Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"Everyone, come and line up to receive your supplies!"

As the dragon princes stood on the slope, some gazing into the distance with their hands on their foreheads, others whispering and pointing to a spot in the distance, a familiar voice came from the direction of their landing point. The voice wasn't loud, but it clearly pierced the wind—it was Darkus, standing beside a raiding ship, waving at them.

In no time, Rahil received his supplies—a rectangular leather bag.

The bag's surface was embossed with fine textures, its corners were reinforced with brass studs, and the clasp was made of brass. It was heavy and made a crisp "click" sound when opened. He weighed it in his hand; it wasn't heavy, but it felt solid.

Back at the landing site, he unbuttoned the bag, and the moment he did, his eyes lit up. He saw what was inside—not rations, not any of the marching supplies he had expected, but a neatly shaped object wrapped in a black canvas cover.

He was deeply attracted by what was inside the bag. He hung the bag around his neck, and then, in an extremely rude and unrefined manner, he rubbed his hands vigorously on his clothes, the movement hurried, as if afraid that the sweat on his hands would soil something precious. Only then did he carefully take the item out of the bag.

That thing was none other than military binoculars.

This is a standard military-grade telescope from Duruch. Its outer shell is black, covered with a fine, non-slip texture, and has a matte finish in sunlight. The joints of the telescope tubes are perfectly sealed, and both the eyepieces and objective lenses are covered with black, soft rubber caps to prevent scratches.

The moment Rahil held it in his hand, he felt a peculiar weight—not 'heavy,' but 'solid,' as if he were holding a meticulously designed tool, the dimensions of every part of which had been repeatedly considered.

Instead of immediately removing the cap used to secure and protect the eyepiece, he held it firmly with his left hand and took out the instruction manual from his bag with his right.

The instruction manual was thin, only a few pages long, with smooth paper, clear illustrations, and arrows marking each component, along with its name and function.

He quickly learned the names of the various parts of the telescope: the central focusing wheel, the right eyepiece diopter adjustment ring, the objective lens cap, the eyepiece cap, and the lanyard hole. He also mastered the correct way to use the telescope: first adjust the eyepiece diopter, then rotate the central focusing wheel until the image is clear.

"hiss……"

After aiming the eyepiece at his eye, he quickly turned the central focusing wheel. The wheel had good damping, neither too loose nor too tight, and made a slight "clicking" sound as it turned, like the meshing of precision machinery.

The blurry riverbank and barbed wire in the distance gradually became clearer and sharper in his vision. He took the binoculars down, squinted at the distance to confirm the approximate location of the objects, and then adjusted the eyepiece to his eyes.

Then, he gasped.

If he wasn't mistaken, the object he saw through the telescope was about five kilometers away from him.

Five kilometers would take quite a while to cover on horseback, but with the aid of binoculars, the scenery five kilometers away was clearly visible: the barbs on the barbed wire, the ripples on the river, and even the expressions on the faces of the busy Duruci soldiers in the distance seemed to be brought right to our eyes.

It's not about "seeing clearly," it's about "being within reach."

This "closeness" is not psychological, but optical; it's a kind of clarity that overturns the concept of distance and sends chills down your spine.

Actually, this is nothing to Asur.

Asur also used telescopes, but they were monoculars, which could still see very far. Those monocular telescopes that came from the White Tower of Hoss, with lenses hand-ground by skilled craftsmen, were standard equipment for high-ranking generals and nobles when they went out.

The problem was that Asur couldn't mass-produce them. Each monocular was unique; the curvature of the lens, the material of the tube, and the smoothness of focusing all depended on the craftsman's skill and the mood of the day. A good monocular could take several years to obtain, and only high-ranking officers were equipped with them.

And Duluqi...

In Lorthorn, Rahil saw many things. He saw soldiers wearing uniform-sized boots, identical plates in the mess hall, and beds in the barracks spaced evenly and blankets folded neatly.

But he didn't expect that even things like telescopes were standardized.

Now he was quite certain that the standard-issue binoculars he possessed had been distributed to centurion-level officers, while those for cavalry had been issued to squad leaders. In Duruch's organization, a centurion was merely the lowest-ranking command position, in charge of a hundred-man squad.

Even they have telescopes?

How many such telescopes were there in the entire Truc army?

How many did Duruci produce in total?

He dared not calculate.

But now that I think about it, it's not an exaggeration. Duruqi can mass-produce vehicles that are even more sophisticated than telescopes, let alone telescopes.
The leather bags used by senior officers to carry their binoculars were even longer. Based on the instruction manual he'd just heard, he was certain that the binoculars in those longer bags had higher magnification, and higher magnification meant they could see farther—not five kilometers, maybe eight kilometers, maybe ten kilometers?
This means that on the battlefield, Duruch's senior commanders could see all of the enemy's deployments clearly from a great distance.

When he put down his binoculars again, he heard exclamations of amazement and gasps of astonishment around him. He heard someone say, "This is much clearer than my monocular," someone else say, "Look at the stones on the riverbank over there, you can see the patterns," and someone else muttering, "How is this possible?"

He ignored it and looked away.

Soon, he saw the target he wanted to see.

A group of high-ranking Duruch officers were installing a fixed telescope, an object he had never seen before—the telescope consisted of a vertical periscope tube and a horizontal eyepiece section, with a symmetrical design and two eyepieces side by side facing backward, perpendicular to the optical axis of the objective lens.

It was mounted on a heavy tripod, its legs deeply embedded in the ground. Several officers surrounded it; some were adjusting the angle of the telescope, some were recording data, and some were talking in hushed tones.

Although he couldn't name the telescope, if he were to name it, he would probably call it "Giant Eye".
He knew that the telescope could see farther and more clearly than the one in his hand. He knew that, compared to them, the high-ranking Truc officers using fixed telescopes were the real observers today.

They weren't there to "watch the show," they were there to "learn the ropes," to observe the terrain, the speed of troop movements, the smoothness of each link in the chain, and to see just how fast this war machine, which they had helped design, could actually run in real combat.

And these "guests" standing on the hillside with standard binoculars in their hands are at most just watching for fun?
Rahil's lips twitched slightly, not with a bitter smile, but with a resigned helplessness that said, "I should have thought of this sooner."

Then he saw an officer stride up to Malekith, raise his arm in salute with a crisp, clean motion. The officer's lips moved rapidly as he spoke, but the sound was carried away by the wind, and Rahil only caught a few indistinct syllables.

Finally, Malekith nodded slightly, a small but deep nod, as if confirming something he had been waiting for a long time.

"Are they going to cross the river next? Or..."

Alessand's voice came through Rahil's ear. His tone carried a hint of probing, a hint of confusion, and an anxiety that said, "I've been looking at it for so long and I still don't understand."

“Unsure…” Rahil shook his head.

He was still completely confused. Duluqi hadn't said what to do, and he didn't know what would happen next.

From morning until now, what he has seen is: assembly, parade, boarding of ships, flight, landing, launching binoculars, and then waiting.

There were no meetings, no briefings, and no one told them "what you will witness." They simply stood there, holding binoculars, watching the people in the distance bustling about.

Just as he was about to say something, he saw that the officer suddenly held a peculiar object in his hand. It was a handle-like metal device with a trumpet-shaped opening at the front, its surface a dark, iron-gray hue in the sunlight. The officer held it high, his arm taut, his body slightly leaning back, as if he were about to throw something.

Then, fire.

A sharp, tearing shriek erupted from the device, and a red signal flare, trailing smoke and fire, arced into the sky.

The red stood out starkly in the morning sunlight, like a drop of blood flung into the blue sky. "Is this a signal?" Ellisand's voice came again to Rahil's ears, this time tinged with tension.

"Yes!"

This time, Rahil was very certain.

Because he saw that the Duruci soldiers in the distance were moving in an organized manner, not the kind of movement where "someone shouts and everyone runs around randomly," but the kind of movement where "everyone knows where they should go, what they should do, and what they should do within a few seconds."

Some people picked up the equipment, and some began to line up. It was a reaction that had been formed after hundreds or thousands of training sessions, a reaction that required no thought and was etched into the muscles.

His eyes scanned the area quickly, eventually locking onto a target.

An officer climbed to a high point, then stood on the platform, legs shoulder-width apart, body lowered, center of gravity reduced, like a drawn bow. Her right hand was raised high, index and middle fingers extended, pointing to the sky, like a sword piercing the heavens. Her left hand, clenched into a fist, swung down forcefully, her entire arm taut, as if she had poured all her strength into that downward movement.

The entire set of movements was extremely powerful, with every joint exerting force and every muscle tensing, but there was also an indescribable abstractness—it wasn't any kind of military hand signals he had ever seen, it was more like a...performance?
A highly stylized, personally marked gesture that seems to say, "Look at me, listen to me."

He raised his binoculars and looked over. The person posing strangely was a female, low-level Fear Lord. Her face was mostly obscured by a hat, only her chin and the corners of her mouth visible. Her lips were moving rapidly, as if she were saying something, but unfortunately, the distance was too great for him to hear what she was saying.

"We are the Royal Guard! We are the strongest! So... we just need to act as usual!"

Rahil was too far away to hear, but the Duruchi around the Lord of Fear could. The soldiers, gathered below the platform, looked up at the figure on it raising a finger. Their faces didn't have that kind of fanatical, "hysterical" energy, but rather a relaxed, smiling "we're back again" attitude, like listening to an old friend tell an old joke.

But when the sound subsided, they let out a shout, not the kind of unified chanting of slogans, but a rough and real sound that came from their chests, each with its own rhythm and tone, like a hundred drummers simultaneously striking a hundred drums.

Further away, another novice Fear Lord heard the shouts. He stood at the front of his ranks, holding a megaphone, preparing his rallying cry. Hearing the distant roar, he gave a speechless smirk, his expression a mixture of frustration at being overshadowed and a hint of competitive spirit—"Fine, then I'll have to work even harder."

He then climbed to a higher place.

"Comrades! This might be... the last time!" His voice came through the megaphone, slightly hoarse. He paused, took a deep breath, and adjusted his tone and voice. "So! Leave no regrets! The Phoenix King is watching us!"

The soldiers shouted louder than the voices from afar, their shouts filled with passion, laughter, teasing "Don't give me that crap," and silence that said "I know you're telling the truth." Some raised their fists, while others simply stood still, straightening their backs even more.

As each of the Fear Lords uttered their different rallying cries, the shouts rose like waves, one after another, echoing from one side of the river to the other, from near to far, from one high ground to another.

The sound didn't sound like an army shouting slogans; it sounded more like a piece of land awakening, breathing, and proclaiming something to the sky in its own language.

Dakos, having put down his telescope, revealed a smile like that of a loving mother. The smile was complex, containing relief, nostalgia, a touch of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a feeling of deep emotion) that "time flies," and a hint of pride that "this child has finally made something of himself."

He wasn't laughing because morale was good; he never needed to worry about the morale of this army. He was laughing at the female fear lord who was striking a strange pose.

He knew her.

After the trial voyage of Harksiere ended, his ship, the Winter, did not return directly to Krakarond, but went to a small port on the outskirts of the Frostheart Sea.

The port was extremely secluded, nestled between two steep cliffs, with a natural reef barrier at the entrance, making it impossible for ships unfamiliar with the waterways to enter.

The port is small, but it has everything you need. Duluqi-style pubs and spires are scattered about, stretching from the cobblestone path along the shore all the way to the hillside. Boats of all sizes are moored in the port, each with its own story.

There's a saying: where there's demand, there's supply.

And so, this port came into being.

Here, you can write to your family to send money, exchange the trial participants' benefits with speculators, send money to ask for a promise, or borrow money at high interest rates.

There are also people like Darkus who come to make friends.

His successful raid in Bretonnia that year indirectly led to the emergence of a bunch of unfortunate people, such as Walter and Kradian.

However, during his brief stay, he did not see Walter, but he did see Kradian.

Now, Kradil was not far away, bent over, his eyes pressed against the eyepiece of a fixed telescope, one hand on the adjustment wheel, the other rapidly scribbling something on a piece of paper. His expression was so focused that it was as if only he and the telescope existed in the world, and all the other noise, shouts, and cries were irrelevant to him.

Besides Kradin, there were a few others, such as Leitch, the eighth son of the Hal Goncigorad family.

While at the forest, he was ambushed by Kane's assassins, but successfully turned the tables and killed them. Subsequent investigation revealed that it was Ratchet who was responsible, intending to reclaim the Kotek Ring.

Unfortunately, just as the Helban family was preparing to return the third to the fourth, Ratchet died on the grand stage of Nagarus, bringing the story to a tragic end.

In the old Trucian society, there was no concept of death and annihilation. Although Ledky was dead, the revenge for assassinating the Helban family heir still had to be taken, as Ledky had broken a taboo.

And so, the Gorard family, which had been established for over a century, came to an end...

Besides Lech, Dakos also met several other guests, including one very important figure. This person wanted money from Dakos and threatened him not to be ungrateful.

As a result, they were forced off the ship.

There was another noblewoman, whose looks were so-so, who cut to the chase, saying she wanted to be Darkus's mistress. She even said she could "test it out right here and now," her tone flippant, carrying a familiar air of "I've seen plenty of people like you." Darkus completely ignored her and told her to get lost.

Now, the female Dreadlord striking that strange pose is none other than that noblewoman. On the grand stage of Nagarus, although she stands only on the outermost edge, unlike Darkus, she has always maintained her footing and successfully ushered in a new era.

It's worth mentioning that this female Fear Lord didn't rely on her beauty and charm, but on genuine skills. Her excellent upbringing ensured she was truly capable. She could read maps, calculate ballistics, and make quick judgments in complex battlefield environments.

Those protective facades—the flippant tone, the ambiguous glances, the seemingly suggestive hints—were merely tools she used to survive in the old era. With the arrival of the new era, she unhesitatingly discarded these tools.

Dakos's smile contained a hint of apology for his misjudgment back then, but more so of relief that he had not disappointed him.

Five minutes later, the officer who fired the signal flare, Baine, raised the signal pistol above his head again, pulled the trigger, and fired another signal flare.

This one is green, a stark contrast to the first one's red. It flew higher and farther, leaving a thicker trail, like a deep green wound carved into the blue sky.

The signal flare acted like a starting pistol, and then the Duruci men who were active along the riverbank began to move.

It's not just starting to move, it's already moving.

From the moment the first signal flare was launched, they began preparations: checking equipment, forming ranks, assigning tasks, and confirming the location of each person.

This green signal flare was simply saying, "Alright, go ahead."

Rahil raised his binoculars, aiming them towards the riverbank. His heart raced at that moment, not from nervousness, but because he knew he was about to witness something from another era, something he had never read about in military textbooks! (End of Chapter)