Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The silence lasted for a long time.

Ryan stood to the side, his gaze vacant, as if his attention had been switched to the lowest energy level. At this moment, he was neither a painter, nor a diplomat, nor the head of an intelligence system; he was merely an accompanying, thoughtless observer. The sea breeze blew from his left, ruffling a few strands of hair at his temples, but he ignored them.

Kelisses, however, was less at ease. His gaze, like that of a restless seabird, would sometimes land on Darkus's retreating figure, sometimes drift toward Darrowland, and sometimes return to the cliff Darkus was staring at. His fingers unconsciously rubbed his cuffs, an old habit he'd picked up on the ship's deck in his youth—he'd instinctively reach for the wood when nervous.

But at this moment, he had no wood in his hand, only his own sleeve.

Darrowland ignored the pleading looks from Kelisses and looked in the direction Darkus was looking—the southern cliffs, the circling seabirds, and the rock face gilded by the sunlight.

He looked intently, so intently that his eyes became a little sore. But unfortunately, all he saw was the cliff and the seabirds.

However, he could vaguely sense something, something indescribable, as if something was slowly and irreversibly surging on the other side of the cliff, below the horizon, in those unseen depths.

Unfortunately, he couldn't express it.

It's like having a word on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't remember how to pronounce it.

A few more moments passed.

Darkus turned and looked at Kelisses.

"You haven't answered my question yet."

His voice was soft and his tone was calm, without any questioning intent, carrying a casual, conversational tone.

But fine beads of sweat still appeared on Kelisses' forehead. He paused, then turned his gaze to Darrowland. The meaning in his eyes was clear: Save me!
However, Darrowland simply looked at him encouragingly, and then said nothing more. There was no instruction, no hint, not even guidance on "how you should say it." It was simply a pure, unconditional "You can do it."

“I…” Kellys stammered.

He wasn't ignorant about ships; before his daughter became a shipbuilder, he was the shipbuilder at Silver Wave Shipyard. He could tell the quality of a piece of wood with his eyes closed, judge the waterline of a ship by the sound it made, and know which way the sails should be adjusted just by feeling the wind.

But he knew that Dacroix's question wasn't about that. Dacroix wasn't asking, "Have you seen the iron ships of Duruci?" but rather, "What were your thoughts after you saw them?"

He dared not answer that question.

Because his real thought was—Duru's iron ships have arrived, how long can Asur's wooden ships survive?
But transformation is incredibly difficult.

Watching this scene, Darrowland sighed. The sigh was soft, but it carried a heavy weight. He took a deep breath, preparing to step forward, not to answer for Kelisses, but to take over the conversation and steer the topic in another direction.

"Don't be nervous, don't feel pressured."

Darkus reached out to stop Darrowland. His gesture was very light, just a slightly raised palm, but Darrowland still stopped in his tracks.

“What is it…” Darkus paused mid-sentence.

He found there was nothing to say.

If I had to start, I'd have to begin with the first steamed bun.

We need to start with ethanol-2 fuel, with internal combustion engines, and with the ever-changing technological breakthroughs of Lorthern. We need to explain why Duruci's iron ship is neither "iron-clad wood" nor "wood-clad iron," but rather a form of existence that Kelisses had never seen or even imagined.

Otherwise, I can't explain it.

Let's talk directly about offshore engineering vessels, special-purpose vessels, and even car carriers.

How can I explain it? There's no way to explain it.

Kellys didn't even know what a "car" was, so why tell him it was a "car roll-on/roll-off ship"?
Dakos sighed heavily.

"Two indicators!"

He held up two fingers, but those two fingers, in the afternoon sunlight, seemed like a verdict or a promise.

Renn, who had been lost in thought, snapped out of it. His gaze fell on the two fingers Darkus had extended, and his pupils contracted slightly. His eyes held both shock and a sense of inevitable acceptance.

Although he wasn't part of the naval system and wasn't a follower of Matheran, his wife and daughter were at sea, so he knew some of the inside information.

He knew what these "two indicators" meant.

"These two indicators are for the province of Kosquière."

Before Kelisses could even process what was being said, Darrowland had already nodded.

The nodding motion was natural, without hesitation or struggle, and even carried a sense of relief, as if saying, "It's finally here."

The kingdom's demotion to a province was inevitable.

He had been mentally prepared for this for a long time; he knew long ago that the Kingdom of Kosqui was going to become a thing of the past.

This is an overwhelming tide of the times, which he, as an individual, or by uniting the nobility, cannot stop.

When the wave comes, you either stand on it or get swept away.

He chose to stand there not for himself, but for the workers still hammering and tinkering in the shipyard, for the sailors still adrift at sea, and for the ordinary people who didn't yet know the difference between a "province" and a "kingdom".

At least that's what he thinks.

On the contrary, he was very curious about what those two indicators were.

It's not the passive acceptance of "you give it to me and I'll take it," but genuine, heartfelt curiosity.

What do these two indicators mean for the province of Kosquieu? What do they mean for the shipyards? What do they mean for the sailors, the soldiers, and those who struggle to survive on this barren land?
His gaze fell on Darkus's face, waiting.

The sea breeze blew in from the direction of the cliff, carrying a salty smell and the cries of seabirds in the distance. Calithis was still standing there, sweat still glistening on his forehead, but his shoulders were no longer hunched; he, too, was waiting.

"One is used to build warships, and the other is used to build container ships and bulk carriers."

Darkus's voice was soft, and his tone was as flat as if he were remarking on the pleasant sea breeze. But his two fingers remained upright, motionless, as if etching two unalterable numbers into the air.

Darrow's eyes widened in that instant, not with a polite, slight widening of surprise, but with genuine, explosive shock that seemed to explode from the depths of his pupils. His eyelids involuntarily lifted, the muscles around his eyes tensed, and even his brow bone twitched upwards. His gaze was filled with shock and disbelief, to the point that his breathing became heavier, his chest heaving more dramatically than usual, and his nostrils flared slightly, as if he were trying to inhale more air to calm his racing heart.

He wanted to appear calm.

He tried.

He tried to squint his eyes, tried to regulate his breathing, and tried to put on that aristocratic expression that he had practiced for decades, an expression that never lost its dignity in any situation.

But he really couldn't do it.

Unlike the clueless Calithis, Darrowland knew a great deal. He knew that the Helban family, to which Darkus belonged, controlled the shipbuilding industry in Durucci.

That's not "participation," not "investment," and not "having a certain say."

It's about mastering it!
From the keel to the mast, from the structure to the components, from the design drawings to the final sea trial, the entire industrial chain, from top to bottom, is under the control of that family.

what does this mean?
This means that the two indicators that Dakos mentioned at this moment were not about "assigning tasks" or "attracting investment," but rather about—regurgitating the food he had already eaten and feeding it to Kosqui...the province.

Darrow's mind was buzzing. His reason told him: This is real, this person really did it. His emotions told him: This can't be real, this has never happened in Asur society.

He was caught in the middle, unsure which to believe.

When Darkus looked at him, Darrowland was momentarily speechless. His lips moved, then closed; closed, then moved again.

This was the first time he had ever experienced something like this in his entire life.

In Ausuan, in the society of Asur, such a thing is almost impossible. If a family controls a certain industry, it means that industry will forever be the exclusive domain of that family. You can't expect them to share a piece of the pie, much less expect them to hand over the core, golden goose.

This isn't greed; it's common sense.

This is the underlying logic that has governed the aristocratic society of Asur for thousands of years.

But Dakotas is breaking this logic, not with violence, not with coercion, but with a kind of "generosity" he has never seen before, a kind of almost absurd "generosity".

At this moment, he seemed to truly understand why Finnuval could have become the Phoenix King, but instead chose to do so.

It's not because Finnubal lacks ambition, nor because Finnubal is unqualified, but because—when you face someone like that, arguing is pointless.

If he were Finnubal, he...

But I will absolutely not refuse.

Darrowland's mind worked faster than his heart on this point.

If he were to say something like, “This is too expensive for us to accept,” and if these words were to get out and reach the ears of those waiting to see Kosquieu make a fool of himself, those political enemies who are hoping he will make a mistake, and those in other provinces who are watching from the sidelines, then he would be in danger.

Hedarolan will become the biggest laughingstock in all of Ulthuan, not because he refused anything, but because he was foolish enough to refuse.

“Before, the market was small,” Dakous said, as if he could read his mind, his tone still calm. “Monopoly has never been a good thing.”

“The people of Kosquieu will forever remember your generosity and kindness.” Darrow bowed deeply, his hair almost reaching his knees. His tone was not one of formulaic, ceremonial gratitude, but a sincere, fervent voice that came directly from his heart.

There was a slight, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice, not from fear, but from emotion. It was the instinctive, bewildered emotion of an Asur nobleman who had lived for over a hundred years, being treated in this way for the first time.

Dakos smiled and said nothing more.

The smile was faint, the corners of his mouth turning up no more than two degrees, but it lasted a little longer than usual. There was no smugness, no condescension, and no hint of superiority in that smile.

It's just a tacit understanding between friends, a "you know what I mean" kind of understanding.

That's settled regarding the two indicators.

No signatures or seals are required, no notarization or guarantee is needed, and there are no cumbersome, layered contracts or documents.

In the society that Darkus created, some things are more important than contracts—such as the height of Darrowland's forehead as he bows, or the curve of Darkus's smile.

Then he looked at Kelisses.

"Silver Wave Shipyard has a long history... doesn't it?"

“Yes, yes,” Kellyses hurriedly replied, still processing the information. He had a hundred questions, but none of them dared to be asked. His voice carried an urgency that said, “I agree with whatever you say.”

He didn't know what a bulk carrier was; it was the first time he'd heard the word, the last time it had come from Dakota's mouth. But he knew what a warship was and what a container ship was.

Although Darkus didn't say anything, he said everything. His gaze towards Kelisses held no pressure, no scrutiny, only expectation.

Kellys understood the full meaning in that gaze, and he made his decision: I will absolutely not allow Silverwave Shipyard to be merely "historic".

"Change does not mean abandoning tradition; tradition and change go hand in hand."

Seeing that Kelisses was so responsive, Darkus added another point. This time, his tone was more relaxed than before, as if he were instructing a promising apprentice.

We need iron boats, and we also need wooden boats. We need cruise ships, sailboats, and racing sailboats. We need related competitions, events, and sports.

As for how to develop it and what to choose, that's up to Kellys, since he's the shipyard owner.

Dakos withdrew his gaze and looked again at the southern cliffs. The seabirds were still circling, their calls now more distant than before. Sunlight slanted through gaps in the clouds, casting a golden path across the sea.

At the end of that road seemed to be Anirrain, like those ruins that had just risen from the sea, a future he had fully figured out and was already approaching step by step.

Darrow straightened up and followed his gaze. This time, it seemed he saw more than just cliffs and seabirds. His lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately said nothing. Some things were too early to say.

After a moment, Darkus extended his hand to Renn.
Understanding the implication, Renn took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Darkus. Then he took out another piece of paper.

Darkus picked up the paper and started reading it. After a long while, his gaze shifted from the paper to Darrowland.

"Did you have any plans for this place before?" (End of Chapter)