Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"It seems... to be no different from operating agricultural machinery?"

"Yes!"

After receiving an affirmative answer, Kayla Mayne nodded and said nothing more.

He was born in Krakarond. When he was in school, the school organized several social practice trips every year. During these trips to farms outside the city, he saw more than once how the workers operating agricultural equipment operated the machines.

But he never imagined that one day he would use the same skill...

He then looked at the instruction manual in his hand, but as he looked down, he caught a glimpse of Dragil's subtle movements beside him out of the corner of his eye.

Immediately, his left hand shot out like lightning, not in a fist, not in a slap, but with a precise, pre-planned, finger-clamping motion, as if he had practiced it.

The next second, the cigarette that was originally in Dragil's mouth appeared in his hand. He glanced at Dragil with annoyance, a look that contained both disdain as if to say "Are you stupid?" and helplessness as if to say "Why are you doing this again?"

Drakil, whose cigarette had been snatched, offered no explanation. His lips parted slightly, then closed again. He looked at Keira Mayne, his face a picture of resignation, as if to say, "I know you're going to yell at me."

Seeing that Kayla Mayne's brows were furrowing and her lips were turning down, as if she was about to explode, he didn't explain anything. Instead, he lowered his head like a child who had done something wrong. But then he pursed his lips again, the pursing motion very slight, carrying a sense of "It's just a cigarette, is it really that big of a deal?"

Kaylamaine ignored Drakil. His gaze swept over Drakil's shoulder, then swept over the instructor explaining the operational points to the other trainees, and then over the Black Knights patrolling in the distance. Before the instructor turned his head, and before the Black Knights turned their gaze in their direction, he threw his cigarette on the ground, covered the unlit cigarette with the sole of his boot, and then crushed it forcefully.

After he finished, he raised his head, his expression and tone calm, but what he said was anything but calm.

"If the manual says it that way, there must be a reason. Don't be reckless!"

The last two words were pronounced heavily, like nails being hammered into a wooden board.

Dragil's already pursed lips pursed even more, the curve of his mouth shifting from "unconvinced" to "I know I was wrong, but I don't want to admit it." But his eyes betrayed him, revealing a guilty conscience after being hit where it hurt. He composed himself, abandoning his nonchalant attitude, his whole demeanor becoming like a folded fan, transforming from loose to tight.

He nodded and looked down at the instruction manual in his hand.

With the end of the war, their unit withdrew from the hunting forest. Not long ago, as animal trainers, they received orders to undergo in-depth training on how to operate the steel behemoths.

But now, the steel behemoth before them was only "steel," not "behemoth." It was a light vehicle, four-wheeled, open-top, with a matte black paint finish that gleamed calmly and without reflection in the sunlight.

The instruction manual they were reading was a beginner's guide to operating this steel behemoth. It didn't go into much detail about how the mechanical structure worked; you didn't need to know how the engine converts fuel into power, how many gears were in the gearbox, or what the differential did.

All you need to know is: which pedal is the accelerator, which pedal is the brake, which gear is forward, and which gear is reverse.

The overall style remains cartoonish, humorous, and easy for users to understand, and it also features many interesting little illustrations.

As for the specifics of how it's humorous and witty...

The back cover of the instruction manual is a wedding invitation with a picture of a soldier in military uniform and his girlfriend. The soldier is wearing a crisp uniform with several medals pinned to his chest, and he has a silly smile on his face that says, "I'm getting married and I'm no longer alone." The girlfriend is wearing a white dress and a wreath of unknown wildflowers on her head. She is leaning on the soldier's shoulder and has a sweet, yet abstract, smile.

The post also included a caption that focused on the girlfriend's name.

My girlfriend's name was written in handwriting, and the handwriting was beautiful, but it wasn't any known name; it was a name derived from "Iron Beast".

Yeah, she's been gender-bent...

From Kradian Hookclaw's wicked sense of humor.

On the back cover, he wrote: "Treat your steel behemoth like you would a girlfriend." Below that was a smaller line: "If you don't have a girlfriend, treat this as your girlfriend. If you do have a girlfriend, don't let her see this instruction manual."

"Ah……"

Kayla Mayne ignored Dragil's mockery and continued to stare intently at the picture until the distant sound of spitting fire brought him back from his thoughts of his wife and children.

The sound was not loud, but rhythmic, like something beating in a distant heart, one beat after another.

"Heh... Chain Dog doesn't ride a horse anymore, he's riding a bike now." After making way for the approaching motorcycle to pass, Dragil muttered, then changed the subject, "I want to operate that."

“It’s not up to you!” Kayla Mayne initially denied, but then expressed her own desire, “I want to too.”

After they finished speaking, they laughed, only to be interrupted by the guide's call.

"Get in the car!"

Keira Mayne and Dragil turned around almost simultaneously, took a running start at the same time, and flipped into the back seat of the vehicle at the same time. The movements were so swift that it looked like they had rehearsed countless times. With their left foot on the tire and their right hand gripping the frame, they swung upwards and landed steadily on the canvas seat, their boot heels making a dull thud in the truck bed.

"Watch closely!"

As the guide spoke, he simultaneously transformed into a different role.

He was no longer the instructor standing in front of the car, pointing at the steering wheel and saying, "This is for turning," but a driver with both hands on the steering wheel, his right foot on the accelerator, and his gaze shifting from the trainees to the road ahead. His back was straight, his chin was raised, and his whole body seemed to be lifted up from behind his collar by an invisible hand.

A moment later, the sound of the engine starting reached Keramain and Dragil's ears. It wasn't loud, but it was deep, like the low, contented purring of a large feline beneath the hood. The accelerator was lightly pressed twice, the engine revving and then dropping back down, as if taking its final deep breath.

The entire convoy went into standby mode at that moment.

"We run on the ground, they fly in the sky..."

Unlike Keramane, who was focused on watching the driver's maneuvers, Drakil looked into the distance, at the sky. There, swarms of raiding ships flew very low.

As he complained, he made exaggerated gestures, stretching his left hand forward with his palm down to make a "on the ground" gesture; then he suddenly raised his right hand above his head with his fingers spread out to make a "in the sky" gesture.

The movement was so forceful that it almost hit Keira Maien in the face.

"Stop talking nonsense!"

“Is it that difficult?” Dragil retorted in a low voice.

Meanwhile, at a more distant field airfield, Karien was also on standby. His steel behemoth had already entered the runway, like a sprinter crouching at the starting line.

It was an iron bird with silver-gray metallic skin, its wings reflecting a cold light in the morning glow.

The engine in front of him was also warming up. After the pointer on the dashboard vibrated back and forth a few times, it finally stopped at a stable position. The roar of the engine came up from under the cockpit floor, making the soles of his feet go numb.

Inside the cabin, with nothing to do, he turned to look at the runway on the other side. On the same runway as his, another plane at the same level was also in standby mode, with the same silver-gray fuselage and the same low roar of its engines.

In the cockpit of that plane, Arslan was looking down, checking the data on the instrument panel. His hands moved quickly between the knobs and switches, like a pianist playing an etude he had practiced countless times.

As if sensing Kallien's gaze, Arslan turned to look at him. His face was mostly obscured by the visor of his flight helmet, but Kallien could see the curve of his lips.

As Kallian flashed a bright smile, he gave a thumbs-up. He then raised his arm, flipped his wrist, and turned his thumb upside down, slowly lowering his arm so that his upside-down thumb made a diving motion.

It was a provocation, but also an invitation: "Want to have a match?"

Even more so...

Arslan ignored his provocation and turned his head back. He lifted his right hand from the dashboard, gripped the joystick, and lightly touched the button on the end of the joystick, as if to confirm that it was still there. He shrugged slightly, a deep breath, a ritual he performed before ascending on his griffin to give himself more oxygen.

And now...

As the ground crew waved their flags, Karien jerked the joystick.

That wasn't a 'push,' it was a 'press.' It used the strength of the entire palm to press the metal rod from the idle position to the full thrust position.

The engine's sound suddenly rose, changing from a low growl to a piercing shriek, as if something deep within the engine had been ignited, released, and allowed to unleash all of its long-suppressed anger.

The plane started moving, taxiing along the runway, and its speed increased. The white lines on both sides of the runway changed from blurry to continuous lines, and the distant barracks changed from clear to blurry blocks of color. The wind rushed in through the gaps in the cockpit, making his flight goggles stick tightly to his cheekbones.

Finally, the plane lifted off the ground, not by jumping or bouncing, but by a slow, steady motion, as if lifted by an invisible hand, a seamless transition from the runway to the sky.

Meanwhile, Arslan also took off, his plane a few seconds later than Karien's, but it climbed much faster, as if something was pushing it from behind.

Then, the other two aircraft on the runway also began to taxi.

"what is that?"

Undoubtedly, the planes taking off were spotted by the observation group aboard the raiding ship.

"Iron bird?"

Valoril Ironthorn responded uncertainly, his expression grave, his hand unconsciously gripping the railing of the gunwale. He watched the two iron birds take off, gradually gaining altitude, then watched the next two take off, rapidly approaching the first two as they ascended, until the four iron birds finally formed a formation in the air.

They weren't just "lined up in a row," they "became a single entity." Their spacing was equal, their speeds were the same, and even their turning angles were perfectly identical.

But it didn't end there. The four iron birds, having completed their formation, continued to fly higher, their figures growing smaller and more indistinct until they became four almost invisible black dots, embedded at the boundary between the blue sky and white clouds.

"Are they forming a formation?"

"Is someone manipulating them?"

"It should be."

On the raiding ship where Valoril was located, the chatter among his companions was incessant. Some raised their voices, some lowered them, and some tried to analyze the flight principles of the four iron birds, using their physics knowledge inherited from the era of cold weapons, measured in "horsepower and sails".

Meanwhile, the spellcaster operating the raiding ship at the back rolled his eyes repeatedly with disdain, as if looking at a group of Faniols. The eye rolls were rhythmic, one, two, three, as if keeping time with their collective ignorance.

In fact, those who emerged from the Charis Forest were indeed Faniol... or rather, more than half of the people present today were Faniol.

On the other raiding ship, Rahil's face was as solemn as a stone. His gaze swept across the river below and landed on the river in the distance, which shimmered silver in the sunlight.

After finding the geographical features and landmarks, he knew where he was.

This is near the mouth of the Yebai River.

Before Duruci's arrival, the River Night White was an ordinary river in the Kingdom of Elion, marked with a thin blue line on the map, and used by poets to symbolize the eternity and transience of love.

Now, he saw the Truc ship anchored near the estuary, he saw the grassland across the river, and he saw the barbed wire fence on this side of the river—not just one, but several, secured to the riverbank by wooden stakes and iron posts, stretching from one end of the riverbank to the horizon.

Fortifications, barricades, crossbow firing positions, and soldiers swarming like ants behind the barbed wire were busy at work. Some were digging trenches, some were carrying supplies, and some were setting up artillery positions.

He knew why Alandil had made that choice.

This is not a deduction, not a guess, but a confirmation.

Arandir's suicide was not due to weakness or fear, but because in that position he saw something others had not. And when he saw it, he already knew—there was no other way to go.

At the same time, an indescribable sense of absurdity arose within him. This was the land of the Kingdom of Elion, and every inch of soil, every rock, and every tree here was an inseparable part of the Kingdom of Elion.

However, in terms of war mobilization and assembly, the Kingdom of Elion was not just a step behind, but many steps behind. This kind of slowness is not the kind of slowness in our actions, but a comprehensive, systemic slowness that extends from top-level design to bottom-level execution.

It was so slow that the Kingdom of Elion only began to react after Duruci, who had occupied the northern peninsula, not only occupied the peninsula but also established a defensive system along the Night White River. Barbed wire was erected, trenches were dug, ballistae were set up, and even the coordinates of every high point on the grassland across the river were calculated.

But it was too late.

It's not because of insufficient troops, nor because of poor equipment; it's because the "response" itself shouldn't occur after the initial stage. It should be faster than the enemy, it should be moving before the enemy even moves.

but no.

As a general with military theory knowledge, Rahil knew what barbed wire meant to cavalry.

It's not an 'obstacle,' it's the 'end.'

It's not "slowing down", it's "stopping".

Those barbed, taut wires wrapped around the wooden stakes and iron posts won't kill you, but they'll stop you. And when you stop, you're dead.

There was a river in front of the barbed wire fence.

Although the Yebai River is not wide, as far as he knows, during the dry season, the riverbed is almost exposed, and it can be crossed without a bridge.

But without a doubt, the combination of the Yebai River and the barbed wire fence is like an insurmountable chasm, where one plus one is greater than two.

The river is a speed bump, and the barbed wire is the finish line.

You cross the river, you slow down, you crash into it, you get entangled, and then you are harvested one by one by crossbows, by arrows, and by spears that stick out from behind the barbed wire.

He could even picture the kind of challenges Elion's cavalry would face crossing the White Night River during the dry season, their speed reduced from charging to walking as they swam in the water or moved slowly through the mud.

The horse's legs struggled in the mud, its body swayed in the water, and the rider had to use both the reins and his knees to maintain his balance. Opposite them were the Duruqi soldiers, who had already calibrated their crossbows, nocked their arrows, and had been lying in wait behind the barbed wire for who knows how many days—a menacing force indeed.

Both the rider and the horse are targets.

A slow, conspicuous, and expensive target.

This is still crossing the river, this is still the first course.

What happens after that?
After crossing, you'll see those barbed wire fences.

It's not one path, it's many paths.

They are not straight, but arranged in an alternating pattern.

It wasn't the kind of density where you could squeeze through a crack; it was the kind of density where there wasn't even room to dismount. And behind the barbed wire were the crossbows that were already impatiently waiting for you.

During the high-water season, he didn't believe the Kingdom of Elion was capable of building a bridge right under Duruci's nose. Building a bridge would take time, materials, and manpower.

And Duruci won't give you any of these.

Halfway through the bridge's construction, the raiding ship launched a magical attack, causing the bridge to collapse and everyone on board to perish.

Unless Truc has some kind of trick up his sleeve...

However, these problems can ultimately be overcome. For example, magic—spells that allow people to walk on water, rituals that temporarily part rivers, and teleportation spells that allow cavalry and their horses to cross an entire river in seconds. And dragons—summoning them to swoop down from the sky, burning barbed wire to ashes with their dragonfire, smashing ballistae to pieces with their giant claws, and sending the Duruqi soldiers scrambling out of their trenches in terror with their roar.

There's always a solution.

Unfortunately, the magic system led by Safreh sided with Duruchi, and the Battle of Lorthorn ended in a crushing defeat.

As for the fleet and navy... let's not talk about them.

The defeat at the Battle of Lorthorn was the final straw that broke Arandil's back.

Of course, this is not the reason why Alandir had to commit suicide.

He could easily drive his chariot across the Night White River and attack Duruci alone.

How much can a chariot, a man, and two horses accomplish?
Not much, but at least it would allow him to die like a warrior, rather than like a loser abandoned by the times.

But the consequence of his actions will inevitably be that others will follow suit and die together in front of the barbed wire.

He could also rally his staunch and fearless supporters to cross the river, or he could make a fuss about the edge of the crater, but no matter what he did, there would be unpredictable and pointless consequences.

Suicide, ironically, became the best option?

Rahil's mind was in complete turmoil. It wasn't that he couldn't understand; rather, he understood far too much. He had considered every option, foreseen every consequence, and walked every path.

But when he finished walking, he found that all the roads led to the same destination.

Alandir, skilled at driving chariots, chose the shortest route. He didn't know what Alandir was thinking when he made that decision—was it despair, anger, or the kind of weariness that comes with "I'm tired" and a lack of even the desire to be angry anymore?
he does not know.

These are all deductions he made based on the situation, not facts. Perhaps he should find an opportunity to ask Eldan? Eldan was the last person to see Arandir before he committed suicide.

Maybe he knows something, maybe he knows nothing.

do not know.

Rahil's mind was in turmoil. He saw Duruci's advance, he saw iron birds soaring into the sky, he saw the naval fleet at the estuary, and he saw the convoy waiting on the road.

What will Duruci do next?
do not know.

The raiding ship landed amidst Rahil's chaotic thoughts, landing on a hillside with a particularly good view and conducive to observation.

What will happen next?
do not know.

But Rahil, with his feet firmly planted on the hillside, knew that the real show was about to begin. (End of Chapter)