Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"Torandil's Arrow..."

"Torandil's Arrow?"

"Torandil's Arrow!"

Renn murmured uncontrollably.

The voice grew lower and clearer with each repetition, the subtle tremor amplifying in his chest and overflowing from his throat. His body trembled slightly, his knuckles clenched unconsciously, and even his breathing became irregular. He knew very well that this was not fear, but excitement.

A trembling unease shot up my spine and into my brain.

But he couldn't control himself.

I really can't control myself.

The feeling was so intense, like a long-dormant gear suddenly starting to turn, emitting a deep and irreversible sound, almost completely overwhelming his consciousness.

The Arrow of Tolandil—this name originates from an ordinary yet special gathering.

At that time, Renn sat around chatting with his brother, Darkus, Tolandil, Colonia, and others. Amidst the wine glasses and firelight, the conversation unconsciously shifted from trivial matters to narrative and creation, from experiences to structure, from the 'chance' in experiences to the 'inevitability' in stories.

Tolandil proposed that every element mentioned in a story should appear and play a role later in the narrative; otherwise, it would be unnecessary for it to exist.

That's not a literary technique, it's more like a narrative discipline?
Early clues must be responded to later; every detail should directly or indirectly drive the overall direction.

Foreshadowing.

If something sets the stage, it must be rewarded, and vice versa.

Upon hearing this, Darkus smiled and casually named this principle "Torandil's Arrow," while those foreshadowing elements that were mentioned, described, but ultimately never shot were jokingly referred to as "Torandil's Arrows That Were Never Shot."

So, when exactly did the story of Raine, or rather, Darkus, begin?

Ryan had discussed this issue with his brother, Flannerys. The conversation was not heated; in fact, it was quite calm, as it didn't require much discussion.

They quickly reached an agreement.

It all started after that fall into the water.

Everything changed after Darkus crashed into the sea during the Harpsiye Trials.

If this were a book, then the period before the fall into the water would only be considered a preface; and the story would only truly begin after the fall.

And he, Ryan, always saw himself as an important supporting character in this grand story, experiencing the main plot as much as possible, and recording, witnessing, and repairing the overlooked details when necessary.

Now, this self-proclaimed supporting actor seemed to hear the subtle yet piercing vibrato of a bowstring being slowly drawn taut.

The jungle fell silent here.

It wasn't silence, but a taut silence stretched to its limit.

Like a bowstring drawn taut, the air becomes dense and heavy enough to be squeezed to release a dark green liquid.

It wasn't fog, yet it resembled fog.

Like the breath seeping from the canopy of a thousand-year-old tree, mixed with the sweet and fishy smell of spores and decaying wood, as well as some deeper, almost metallic rust scent, it slowly accumulates in the space.

The green mist wasn't suspended in the air, but rather a liquid halo seeping from the pores of every leaf and the cracks in every damp rock. It flowed along the tree trunk, filling all the gaps between the branches and the trunk.

As you walk through it, your skin is repeatedly rubbed by the cold silk, first with a slight stinging sensation, then with numbness, the two intertwined and lingering.

The massive buttress roots, like the ribs of an ancient dragon, arched out of the ground, intertwining and coiling. Their surfaces were covered with thick, downy moss, which shimmered with an eerie phosphorescence in the dim light, illuminating the gnarled, vein-like vines that snaked and twisted beneath their feet.

Here, the jungle no longer feels like life.

It's more like a slow and patient stomach?
It devours, decomposes, and digests everything that enters it.

Ryan even had the illusion that the team was not moving horizontally, but descending slowly down an unseen slope into the depths of the earth, as if they were going into a basin covered by jungle, or a silent sinkhole.

With each descent, the air pressure, humidity, and light quality subtly change. The air becomes increasingly heavy, breathing becomes sluggish, and the light transitions from bright green to cooler, darker hues, as if traversing layer upon layer of different geological eras vertically.

Time has lost its meaning here.

After an unknown amount of time, the group finally emerged from the lingering, green mist that seemed to be alive.

“Look at what’s rising from the canopy…” Renn murmured unconsciously, his gaze fixed on the scene before him. “The canopy? This is the canopy? Or is it…”

His words abruptly stopped.

He looked up and saw the real 'Cover'?
The ancient tree, nearly a hundred meters tall, has layers upon layers of canopies that intertwine and overlap, completely obscuring the sky. It is not merely a simple shade, but a living, breathing dome. Thick vines, as thick as pythons, weave through the canopy, creating a vast and complex network, and hanging from that network are countless strange, bell-shaped flowers.

The entire canopy undulated slowly, the rhythm of which was deep and long, like the chest of an ancient beast in slumber.

“If this is truly the Canopy…” Renn’s thoughts surged suddenly, almost uncontrollably, “Then how should we interpret the ancient ancestors’ greeting to you with the Eye of the Ruby?”

Who are these ancient ancestors?

Ancient sage?

Excitement and trepidation intertwined and collided in his chest, making it impossible for him to keep his thoughts coherent; his thoughts floated haphazardly like scattered feathers.

Just then, a deep and resonant "Hmm" came from afar.

The sound wasn't loud, but it resonated and spread through the air. The moment it rang out, the massive procession stopped in their tracks, as if held down by an invisible hand.

Raine took a deep breath and patted the Dilophosaurus's rough, warm neck. His companion responded softly, then turned and jogged off towards Lord Whiniatanqui.

“Lord Huyni Aytanquie,” he tried to keep his voice steady, but a slight tremor still escaped his lips, “is this…the place?”

At this moment, Master Hui had already opened his eyes. His ancient and deep eyes reflected the eerie green light cast by the canopy. Hearing Raine's question, he simply nodded slowly.

No unnecessary words.

Raine almost wanted to roar, to unleash the surging emotions within him, but he restrained himself. Instead, his body trembled even more violently, the tremors spreading from his fingertips down his shoulders and back.

no way.

There is really no way.

Because here.

Because here...

“My dear captain, I bet you this woman is older than you, and the wager is ten percent of the spoils after she's weighed.”

Upon hearing Dastan's words, he suddenly took two steps back, staring at him in disbelief with wide eyes, as if silently questioning: Are you kidding me?
There was nothing he could do; in his mind, this woman was human.

How could a human being be older than him?

Dakous looked at Dastan with a provocative smile.

“I’ll take the gamble, a treasure map!” Dastan said through gritted teeth.

That scene didn't take place on the "Winter," but in the hold of a merchant ship they had just hijacked. In the narrow, dimly lit cabin, filled with the smell of damp wood and alcohol, the lights flickered, and shadows were stretched long and distorted on the ship's walls.

Unfortunately, Ryan was not present at the time.

At that moment, he and Edmund were splitting up, searching cargo and hidden compartments in another cabin. It wasn't until the sudden gunshot ripped through the silence of the ship's hull that they snapped to attention and rushed toward the sound.

When they arrived, Dakotas was already talking to the woman.

Renn clearly remembers Darkus's thunderous shout, which still echoes in his ears.

"Why does this centenarian woman act like a virgin?"

He also clearly remembered that he and Dastan couldn't hold back their laughter on the spot, and the laughter exploded in the narrow lower deck, even dispersing the tense air.

Through their subsequent fragmented conversations, they gradually pieced together the truth: the woman's name was Tatlin, a vampire lurking in human society. Betrayed by her own kind, her identity was exposed, forcing her to flee and wander aimlessly. Fate played a cruel trick on her; she escaped the hunt, only to run into Darkus and his group during her escape, but this "misfortune" ended there.

Five days later, Dakotas released her.

Although the way it was released was somewhat personal, a bit morbid, and even less than respectable... it was released nonetheless.

According to intelligence from Kisliv, the woman named Tatlin has been crowned Tsar, ruling over that land perpetually covered in ice and snow. Perhaps one day in the future, when Renn sets foot on that land as an envoy, he will see her again?
When Tatlin said he was nearly four hundred years old, Renn still remembers Dastan's expression at that moment.

The captain's face turned green instantly, as if a bucket of rotten water had been poured over him. He trembled with rage, his right hand, gripping the knife, pointing shakily at Tatlin, but he couldn't utter a single word; all his anger and frustration were stuck in his throat.

Afterwards, Raine finally understood that the bet Darkus made with Dastan was about whether Tatlin was older than Dastan.

It's a pity Dastan lost, but it was also an eye-opening experience.

And now, the treasure map, which was the stake, was tucked close to Rein's body. And the spot where he was standing was exactly where the yellowed map marked.

How could this not make him excited?
Tolandil's Arrow.

The foreshadowing planted at the beginning of the story will eventually resonate on the strings of fate.

The seemingly absurd bet from many years ago, the yellowed map that was lost, the chance yet inevitable encounter at sea... all the scattered, seemingly unrelated fragments are now reconnected by an invisible yet precise trajectory.

The arrows pierced through the air, hitting the exact coordinates of that moment.

He didn't happen to be standing here.

He was led here by an arrow that had been nocked on a bow many years ago.

However, that's not all.

Another name is engraved on the fletching of this arrow.

Admiral Ranis.

The admiral whom Darkus executed in collaboration with Malekith during Darkus's first appearance at the Dark Council. It was that scene that established Darkus's ruthless, decisive, and unshakeable position among the highest echelons of power in Nagalus.

Then, the story seemed to have ended.

But in keeping with Malekith's penchant for the dark side, Ranis's remains were not removed, but left untouched on his seat in the Dark Council, serving as a silent yet glaring warning, a coordinate marked with blood.

It was this action that caused the story, which should have ended, to start turning again.

During a small meeting, Darkus, sitting beside the decaying body, reached inside Ranis's already stiff robes. Then, a yellowed parchment was pulled out.

A riddle-like passage was written on the paper:
"A strange riddle. Pass through the green mist and see what rises from the canopy; the ancient ancestors will greet you with ruby ​​eyes."

Darkus looked at the parchment in his hand with a puzzled expression. It was written in the language of the lizardmen. If he was not mistaken, this "Qi" was not "Duluqi" but "Iqi"!
However, even after identifying the origin of the language, he still couldn't truly understand it. The writing was too abstract, like a deliberately left clue, or a test that refused to be easily understood.

Later, on his second trip to the continent of Lustia, he presented the riddle to Lord Mazdamudi. However, even Master Mazdamudi was unable to solve it. Perhaps there was no place on the continent of Lustia that matched the description, or perhaps the answer was hidden in a more distant and secretive corner.

If the riddle truly refers to this place...

No wonder Master Ma couldn't understand it.

A green mist, a living canopy.

The destination marked on the treasure map and the secret realm pointed to by the riddle perfectly overlapped at this moment, leaving no room for coincidence.

Ryan's chest heaved violently, his breathing became rapid and heavy. The excitement was not a single emotion, but the result of two tremors overlapping and amplifying each other.

First, there is the tremor that almost tears reason apart when the explorer finally reaches the legendary end.

The treasure map pressed against his heart, the parchment that originated from an absurd bet and traversed ocean waves and the passage of time, now carried warmth, resonating intensely with the earth beneath his feet. He stood atop the marked 'X, at the point where all greed, luck, ambition, and legend converged, and the pointers of the entire world pointed to the spot beneath his feet at this moment.

Secondly, it was a shock that was far deeper and more profound than the treasure hunt itself.

He witnessed firsthand how the arrows of Tolandil drew a complete and closed arc across the vast expanse of time. One arrow began with the cold and ruthless execution and search within the Dark Council; the other originated from a wager, tinged with both mockery and bloodshed, during a sea raid. They seemed unrelated, separated by chasms of identity, location, and time, yet they were simultaneously nocked on the bowstring of fate, silently traversing years to ultimately strike the same bullseye.

This is the place.

This lost land is shrouded in green mist and covered by a canopy.

This is not merely a geographical discovery, but also a perfect narrative conclusion. Standing here, at the juncture where all the foreshadowing converges, Raine hears the heavy, irresistible pulse of the story itself, finally completing the loop. It proves that every buried detail truly resonates; every arrow shot from a bow will eventually reach its destined destination.

he knows.

The next part of the riddle will be revealed soon.

“The ancient ancestors will greet you with eyes of rubies.”

And the ruby ​​eye lies deep within, waiting quietly for him.

Yes, that must be it!
A sudden surge of conviction ignited within Raine, quickly spreading into a blazing flame that tightened his chest, almost evaporating his reason. He even had the illusion that the legendary "ruby eyes" were flickering faintly in the depths of the mist, like some kind of patient and ancient gaze.

The order was quickly relayed, and the team immediately spread outwards from Master Hui in a fan shape.

The Shadow Hunters disappeared first at the edge of their sight, their figures seemingly swallowed up by the jungle, moving silently along the vines and the labyrinthine roots.

The lizardmen advanced steadily, using their sharp, heavy weapons to push aside the hanging ferns and fungi, the wet leaves snapping with a low, tearing sound.

The lizards emitted short, low-frequency hisses, instinctively climbing up the towering, outward-curving buttress roots. Their slender bodies clung to the bark, and their narrow, vertical pupils scanned back and forth in the shadows, not missing any reflections or unusual features.

Raine also flipped off the Dilophosaurus, his boots sinking into the soft, damp humus layer, and he immediately felt an unsettling sense of sinking beneath his feet.

He parted a patch of faintly glowing moss, a fluorescent green light flowing between his fingers. He held his breath, anticipating the cold gleam of minerals that would emerge behind him. He crouched down, carefully examining a burl shaped like an eye socket. The rough texture was magnified infinitely in his eyes, as if it would crack open at any moment to reveal a gemstone encased in time. He even gestured for the Dilophosaurus to use its claws to turn over a piece of rotten giant wood, as decaying debris and fungi fell to the ground. In his mind, however, he was picturing the ancient altar, engravings, and offerings that might be hidden below.

No.

Nothing at all.

There are no red ores, no red crystals, no red veins, not even any substance that could be barely called a ruby. Not even a red flower or a red beetle appears here; this color has been completely erased by some law.

Here, there is only an endless expanse of green, layer upon layer, blending together. The deep green of moss spreads along the ground, the dark green of leaves intertwines overhead, the fluorescent green of mist flows in the air, the brownish-green of the tree bark is mottled and rough, and the puddles reflect a cool, bluish-green...

Green reigns supreme, absolute and tyrannical; the concept of red has never been born here.

The initial excitement was quickly dissipated, like a bucket of cold dew poured over my head, producing a faint but jarring hissing sound. In its place came a slow but uncontrollable anxiety, climbing like vines in my heart.

Ryan's breathing became rapid and shallow, his fingers unconsciously curling, then forcing himself to relax. He looked at his chest again and again, repeatedly pondering the riddle in his mind.

The location is correct, and the environmental features match perfectly, but where is the most crucial token?

“Impossible…” he muttered to himself, his voice swallowed by the mist, as if he were making a vow to himself, “The arrow has hit the bullseye, the clues fit together perfectly… The ruby’s eye must be here, we just haven’t found the right perspective yet!”

However, time passed quietly, the search area continued to expand, but the feedback remained the same—a silent green sea.

A familiar yet abhorrent self-doubt began to gnaw at his mind, leaving fine, stinging marks. Had he misunderstood from the very beginning? Was the riddle not referring to a physical object, but rather to some kind of symbol? Or perhaps the ruby's 'eye' had already been taken, or weathered, shattered, and turned to dust over the long, despairing years?

His gaze swept over his companions, still silently searching, over the lizardmen who remained vigilant and meticulous in their movements, and finally, involuntarily settled on Master Hui's figure, as still as a deep pool. Master Hui remained seated, eyes slightly closed, seemingly unsurprised by what he was seeing, or perhaps he had already foreseen it?

It was this calm that amplified the restlessness and despondency in Renn's heart. He felt like a person holding a precise map, yet standing in the middle of an empty room.

The coordinates were accurate to the last detail, but the expected treasure turned out to be nothing but emptiness.

The immense joy brought by the double confirmation is now collapsing in the opposite direction, turning into double the confusion and emptiness, weighing heavily on my chest.

The jungle still enveloped him in countless shades of green, gentle, indifferent, and silent. The promise of the ruby ​​seemed like a distant legend, completely digested and absorbed by this greenery.

There is no such story as "marking the boat to find the sword" in elven society, but at this moment, Renn truly experienced that kind of stagnation and absurdity in his anxious and futile search. Since he could not find the elusive ruby ​​eye in the riddle, he simply turned all his attention back to the more realistic treasure map in his arms.

However, the symbol marking the end point on the parchment was still rudimentary and abstract—just a single red 'X'.

Deep in this jungle, completely dominated by greenery and with almost no landmarks, it appears so isolated and powerless that it can hardly provide any truly effective directional guidance.

As he repeatedly stroked the rough, cracked edges of the parchment with his fingertips, his thoughts, like damp, cold vines, entwined, climbed, and tightened in his heart, and as he wandered unconsciously through the jungle, the senses within him that belonged to a hidden passage quietly awakened.

It wasn't a visual capture, nor an auditory feedback, but a more primal, more direct pull, as if a magnet had finally aligned with its pole, forcibly correcting his sense of direction in an instant. It was subtle and quiet, yet stubborn and undeniable, continuously tugging at his attention, pulling him away from his chaotic deductions, and firmly leading him to a specific location deep within the dense forest.

Ryan didn't hesitate.

He yielded to this pull, as if yielding to a predetermined turning point. He quickened his pace, parting layers of ferns and vines, until finally, as he lifted the last drooping aerial root, his view suddenly went blank.

A small, almost perfectly circular open space quietly appeared before my eyes.

“This is it,” Renn said in a low voice, not as a deduction, but as a confirmation. He raised his arm, preparing to order the Shadow Hunters to begin digging, to tear open the surface and reach the answer.

At that very moment, the airflow changed.

It wasn't a sudden gust of wind, but an extremely subtle yet immediately noticeable shift. The air was re-layered and rearranged.

The carriage, which had been silently suspended on the back of the ancient Triceratops, moved.

The platform, bathed in a pale green glow, rose silently, gliding smoothly and solemnly over the procession without stirring up any turbulence, yet causing all beings to instinctively make way for it. It finally came to rest in the very center of the open space, like a crucial piece precisely placed on a chessboard.

The sound disappeared.

The sounds of the wind, the rustling of leaves, the whispers of the elves, and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the lizardmen were all abruptly withdrawn. Even the green mist that permeated the forest respectfully retreated around Chengyu, leaving behind a clean and solemn space.

Raine's raised hand froze in mid-air. He held his breath, his gaze not daring to shift even slightly.

Lord Huini Aitanqui sat atop it, his gaze slowly sweeping across the seemingly unremarkable open space. In his eyes, which seemed to hold nebulae and the weight of countless ages, deep and complex thoughts flowed, yet no one could decipher them.

A moment later, he raised his hand very slowly.

There was no incantation chanted.

There was no burst of light.

But then the entire open space trembled slightly.

The next instant, the soil began to flow.

Instead of being dug up, stirred up, or torn apart, it was like a dark silk ribbon with its own will, obediently retreating and sliding away under the guidance of an invisible force. The soil silently gave way, the roots quietly retreated, revealing deeper layers of rock below, the rock surface shimmering with fine and calm crystal light, like fragments of the night sky that had been sealed away for a long time.

The entire process was so silent it was almost unreal, yet it was filled with an indescribable solemnity and sacredness, as if some ancient law was being briefly and precisely awakened.

In just a few breaths, a smooth-edged, regularly shaped pit appeared in the center of the open space.

At the bottom of the pit, what awaited them was not soil, nor tangled roots, but creations that should never belong to this place.

Three metal boxes, bearing the familiar Duruci style. Sharp angles and clean lines, their surfaces engraved with thorn-like patterns and twisted runes, still gleaming with a cold and wary metallic luster even in the dim light.

And, stacks of heavy stone slabs.

They lay neatly at the bottom of the pit, spotless, as if they had just been placed there with great care, rather than buried in the soil for thousands of years. An ancient aura, mixed with the coolness that comes with the sedimentation of time, slowly rose from the pit, like a piece of history being reopened.

At this moment, Tolandil's arrow finally touched the very center of the target.

Raine even heard it—not a real sound, but a clear, resonant vibration from the depths of his soul. The whistling arrow pierced the air, its echo reverberating—the resounding echo of the foreshadowing finally coming to fruition, the confirmation of fate's completion of its cycle.

An excitement surged up his spine like an electric current, and he almost instinctively took a step forward, his knees slightly bent, his body ready to leap into the pit.

However, his movement suddenly froze the moment he stepped out.

Before we knew it, time had quietly slipped into dusk.

In that instant, the setting sun struggled, piercing the thick, intricate canopy of light that covered the sky with its last few sharp, defiant rays. A long, narrow yet brilliant beam of light, like a javelin thrown from the heavens by an ancient sage, pierced precisely through the gaps in the branches and vines, slicing diagonally into the clearing.

It poured precisely into the newly dug pit.

Raine's pupils were pierced by the sudden, almost miraculous light, his vision turning white in an instant, but he did not close his eyes, nor did he even blink.

He let the intense beam of light pour into his eyes.

At that very moment, a belated yet thunderous realization abruptly shattered all his previous confusion, deductions, and futile searches.

The eyes of a ruby...

It never refers to ore.

It is not a crystal.

It is not any treasure that can be mined, cut, or held in one's hands.

It's the sun!

It is this that pierces through the endless green mist, breaks through the canopy of immortality, and appears only at this moment and in this place among countless moments.

The setting sun!
The ancient ancestors did not greet visitors with material gems, but rather with this celestial spectacle that existed only at a specific point in time and space, as their ultimate guidance and confirmation.

That beam of light cascading down at an angle was the final and loudest whistle of the arrow.

It silently proclaims that all clues have been connected, all paths have been followed, and the arrow not only hits the bullseye but also ignites the bullseye itself at the moment of impact.

Renn stood frozen in place, his outstretched hand hovering over the scorching light, his fingertips trembling slightly, as if moving forward an inch would touch some irreversible boundary.

The stone slabs and metal treasure chests in the pit lay silently in the light. They neither emitted light nor moved, yet it was as if a ritual prepared for millennia had finally been revealed by the true light.

Time here appears more restrained and solemn than ever before.

Lord Huni Aitanquie, seated on his palanquin, appeared even more ancient and serene against the backdrop of the setting sun, as if he were not a participant in this moment, but rather as if everything had been predetermined.

The interpretation of fate itself.

Then, Ryan took a deep breath and leaped into the pit, his feet landing firmly on the still-warm soil.

He didn't rush to open any of the Duruci-style metal boxes. Instead, he bent down and wiped the surface of the stone slab again and again with his sleeve, even though there was no real soil there. His movements were gentle and restrained, as if he were touching a newborn chick, afraid of disturbing it.

He exhaled slowly again, then inhaled again, his chest rising and falling with the breath, the rhythm steady and solemn. He was completing a silent ritual, a spiritual incense bath, washing away all distractions, restlessness, and lingering effects, leaving only this moment.

Then, his gaze fell on the stone slab.

The whistling arrow resonated once again deep within my soul.

Solid, clear, with a metallic echo, the ancient silence was finally broken by a precise key.

"Found it..." The voice was initially squeezed out with difficulty from deep in his throat, low and broken, but then it turned into a trembling, almost choked announcement, "Found it!"

Hot tears welled up in his eyes without warning and slid down his dusty cheeks.

Those were not tears of sorrow, but the tremor of all the taut strings being released at the same moment; the stinging and release in the pupils when the first light of dawn appears after a long night; the torrent bursting forth when a seeker carrying a mission, after traversing countless detours, finally sees the lighthouse at the end.

He found what he was looking for.

He accomplished his mission.

He found what Darkus had been searching for: the ancient legacy hidden by riddles, drawn by wagers, and perhaps even quietly marked by fate itself—a legacy powerful enough to shake the scales.

He also found what the reptilians' society most desperately craved.

All of this stood silently before him. Tears blurred his vision, yet made the meaning clearer than ever before.

Tolandil's arrow not only hit the bullseye, but also unearthed the answer buried for eternity deep within it.

Ryan knelt there, his shoulders heaving with excitement. He knew that all the chapters, all the foreshadowing, all the voyages and journeys, would begin to glide in a completely new direction at this moment.

(This part is over) (End of this chapter)