingling as they passed through the docks.

Although the scene was somewhat comical, the overwhelming sense of everyday life and ease dissipated most of the tense atmosphere in an eerie silence.

“Dakus Helban”.

"Finubal Ruilen".

“Elisendall Calad.” Elisendall’s gaze lingered on Darkus for a long time, albeit somewhat rudely, as he returned the greeting. He scrutinized the living legend with an almost greedy intensity, trying to find in that excessively young face the truth of the soul that could shake the fate of the Elven race and dismantle and rebuild the ancient order.

Rahil Movin.

Dakotas did not make any presumptuous gestures of affection, such as hugging or shaking hands, after all, there were still thousands of years of blood debt and the smoke of war that had just cleared between them. He simply began politely with a brief self-introduction.

“This is clearly not a good place to discuss the future. Follow me.” With that, Darkus turned to look at Daenerys Mordax. When their eyes met, he pointed to the massive Ignimus, then exaggeratedly gestured a huge outline in the air with his hands.

Modax's cold lips curled slightly, revealing a wild and beautiful smile, and then he nodded knowingly.

A moment later, the group entered the Flying Fish Tavern.

Upon entering, Elisander and Rahil were immediately drawn to the scene before them: a group of professional and capable civil servants and advisors bustling about. They merely glanced indifferently at the two Caledonian nobles, or more precisely, at the banner in Elisander's hand, before returning to their fervent work.

"Have you eaten?" After taking his seat in the conference room, Dakos casually asked a question, his tone as indifferent as if he were exchanging pleasantries with an old friend.

"What?" Elisenand was clearly caught off guard by this sudden change in pace.

I asked, "Have you had lunch?"

"not yet……"

Darkus nodded noncommittally and gave Aislin a wink. Aislin understood and turned to leave the meeting room without a word.

"Should Bellanall also be present?" Dakous asked again, his tone steady.

“It’s entirely up to you.” Elisander displayed absolute diplomatic caution.

Dakos did not immediately make a decision, but instead cast an inquiring glance at Finnubar. Seeing Finnubar shake his head slightly in acknowledgment, he nodded in agreement and let the matter drop.

"Relax, don't be so tense. So... where is Imrek now?"

As an observer, Darkus saw it clearly: Imrek was saved from death by Lyandra at the last moment.

“He…” Elisande hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath, his tone becoming solemn and heavy, “We flew here from the Temple of Asuyan.”

“Ha, that’s very Imrek indeed,” Darkus uttered a comment that was hard to decipher as either praise or sarcasm.

He couldn't help but sigh when he noticed that Finnubar was looking at him with a blank and bewildered expression.

Even when the curtain has fallen, he still struggles to stand in the very center of the stage. He wants to carry his last, stubborn dignity and become an elegant sacrificial offering to the old era, while also serving as a magnificent footnote to the coming new order.

Finnubar's pupils suddenly contracted; he fully understood Darkus's subtext—Imrek had stepped into the sacred flame.

Dakous did not press for details, nor did he tactlessly ask Elisander why he didn't stay there a little longer to see if Imrek could be reborn from the sacred fire.

The photographer king has become the phoenix king...

This……

It's a bit too darkly humorous.

Asu is just autistic and a bit... but not seriously ill. Of course, it's hard to say if it were Tzeentch.

“So…” Darkus spread his hands, leaned back slightly, and stared calmly into a deep pool, “What do you want to talk about?” (End of Chapter)