Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Joram Blond, no, Joram was not deaf.

Although Dakos and Darrowland spoke in hushed tones, as soft as whispers carried on the sea breeze, the Lighthouse Gallery’s interior was enclosed and echoing, the stone walls trapping each syllable before gently bouncing it back.

Yoran's pointed ears moved uncontrollably, an instinct, a sensitivity to sound etched into the very bones of an elf.

He heard it.

I heard every single word.

His heart fluttered.

It was a very strange feeling, an indescribable feeling.

It felt like spending countless sleepless nights, doing countless practice problems, and enduring long days filled with anxiety and anticipation, only to finally see your name on the list of successful applicants—the name you'd silently repeated a thousand times was truly there.

It's like holding a lottery ticket, your fingers soaked with sweat, checking each number one by one, and finding that they all match.

These feelings surged up at the same time, crowding into the same moment, into the same ventricle, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

As his heart pounded, his body began to tremble uncontrollably. It wasn't the kind of shivering from the cold, but a tremor that rose from the base of his spine, climbed up his spine, and made every muscle quiver. His fingers unconsciously clenched into fists.

So he stood there, looking very strange. He leaned forward slightly, frozen in place, motionless, yet trembling slightly.

Anyone who didn't know better would have thought he'd been electrocuted.

"He was well-versed in the laws of Kosqui, including those of the various kingdoms of Ausuan, no, the provinces."

Darrowland naturally noticed Yoran's reaction. His gaze swept over Yoran's trembling back, his eyebrows remained still, his lips did not move, and his expression did not change.

He did see it; he chose not to see it.

He continued speaking, his tone calm, as if he were introducing something very ordinary.

But he knew in his heart that he was testing the waters.

Yoram was like the pebble in his hand, thrown out, and the echo and ripples were heard.

Darius's reaction was what he really wanted to probe.

According to the tabletop role-playing community, Darrowland launched a dynamic conspiracy.

It's not the kind of conspiracy where there's a pre-written script and everyone acts according to the lines; it's the kind of conspiracy where you adjust your actions based on the other side's reactions, fight as you go, and live a life-or-death situation.

“Strictly speaking, he is also one of my advisors…” He continued, speaking casually, as if saying, “Oh, right, there’s one more thing.”

But beneath that understated demeanor lay a test.

"An unofficial staff member?" Dakotas caught the key point and asked. His hearing was better than Joran's, not in terms of sound, but in terms of meaning.

“Yes.” Darrowland replied without hesitation.

"A follower of the Hoss?" Dakota asked again.

"Yes," Darrowland replied crisply.

Dakos didn't ask any more questions. He simply shifted his gaze from Darrowland to the still slightly trembling figure.

“Turn around.”

His voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear.

It's not a command, not a request, but a natural, irresistible call that says, "I have something to say to you, so turn around."

Yoram's body tensed abruptly, as if struck by the sound. Then he slowly, segment by segment, turned around. His movements were so slow, as if he were stalling for time, or as if his body had not yet fully recovered from the trembling.

The ease and confidence he had shown moments before were gone. The composure of "I'm a professional commentator, I've seen it all" and the self-assurance of "I can sell this to anyone" had shattered, leaving only stiffness on his face and tension in his eyes.

Dakos watched him turn around, watched him break down. The process was brief, but every detail was clear: his Adam's apple bobbed, his lips pursed and then relaxed, his eyelashes trembled, as if he were waiting for a verdict.

"civilian?"

Darkus's voice remained calm, devoid of sarcasm, smugness, or the unconscious oppression often found in superiors looking down upon those in lower positions. His gaze was simply serene, as if asking, "How's the weather today?" or "Does this road lead to the docks?"

But some things are relative.

Even if a tiger in a zoo is just lying there dozing off, its very existence is that of a tiger.

Darkus didn't need to put on any gesture, raise his voice, or say anything harsh. The mere sight of him was enough to make a commoner feel that insurmountable hierarchy.

It's not because of what Darkus did, but because of who he is.

“Yes.” Yoran’s voice was a little tight. He didn’t dare to meet Darkus’s eyes. His gaze fell on Darkus’s shoulder, then on the ground, then up again, then down again.

“No wonder…” Darkus nodded and muttered to himself.

That "No wonder" contained a lot: understanding, relief, a sudden realization, and also a hint of inexplicable understanding of the person's situation.

Yoram's background explains why he chose to stay here.

It's not that he doesn't want to climb higher, it's that he can't climb higher.

This was undoubtedly a great option for him, allowing him to work as a freelance tour guide, peddle goods through his words, and even provide legal advice if needed.

It allows them to make a living while also utilizing their expertise.

For him, this was already one of the best survival strategies for a commoner.

He's just a lawyer.

Dakotas defined Yoram in his mind.

Not the kind of court lawyer who frequents palaces and chats with nobles, but the kind of "grassroots lawyer" who squats on a street corner, makes a living by word of mouth, and goes to whoever needs him.

There was no office, no assistant, only a table, a chair, and a brilliant mind.

In Dakota's view, Kosquieu's court was somewhat divine.

The main problem is that there are too many supernatural beings, not only in the court but also in society at large.

He'd seen so many extraordinary people lately that he was starting to feel numb.

Strictly speaking, the first Kosquien he encountered, Belodar, was also a god, and a god among gods.

Conversely, in the eyes of these Kosquiteans and even all the elves—whether it be Duruchi, Asur, or Enil and Asley—he was also a god.

As a commoner and a follower of Hoss, Yoram, without a second vision, had no place to survive in the court.

Although D'Auroran did not elaborate on the so-called advisors, Dakous could roughly guess that they were simply people D'Auroran would consult with Joran when he encountered difficult legal cases.

It wasn't a formal, paid consultant position; it was the kind of private, friendly help where someone would ask, "I have a question, can you look it up for me?"

And then no more.

Yoran still couldn't enter the palace. Even if he forced his way in, even if Darrowland protected him, he couldn't be protected by Darrowland in time. Asur was skilled at intrigue, at backstabbing, and at operating from the shadows.

If you force someone into a position today, someone will find something to use against them tomorrow, and they will be ruined the day after. His commoner status limits him, unless he has a second vision and a deep understanding of magic, like Fenrir.

Fenrir was also of commoner origin, but he was an archmage with a second vision, magical prowess, and irreplaceable professional skills.

Yoram did not have these things.

Dakos looked at Joran, who lowered his head, not daring to look at him. The lighthouse was quiet, with only the sea breeze squeezing in from between the rocks, making a soft whistling sound, as if something was sighing softly deep within the stone walls.

Then, he turned and glanced at Darrowland. After Darrowland finished his introduction, he stood like a statue, his body motionless, his expression calm, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if he hadn't spoken those words, as if Yoran wasn't a pebble he had thrown, as if all of this had nothing to do with him.

Nevertheless, Darkus knew why Darrowland had said those things before, and he also knew why he was reacting this way now.

what is this?
Has Darrowman had another episode?
Or is this the beginning of a small-scale game?
Darrowland tested the waters, and now it's Darrow's turn to respond.

What will Darrowland think if he doesn't accept?
If he answers, how should I respond?
Darkus had many choices: he could ignore it, gloss over the topic, and let the stone fall into the sea without even a splash; or he could follow Darrowland's recommendation, give Joram a chance, and also give Darrowland face.

Is Joram listening to a question?

I will read the first line of the couplet; you will provide the second line.
Do you have any legal questions?
If this were written as a novel, wouldn't it be several thousand words long?
Dakos mentally reviewed the options, each one flashing through his mind before being gently brushed aside—none of them were his style.

"What did the distributor say?"

Without thinking, without hesitation.

Darkus immediately changed the subject, first playing hard to get. His tone was as casual as if he were asking "What are you having for lunch today?", with even a carefree, harmless smile on his face.

Yoran remained standing there, but his ears—those pointed, uncontrollable ears—twitched slightly the moment Darkus spoke. His gaze lifted from the ground and landed on Darkus's face, filled with expectation and fervor, like someone who had walked in darkness for a long time suddenly seeing a light in the distance.

He waited.

Waiting for Darkus to ask the question he was expecting.

He was waiting for the opportunity that might change his fate.

Then, Dakous asked, "What did the agent say?"

That lamp went out.

The expectation and fervor in Yoran's eyes turned into disappointment in that instant. Not the kind of intense disappointment that would break someone on the spot, but the kind of disappointment that comes as expected, a quieter, deeper kind, like throwing a stone into a deep well and waiting a long time without hearing an echo.

His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but then he swallowed it back. His Adam's apple bobbed, and his gaze shifted from Dakos's face to a spot on Dakos's shoulder before returning to the ground.

But he didn't let his disappointment linger for long.

He took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress all the emotions in his chest, to the deepest part, and then cover them with layer upon layer of reason. His shoulders shrugged slightly, then relaxed. His expression slowly, little by little, recovered from its stiffness, like reassembling a wall that had been blown down by the wind.

Then, he began his orderly narration.

His voice had lost its earlier tension and trembling, regaining the steady, clear, and rhythmic tone characteristic of a commentator. But Dakota could tell that the steadyness was deliberately maintained, and the clarity was forced.

Yoram was using his professional skills to cover up his inner collapse.

In his view, that tiny chance had vanished.

It came, just now, the moment Darkus opened his lips.

He thought Dakota would ask, "What laws do you know?" or "What are your thoughts on the court?" or any other question that would allow him to demonstrate his professional competence.

But Dakous asked, "What did the agent say?"

That's not a question that requires legal knowledge; that's a question that requires sales experience.

Does he know anything about sales?

Understand.

But that's not what he wanted to show.

However, he still answered, because he is a professional and dedicated person who will give his all regardless of the size of the opportunity.

Even if the opportunity is so small as to be negligible, he will try to seize it, even if it turns out to be the same as always.

Craftsmen can create exquisite jewelry; that's their skill. But how to sell it, and at a relatively satisfactory price, is another matter entirely.

Yoram lacked these skills; he couldn't carve silver, set gemstones, or engrave wave patterns on metal. But he had a silver tongue and lived in the same area and shared the same background as those craftsmen.

He knows how they speak, how they think, and how they see the world.

He knew what kind of people they trusted—not the richest, not the most powerful, but the most reliable. Through his persuasive skills, the legal advice he provided, and his own character, he earned the deep trust of those craftsmen.

Gradually, craftsmen would think of him first after completing their work and choose to ship their goods to him. Sometimes, Yoran would also collect goods and raw materials to provide to the craftsmen, such as seashells from ocean-going merchant ships, gemstones from Iris, and rare woods from the Charis Forest.

He gave these things to craftsmen, who made them into ornaments and then gave them to him to sell.

Thus, a chain emerged, and this chain grew larger and larger. Besides selling his wares at stalls, Yoram gradually developed into an agent.

Not the kind of agent who sits in an office signing contracts, but the kind who squats by the dock, holding a handful of samples, and negotiating every deal with just his words.

Daxus didn't make things difficult for Joram, nor did he shake him anymore. After listening, he nodded in satisfaction, but he still struck an exaggerated pose.

He turned around, stood sideways, his left hand behind his back, and his right hand outstretched forward, palm up, as if guiding a distinguished guest. He leaned slightly forward, his face bearing a solemn expression that said, "I am about to introduce you to a very important person."

"Let me formally introduce you, this is Rein Takaya, the deputy head of the Resonance Institute!"

His voice changed too, becoming louder and more dramatic, like an actor reciting lines on stage.

Ryan didn't show any speechlessness, didn't roll his eyes, and didn't seem unsure how to respond.

So, the two of them were like villains in an animation who made a flamboyant entrance.

Team Rocket, blasting off at the speed of light!
One is responsible for the introduction, and the other for the appearance; one poses in front, and the other strikes a pose behind; one raises their voice to the highest level, and the other makes their expression the most expressive.

The scene was so comical that it didn't seem like a serious, grand narrative involving the Phoenix King and Slan; it was more like two street performers praising each other at a market in a small town.

This completely baffled Yoram.

His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes were wide open. All the feelings of loss, disappointment, and collapse he had just experienced were dispelled by this sudden and completely inappropriate display of extravagance.

He didn't know where to look. Darkus? He was still in that pose. Rennes? He was still striking that pose. Darrowland?
Darrowland was no longer like a statue. His brows furrowed, his lips slightly parted, and his gaze darted back and forth between Darkus and Renn, as if trying to understand the meaning of what was happening before him. His expression held no anger, no displeasure, only confusion and shock. Confused because he couldn't understand what Darkus was doing, and shocked because he realized that Renn was indeed cooperating.

Knowing what Darkus was going to do, and knowing that Rein, who had come to his own time, had taken over the stage.

He dropped his flamboyant pose and returned to a normal standing posture, but his tone still carried a calm "let me tell you" quality. He began to explain what the Resonance Institute did, not in an official, dry way, but in a popular, vivid way that even ordinary people could understand.

During this process, Darrowland wore a thoughtful expression. His brow furrowed, then relaxed, and then furrowed again, as if he were weighing something in his mind.

And in Yoran's eyes, a burning passion ignited once more, not the cautious, tentative expectation of before, but a brighter, bolder passion, as if he saw the entire starry sky illuminating him. His fingers began to tremble slightly again, but the trembling was different from before; before it was due to tension and disappointment, now it was due to excitement and hope.

"so……"

As Ryan spoke, he stretched out both hands. His left hand was in front, and his right hand was behind, as if he were holding something, or perhaps pointing at something.

Darkus gave a strange look. He had already guessed what Rein was going to do next. How should I put it? He swore it wasn't his instruction.

Ryan's tone, his actions, and his "I'll give you two choices" routine are all entirely self-taught.

"The Spiritual Prophecy Academy? In charge of propaganda? Legal education?" Raine raised his left hand slightly higher, then his right. "The Boundary Academy? In charge of justice?"

After saying this, before Yoram could respond, he spread his hands out.

It was a gesture of "you chose it yourself," and also a gesture of "I understand you."

He understood Joram.

He knew that Yoram was walking the path he had come from, the path of climbing from the bottom up, where every step had to be firm and there could be no slackening.

He knew that feeling—the feeling of your heart pounding in your chest when an opportunity comes; the feeling of your shoulders suddenly feeling heavy when you are trusted; the feeling of your nose suddenly stinging when someone is willing to lend a hand.

Similarly, he also really likes this feeling.

Although he was the deputy head, he was already a big step ahead of the head, who was far away in Ashriel.

Of course, it's not because he's smarter than the person in charge, but because he's here and the person in charge is there.

"No rush, you can take your time to choose, learn, and think. If you'd like, you can come with us when we leave Tal Corelli. Now..."

He withdrew his hands, turned slightly to the side, and made a "please" gesture.

"It's time for the commentary."

Yoram bowed again.

This time, his back was bent exceptionally low. He bent so low that his forehead almost touched his knees, his back was parallel to the ground, and his joints made a slight, stiff sound, as if they hadn't bent like that in so long. His hands hung at his sides, his fingers slightly curled, the fingertips almost touching the ground.

He didn't speak, but his body spoke, in the oldest language that needs no translation and is understood by everyone.

His chance has finally arrived!
It's not that tiny, fragile opportunity from before.

It is a solid, substantial opportunity that he will need to dedicate the rest of his life to.

It wasn't Darius who gave it to him; he earned it himself. With his words, his character, and the trust he had built up over the years under the lighthouse, at the stalls, and wherever he was needed.

His body was still bent over, and the wind squeezed in from between the rocks, blowing the hem of his clothes and the strands of his hair.

He didn't move.

Darkus glanced at him, then at Renn, then at Darrowland. Then he smiled—not the smile of someone who had succeeded in their scheme, but a smile that said, "Things are getting interesting."

“Get up,” he said. “You can’t straighten up if you’ve been bent over for too long.”

Joram slowly, section by section, straightened up.

Are there tear stains on his face?

No.

But his eyes were red, as if they had just been hit by the sea breeze, or as if they had just been poked by something.

"Satisfied?"

After taking a few steps, Darkus looked at Darrowland. He didn't stop walking, but his gaze shifted from ahead to the profile of the Kosquie proxy beside him.

The tone was soft, as if asking about a trivial matter, but Darrowland knew it was no small thing. He neither nodded nor shook his head immediately. His steps didn't stop, but the pace slowed—not out of hesitation, but out of deliberation.

Then he revealed a wistful expression. In that expression were感慨 (gǎnkǎi, deep emotion), 然醒 (ránxǐng, sudden realization), a sense of relief that "I finally understand," and a trace of indescribable melancholy belonging to a witness to the old era.

“No wonder…” he murmured, his voice low, as if speaking to himself, “No wonder you all…”

The words weren't finished, but the meaning was already conveyed.

No wonder you, Duruci, have gotten to where you are today!
What Darkus and Ryan were just doing was breaking down the constraints that confine people, so that those who shouldn't be overlooked would no longer be overlooked.

It's just the way it's expressed...

Duruci can do what Asur society cannot.

The class barriers that had remained unbroken in Asur society for thousands of years were pried open by Duruci with just a few words.

Actually, he had known about it for a long time.

The method involved listening to "Da Chui" Bel-Aihol play after the meeting with Tal Iris.

That time, he felt it was a bit exaggerated. When Bel-Aihor spoke of Dakos, the tone, the expression, the fervor with which he wished to worship him as a god, made him feel that it was a bit too much.

No matter how capable someone is, they shouldn't be described like that, right?

But now it seems that it's not an exaggeration at all, not at all; on the contrary, it's somewhat conservative.

Bell-Aijol's boasts, after witnessing Dakos firsthand, experiencing Duruci's efficiency firsthand, and seeing Yoran's fate changed by a few words, seemed overly restrained.

There was no in-depth dialogue, no formal talks.

Based on his brief introduction and Yoran's immediate reaction, the deal was done.

There was no committee, no review, and no reporting or approval process at each level.

There was no "we need to study it further," no "the conditions are not yet ripe," and no "we'll discuss it at the next meeting."

Just a few words, a nod, a bow, and a person's fate can be rewritten.

As a high-ranking nobleman, the rise of commoners somewhat...

Darrow searched his mind for the right word, but couldn't find one. It wasn't jealousy, it wasn't unease, it wasn't the kind of anxiety that "my position is threatened."

It's a more subtle, more indescribable feeling, like watching a section of your own wall suddenly being torn down.

You know perfectly well that wall should have been torn down long ago, but it is, after all, your home wall. You've lived here for thousands of years and you're used to it.

When it is actually demolished, you will still feel a pang in your heart.

But he was still happy for Joram, not in a condescending, albeit condescending, way, but in an equal, sincere, and heartfelt way, "I'm really happy for you."

Because Yoram deserves it.

He guarded the lighthouse for so many years, earning a living with his words, helping people with the law, and building trust with his character. He did not take crooked paths, did not curry favor, and did not betray his principles; he always adhered to Hosse's faith.

He just stood there, waiting, waiting for an opportunity.

Now the opportunity came, and he seized it.

He was even happier about the future of the elves, knowing better than anyone that Ulthuan was in decline, a fact he, as a high-ranking noble, understood better than anyone else. Beneath the surface of prosperity lay a shrinking population, a contracting economy, stagnant technology, and a loss of vitality.

The society of Asur is decaying in a slow, imperceptible, but irreversible way.

He saw it all and was anxious, but there was little he could do. He could maneuver in the council of Kosquière, negotiate trade deals, and mediate conflicts among the nobles.

But these are only temporary solutions, not a cure.

Where is the book?

The essence lies within the system itself.

Asur's system is outdated.

With Duruci reigning over Ulthuan, the elven society is poised for revival.

This is not blind optimism, but seeing is believing.

From materials to energy, from agriculture to industry, from transportation to finance, from education to law, Dakos's blueprint covers every corner and every level.

This is a comprehensive revival, not just patching things up or making minor adjustments; it's a complete overhaul from the ground up.

Given time... Dakos's various blueprints and plans emerged in his mind. The images he had heard about, seen about, partially understood, and still largely understood, were pieced together in his mind like a huge jigsaw puzzle.

He saw the railway traversing the mountain crater, saw urban clusters growing along the coastline, saw iron ships sailing on the vast ocean, and saw…

can not imagine!

It's not that I can't imagine those scenes coming true, it's that I can't imagine what Ulthuan would be like if those scenes came true.

Is an Ausuan without the monopoly of nobles, an Ausuan where everyone is equal before the law, an Ausuan where commoners can stand in the court, still an Ausuan?

Darrowland didn't know, but he looked forward to that day.

It wasn't because he wanted to see the nobles brought down, but because he wanted to see the elven race no longer decline.

In this process, his task is to support Dakota as much as possible and complete the tasks assigned by Dakota. This is not blind obedience, but clear-headed, discerning cooperation based on a shared goal.

He knew that Darkus was not perfect, he knew that the system brought by Duruci also had its own problems, and he knew that there would be countless contradictions and conflicts on the road ahead.

But the direction is right, the overall situation is good, and he is willing to stand on this side.

"Satisfied."

This time, his voice was much firmer than before.

There was no sighing, no lamenting, only a heavy, well-considered confirmation.

Darkus simply nodded slightly and continued walking forward. (End of Chapter)