Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Finnubar did not respond immediately.

His expression, which had just been tinged with a mixture of mockery and admiration, seemed to smooth out the wrinkles in his mind after hearing the term "spiritual elf." His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. He found himself unable to find any suitable words to follow up on those words.

It's not because I don't understand, but because I understand it too clearly.

He instinctively picked up the wine glass, the movement almost instinctive, but when the rim touched his lips, he realized it was empty. He paused, put the glass down, but his fingertips didn't immediately leave. Instead, they lingered on the rim for a moment, gently stroking it, as if confirming the existence of some kind of touch.

This is so Darkus-esque—ironic, cold, and unsettlingly precise, even with a touch of irritating confidence.

But he had to admit that this was not a conspiracy, or even a conquest.

Rather, it is an inevitable result of structural changes!

As Finnubar leaned back in his chair, he seemed to see scenes that did not exist at that moment, yet they were incredibly clear, so clear that they could not be ignored.

In Aldorf's conference hall, human officials discussed "long-term stability" and "systemic risk" using increasingly elven terminology; design specifications measured in centuries began to appear on the empire's city planning blueprints; young nobles took pride in citing elven theories, while privately expressing undisguised contempt for the old guard who still acted on emotion and intuition.

But they themselves are completely unaware of it.

Finnubar's Adam's apple bobbed.

“This is no longer an impact…” he finally spoke, his voice lower than he had expected, so low that it was almost not a statement but a confirmation, “It is… a rewrite.”

He couldn't continue; it was too terrifying.

This is still the decision-making level.

What about the common people?

The thought flashed through his mind for only a moment, but it was enough to send a chill down his spine.

Finnubars refocused his gaze on Dakos, this time without jokes or teasing, but with an extremely rare, almost scrutinizing seriousness.

“You know,” he said slowly, “if this were recorded in history…”

He paused here, as if negating his previous choice of words, and gently shook his head.

"No, it's not a history book."

"It will be traced back, deconstructed, and renamed by future scholars."

His voice became somewhat dry.

"They won't call this a diplomatic victory, nor will they call it cultural exchange."

Finnubar raised his head, his eyes filled with complex emotions, and his tone carried a hint of almost helpless awe that he himself had not anticipated.

“They would say…this is an assimilation experiment at the level of civilization.”

After saying that, he remained silent for a long time.

So long that tense, gripping feeling finally began to loosen.

Then, as if he had finally digested that weight, he gave a wry smile.

"Treaties will become invalid, alliances will break down, and dynasties will change."

He paused, his tone becoming low and resolute, "But the humans you taught... they can't go back."

He took a deep breath, as if finally acknowledging an unavoidable conclusion.

“Darkus, you’re not building a lighthouse at all.”

He looked up and stared directly at the other person.

"You are quietly shifting the world's frame of reference to your own feet."

"Just tell me if it's okay or not!"

Dakos glanced at Finnubar, his tone crisp and decisive. He knew Finnubar's state all too well—a kind of pretentious, intellectual fervor that, once it started, could easily escalate indefinitely, and if not interrupted, would head wildly toward metaphysics.

"can!"

Finnubar responded almost reflexively.

Dakos laughed.

That wasn't the cold or sarcastic laugh from before, but a pure, relaxed laugh.

Finnubar laughed along.

Immediately following was laughter that neither of them could suppress, echoing throughout the room.

“If you were to go to class,” Darkus said, his laughter subsiding, as he steered the conversation back to reality, his tone becoming pragmatic again, “what would you choose?”

Even the most promising vision of the spiritual elite is still far off. Right now, there's not even a confirmed location for the university.

Finnubar did not answer immediately.

He suppressed his smile, turned his gaze slightly away, and began to think seriously.

Ulthuan has laws; to be precise, each of the ten kingdoms has its own legal system and precedents that have been passed down for thousands of years. Many of these are deeply intertwined with religious doctrines and have long been ingrained in the blood and rituals, becoming a part of daily life.

However, he does not believe that these old laws will have much vitality in the new era.

He could clearly perceive the blueprint drawn by Dakota.

These complex, conflicting, and overlapping local laws will most likely be discarded in their entirety in the future, retaining only their academic reference and historical research value, becoming specimens on bookshelves rather than serving as a yardstick for reality. In their place will be a unified legal code promulgated by the Phoenix Royal Court, applicable throughout the entire empire—a completely new system of rules that is top-down, logically rigorous, and centered on order and efficiency.

At least, that will be the case in Ulthuan and Eichriel.

As for Lauren Loren and Esso Loren... that's a more complex game, involving not only law, but also faith, ecology, and the very nature of existence.

"Political science?" After a long pause, he finally spoke, responding with a slightly self-examining tone, as if assessing his own position. Seeing Dakos nod in confirmation, he then countered, "And you?"

“Me? Perhaps… public administration?” Dakos thought for a moment. “I’m quite good at things like administrative management, public policy, social security and emergency management.”

He spoke casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

“Indeed!” Finnubar exclaimed sincerely, his eyes flashing with approval. Then, he changed the subject, his tone laced with self-deprecating humor, “It seems we’ll all have to set aside some time to attend a few classes at the academy from now on. Once a week? Two hours each time?”

“Pretty much.” Darkus shrugged. “You, me, Malekith… all the high-ranking officials who are permanent residents of the royal court and have real talent are probably not going to escape.” He spread his hands, as if this was the natural course of the rules.

Finnubar nodded, offering no objection whatsoever, his expression calm and resolute.

His agreement was not simply a matter of obeying orders, but rather stemmed from a highly clear-headed and almost ruthless political insight.

In elven society, especially in the new order that is about to be established, knowledge itself is the most core and also the most hidden resource of power. Whoever can define 'correct knowledge,' whoever can stand on the podium and impart 'truth,' holds the supreme power to shape the minds of the next generation of elites—a form of rule that is more enduring than armies and laws.

Daculus's move was to directly transform the will of the highest levels of the royal court into academic orthodoxy, to fuse political decisions into a theoretical framework, and to eliminate any potential heretical ideas or factions from the outset.

The podium will be a more fundamental and deeper battleground for power than parliament.

Allowing students, especially the new generation of elites, to witness and listen firsthand to lectures by legendary figures like Dacules and Malekith, has a psychological impact far exceeding any written doctrine. Authority is no longer an abstract system, but a concrete and perceptible entity. This transforms the abstract concepts of the "royal court" and "law" into vivid, wise, dignified, and charismatic figures of mentors.

This dual worship based on knowledge and character will subtly foster the strongest and most unshakable loyalty.

In the future, students will not only defend legal provisions, but also the teachings of their mentors and the worldviews they have personally accepted and identified with.

The complexity of the old legal system was rooted in the long-standing local traditions and vested interests of each kingdom. Even if they appeared to comply, there were undercurrents of turmoil within.

Directly enacting a new law is highly likely to encounter invisible but stubborn resistance.

However, if we start with education and systematically instill the principles, logic, and superiority of the new order through courses, we can cultivate a group of "new policy elites" who firmly believe in it and share the same mindset.

Therefore, when the new code is finally promulgated, it will no longer be an imposed foreign object, but a widely anticipated and inevitable product that conforms to academic principles and the trends of the times.

Education will silently cultivate the most loyal supporters and the most efficient implementers.

In Fennubar's view, this was far from a simple "teaching assignment," but a crucial strategic investment with returns spanning hundreds of years. What he nodded in agreement with was participating in a grand project that would shape the ideological foundation of Elven civilization for centuries to come.

Standing on that platform, he will impart not only the principles of political science, but also the source code of a new world.

“Still not enough? I’ve forgotten about education.” The mention of classes suddenly drew Dakos’s thoughts downwards, touching upon a more fundamental and basic level. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he had suddenly noticed a previously overlooked structural gap in that grand blueprint.

Finnubar did not immediately respond like a straight man, but simply sat quietly in his place, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his gaze calm and focused, patiently waiting for Dakos to sort out the gradually forming line of thought on his own.

“Elsalinian linguistics, philosophy, history…” Dakous repeated softly, his tone slow and deliberate, “These should be included within the framework of the humanities.” He paused briefly, then added, “And education should be added too!”

He didn't intend to establish a bunch of isolated colleges and then build a huge university town around them. Some systems could be referenced, but they absolutely couldn't be copied. In this world where magic and gods truly exist, and miracles are not metaphors but everyday possibilities, knowledge could certainly be disseminated, but it must never be allowed to run rampant.

Otherwise, what kind of chain reaction it would trigger, even Tzeentch might not know.

The other one is that I don't have money.

Therefore, the academy in his mind should not be merely a place of teaching, but a landmark, a symbol and calling card of a city or even a field. In this respect, it fully draws on the idea of ​​the White Tower of Hogwarts—a temple of scholarship and a manifestation of power itself.

Education must be firmly in the hands of the Phoenix Royal Court, but setting up a separate normal college seems redundant. He prefers to integrate education into the system of the College of Political Science and Law, simply by expanding the land area of ​​the college to enable it to support comprehensive disciplines. In appearance, it resembles a university town, but at its core, it remains a highly focused and disciplined melting pot of the Royal Court's ideology.

“I think it’s necessary.” Finnubar sighed softly, then his eyes suddenly lit up. “I should have thought of that sooner… By the way, should we add another academic category?”

"Logic?"

"Yes, logic!"

“It is necessary!” Darkus gave an affirmative answer almost immediately, his tone resolute and without the slightest hesitation, “Moreover, it must be a compulsory course.”

In a reality where miracles and magic flow through the fabric of the world, discussing "materialism" seems paradoxical. But what Dakota refers to is not "naive materialism" that denies the existence of the mysterious, but a paradigm of thinking that is based on the laws of reality and emphasizes empirical evidence and reasoning—a "magical rationalism" that is more in line with the essence of this world.

Elves worship gods, hold sacrificial ceremonies, and pray to the gods for protection. But at the same time, they also observe the movement of stars for navigation, study the properties of herbs to heal wounds, and deduce complex magical formulas to stabilize the effects of spells.

Divine grace is unpredictable, but the energy transfer efficiency of spell models, the quantitative standards of potion ratios, the probability distribution of victory in military deployments, and so on, must all follow certain inherent, knowable, analyzable, and optimizeable laws.

Logic is the framework of thought that unravels all of this.

It teaches the spirits how to distinguish between divine revelation and illusion, and through rigorous logical examination and comparison of facts, to determine whether a spiritual experience is a genuine divine blessing, a whisper of chaos, or merely self-suggestion.

It ensures that faith does not fall into blind obedience; even when praying to Aisha for a bountiful harvest, one must simultaneously study soil structure, crop rotation techniques, and climate cycles.

Wheat cannot be grown in permafrost or deserts. Of course, it's hard to say what will happen further north or south.

Logic taught the spirit that faith is the pillar of the spirit, while laws are the cornerstone of reality; the former provides direction and comfort, while the latter ensures that one's steps do not sink into the mire.

It is also a bulwark against the corruption of politics and law by sophistry. In debates, legal rulings, and diplomatic negotiations, logic is the sharpest weapon to expose fallacies, dismantle false propositions, and defend the facts. It ensures that policymaking is based on reliable evidence and reasonable inferences, rather than inflammatory slogans or unexamined ancient prejudices.

Darkus's demand that logic become a compulsory subject was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. He wanted to deeply instill a stable and lasting dual cognitive framework in the minds of the new generation of elves, especially the elites who would later wield power, set rules, and disseminate knowledge.

Believe in God, but understand the world through logic;

Respect the mysterious, but build order with reason;
Look up at the stars, but keep your feet on the ground and measure the distance.

This is a unique and sophisticated elfin wisdom.

His heart was open to the gods, yet his hands gripped the ruler and counting rods tightly.

Logic will become the bridge connecting "idealistic belief" and "materialistic practice," ensuring that the Elven civilization, while embracing mystery, never loses its ability to analyze reality and master its laws.

Objective idealism?

Yes, that's very clever.

The idealism of the stars and the pursuit of technology... no.

“Let Whitney be the head of this subject,” Dakotas suggested almost without hesitation.

He then briefly introduced Whitney to Finnubar. Why her, and not someone else?
This choice was not made on a whim, but rather after careful consideration.

The fundamental reason is that Whitney had already completed her "historical mission." For a period of time, she was active in Trucian society as a "great inventor," almost becoming one of the symbols of that era.

With her endless stream of ideas and amazing hands-on skills, she painstakingly pieced together a path to early industrialization using only her inspiration and her own hands, in the absence of a mature industrial system. Many of the key mechanical devices she designed and implemented were directly embedded in the production process, significantly improving efficiency and output, and becoming an important gear driving the transformation of social structure.

However, as the Vaal sect spread throughout the Nagarus system, mechanical engineering no longer remained at the level of scattered experience and individual talent, but gradually established a systematic theoretical framework, standardized design paradigms, and a large-scale talent training system.

At this stage, there is no longer a need for "idea kings" like Whitney who rely on intuition, inspiration, and personal ability to fill the void.

But this is precisely her strength, or rather, it is this background that makes her the ideal candidate to take the reins of logic teaching.

Whitney was knowledgeable in magic, advanced alchemy, mathematics, physics, and mechanics, and was especially well-versed in mechanics.

This is crucial.

Physics is the science that studies the laws governing the motion of the material world. Its core is not describing appearances, but discovering and applying stable and reproducible causal relationships. Mechanical devices are the most intuitive and precise real-world manifestations of these physical principles, such as levers, gears, pulleys, and energy conversion mechanisms.

Analyzing the force distribution, motion trajectory, and energy transfer path of a complex machine is itself the purest form of logical training. It forces thinkers to break down a holistic problem into several interconnected yet relatively independent parts, clarify the preconditions, define the causal sequence, and conduct systematic reasoning under constraints.

When given a goal, such as transmitting specific motion or amplifying force without increasing energy consumption, designing a corresponding linkage or gear system directly trains the ability to define problems, construct solutions, and perform deductive reasoning.

When a model device malfunctions or even completely fails during operation, the process of troubleshooting becomes a textbook-level logical deduction practice of hypothesis-verification-correction.

The entire process of designing, building, and debugging a mechanical device may seem like students are learning about technology, but what truly permeates the entire process is process logic and engineering thinking. When creating models involving transmission mechanisms, the understanding of the sequence of steps and the judgment of the correct selection and use of tools will unconsciously shape the underlying mental models of sequential logic, conditional judgment, and resource optimization.

There is no more materialistic way of thinking than this.

Moreover, this understanding will not remain confined to workshops and laboratories.

When they leave academia, climb the ladder of the bureaucracy, and begin to engage in real administrative affairs, the logical framework they have been mechanically trained in will be naturally and almost unreflectively applied to governance.

In their eyes, a city is no longer just a collection of people, streets, and taxes, but a complex device composed of countless parts.

The tax system is an energy input system that determines how resources are guided and amplified; administrative processes are transmission mechanisms, and any unnecessary friction will lead to efficiency loss; local nobles and guilds are like interlocking gears, and mismatched sizes will inevitably produce vibration and noise; and the law is a rigid structure that limits the boundaries of the entire system's operation, and once it is deformed, all the intricate designs will fail.

They learned to examine problems like they would inspect a machine.

When a policy is obstructed, they will instinctively ask questions.

Which stage of the process has had its stress underestimated? Are there any variables not included in the model? Is the direction of incentives contrary to the expected goal? Is there a seemingly insignificant small component that has become a bottleneck at a critical juncture?
Therefore, they would break down the administrative process layer by layer, just like troubleshooting a fault, and transform the abstract problem into a specific node that can be located and adjusted.

Such officials often appear unusually calm. This is because, in their minds, any grand goal that cannot be broken down into a series of executable, verifiable, and correctable steps is no different from a design sketch that cannot be implemented.

More importantly, as elites, they do not blindly believe in genius-style decision-making, which is simply making a snap decision.

Just as the reliability of a machine depends not on the brilliance of a single part, but on the reasonable redundancy and stable operation of the overall structure, these officials, shaped by logic and mechanical training, will instinctively pursue institutionalization, process-orientation, and standardization. They believe that a good governance system should be able to function well in the hands of any qualified operator.

When they sit in the conference room, the discussion is no longer about "whether the will is firm" but "whether the structure is reasonable"; when they face a crisis, the priority is not "demonstrating determination" but "whether the system has the ability to switch to emergency response".

This ensures that the entire machine maintains a stable, controllable, and predictable operating state even under higher loads.

A vehicle may possess a machine spirit, allowing parts that should be scrapped to continue operating under the blessing of faith. This is the romance and mystery of idealism, and a truly existing miracle in this world.

But no matter how strong the belief, a vehicle without wheels or tracks can never run; this is the cold, hard, and unquestionable iron law of materialism.

Whitney was someone who understood this very well.

She has personally touched, designed, and conquered those ironclad rules. She is not a theorist who talks about logic in vain or stays at the level of symbols and propositions, but a person who uses wrenches, gears, and slide rules to repeatedly practice and verify logic amidst the vibration of steel and the burst of sparks.

With her leading the logic education, she can firmly anchor abstract logical rules on the most solid physical reality and engineering practice, teaching students how to examine laws with a materialist eye and dissect the world with the blade of logic, even in a world where faith and magic truly exist.

In addition to this, Whitney had another identity—she was Walter's wife.

Now that Darkus has decided to transfer Walter back to Lorthorn, it is natural that Whitney also needs to be properly resettled. As for the issue of long-term separation, while it is difficult to completely avoid in large-scale personnel changes, Walter and Whitney, as a couple, may just be a carefully designed and deliberately preserved exception.

Behind this lies a far more profound system for integrating talent and power.

He had previously discussed with Malekith what it would be like for Malekith to become the Phoenix Queen, and one point of discussion involved the cultivation of future elites.

His idea was to have the female relatives of high-ranking officials live in the Phoenix Royal Court.

This is not some ambiguous concept of a harem, but rather closer to the political logic of Louis XIV's management of Versailles.

It is both an honor and a constraint; both dignity and a rule.

In his vision, these women were not kept appendages; they possessed knowledge, connections, and even real power.

During the day, they teach and pass on their knowledge in the School of Political Science and Law, standing on the podium to shape the next generation with their scholarship and prestige; or they perform their duties in various departments of the royal court, participating in the operation of the system and the revision of details.

After nightfall, they returned to their relatively private court life. Those with children cared for and accompanied them; those without children, or whose children had grown up, did not waste their time. They could correct students' homework, host small salons, or maintain and weave the secret network of relationships unique to elven society amidst banquets and chess games.

As for how this system will be implemented, and whether those in high positions will willingly cooperate...

It's actually not complicated.

There is absolutely no need to summon them by command.

All you need is a template.

Walter and Whitney are the ideal first example.

Water will be transferred to Lorthorn, but his family's estate and properties in Ashriel will remain intact. This is a promise Darkus had already made, a foundation, a fallback, and a sense of security.

Once the couple arrives in Lorthorn, they will not need to find another place to stay; they can move directly into the inner court of the Phoenix Royal Court.

The couple has no children to date.

Relocating to the royal court might be the perfect opportunity, offering a more stable environment, closer attention, and a more prestigious status—both an honor and the ideal conditions for nurturing an heir.

Meanwhile, the delayed engagement between Darkus and Drusara could no longer be postponed. He had initially postponed the marriage until after King's Landing, Ulthuan, amidst the treacherous peaks.

Now that everything has settled, it's time to fulfill our promise.

Offspring are at the heart of all these arrangements.

As these children began to run among the pillars of the Phoenix Court and frolic in the gardens, Darkus believed that the other high-ranking individuals would make their own choices: whether to leave their offspring in the family estate, raise them with their own hands, or send them to the court to grow up in the heart of power and culture.

These children are destined from birth to become the elite of the next generation.

They will learn martial arts and strategy under the watchful eye of the Phoenix King, and acquire knowledge from the tutelage of women with their own unique talents, ranging from politics to mechanical principles, from art appreciation to diplomatic rhetoric. But more important than this explicit education is the unique circle they will form in subtle ways.

The bonds forged growing up together are far stronger than alliances built in adulthood. Their shared childhood secrets and youthful ambitions will naturally form the most reliable ties in their future political careers.

In this closed yet privileged environment, they will be instilled with a completely uniform object of loyalty, civilized ideals, and code of conduct. Differences arising from region, origin, or even old grudges will be greatly diluted in this melting pot.

From a young age, they were exposed to the reasoning of their mothers when handling government affairs, the situational assessments revealed in their conversations when their fathers came to visit, and the majesty, demeanor, and kindness that the Phoenix King brought when he inspected the country.

Their understanding of how power works will become an almost instinctive intuition.

The Phoenix Royal Court will be their true 'home' and 'hometown'. This emotional identification, rooted in their upbringing, will instinctively make them prioritize the interests of the Royal Court in their future choices.

Therefore, this was never just a convenient family arrangement.

This is a profound and long-term political investment.

By creating an irreplaceable environment for growth and a social network, Dakota is cultivating the most core, loyal, and effective ruling group for the next few centuries.

When these children grow up, they will be like brothers and sisters to each other; and for the royal court, they will be the direct successors in both bloodline and ideology.

Walter and Whitney were the beginning, the marriage of Daxus and Drusara was the reinforcement, and the children running on the grounds of the royal court would be the most vivid and powerful proof of all this design.

Those in high positions will eventually understand that sending their offspring to the royal court is not a sacrifice, but rather paving a smooth path for them to the core of future power.

Of course, to put it more bluntly—these children are also hostages.

As for the so-called "wife politics," it was almost an inevitable byproduct.

Moreover, she's very clever.

In elven society, there is no concept of men being in charge of external affairs and women staying at home, nor is there any rule that women should not be involved in politics.

“You may not know, but I have a talent for naming…” Darkus said, his tone a mixture of self-deprecation and self-assurance.

“I know!” Finnubar replied almost reflexively, “Albatross-class merchant ships.”

This sarcastic remark hit the nail on the head.

“So…” Darkus was taken aback for a moment, then burst into laughter. After laughing, he raised his hand and made a very casual but weighty gesture to Finnubar—please.

"hospital?"

This time, it was Dakous's turn to nod.

This "school" is clearly not a school in the traditional sense, but rather the school of various departments.

In other words, in Finnubal's conception, this entity is both an academy and a royal court directly under the Phoenix King, possessing administrative and adjudicative powers.

Scholarship and power converge here.

“The Corridor Courtyard?” Finnubar tentatively offered his answer.

Seeing Dakota nod in approval, his tone became more confident.

"The cloister refers to the circular corridors commonly found in Elven architecture, symbolizing the cyclical and continuous transmission of knowledge and thought; it also metaphorically represents the dialectical resonance between law and politics, where every law must be tested in the long corridor of history; and every judgment is an echo of ancient wisdom."

“Law is like a musical composition, and political strategy is like a harmony.” Dakos continued, “Laws are like musical notes, which need to resonate precisely in the corridors; governing a country is like composing music, which should be woven into harmony in eternity. What students study here is how to play the symphony of order that belongs to the new era in this corridor.”

“Yes!” Finnubar’s expression could almost be described as having met a kindred spirit, and the light in his eyes was undisguised.

However, the question that Darkus posed the next moment caused his expression to instantly fall.

"What about the judiciary?"

Finnubar fell silent.

It was brief, yet exceptionally intense.

“The Court of Judicial Review?” He gave the most straightforward answer at first, then immediately rejected it, “It clarifies the judicial function, is solemn and authoritative… No, it’s too blunt.”

"Libra? Symbolizing absolute fairness and balance...too common."

"Echo? It implies that every judgment is a contemporary response to the spirit of ancient laws, and its ruling will become the echo of future precedents... No."

His speech became faster and faster, and his brows furrowed more and more tightly, clearly indicating a fierce battle between his left and right hemispheres.

Dakotas remained silent; he simply watched as Finnubar paced back and forth in the labyrinth of concepts, waiting for himself to reach the exit.

“The Mirror Realm?” Finnubar suddenly stopped, as if he had grasped something. “The judiciary is like a mirror, reflecting the true nature of facts; borrowing the dialectical relationship between reality and reflection in philosophy, judgments must penetrate appearances and touch the essence? The Court of Boundaries!”

The moment that name was uttered, it felt as if the dust had finally settled.

“Excellent!” Darkus praised without reservation. “I’ve even already thought of someone.”

After saying that, he glanced at the time subconsciously, then stood up, his movements swift and decisive.

The conversation is over, it's time to go to work.

As the most powerful horse, he also had important business to attend to—finding Chupakoko.

This is also why he just arranged for Jerian to go to Chapeyuto.

(Fast forward begins) (End of this chapter)