Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Elisande squinted at Rahil standing beside him, noticing the bruise on Rahil's lip—a bluish-purple color with yellowing edges.

Rahil also looked at Ellessand, at Ellessand's eyes, one big and one small, the left one swollen to the point of being just a slit, with a scabbed scratch on the eyelid.

The next second, they both burst out laughing.

The laughter wasn't loud, but it sounded particularly jarring in the howling night wind outside the barracks.

Helplessness, bewilderment, sighs, and a hint of self-mockery—all these emotions mingled together and squeezed out of his throat, turning into two short, sharp "ha"s.

At this moment, the two of them were not in the Kingdom of Caledo, but had come to the northern peninsula of the Kingdom of Elion at the invitation of Darkus, or more precisely, to the landing site near Tal Usvi.

Of course, the injuries on their faces had nothing to do with Dakos or Duruci.

As for how he got the injuries on his face... that's a long story.

The invited members of Caledon were not just the two of them, but all the dragon princes of Caledon. So, in response to Darkus's invitation, they gathered more than half of the dragon princes, boarded the ship prepared by Duruci, and crossed the inland sea.

After the dragon princes boarded the ship, some held onto the railings and dared not let go, some squatted on the deck and kept groping, trying to find the rivets and welds used to assemble and fix the ship, and some studied the lights in the cabin for a long time.

After being tossed about in the waves for two days and one night, they arrived yesterday evening.

After landing, they first went to the barracks that Duruqi had prepared for them, put down their luggage, and then it was time for dinner.

As a result, I was called away before we could even prepare for the meal.

It wasn't Darkus or Duruci who called them away.

They came to a meeting, but that was all.

There were no elaborate hospitality programs; at least, Trucchi hadn't prepared any. At most, one could only say that the hospitality was "inadequate."

The barracks were standard barracks; there were no special privileges for officers or nobles. Everyone slept in the same beds and used the same blankets, the only difference being that there were a few fewer beds in each room. Meals were the same; there were no special kitchens or meals for the elite. The mess hall had rows of long tables with iron trays and stainless steel cutlery. Although there was a variety of dishes, you had to get your own from the window, taking only what you could eat; no one would bring it to you.

It was Asur who called them.

Specifically, they were nobles from the kingdoms of Elion and Charis, as well as several local lords from Avalon. Because they were closer to the area, they arrived a day or half a day earlier than the Kaledo group.

As former allies and friends I see every day, there's no reason not to go.

So, the two of them took some dragon princes with them.

Although the barracks were standard, they were fully equipped. The meeting room was in a separate building in the center of the camp. A squad of Duru's guards stood at the door and pushed open the heavy wooden door when they saw them arrive.

Before the conference room door was fully closed, and before Allesand and Rahil could find their seats, they heard a bombshell announcement from Princess Liris's Angry Mane.

"Druucci is going to divide up the land of us nobles!"

Liris's voice wasn't loud, but it echoed exceptionally clearly in the enclosed room. She dropped the bombshell without any preamble, introduction, or "Listen up, everyone."

All eyes instantly focused on her, then followed her gaze to the Kaled people who had just entered. Those gazes held scrutiny, probing, and a demanding question: "Which side are you on?"

However, Alessand and Rahil remained calm. They had been to Lorthene and stayed there for three days. They knew of the existence of the Fateweavers and what they did.

They didn't just hear about it; they saw it with their own eyes. They knew that the rock would fall sooner or later, they just didn't know when, but they were certain it would hit them on the head.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Valoril Ironthorn asked sharply.

His voice was like the sound of a hammer bouncing off an anvil, carrying an angry "you owe me an explanation" tone. His knuckles tapped twice on the table, making a thumping sound.

In his view, although the war had been lost, the Caledons were still important allies of the traditionalists, people "on our side." Allies should share a common hatred of the enemy, and allies should stand up at crucial moments, not remain expressionless and indifferent as if listening to something that had nothing to do with them.

Under the watchful eyes of the entire audience, Elisander slowly raised his arms, palms facing upwards, made a perfunctory gesture, and then lowered them. That movement—the outstretched hands, the slight shrug, the enigmatic smile on his lips—was a signature move of Darkus. He was cosplaying Darkus, responding to Darkus's actions in Darkus's manner.

Some people understood it, while others did not.

Those who understood the situation looked even uglier.

"What does this mean?" Ellisand's voice wasn't loud, but every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth. "A verbal protest? Or a renewed war?"

"You!" Valoril was enraged by Elisande's nonchalant attitude and words. He abruptly stood up, the chair tipping backward and crashing to the floor with a loud thud. He raised his hand, his finger almost touching Elisande's nose. "When did you Kalerdos become spineless? Have you abandoned the honor of your ancestors?"

Rahil took a step forward, standing beside Elisander. His movement was slow, but the step was firm, the sound of his boots striking the stone floor clearly audible in the conference room. He didn't reach out to block Valorel's fingers, but simply placed his body between Elisander and Valorel.

“So what are you going to say? Hmm?” Rahil chimed in, his tone calm but every word barbed. “Lead your men to fight another battle against Duruci?”

Although Rahil was relatively peaceful and humble, he was ultimately a Caledonian. The contrast and juxtaposition vividly demonstrate his position as a Caledonian.

Preserving Caledo is of utmost importance to the Caledonians.

The priority has been adjusted.

ally?

That's all in the past; the war was lost. It wasn't that they didn't want to fight, but that they couldn't win. They were crushed on every front, had no advantage whatsoever, and were filled with despair.

Another war? With what?

Since we're not fighting anymore, let's embrace the new era.

The atmosphere in the meeting room suddenly became tense.

The nobles of Elion exchanged glances; some shook their heads slightly, some took a sip of their wine, and some looked away. Charis's side was even more agitated; some began to mutter curses, while others clenched their fists, cracking their knuckles. The ladies of Avalon sat up straighter, their expressions calm, but their eyes darted around rapidly, as if watching a game of chess, calculating the gains and losses of each side.

“The Eternal Queen has agreed.” Seeing the situation getting worse, the veins on Valoril’s neck bulged and his face turned red. It looked like the “finger poking his face” was about to escalate to a “fist attack” when Lady Elena from Avalon finally stepped forward.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it possessed an undeniable penetrating power. She brought forth the Eternal Queen, like a shield, blocking the impending conflict.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense.

It wasn't easing, it was stiff, like a string stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any tighter, but no one dared to let go.

The nobles and powerful figures present could be categorized as traditionalists, whose core interest lay in land. Duruci's demand for land distribution undoubtedly crossed their red line. It was the foundation of their families, the source of their power, and proof of their existence in the world.

You cut their income, they can tolerate it; you reduce their military power, they can tolerate it; but you want to take away their land? That's going to kill them. They will inevitably respond and resist, even if the way they resist is just to bang on the table, glare, and coordinate with each other in this conference room provided by Trudeau.

But now, Elena has brought out the Eternal Queen.

This is a difficult situation.

In Ulthuan, the Eternal Queen is unparalleled in every way; she is the earthly embodiment of Aisha, the symbol of Ulthuan, and the spiritual mother of all Asur.

You can oppose a nobleman, you can oppose a decree, you can even oppose the Phoenix King, but how can you oppose the Eternal Queen? Can they openly criticize the Eternal Queen, or even hurl insults at her?
No one dares. If you insult the Eternal Queen, half the commoners in your manor will flee the next day, two-thirds of the guests at your table will be gone, and your name will be crossed off all respectable invitation lists.

In this tense, almost frozen atmosphere, when everyone was unsure where to look,

Ultimately, it was the one who tied the knot who could untie it, and Valoril spoke up.

"I don't know."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was deep. It wasn't an angry shout, nor an agitated question; it was a weary and confused whisper squeezed from the depths of his chest.

His finger was still raised in mid-air, but he didn't poke any further. His gaze shifted from Elisande, sweeping over Rahil, over the silent dragon princes, and over the 'allies' who were avoiding his gaze.

He lowered his hand, took a step back, and righted the chair that had fallen to the ground, but didn't sit down. He just stood there, holding onto the back of the chair, like a tree that had been bent by the wind but hadn't fallen yet.

Fortunately, Darkus wasn't here, otherwise he would have had to sit up to listen.

"I really don't understand."

When he said it a second time, there was something more in his voice—not anger, but disappointment.

"Why did it turn out like this? We can still fight!"

After saying that, he turned his gaze to Eldan.

This meeting was convened by Charis's side.

Eldan hadn't wanted to come. He'd seen too many of these "discussions" that ended in bickering, table-banging, and unpleasantness.

But there's nothing we can do; he's the one in charge of the Kingdom of Elion now.
He sat there like a wooden stake forced into a flowerpot, remaining silent since arriving, silently drinking the beverage provided by Duluqi—an amber-colored, bubbly, unidentifiable substance. He drank glass after glass, as if the liquid in the glass was more flavorful than the argument unfolding before him.

And now... he had to put down his glass and stand up.

As he stood up, he let out a silent laugh. The laugh was soft, but it was exceptionally clear in the noisy conference room. It wasn't mockery, nor helplessness, but a weary realization that said, "I should have thought of that."

He had the illusion that Dakota knew they would hold such a meeting and had thoughtfully prepared all the necessary supplies.

The Osuan sand table in the middle of the conference room is the best proof, with mountains, rivers, cities, ports, forests, and swamps all clearly marked.

This wasn't something that could be prepared on the spot; it had been placed here long ago. Perhaps it was used by the Duruci officers before, and now it's waiting for them to come, waiting for them to argue, waiting for them to point fingers at each other and exchange insults.

"What are you laughing at?" Liris asked, displeased.

Her voice was sharp, like fingernails scratching a stone slab. Her gaze swept from Eldan's face to the sand table, then back to Eldan's face, trying to find a flaw in that calm expression.

Eldan said nothing. He simply stretched out his hand and pointed to the sand table, not to a city, not to a river, but to the meticulously sculpted plain in the very center of the sand table, representing the core of Ulthuan.

His finger hovered in the air for a moment, then slowly, as if drawing a period, circled around. He looked around, his gaze sweeping across the faces of each attendee.

Unfortunately, judging from the reactions of the crowd, some people frowned, some were confused, and some grimaced impatiently. It seemed that only he had grasped Darkus's wicked sense of humor.

"Explain, explain, what do you mean by 'we can still fight'?"

Feeling bored, he slowly walked to the sand table, his boots making a dull thud on the stone bricks. He turned to face Valoril, his gaze as calm as a stagnant pool, but what lay beneath that calm was heavier than Valoril's roar.

"Why doesn't Tal Usvi hold his ground and wait for reinforcements?" Valorel said, pointing to the sand table.

His fingertip pressed down hard on the mark "Tal Usvi," as if he wanted to press the mark into the desktop.

Just like with Eldan before her, Eldaria Goldman remained silent until the conversation turned to her. She sat by the window, one foot propped on the chair back, clutching a glass bottle in her hand, silently drinking the beverage provided by Duruci.

She didn't care about the sand table, the strategy, or the "holding out for reinforcements" mentality; she had already...

"I will treat your mother well!"

As Eldalia prepared to raise the bottle again and blow into it, the conversation suddenly took a turn and focused on her. She jolted as if struck on the back of the head. Her body tensed abruptly, and she jumped up from her chair.

Then, she hurled a glass beverage bottle, which arced through the air and landed at Valoril's feet.

The glass made a cracking sound the moment it hit the ground, the sound exploding in the enclosed conference room like a signal flare.

At that moment, all the noble members of the Elli family present stood up. It wasn't pre-arranged; it was instinct. The screeching sound of chairs falling backward, the clanging of metal armrests hitting the edge of the table, and the rustling of robes brushing against the floor all blended together like a sudden storm.

Then, the chain reaction caused the nobles of Charis and Avalon to stand up as well. Some did it to protect themselves, some to prevent the situation from escalating, and some were simply reacting to the fright of the scene.

The Caledonian nobleman, who was about to sit down and whose buttocks were about to make contact with the seat, bounced back as if he had a spring in his body. Rahil's hand was already on the hilt of his sword at his waist, while Elisander subtly stepped aside, leaving room for a potential conflict.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room became tense, as if a fight was about to break out at any moment. It felt as if half the air had been sucked away, making it difficult to breathe.

Some clenched their fists, some reached for their swords, and some slammed their wine glasses heavily on the table, issuing a muffled protest.

Valoril was stunned by Eldalia's "warm greeting." He had lived a long life, fought wars, killed people, clashed with political enemies in parliament, and toasted with rivals at banquets, but this was the first time he had been greeted in this way.

These words were like a red-hot branding iron, pressed directly onto his face. His mind went blank for a full two seconds before he realized he had been insulted, and by a woman, in front of dozens of nobles, in the most vulgar way, using language never before heard of in Asur society.

He extended his finger again, but unlike last time, this time his hand trembled, not with anger, but with the kind of trembling that comes from being too angry to speak, like a withered branch in the wind.

"What? Do you want me to apologize? Or should we duel?"

Eldaria didn't back down. She stepped forward, meeting Valoril's fingers head-on, her chest almost colliding with his fingertips. Her eyes were red, whether from alcohol, tears, or both, it was hard to tell.

If Eldan hadn't reacted quickly and caught her in his arms...

Eldan rushed over from the sand table, grabbed her shoulders, and dragged her back until she was right in front of Valoril. Her feet pounded the ground, the soles of her boots scraping against the stone bricks.

"Why don't you just die?" Valoril was about to take a step forward when Liris and Valin grabbed him. He roared angrily, his voice hoarse as if squeezed from a crack in the rock. He leaned forward, trying to break free from their hands. The hem of his robe was torn askew, and a button on his collar popped off, rolling to the ground, bouncing a few times, and disappearing into some unknown corner.

"Why should I die? Why didn't you die when Tal Achar was besieged? Why are you standing here?"

Eldaria launched a powerful counterattack, her voice higher and sharper than Valoril's, as if it could lift the ceiling.

At that moment, not only Eldan, but also Irene Redmane, who had been sitting next to Eldaria, rushed over and hugged her from the other side. The two of them, one on each side, like two pincers, barely managed to restrain the crazed lioness. Eldaria's hair was disheveled, a few strands of red hair hanging over her forehead, swaying in front of her eyes as she struggled. Her chest heaved violently, her breathing heavy and labored.

"You! You...you!"

Valorel's fingers were still trembling, his lips were trembling, and his face had turned a deep purplish-red. Countless words of retaliation were churning in his mind, but not a single one could be uttered at this moment, in this place, and in front of this person.

Because every word Eldaria said was true. (End of Chapter)