Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The naval base is independent.

In the beginning, this was just a small island with sparse grass growing on the exposed rocks. Seabirds nested on the cliffs, and at high tide, the waves would wash over the entire low-lying shore. But with continuous development and the passage of time, generation after generation of craftsmen carved stones and built walls on the island, and generation after generation of soldiers patrolled and kept watch. Gradually, the island was transformed into a heavily fortified, diamond-shaped island fortress with permanent defensive fortifications.

At each end of the diamond-shaped structure stood an archer's tower, while two armory towers rose to the southwest. The stone walls of the towers were marked by the erosion of wind and rain, yet every stone fit together so tightly that even a blade could not be inserted. Arrow slits and cannon muzzles were left on the crenellations, offering a panoramic view of the entire harbor, ensuring that no ship attempting to approach from the sea could escape the defenders' sight.

"The officers' quarters and operations room were located inside the fortress, while the naval barracks were built outside the wall."

Darrowland became a tour guide, his voice unhurried, as if he were introducing his own backyard. Between strokes of the oars, he pulled out his left hand and pointed to the naval base, pinpointing the location of each building precisely, then withdrew it and continued rowing.

The whole process was like a magic trick; oars in hand, fingers pointing, eyes watching, body maintaining balance—without a trace of panic or hesitation. This fully proved that, like Finubal, he was a seasoned old sea lion.

The sense of balance, direction, and instinctive judgment of tides and wind direction that I developed over the years on the deck are all hidden in these seemingly casual movements.

In comparison, Darkus, the son of Matheran... is best left unmentioned.

“There is an archer’s tower at each end of the diamond shape, and two armory towers in the southwest direction,” Darrowland paused, then added, “The dry dock and the shipyard are located in a small bay on the cliff opposite the fortress.”

"Hmm, a nice...sight?" Darkus slowed his rowing and turned his head to look at the naval base. His gaze swept from the two armory towers to the archer towers, from the gray stone walls to the warships moored in the harbor, and finally landed on the soldiers busy on the docks.

His expression was serious; he didn't seem to be joking.

"A tourist attraction?" Darrow was taken aback for a moment, almost dropping the oar from his hand. Then he let out a speechless laugh, not a genuine laugh, but one squeezed from his throat, carrying an incredulous "What did you say?" expression.

He was so angry he laughed.

You should know that this naval base is the crown jewel of the Kingdom of Kosqui.

Of course, it is one of them.

When there is no large-scale war, a fleet has always been stationed here, known as the "Capital Fleet". The ships belonging to Darrowland's family alone include twenty Eagle ships, five Falcon ships and one Dragon ship.

But this is not all.

When preparing for war or dealing with potential threats, the capital's fleet becomes even larger, and fleets controlled by other nobles also gather here. Ships that are usually scattered in different places and fight independently will flow into this harbor like a tide, mast to mast, sail to sail.

After preparations are completed, a small fleet will remain in Tal Corelli to be responsible for daily patrols and port defense; the other ships will either form small fleets and be deployed in Elicia or Tal Andal, or form a joint fleet to sail out to the open sea to confront or intercept the attacking Durucci fleet.

And now... this place has become the 'tourist attraction' that Darkus mentioned.

It has to be said, this is truly ironic.

A bitter smile appeared on Darrow's lips.

A military fortress built over thousands of years, a place where generations have sweated, bled, and even lost their lives, is now casually categorized as a 'tourist attraction' by an outsider.

It's like a sword you've meticulously crafted your whole life, which someone else takes a look at and says, "Hmm, it would look nice hanging on the wall."

But after taking a closer look, Darrowland felt that this place was indeed... suitable to be a tourist attraction?

That's why he was so angry he laughed.

It's not because Dakotas was wrong, but precisely because he was absolutely right.

The size of the island, the subsequent expansion plans of Tal Corelli, and the trend of ships evolving from wooden to iron vessels—all these factors combined meant that this naval base was indeed no longer suitable to serve as a naval base.

The dock wasn't deep enough, the berths weren't big enough, the channel wasn't wide enough, and even the arrow slits on those towers seemed superfluous...

“Otherwise what? Use it to imprison prisoners? Would you be willing to do that?” Darkus continued.

When he talked about prisons, he thought of Alcatraz, a fortress in another bay in another world, also standing on a deserted island, surrounded by water, where prisoners could not escape.

If this island fortress were also converted into a prison, it would achieve the same result in a similar way.

“I refuse!” Darrow responded immediately without hesitation. His tone was resolute, without the slightest hesitation.

As a prison, this place is suitable, surrounded by water on all sides, easy to defend and difficult to attack, making escape harder than climbing to heaven.

But are you kidding me? How could this place possibly be used as a prison?

This is Kosque's glory, a place defended by countless sailors and soldiers with their lives. Turn it into a prison?

It would be better to let it sink into the sea.

“Tradition and change go hand in hand.” Dakos’s voice slowed slightly. “Do you know what we did with our previous wooden ships?”

Darrowland turned his head to look at Darkus behind him. His brow furrowed slightly, then his head began to shake.

He didn't know, he hadn't paid attention to where those discarded wooden ships went. After Duruchi's iron ships began appearing in the waters of Ausuan, those wooden ships that he was once so proud of disappeared from his sight.

It wasn't sunk, it wasn't dismantled, it's just... gone.

“Not all of them were dismantled.” Darkus looked at Darrowland, but his hands didn’t stop. The oars rose and fell in his hands with a steady rhythm. “Some of them continue to be used as training ships, allowing recruits to learn how to tie knots, how to climb masts, and how to stand firm in the wind and waves on real ships. Others are moored ashore and maintained, their hulls supported on wooden blocks, coated with tar and varnish, like exhibits in a museum. The school regularly organizes visits for students, letting them know what ships used to be like, and what kind of ships their fathers and grandfathers sailed on.”

“Inheritance! Just like Anirren.” Darrow nodded emphatically; he understood.

It's not about throwing away all the old things in one fell swoop, nor is it about stubbornly clinging to the old ways.

It's about letting the old continue to contribute while letting the new pave the way for the future.

Tradition is not smashed, but passed on.

Change doesn't start from scratch; it comes from the past.

He looked at the island fortress again; its grey stone walls gleamed warmly in the sunlight, and the flags atop the towers fluttered in the sea breeze. He gazed at it for a long time, as if looking at an old friend. Then he looked away, gripped the oar again, and rowed with all his might.

The small boat lurched forward, splashing water from its bow that shimmered like scattered gold in the sunlight.

“So…” Renn spoke up after Darrowland had finished processing Darkus’s words. His voice was soft, as if he were asking a very ordinary question, “Shall we go up for a look around?”

As he spoke, he swung his oar, the blades drawing a shallow arc on the water. His gaze was fixed on Dakos's face, awaiting his command.

If Darkus wished, the next moment he would maneuver the oars, adjust the small boat's direction, and head towards the island fortress.

"Let's wait until the attraction is completed."

Actually, there's not much to see right now.

With the fleet gone, only a small number of sea guards remained stationed in the island fortress. Sparse figures drilled on the dock, spear shafts rising and falling, shields clashing, the sounds broken and intermittent by the sea breeze.

What was he going up there for?
Will he address Haiwei?

"I'll just say a few words..."

Those words flashed through his mind, and even he found them amusing.

This isn't his style. He's not the kind of commander who stands on a platform waving to soldiers, nor is he the kind of politician who needs to assert his presence in front of his soldiers.

So the trio continued paddling forward, huffing and puffing.

The sound of the oars hitting the water, splash, splash, splash, one after another, seemed to be keeping time for the future of the city. The sound was monotonous but not dull, repetitive but not boring, like some ancient language that needed no translation.

Darkus sat at the stern, Renn at the bow, and Darrowland in the middle. Each of the three held an oar and paddled, none of them speaking. But the silence wasn't awkward; it was a tacit understanding where they both knew each other and didn't need to say a word.

Actually, there's no need to do that.

Although Dakotas wasn't very good at navigating a boat, his rowing skills were only good enough to prevent the boat from capsizing, far from being proficient.

But he knows some magic tricks.

A spell, a gust of wind, a current of water—all it takes is for this little boat to shoot off like an arrow, without even needing to touch the oars.

But he didn't use it.

At this moment, he was like someone who had come on vacation to relax.

The main focus is on the experience.

He wanted to know what the rhythm of the city was like, what it felt like to look at Tal Corelli from the water, and what melody the sound of oars hitting the water and the sound of the sea breeze mixed together.

The magician wouldn't tell him these things.

If you keep scrolling forward, you'll reach the stadium.

The stadium, yes, a floating stadium, a "Garden of Waves" built on an island. From a distance, it looks like a gray stone flower blooming on the sea. The central island is surrounded by rings of man-made rock walls and platforms, and suspended bridges radiate outwards like spider silk, connecting smaller islands and reefs.

It's called the Court of Waves because it's where citizen soldiers train for maritime warfare. Simulated battles, water skills, and team relay races take place here in turn. The people of Kosquiat are passionate about playing and fighting in the water; it's not forced training, but a heartfelt, ingrained love for it.

They grew up on the crest of the wave, learned to swim in the tide, and learned to fight in the wind and waves.

For them, the sea is not an enemy, but a partner, a battlefield, and a playground.

Although the stadium is often considered part of the naval base, it is open to all citizens of Asur, not just soldiers. Non-active duty military personnel can use the facilities, but they cannot interfere with formal training; that is considered extremely impolite, and those who commit serious offenses may be detained in the "House of Reflection" until they learn proper restraint.

The so-called Room of Reflection is actually a small, windowless stone room on the ground floor of the island fortress. Inside, there is only a stone bench and an oil lamp. The person locked inside can do nothing but face the wall.

It is said that people who have been inside once become exceptionally polite afterward.

perhaps……

Kadjoin should have come here before rashly heading to the Temple of Asuyan.
The central island is covered with climbing walls, narrow passages, and rocky obstacles. The walls are wet and smooth as mirrors from the waves, requiring fingers to dig into the cracks and toes to step on almost non-existent bumps.

The narrow passage is only wide enough for one person to pass through, with deep water on both sides; if you fall in, you'll have to swim back. The rock obstacles are deliberately sculpted into irregular shapes, making it impossible to predict where to step next.

The suspension bridge spans to an even smaller island. The bridge deck is made of wooden planks and is hung from the rock wall by iron chains. Walking on it will cause it to sway, and when it sways violently, even the old sea lions have to slow down.

The floating archery targets drifted with the waves in the strait, sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, as if mocking the archer's accuracy.

In times of peace, tournaments are held here every month.

Those were the liveliest days in Tal Corelli, when spectators would travel by boat, climb the Lighthouse Gallery, or stand on balconies and rooftops high in the city to overlook the stadium from all angles.

The flying fish obstacle course race and the thrilling horse race along the harbor breakwater remain the most popular attractions. The flying fish riders tumble on the crests of waves, dive under suspended bridges, and turn along rock walls, risking being thrown into the sea at the slightest misstep; while the horse race riders gallop along the narrow breakwater path, the sound of hooves echoing on the stone slabs, keeping the audience's hearts pounding in their throats.

Unfortunately, although the war has ended, the Kosquieu Navy still has a lot to do.

As a result, the place became somewhat desolate during this period, and everything came to a standstill.

Besides these, this place is also a recruitment and job-seeking hub. Merchants and adventurers frequently come here, invited by cooperating nobles to train alongside their sea guards. Observing the abilities and character of the candidates during training is more effective than any interview. Some also come here to recruit experienced sailors who have completed their service; those veterans who have spent hundreds of years at sea are more useful than any new recruit.

It didn't stop, it kept paddling forward.

Until we passed the Garden of Dancing Waves and arrived at the Lighthouse Gallery.

"Yoran".

Darrow explained.

After the introduction, he glanced at Darkus, his expression complex. That complexity contained many layers: the solemnity of the introducer, the pride of the host, and a hint of inexplicable anticipation, like waiting for some kind of verification.

At first, Dakotas didn't understand.

He didn't understand why Darrow used that expression when introducing a "freelance commentator".

But he soon understood.

He sensed a warmth emanating from Yoram, a warmth that was neither servile nor obsequious, just right when facing strangers. When Yoram stood up to greet them, he smiled, a smile that was neither stiff, like those who become flustered when meeting important figures, nor excessive, like those salesmen who practically have "Welcome" written on their foreheads.

He was someone who stood behind his stall, ready to serve customers, as natural as the sea breeze and the tide.

This guy's main job is as a freelance guide. He attracts customers at the lighthouse, leading tourists on a tour of the lighthouse gallery, telling them about the lighthouse's history, the stories behind each mosaic mural, and the legends buried by time. His voice is pleasant, his pace is moderate, and he pauses and pauses when appropriate, as if reciting a poem he knows will be well-received.

The reason it's called his main job is because he also has side jobs, and more than one.

The artisans in the city would leave some trinkets with him, and he would sell them.

At the entrance to the Lighthouse Gallery, there is a small pavilion made of white stone. It is not big, just big enough to hold a table and a few chairs. The roof of the pavilion is covered with blue-gray stone slabs, which is consistent with the architectural style of the city.

The trinkets were neatly arranged on the wooden shelves in the pavilion: silver earrings, mother-of-pearl bracelets, rings carved with wave patterns, necklaces with aquamarine pendants, and some smaller, inexpensive but exquisite souvenirs, such as shell keychains, hemp rope bracelets, and postcards printed with lighthouse patterns.

"This profession is perfect for you!"

As Dakota selected items, he sighed with admiration, his gaze sweeping across the wooden shelves, his fingers hesitating between several pieces of jewelry.

In his view, this guy is not only a qualified tour guide who can make dry history vivid and interesting and keep tourists' attention, but also a qualified salesman. He is not the kind of salesman who pushes things on you and makes you feel uncomfortable, but the kind of salesman who says, "I'm just helping you pick out a suitable one," and makes people willingly pay money.

In response, Yoram bowed. His bow was just right, not a deep, almost humble, ninety-degree bow, nor a perfunctory, nod.

His face wore a smile, a smile that was complex: the joy of being affirmed, and the pride of having successfully sold the goods to Darkus and Renn, two people of high status.

These weren't ordinary customers; they were the kind of people who would never normally appear at his stall, and yet he sold them things.

These two emotions, combined with the Kosquien's unique sense of pride that "I'm not trying to please you, I'm just doing my job," made his smile appear both sincere and restrained.

Darkus glanced at the smile on Yoran's face and smiled back. His smile held no mockery, no condescension, but rather a knowing, equal, and slightly appreciative one.

In his opinion, it was fortunate that the camera had not yet appeared in Kosquie.

Otherwise, he and Ryan would take a group photo with Yoran.

He could even picture it: him and Ryan flashing their signature smiles, giving a thumbs-up, with Yolan standing in the middle, holding up what he'd just sold. Then, the photo would be hung up in Yolan's gazebo, next to the trinkets, as proof of "Celebrity and Me," a silent advertisement to attract the next tourist.

Thankfully, the camera hadn't appeared in Kosquiat yet.

Dakos repeated it to himself, the corners of his mouth curving into a wider smile.

He quickly selected two sets of silver jewelry inlaid with mother-of-pearl and aquamarine.

The set is a necklace and earrings, the warm luster of mother-of-pearl and the cool luster of aquamarine are perfectly matched, as if the two expressions of the sea are frozen in metal. He plans to give it to Drusara, who is still conducting research at the White Tower of Hoss.

The other set was a bracelet and ring combination. The silver bracelet was inlaid with several small aquamarines, which shimmered with a light blue light in the sunlight. He planned to give it to Genevieve, who was staying in Lorthern.

Genevieve did not come along on this expedition.

This is a bit too much of a challenge for a vampire.

The crescendos that the Slams release from time to time are not a pleasant thing for vampires.

It's not like Slam has to tell Genevieve to run away and hide far away every time before releasing Quesch.

Are they blasting in the mine?
Ryan also picked out two sets, one for his wife and one for his daughter. He was very careful in his selection, examining each piece for a long time in the sunlight, checking its luster, color, and the sturdiness of the inlay. After all, he was an artist, and his sensitivity to color was much higher than that of ordinary people, and his standards for 'beauty' were much more demanding.

But when he finished selecting, he had a satisfied expression on his face, which shows that Yoran's goods were indeed good.

Yoram had originally intended to give it away for free. He said things like, "It's not worth much, you can take it," in a sincere tone that didn't seem like he was just being polite.

But Darkus refused.

No need.

Darkus's refusal was simple; he just waved his hand, said "It's what you pay for," and then gestured for Renn to pay.

Yoram did not insist further. He knew that some people's refusal was a genuine refusal, not just politeness.

During the payment stage, there was no scene where Darrow stepped forward to pay the bill or the two sides declined each other's offer.

Elven society doesn't have this custom; whoever buys something pays for it—it's a matter of course, and there's no need to rush to pay to prove anything. Although there's no such custom, it's not impossible to do so—if Darrowland really wanted to pay, he could easily do so.

However, the emotionally intelligent Darrowland saw through Darkus's thoughts. He didn't take out his money or say anything. He just stood aside and watched Darkus and Renn pay, his expression as calm as if he were watching the tide rise and fall.

"more than……"

Before they began their tour, Darrow, as the host, had already taken a step forward, ready to lead the way. He stopped, turned around, and muttered something under his breath.

The voice was very low, and only Dakos could hear it.

His gaze fell on Yoran, then returned, as if he were considering which words to use.

"He is also a qualified agent, and even more so, a qualified legal advisor."

"Ok?"

Dakos stopped in his tracks; he had suddenly become interested.

His gaze shifted from Darrowland's face to Yoran's retreating figure. This guy seemed completely unrelated to the word "legal advisor," but Darrowland's tone didn't sound like he was joking. (End of Chapter)