Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Although I've been in this world for almost a century, some habits are impossible to forget.

For example, right now.

Malekith shoved the crumpled banknotes into Dakous's arms, turned to look away, and adopted a haughty attitude of "I won't stoop to your level."

According to the normal procedure, Darkus should have accepted it, and then the matter would have been over.

But Dakos did not go to answer it.

He reached out and pressed down on Malekith's hand.

"Uh, this, this... right?"

It's not about grabbing, it's about pressing down. The palm covers the back of the hand, the force isn't strong, but it's enough to prevent the other person from easily pulling away.

Marekis was stunned. He looked down at his hand that was being held down, then looked up at Dakous's face that had suddenly become subtle, then looked down at the wad of crumpled banknotes in his hand, and then looked up at Dakous again.

His expression shifted from confusion to bewilderment, then from bewilderment to "What are you doing?", and finally from "What are you doing?" to a deeper, philosophical incomprehension.

Malekith lived for over six thousand years.

More than six thousand years!

What hasn't he seen?

He had witnessed dynastic changes, the invasion of Chaos, and the near destruction of the world. He had seen the elves' most glorious era and their darkest moments. He had seen countless bizarre rituals, strange customs, and incomprehensible behaviors.

But this...

He had never seen this before!

There is no Chinese New Year in this world, no concept of "Spring Festival", no Lunar New Year's Eve and Lunar New Year's Day, no New Year's Eve dinner, no staying up late on New Year's Eve, no firecrackers, and no New Year's greetings.

There were no red envelopes either.

At least not in the elven society.

Asur didn't; Duruci didn't; and neither did the elves living in Elsin Alvin. For over six thousand years, no elf had ever slipped money into someone's hand on a particular day, accompanied by a string of auspicious words.

So when Darkus pressed his hand down, looking at him with that subtle gaze and a smile that was hard to decipher...

Marekis's brain went blank for a full three seconds.

He was speechless.

It wasn't the kind of speechless "I can't be bothered with you" kind of speechless, it was the kind of speechless "Who am I? Where am I? What is this person doing?" His hand froze in mid-air, maintaining the posture of being held down, his whole body like a sculpture that had suddenly lost its soul.

But soon, after all, it was a brain that had lived for over six thousand years. Although it crashed for three seconds, it was still running after restarting, and it vaguely understood something.

Dakos was not refusing.

It's not just being polite.

It's not like we're playing some kind of push-and-pull game with him.

Is Dakous... shoving it back in?

No, it's to hold his hand down so he doesn't pull it back?

Does that mean he should take it?

The issue is……

Malekith's brows furrowed.

He looked down at the crumpled stack of banknotes, marked "Spend as you please," which the two men had pressed down on, then looked up at Dakous's face, which was now etched with "you know what I mean."

seem?

According to political procedures, the issuance of new currency must be approved by the highest leader.

This isn't formalism; it's a necessary procedure. No matter how many fancy tricks Dakos pulls behind the scenes, no matter how exquisitely printed the samples he carries are, without going through this step, it's just a stack of "pretty but worthless paper."

And without a doubt, the Phoenix King Malekith is the supreme leader.

He didn't directly say he agreed, nor did he directly say he disagreed. He just said: Don't use my picture as your profile picture! Just like before.

According to the formula, this is equivalent to agreeing.

After all, if he truly disagreed, he would simply say, "Don't do it." If he felt there was a problem, he would say, "Let's discuss it further." If he simply disliked Darkus, he would say, "Have you been too idle lately?"

But all he said was, "Don't use my picture as a profile picture."

This is tacit consent.

Marekis finally accepted the wad of banknotes with a reluctant expression. He looked down at the colorful stack of money in his hand, his brow furrowing. After a few seconds of silence, he looked up at Dakous with a "you'd better give me a reasonable explanation" look.

"What is it?"

As he spoke, he pulled out a banknote.

Then, he exerted his strength.

Dakos didn't even see what he did; he only saw the banknote tremble slightly between Malekith's fingers, and then the pattern on it began to change. The pyramids, forests, waves, and starry sky slowly faded away, replaced by some more complex and delicate patterns. And the two prominent words "casual" and "spend" also faded like ink being wiped away, eventually disappearing completely.

The banknotes became clean, leaving only the background color and the newly formed patterns. These patterns resembled some kind of ancient magical runes, or the infinite subdivision of some geometric shape, gleaming faintly and fluidly in the sunlight.

Then, Malekith stuffed the banknote into Dakous's hand.

This time, Dakous didn't press down on Malekith's hand as before. He took it naturally and looked down at it. While he was looking at it, Malekith pulled out another banknote, exerted force again, changed his posture again, and stuffed it into Dakous's hand once more.

For easy comparison.

Darkus held the object in one hand, sometimes examining it closely, sometimes holding it up to the sun. Sunlight filtered through the thin, yet remarkably resilient material, casting dappled shadows. He looked at it from all angles, his brow furrowed slightly, as if deep in thought.

Malekith's lips twitched involuntarily as he watched the man's focused expression.

I have to say, the feeling of stuffing money into my hands is actually quite nice?
Although they were irritable and their expressions were full of disdain, the casualness of "Let me show you," the tacit understanding of "I'll change it, see if it's okay," and the atmosphere of the two of them taking a few colorful little photos very seriously...

interesting.

“It’s troublesome,” Malekith said, his tone carrying a hint of arrogance that said, “Only I can handle this,” but for me, it’s not a problem.

He paused, his gaze falling on the two banknotes, then on Dakous's face.

"But what is the significance?"

The question was asked lightly, yet it felt like a stone falling between the two of them.

It's not questioning, it's not opposing.

They are genuinely asking.

What is the point of you asking me to do this?
"I don't know, is it a friendly interaction between friends?"

Dakous answered bluntly.

His tone was as calm as if he were remarking on the nice weather, or as if admitting he had indeed forgotten to eat breakfast. He even shrugged, shifting his gaze from the banknotes to meet Marekis's rapidly narrowing eyes with composure.

Then, silence.

one second.

two seconds.

Malekith took a deep breath.

Dakos knew what was going to happen next; he knew that expression all too well—it was a sign that Malekith had found an opportunity and was preparing to fire.

Like a dragon gathering its strength before exhaling its breath.

really.

I think you're the one who's sick!

Malekith's voice suddenly rose, like a dam that had been holding back for a long time finally releasing its floodgates. He raised his hand, pointing at Dakos, the finger trembling slightly in the air, full of accusatory power.

“You should go see Fenrir and get him to prescribe some medicine! Some strong medicine! Make me sick even if I'm not sick! Instead of testing me with all sorts of methods! Darkus, I'm telling you, I'm fine! Very fine! Better than ever before! Maybe I was sick before? But I'm not sick now! I'm cured! So!”

He thrust his finger forward, almost touching Dakos's nose.

"You're the one who's really sick!"

Dakos gave a dry laugh.

The laughter was dry and lifeless, like the bark of an old tree that had been baked in the sun for three days—completely devoid of moisture and confidence, a sound forced out purely to appease the audience.

Malekith was not deterred by the dry laugh.

On the contrary, the dry laugh seemed to fuel him.

"Unless you've really lost your mind!" he continued, his speech becoming faster and more aggressive, "Otherwise, there's no point in doing this, is there?"

He took a step forward, getting even closer.

"Don't you have confidence in the system you've developed?"

Another step.

"Or are you just paranoid?" One more step.

"Or is it simply that you're making fun of me?"

Dakos was forced to take a half step back.

Malekith did not let him go.

"What are you confused about? What meaning does this kind of trick have in the face of your established system?" He snatched the two banknotes from Darkus's hand, held them between the two of them, and shook them vigorously. The thin material made a slight rustling sound. "Essentially, what's the difference between these banknotes and silver coins?"

He shoved the banknotes back into Dakos's hand, took a step back, crossed his arms, and glared at him with a sharp look in his eyes.

What are you worried about?

This problem came down like a heavy hammer blow.

Dakos didn't speak. He just looked down at the two banknotes in his hand, at the patterns that Malekith had altered, and at the material that shimmered in the sunlight.

"Let me see the camera."

Malekith stopped outputting damage.

The sudden change was like a storm abruptly ending, the dark clouds instantly dissipating. He stretched out his hand, palm up, fingers slightly spread, the gesture as casual as if he were asking for an ordinary little trinket.

Dakos paused for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulled out the metal box, and handed it over.

Malekith took it and examined it closely. He didn't rush to study the intricate structure, but simply ran his fingertips lightly over the outer shell, feeling the texture and warmth of the metal. Then, mimicking what Darkus had done earlier, he gently pushed and pulled at a certain spot.

Click, click.

The box came to life again, unfolding into a complete camera. Malekith held it up, looking into the distance through the viewfinder, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with the dials.

“Unless you’re planning to issue large denominations!” he added without turning around, his tone carrying a lingering “I’m not finished” air, “Then you’re really sick!”

Dakos didn't reply; he simply looked down again at the two banknotes in his hand.

One is the original, printed with "Casual," "Spend," and those landscape pictures. The other is the one Malekith altered, clean and simple, leaving only the intricate patterns.

He stared at it for a long time.

"Yes, economic failure is more terrible than military failure."

He finally spoke, his voice very soft, like a sigh.

Marekis's finger paused briefly on the camera dial.

These words were spoken calmly, yet they carried a heavy weight in the air.

Marekis put down his camera and turned to look at Dakous.

Dakos didn't look up; his gaze remained fixed on the two banknotes, as if he were looking at them, or perhaps looking through them at something else entirely.

"Is Vetill just a figurehead?" Malekith's voice turned serious, the mocking tone gone. "Or are high-level spellcasters everywhere in the future? Or... have the spellcasters gone out of control? Unruly?"

He paused.

“You and Marlene are very experienced and cautious in this area. Keep up the experience and caution! Continue to pass the buck.”

Darkus finally raised his head and met Malekith's gaze.

Eyes facing each other.

"Our enemy is ourselves, not those primitive people."

Malekith turned back, raised his camera again, and aimed it at the distance.

“We were able to defeat chaos before,” his voice came from behind the camera, calm and confident, “and we will be able to defeat chaos in the future! No matter what method we use, no matter what weapon we use, no matter your…philosophy!”

The shutter is pressed.

There was no clicking sound.

There was only a very slight, almost imperceptible "click," as if some precision component had completed a perfect fit.

Then, Malekith didn't put down the camera. His gaze remained fixed on the viewfinder, but suddenly he froze—not physically, but in a deeper, more sensual way. Dakos knew what he was doing: his consciousness was entering the camera, 'viewing' the moment just captured on film in a way that transcended physical vision.

one second.

two seconds.

three seconds.

Marekis put down his camera, his face expressionless.

Who did this?

“Salames, Bel-Tanya, Areda, Morana, and the others,” Darkus rattled off a list of names, his tone as flat as if he were reading a shopping list.

Malekith was silent for a moment.

"Not very good."

His assessment was concise and to the point, leaving no room for scathing criticism.

Dakos didn't respond to that question; he didn't comment on Malekith's photographic technique, as that was clearly not the point.

"What if it were used as a spy camera?"

He steered the conversation toward the camera's functionality rather than on how well the photo had been taken.

Malekith raised an eyebrow slightly.

This angle was something he hadn't considered before.

Duruci's society actually had cameras a long time ago, not the kind we have now, but an earlier, more primitive version.

It's mainly used in specific situations: for example, after a naval reform conference, a group photo was needed, and taking a picture was much faster than drawing a portrait. Another example is when making identity documents, it's used to take a headshot, which is faster than the caster using magic.

But cameras back then were still magical.

It's not for civilian use; it's a magical artifact. Its use requires a caster, the infusion of energy, and so on…

Later, with technological upgrades, civilian versions appeared, but they were still quite large. In military applications, they are typically mounted on assault ships for high-altitude reconnaissance.

Now, we've gone to an extreme.

It changed from extremely large to extremely small.

It has transformed from a large item into something that can be easily pulled out of a breast pocket.

What was once a colossal machine mounted on a raiding ship has been transformed into a palm-sized metal box.

Perhaps this is the charm of invention?

It always swings back and forth between two extremes.

It's like a lottery.

They're either ridiculously large or exquisitely small. They either pursue ultimate functionality or ultimate portability. Then one day, some inconspicuous little gadget suddenly finds its perfect place.

As for the median value...

Dakos himself was not a photography enthusiast, and he had no particular obsession with taking pictures.

He has a dedicated artist—Rain.

He genuinely admired Renn's painting style; Renn's brushstrokes were delicate and full of spirit, and each work carried a vitality that transcended mechanical replication.

He can't dampen Rennes' enthusiasm and positioning, can he?

Therefore, for him, the camera was never an "artistic tool," but a "practical tool."

Spy camera.

This positioning is just right.

"That's definitely possible."

After making his assessment, Malekith, the Phoenix King, re-examined the small metal box in his hand. The critical look in his eyes had vanished, replaced by the focused attention of a professional examining a useful tool. He turned it over and over, his fingers tracing every seam, as if assessing its reliability and concealment.

"Can it be made smaller?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"Can image quality be improved?"

"It's being upgraded."

Marekis nodded and handed the camera back to Dakos.

Dakos took it, put it away, then remained silent for a few seconds before changing the subject.

"I plan to issue some small-denomination currencies next."

Sunlight fell between the two, casting two distinct shadows.

Malekith did not respond immediately; he simply gazed at the sky. (End of Chapter)