Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

A combined fleet appeared in Lortherne. The so-called "combination" refers to the dragon ships and falcon ships of the Asur Navy, as well as the warships and merchant ships of the Duruch.

The fleet set sail from Chappejuto in Eichriel.

In addition to carrying various supplies, the fleet also carried two distinguished guests of such importance that they could make the entire city of Ulthuan hold its breath, as well as a small but not negligible accompanying team.

The news caused a ripple effect, quickly spreading through Lorthene's power circles and among the common people.

The elves, whether they were nobles of Asur, powerful figures of Duruchi, woodland lords from Azorloren, or simply ordinary Asur people driven by pure curiosity, all put down what they were doing and gathered at the pre-arranged location.

The streets were cleared out, the balconies were filled, and even from behind the high windows of the tower, one could vaguely see figures standing there.

The same is true of the dragons in their dragonborn form; they huddle together with the elves, rather than perching atop the city walls or hovering high in the sky.

What they saw was not just a fleet of ships.

Rather, it was the first time that two ancient worlds had made such a peaceful and formal docking in the heart of Ausuan.

The distinguished guest's status instantly elevated this attention to an almost pilgrimage-like solemnity.

The Slan High Priest, Lord Mazdamudi, this second-generation Slan who serves the ancient saint Kotego, is one of the undisputed pinnacles of wisdom and power on the continent of Lustia. His name itself represents ancient knowledge accumulated over millennia, unparalleled spiritual power, and a profound understanding of the 'Grand Plan'.

Accompanying him was the Sran, the Lord of Ados-Tehga, the second Sran who served the ancient saint Razkoto, and the guardian of the moon city of Taraxlan, renowned for his mastery of celestial movements, the way of metal, and pious magic.

They arrived, aboard elven ships, and after a smooth and restrained voyage, set foot on the land they had once regarded as a 'young race'.

These two are living fossils even older than the Elven civilization itself.

These two supreme beings, who shaped the world in ancient times and still guard the lost blueprint today—their arrival is itself a silent yet deafening declaration.

As the boats docked, the lagoon pier, after a brief but restrained commotion, quickly fell into a strange, awe-inspiring silence.

The horns fell silent, the wind subsided, and even the rhythm of the water lapping against the ship's side seemed to have become more cautious.

This is more than just a simple diplomatic visit.

It's more like... two long-lost gears of civilization, driven by Darkus, have begun to mesh slowly and precisely.

This day in Lorthorn was imbued with a profound historical weight far exceeding any ordinary celebration, thanks to the arrival of these two distinguished guests. Everyone present, even the commoners of Asur who did not fully grasp its significance, vaguely realized that something, from this moment on, had irreversibly changed.

At that moment, Dakota held Ossiyotan in his arms like a child, standing at the very front of the crowd.

The first to disembark was Kuja, riding the Tyrannosaurus Rex Qymok.

He and Quimoke were like a moving mountain of gold, massive, heavy, and undeniable. Sunlight flowed over them, not as a gentle reflection, but as a warm echo.

The heavy alloy armor he wore was not only for protection, but also a symbol of his status and power.

Golden trim, like living radiance, wanders between the armor plates, outlining his strong and taut muscles, making the armor more than just an outer shell covering his body. It seems to elevate him to a ritualistic existence, giving him an almost sacred quality.

Each piece of armor was meticulously forged and baptized in a long and rigorous ceremony, and inscribed with the runes of the ancient saint Ashoka.

These runes weren't dazzling, but they glowed faintly, as if breathing, responding to the inexhaustible fighting instinct surging within him, the Ashoka Saint Seed. It was a call not from emotion, but from bloodline and duty.

Gems and jade are inlaid in key parts of the armor, serving not only as a visual highlight but also as true energy convergence points.

Each gem was carefully selected by the Sran Priests and infused with their essence and blessings. These embellishments were not ostentatious decorations; they silently emitted a faint but steady light, providing extra protection for the armor and continuously supplying Kuja with power.

Hmm... the power armor of this world.

His posture was both steady and wild.

He was like an ancient beast ready to tear through enemy lines at any moment, yet it seemed as if nothing in the world could shake him in the slightest. The spear of the god Taranxla in his hand gleamed, the intricate patterns on the spear echoing the runes on his armor, outlining a cold and primal order as he moved, displaying unquestionable majesty.

Quimok's equipment is relatively simpler.

Exchange fosters development; the lizardmen have copied the lizard armor structure that Duruci equipped for the Cold Lizard. Its dorsal scales are as hard as steel, covered with layers of alloy plates. The polished and gilded plates reflect a heavy and solid golden light in the sunlight, making it look more like an awakened golden statue than a simple creature.

Quimok's enormous claws trembled deeply and clearly as they firmly planted themselves on the ground of Ulthuan.

Each step was not a hurried stomp, but a rhythmic declaration, transmitting power and intimidation across the ground. Its combination with Kuja symbolized not only the pinnacle of the lizardmen's power, but also the culmination of their forging craftsmanship and wisdom.

The silence was replaced by another, more complex and surging wave.

It was a silent storm of shock, awe, doubt, and a kind of almost instinctive tremor, a pure sensory shock.

Each heavy step of Quemok's was more than just a vibration; it seemed to strike the very pulse of the land of Ulthuan. The deep, clear sound traveled through the ground, causing some of the elves standing in the front row to feel a subtle yet real tingling sensation under their feet.

Immediately following was a golden radiance that almost burned one's eyes.

The lagoon port area is predominantly decorated in elegant shades of pearl white and light blue, but Kuja and his mount are like fragments of a sun fallen to earth, radiating not a soft glow, but a dazzling presence full of wild divinity and forging heat.

Sunlight fell on the finely crafted, rune-engraved alloy armor plates, reflecting not just simple brightness, but a flowing, almost liquid, golden halo.

Many Asurs in the front row unconsciously squinted or raised their hands to shield their eyes, but still couldn't help but peek through their fingers.

"The sacred seed of the ancient saint Ashoka, the war incarnation of the ancient saint, the ancient blood warrior of the lizardman, Ku-Gah."

Fenrir, wearing the crown of Safrei's conquest, stood in the front row and introduced the situation in a low voice.

His voice was deliberately lowered, but controlled perfectly, neither too loud nor too loud to be swallowed up by the huge vibration, just enough for everyone around him to hear clearly.

That wasn't some sense of propriety honed through long military and diplomatic experience; it was magic he used.

His fifty years of living in Aichiriel gave him a thorough understanding of the structure, beliefs, and so on of the lizardmen society. Therefore, before the lizardmen officially set foot on Ulthuan, Darkus entrusted him with the role of 'guide'.

The nobles and spellcasters of Asur did not raise any objections.

They simply observed quietly, their gazes shifting between Kuja, Quimok, and the armor and weapons before them, as if measuring, dissecting, and understanding the beings before them inch by inch.

The Val priests standing behind Des saw things more deeply than anyone else.

Their gazes lingered on the faintly glowing ancient runes on the armor plates. They not only "saw" the patterns but also clearly sensed the powerful and stable energy behind them. Was it not a crudely piled-up energy, but a system that had been tested and refined over countless eras?

In their view, these "primitive" lizardmen not only possess pure and powerful strength, but also have an independent, complete, and extremely profound system of magical forging and enchanting.

The roots of this system may be even older than elven magic, and closer to the fundamental laws of the world at its inception.

Meanwhile, the attention of some nobles and spellcasters was firmly drawn to something else.

They looked at the armor structure on Quimok's body, which was clearly modeled after the Duruchi lizard armor, yet had undergone unique modifications and sanctification by the lizardmen. Anyone familiar with the craftsmanship could almost immediately see the differences and fusion; this was not a simple imitation, but rather an assimilation, reconstruction, and re-creation.

Clearly, Duruci's relationship with the lizardmen was much closer and deeper than they had previously known.

In the words of the stars: a stagnant, decadent empire...

Exchanges promote development.

This statement is no longer just a slogan at this moment, but has been embodied in an incredibly direct and even slightly intimidating way. These ancient beings are not confined to the glory of the past; they are learning, adapting, and even integrating the wisdom of other races into their own order.

The soldiers' reactions were more direct and more physical.

They instinctively tensed their muscles, their eyes fixed on the divine spear of Taranxla in Kuja's hand, while quickly assessing the tearing power of the Quemorklee Claws and the defensive range that the heavy armor might cover.

A professional, almost awe-inspiring chill crept up their backs.

This is no ordinary war beast and rider, but a living war god who perfectly fuses individual bravery with divine blessing, primal wildness with exquisite craftsmanship.

Almost simultaneously, a silent deduction unfolded in their minds.

Can this living war god defeat the dragon prince and the dragon?

Is it possible to defeat the fully armored red dragon head-on?

In contrast, the Asleys' reaction was unusually calm.

The scene before them was not unfamiliar; in fact, it was commonplace. Some of them had fought alongside lizardmen, ancient blood warriors, and tyrannosaurs in the forests of Azsorloth more than once.

If there's any difference, it's probably just in size. The Tyrannosaurus Rex that inhabit Aisoloren are all about the same size as this one.

As Kuja's piercing eyes slowly swept across the crowd and finally settled on Darkus, who was waving to him, the Asur in the front row clearly felt the weight of that gaze.

It was not the fierce glint of a wild beast, nor the gaze of a naive creature, but a gaze imbued with ancient wisdom, clear will, and unwavering conviction.

What truly shook them was what happened next. This lizardman vanguard, who resembled a golden war god and exuded overwhelming majesty, stood up from his saddle the moment his gaze fell upon Darkus's figure, and then bowed in respect towards Darkus's direction.

At this moment, the complex and ambiguous feelings that many Asur nobles had previously held toward Dakous were replaced by a stronger sense of astonishment and doubt. It was a deep-seated astonishment and doubt about the situation, as well as a reassessment of Dakous's true power.

The fact that he could get Slan to come by boat and that someone like Kuja would bow to him conveyed a message far more weighty than any flowery or meticulous diplomatic rhetoric.

Visual impact is always more real than what you hear.

Walking to the left behind Quimok was a lizardman ancient blood warrior clad in the same alloy heavy armor as Kuja. His helmet was not metal, but a complete triangular dragon skull, polished, reinforced, and ritually treated, its surface gleaming with a warm yet dangerous luster, as if polished by time and blood.

Beneath that skull was a calm and indifferent lizardman face.

"Hesiota's Blazing Sun Banner".

Fenrir slightly raised his chin, introducing the banner held aloft by the ancient blood warrior. Then, his gaze shifted to the other end, "The Starstone Banner."

To the right of Quimok's back is the Lizardman Starstone Flag Bearer.

"Protect……"

Berlanal sighed softly, his voice carrying a hint of unconscious awe.

Although they are called flags, both the Blazing Sun Battle Flag and the Star Stone Battle Flag look more like totems than traditional flags. Their rugged, heavy, and primitively ritualistic structure makes them more like erected nodes of faith.

However, it cannot be denied that both flags are magical flags, and extremely powerful magical flags at that.

Berlanal could clearly sense the energy contained within the flag; it wasn't an outward-radiating pressure, but rather a layered, inward-converging protective force field. Through his second eye, he could almost 'see' how that energy formed an invisible barrier around the formation.

These two flags provide protection.

He had gained some understanding of the lizardman civilization through the texts of the Tower of Hosse. But this was his first real encounter with the lizardman community and its leadership.

Of course, there are many limiting conditions here.

For example, the spirit lizards that were previously active in Lorthorn are not included; and for another example, Darkus, this strange and difficult-to-classify being, is not included.

His gaze then passed over the two lizardman standard-bearers and fell upon the ranks behind them.

"Scarred Lizardman Veteran, Temple Guardian."

Fenrir's voice rang in his ear at just the right moment, as if he had already anticipated where his gaze would fall.

Two scarred veterans, clad in golden armor and wearing triangular dragon skull caps, walked behind the lizardman standard-bearer. They carried shields and heavy weapons, their steps steady and synchronized, each step seemingly honed through countless training sessions and battles.

Behind the scarred veteran were the temple guards, arranged in five rows and twenty columns.

The neat rows of people resembled a rock stratum that had been cut with perfect precision—silent, weighty, and unshakeable.

Darkus looked at Neukel beside him, and when he saw the fleeting look of regret on Neukel's face, he gave a knowing but bewildered look.

"what happened?"

Newkel turned his head slightly, gave Darkus a disgruntled look, and then turned his gaze back to the lizardmen's ranks, clearly not wanting to say anything more.

"Don't worry, he's not coming. Even if he were, he wouldn't do anything to you."

Darkus first gave a wicked grin, as if deliberately trying to provoke someone. A moment later, that smile vanished, and his expression turned serious again.

He knew that Newkel was being reminded of something by the scene.

Those distant but unpleasant memories were easily awakened by this procession.

Eighteen hundred years ago, there was an extremely intense and unpleasant incident between Duruci and the Lizardmen.

In his quest to retrieve the Quetley Star Monument stolen by Duruci, the fifth Slan of Itazar—Tepek-Inzi—is awakened from decades of contemplation by a near-trance-like warning. (Discussed in Chapter 46)
The pursuit began immediately.

The lizardman army cornered Duruchi in the narrow strait of the Boiling Sea, and a merciless massacre ensued.

Unfortunately, a small number of Duruci managed to escape with the Quitley Star Monument.

So Tepek Inzi led his lizardman army and began wreaking havoc on Nagarus.

This incident caused a huge uproar at the time, and every elderly Duruci knew about it. Dia, the butler of the Helban family, also had vivid memories of that battle.

Because back then, it was he who drove the Cold Lizard chariot, carrying Newker to the battlefield. If he hadn't reacted quickly enough, that chariot would have been smashed to pieces by a strange, large white lizard with an absurdly heavy club, along with the lizard itself.

The strange white lizard that Dia mentioned was none other than Gorok.

They narrowly escaped death, but one of Walter's ancestors was not so lucky.

To put it nicely, he was killed in battle by Gorok; to put it bluntly, he was smashed into mincemeat by that one blow.

“This feeling is truly amazing, Darkus.”

Newkel sighed softly as he watched the temple guards slowly march past.

"I know."

Dakos nodded in response, then turned his gaze to something further away.

Behind the five temple guards was a spirit lizard priest.

Dakos recognized him at a glance—Chupagoco's good brother, Picpoch.

Pitchpoch walked slowly, his gaze always lowered, not out of humility, but out of focus on a certain order that existed only in second vision.

Following behind Pichipochi were the lizard waiters.

As they cleared the way, they performed an extremely rigorous ritualistic purification and definition. Two of the spirit lizards held gold-inlaid basins, their movements slow and synchronized, sprinkling shimmering spiritual dust onto the ground they were about to pass.

The moment the dust touched the stone slab, it did not dissipate like dust, but rather briefly revealed ancient and precise geometric patterns: circles, angles, intersecting lines, and perfectly proportioned arcs, as if it were some long-lost world language.

The next moment, these patterns quietly disappeared into the stone slab, as if absorbed by the earth itself.

That wasn't just decoration.

Instead, it was temporarily laying a pure, stable spiritual path, isolated from mundane reality, for Shilan's passage.

Moments later, the ground tremors suddenly intensified.

A vibration, no longer belonging to footsteps, began to penetrate the stone slabs and reach the soles of everyone's feet.

The largest ancient Triceratops to date, Zerag, has set foot on the land of Ulthuan.

Its appearance almost made the air in the lagoon port area stagnant.

It wasn't the oppressive feeling of a wild beast, but rather a sense of presence closer to geological movement. Each step felt like confirming whether the land was stable enough to bear its weight.

On either side of Zerag were mobile barriers formed by even more temple guards. The massive shields tilted slightly outward at a precise and restrained angle, their purpose not to defend against potential attacks, but rather to symbolically isolate the view and noise of the mortal world, delineating a sacred and insurmountable boundary for any entity about to pass through.

Lord Mazdamudi rode in a palanquin on Zelag's back.

As Zelag walked, Chengyu remained absolutely still. Chengyu did not move, and Master Ma's massive, heavy body naturally did not move either. Only the occasional slow blinking of his thick eyelids, or the extremely subtle, almost imperceptible tremor of his fingertips.

The action didn't resemble casting a spell; it was more like unconsciously plucking a string that runs through the world, reminding the onlookers that this being was not a sleeping statue, but was consciously observing, calculating, and perceiving.

He is one of the absolutely still core members of this grand procession.

All movement, guarding, rituals, and preparations are for the purpose of serving this supreme stillness.

Interestingly, the two antenna-like devices behind the carriage swayed and wobbled slightly as Zelag walked. It wasn't an imbalance, but rather more like some kind of structure used for calibration, reception, or tuning, silently responding to the echoes of the sky, stars, and spiritual veins.

"hiss……"

The moment he saw Lord Mazdamudi, Belanar could no longer maintain his composure.

He gasped.

The sound wasn't loud, yet it was like the sound of a starting pistol. (End of Chapter)