Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Faced with Darkus's question, Darrowland first gave a wry smile. That wry smile contained a sense of relief that "you finally asked," as well as a struggle with "how should I answer this question?"

His lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but then he swallowed his words back.

Then, he took a step forward and looked at the paper in Darkus's hand.

It's called paper, but it's actually a map.

But this is no ordinary tourist map. It not only accurately marks all the streets and major buildings of Tal Corelli, but also the terrain and environment surrounding the city. Every alley, every tower, and every culvert is outlined with delicate lines; the hills, rivers, forests, and swamps on the outskirts of the city are also clearly marked.

The moment Darrowland saw the map, his expression changed.

It wasn't the kind of slight frown of surprise, but a deeper, more profound shock that seemed to seep into his very bones. His lips pressed into a thin line, his nostrils flared slightly, and his pupils dilated in that instant.

That's the brain's instinctive reaction when processing dangerous information at high speed.

Darkus's behavior is somewhat similar to "using a powerful attack at point-blank range." Although there is no such term in Asur society, the behavior itself is universal.

To pull out a map in front of the owner that is more accurate than his own collection is more than just "offensive".

As the ruler of Tal Corelli, he could assure him that he had never seen this map. He possessed the city's oldest parchment scrolls, manuscripts passed down from generations of cartographers, and military deployment maps inherited from his father.

But none of them can achieve the same level of precision as this one.

Clearly, this map was drawn by Trucchi's side!

This reveals a great deal: surveying is not a matter of a day or two, nor can it be accomplished by one or two people. To draw such a map, one needs to spend a long time in Tal Corelli, to conduct on-site surveys, to draw sketches, to compile and summarize the data, and to finalize the map.

This is a complete, covert intelligence operation that has been going on for an unknown period of time.

Therefore, there must be a Trucchi spy in this city!

They weren't the traditional spies who lurk in the shadows, eavesdrop on meetings, or read letters; they were the kind of "surveying spies" who went from street to street, measuring the width of every alley.

This map is clearly the work of spies, and not just one, but a group of spies. It's a well-organized and highly coordinated team.

But Darrowland said nothing.

He took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress all the emotions in his chest. Then he adjusted his expression, not to regain composure, but to accept the shift from shock. The process was so quick that it was almost imperceptible unless someone was watching him intently. He looked at the map, his gaze becoming focused and calm.

A moment later, he stretched out his hand and pointed to the west side of the map.

“We had plans to expand here before, but…”

He gave a bitter smile halfway through his sentence. The smile was deeper than before, the corners of his mouth curving wider, but there was no joy in his eyes. It was a bitter smile that said, "You know why I can't continue," a bitter smile that said, "You'll understand without me finishing."

Darkus nodded.

Tal Corelli spans nearly half the width of the peninsula at its narrowest point, with large areas of the city carved into shale cliffs. The buildings on those cliffs seem to grow out of the stone, blending seamlessly with the rock face, making it difficult to distinguish between natural and man-made structures. The city has been known since ancient times for its strategic defensive position.

To put it simply, the terrain surrounding this city can be understood as a 'U' shape, and the city sits at the top of one end of the U.

If we divide the city into north and south sections, it is surrounded by the vast ocean to the north, south, and east, with only the west side connecting to the land. Expansion is only possible westward, towards the interior of the peninsula.

We cannot fill in the sea, we cannot expand under the cliffs, and we cannot build on those reefs that are eroded by the waves day and night.

Therefore, Tal Corelli has maintained its long and narrow shape, surrounded by the sea on three sides, for thousands of years.

Although Darrowland didn't finish his sentence, Darkus understood.

This is related to the environment in Kosqui, the politics in Asur, and other factors.

Kosquie is a barren land with a sparse population; commerce is its lifeblood, but it also brings countless conflicts of interest. Westward expansion means infringing on the interests of families who own land and property in the west. These families will not easily yield, and Darrowland, as the ruler, can neither forcefully suppress nor allow it to continue; he can only carefully maneuver between the various factions.

So plans are plans, and reality is reality.

The Kingdom of Kosqui is bordered to the north by the wild and lush Kingdom of Charis, and to the south by the misty Kingdom of Iris. Although its rocky beaches share some similarities with those of Iris—the same gray color, the same rugged terrain, and the same strange holes eroded by the waves—Kosqui is dry and rough, worn down by the fierce winds, while its southern neighbor is relatively wet and muddy.

The same sea, the same wind, but when it blows through Iris, it carries moisture; when it blows through Kosqui, it carries sand.

If we were to rank the living conditions of the ten kingdoms of Ulthuan, then without a doubt, Kosqui would be at the bottom. This is not prejudice, but a fact.

The people of Kosquieu themselves acknowledge this, even with a sense of pride that "we are the most miserable."

The reason for this is related to the winds from the north. These winds blow from the icy sea in the north, carrying cold and moisture, and travel southward.

Theoretically, the living environment in the Kingdom of Charis should be worse than that in the Kingdom of Kosqui, because the Kingdom of Charis is further north and closer to the source of the wind, so it should be more affected by the wind.

But in fact it is not the case.

Because of the existence of the Temple of Kane and the Sword of Kane on the Withered Isles, legend has it that their calamity power shrouds the Kingdom of Charis and even crosses the ocean to subtly envelop the Kingdom of Kosqui.

It was an indescribable power, not magic, not divine power, but a more primal, more chaotic sense of 'presence'.

But this is merely a legend; the real reason lies in the deterioration and instability of the various spiritual vein nodes. Those spiritual vein networks that existed since the time of the ancient saints gradually aged, broke down, and lost their balance throughout the long history of the elves. Some nodes had excess energy, some were depleted, and some simply failed completely.

Although the ley lines within Charis are also unstable, they happen to form a relatively complete protective arc—not intentional, not designed, but simply a coincidence.

Just like a stone falling into a stream, the water flow will naturally be diverted, and Charles is that stone.

In terms of geography and environment, the Withered Islands act like an invisible shield. While they cannot completely block the northerly winds, they absorb and impede a large portion of them. The winds, hitting the reefs and ruins of the islands, slow down, change direction, and weaken. By the time they reach Charis, they are no longer the fierce winds capable of blowing people off cliffs, and with the addition of Charis's forests...

As for Kosquie... unfortunately, he was not protected by the Withered Islands. Kosquie's location was too far east, too remote, just outside that 'protective arc'.

The north winds bypassed the Withered Islands and struck the coast of Kosquieu without obstruction, while the drifting islands were distributed in a north-south arc on the map.

Just like the incisors, or central incisors, which are located in the front and block the wind directly in front of them. But the lateral incisors are missing, leaving a huge gap.

The drifting islands and craters act as fangs, but their location is too far back, their shapes too irregular, and their function too unstable. When the wind rushes in through that gap, bypassing the remnants of the withered islands, crossing the gaps in the drifting islands, and passing through the Kingdom of Kosqui, it is compressed, accelerated, and steered by the terrain of the craters.

Finally, when the wind reached the Kingdom of Iris, it had been torn to pieces by those 'fangs,' leaving only a damp, lingering breath, which turned into fog, into rain, and into the 'mist' that made Iris famous throughout the world.

And Kosquiat was right in the center of that gap. The wind came, unhindered, unbuckled, undiminished. It crashed straight in, against the cliff, against the city walls, against the faces of everyone who went out.

Day after day, year after year, without stopping.

This is Kosquiat, and this is why it's at the bottom.

Dakos looked at the U-shaped peninsula on the map, at the city that was surrounded by the sea on three sides and squeezed on the cliff, and at the undeveloped open space to the west.

He didn't speak, but nodded again, this time more deeply than before, as if confirming something.

To acknowledge the predicament of this land, and to confirm the still-forming answer in one's own heart.

Visitors' first impressions of Tal Corelli vary depending on their individual experiences.

If any human from Elsin Alvin were to set foot on this land, they would be immediately awestruck by the magnificence of its architecture. Towering marble towers gleamed milky white in the sunlight, and wide colonnades cascaded down the hillside, each column adorned with intricate wave patterns.

That was the Kosqui people's collective tribute to the ocean.

They would marvel at the meticulously manicured green spaces and the spotless streets, the cobblestones washed clean by the sea, with hardly a weed growing in the crevices. Even in the poorest areas, the level of planning and maintenance far surpassed that of the palaces and private gardens of the wealthiest nobles of the Old World.

To humans, this was a mythical city, a miracle they couldn't even dream of. Furthermore, a sense of weariness permeated the entire city. Many buildings lay uninhabited, with only a few residents. The doors and windows of the mansions were tightly shut, but the courtyards were free of knee-high weeds, as if the owners had only temporarily left and would soon return.

Small groups of elves strolled slowly along the paths and through the park, conversing softly and sincerely. Their voices were carried away by the sea breeze, leaving only faint echoes. Only the dock area retained a bustling vitality comparable to that of a human port, with the shouts of boatmen, the cries of vendors, and the figures of porters carrying crates to and fro. But even that noise was restrained, carrying an apology as if to say, "We're only noisy because we have no choice."

But to the other kingdoms of Asur, Tal Corelli was a completely different sight. They viewed it as a crude, pragmatic place. The underground chambers were a brutal necessity of war, and the warehouses and shelters carved into the rock walls were nothing more than a fig leaf for poverty in the eyes of visitors. The bustling docks were filled with the pungent stench of fish, tar, and rotting seaweed, chaotic and filthy.

As a port, it may be comparable to Lor'then and Tal Iris, and for many Asul, Lor'then is also a noisy and chaotic place, but at least it has a redemptive status as the core of leadership and protection of Ulthuan.

In contrast, Tal Corelli was a poor and insignificant remote corner, a place for those who were disillusioned with mainstream politics.

After watching for a moment, Darkus looked up at Darrowland.

There was no disdain in his gaze, as if he were looking at a poor, desolate place, nor any doubt, as if he were asking, "Is there any hope for this place?" He simply looked at Darrowland calmly, scrutinizingly, as if he were reading a book.

Although Tal Corelli may seem like a remote, impoverished place, it is not actually one.

Like a nouveau riche in a tattered cotton-padded coat, shabby on the outside but with land deeds in his pocket; like an old Cantonese man in a vest and flip-flops, you never know how many keys he has in his pocket.

The city’s true wealth lies not in the abandoned marble towers, nor in the colonnades weathered by the sea breeze, but in the unassuming warehouses of the dock area, and on the routes that only Kosquière sailors dare to venture.

If the prosperity of the cities in Ulthuan were ranked, Tal Corelli would undoubtedly be third. Not first, not second, but not fourth or fifth either. It follows closely behind Lorthene and Tal Iris, but far surpasses the fourth-place city.

This wasn't luck, it wasn't geography, it was people—Daroran.

To a large extent, the city's current appearance is thanks to D'Auroran.

D'Auroran was chosen for his pragmatic character and more modest personal ambition to lead the reconstruction of Kosque. Although his imposing figure in armor was quite charismatic, the image of his cloak billowing like a flag in the sea breeze when he stood on the deck was enough to move any painter.

However, he often delegated military command of Kosquieu to the more skilled prince, and rarely led troops into battle unless absolutely necessary. He knew he wasn't cut out for it, and never pretended to be.

His strength lay not in military prowess, but in maritime trade; his business acumen far surpassed his military talent. His administration nearly tripled Tal Corelli's import and export volume, and he successfully retained his position as the leader by bringing wealth to Kosquieu and balancing the various factions within Parliament.

It wasn't swords and spears, but ledgers.

Perhaps one day, as divisions intensify, D'Aurore's moderate political stance will become unsustainable.

The nobles of Kosquieu would demand stronger leadership to deal with escalating trade disputes with foreign powers such as Marienburg and Bretonnia. These nobles craved more than just a balance of accounts; they wanted a leader who could lead them to plunder, pillage, and bring their enemies to their knees. Darrowland was not that kind of man.

Unfortunately, Duruci successfully conquered Ausuan, and Darkus emerged as a new force.

The potential conflict was transferred to the more powerful Phoenix Court.

The political landscape has changed.

Darrowland no longer needs to maneuver among those nobles; they all now have to listen to the Phoenix King, and the Phoenix King listens to Darkus…

Darrowland went from being the person in charge to being the one to carry out the decisions, from saying "I will persuade everyone" to saying "I will carry out the decisions made above".

This is not a demotion, it's a relief.

This is one of the reasons why Darrowland chose to unconditionally support Finnubar.

To put it bluntly, Darrowland sold Kosquie, and for a good price. Not the kind of desperate, low-price sale, but a shrewd, calculated "high-price sell-off" where he knew exactly when to strike.

What he sold to Finnubar was not the land and people of Kosqui, but the future of Kosqui; while what Dacules and Finnubar gave him was a promise and a future that he could never obtain on his own.

Nobody's a fool, nobody's an idiot. Everyone has their own interests and needs.

D'Arrown's choice was simply the least bad one in the tide of this era.

"The road ahead is long and arduous, and the journey is fraught with difficulties."

Darkus sighed, his voice not loud, but exceptionally clear in the sea breeze. He carefully folded the map, aligning the corners, smoothing out the creases, and then handed it back to Renn.

Ryan took it and put it in his pocket.

Then he reached out to Ryan. Ryan pulled out a map from the other side and handed it to him. He slowly unfolded it; it was a provincial map with a larger scale.

He looked at Darrowland again.

"If we keep going, the future is bright, isn't it?"

“Yes!” Darrow nodded emphatically, with far more force than usual, as if he were about to shake his head off. He looked up from the map and met Darkus’s gaze.

He knew that the big one was coming, and so was his mission!
All those previous introductions, casual conversations, and dialogues about urban expansion and the Weaving Fate Society were just the prelude!

The main course is only now being served.

"Do you have any further objections regarding the Weaving Fate Society?"

“No!” Darrowland’s answer was crisp and decisive, without any hesitation. He had already figured it out: the Weaving Fate Society’s advancement was not something he should oppose, but something he should cooperate with.

"Since there isn't any, let's clear this place out first."

Dakos pointed to the map.

"This……"

Looking at the map, Darrow couldn't help but gasp. The gas was long and sharp, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head.

Calithos, staring at the map, was equally dumbfounded. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes wide as if he were nailed to the spot. He didn't understand politics or those complicated family relationships, but he knew what that region meant.

Darkus's finger remained motionless on the map. He didn't look up at Darrowland's expression, nor did he urge him. He simply waited, for the gasp to subside, for Darrowland to recover from his shock.

A sea breeze blew in from the direction of the cliff, causing a corner of the map to curl slightly. Renn reached out and pressed it down, his movement very gentle, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Darrow's gaze lingered on that area for a long time. His lips moved, then closed; closed, then moved again. His mind raced: costs, manpower, timelines, dissenting voices, potential family members who might try to obstruct the project, the connections he needed to make, the support he needed to secure…

But soon he realized that some of his concerns seemed somewhat superfluous.

Then, he took a deep breath.

Give me time!

It's not "I'll try," it's not "I'll think about it," it's "Give me time."

This means he has taken on the task, but he needs time to plan, prepare, and turn the impossible into possible.

Darkus finally raised his head and looked at Darrowland. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, the curve more pronounced than before.

“No rush,” he said, “but we can’t be too slow either.”

Darrow nodded. He knew what "no rush" meant. It wasn't that there was no real rush, but rather, "You can prepare slowly, but you can't stop." The Weaving Fate Society was about to enter the next phase, and this cleared area would be their first foothold in the province of Kosqui.

Kelisses was still standing there, mouth agape. He looked at Darkus, then at Darrowland, then at the area on the map marked by the finger. He felt as if he understood something, yet also as if he understood nothing at all.

But he knew one thing—the Kingdom of Kosquiat, no, the Province of Kosquiat, was about to change. (End of Chapter)