Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"Hmm, a battle meal..."

After taking the can of food, Dragil teased in a mocking tone, drawing out the last syllable. But soon, the mockery vanished, replaced by surprise.

A completely new package, a material he had never seen before, appeared in his hands. The packaging was not paper, not cloth, not metal, but a translucent, slippery film that he couldn't name and that reflected sunlight.

Beneath the film, two square objects could be vaguely seen, pale yellow in color, as if they had been compressed. He froze, turning the package over and over in his mind's eye.

"It says so above, don't block the way."

Before he could say anything, the soldiers in charge of distributing the supplies began to urge him on.

So, Dragil shrugged and moved on to the next supply distribution point.

Unlike before, this was self-service, not distribution. Several open wooden crates were placed on a long table, filled with neatly stacked bottled drinks. After glancing around, he didn't hesitate for a moment before pulling out a bottle of salted pineapple soda from one of the crates.

Yes, rare items, his favorite.

At noon, of course, it's time for lunch; nothing is more important than eating.

In theory, the convoy should stop without stopping, with the driver eating dry rations in the cab and the co-driver handing him water, taking turns eating so as not to delay the march.

But this is only a theory.

The side occupied by Duruci had a road, paved with gravel and slag, and reinforced so that the wheels rolled over it steadily with very little bumping. But the other side was different; it was a grassland with soft soil beneath the grass, and even softer sand beneath the soil.

After being repeatedly trampled, the grass was completely rotten.

Where the wheels rolled, the turf was turned up, the soil was dug out, and deep ruts were formed. Water accumulated in the ruts, and bits of grass and oil floated on the surface. When the wheels rolled over them, they slipped, spun around, and dug out a muddy mess.

Physical and conventional methods are no longer sufficient to meet the needs of the fleet to continue operating.

So the spellcasters stepped forward.

The raiding ships on the platform vehicle were released from their restrictions and took off one after another. They rose to a low altitude, hovered, and then began to use magical means to maintain the road. Energy poured out and seeped into the soil, turning the soft sand into a hard, terracotta-like texture.

Unlike Draghi, who opened a bottle of soda and started chugging it down, Keramane was studying the instructions on the packaging.

The instructions were printed on the front of the film, in large, clear letters, and with illustrations and arrows showing the correct way to open it.

He quickly figured out how to use it correctly. He put the package in his mouth and placed the lunchbox on the hood of the car. Then, he removed the package, tore it open, and inside were two large flatbreads, pale yellow in color, with a thin layer of oil on the surface, and a faint aroma, as if they had been doused with hot oil.

He held the package up to his face and took a deep sniff.

Hmm, he smelled an intoxicating aroma of overcooked oil.

Then he took a bite and chewed. The texture was peculiar; it wasn't crispy, nor soft and chewy, but something in between—a chewy texture with a slight elasticity when bitten, like chewing a specially processed, compressed dough.

Mmm, it smells delicious, and it's also very salty.

"Lema, incredible."

He swallowed it and nodded in satisfaction. Then he put the two flatbreads from the package into his lunchbox, and then he took out his dagger and opened the can.

He cut a piece from the beef shank; the meat was a deep reddish-brown, with clear marbling and translucent tendons, and a little juice seeped from the cut surface. He stuffed the piece into his mouth, chewing it with relish, a look of pure bliss on his face.

The meat fibers are cut between your teeth, the tendons slide on your tongue, and the juices are squeezed out from deep within the meat, mixing with saltiness, spices, and a faint, indescribable, mellow flavor that seems to have been fermented by time.

Although the new era of Trucchi is not so short of supplies, some supplies are still lacking.

For example, the beef shank he's eating right now.

Beef shank, also known as beef tendon, is the muscle section above the knee joint of a cow's leg, divided into the fore and hind tendons. Because cattle are frequently active, this part of the meat has tightly packed muscle fibers, rich in tendons and connective tissue, resulting in a firm and elastic texture. It is high in protein, low in fat, and contains abundant collagen.

A cow has only four legs, and each leg has only two pieces of tendon meat, while Duruci had an army of over a million.

Therefore, unlike other parts of the cow, beef shank is difficult to obtain. It is usually cooked, canned, and becomes a scarce military supply, which is distributed before major battles or important engagements.

Over time, canned beef shank became a symbol, a signal—when you received a can of beef shank, you knew that something big was about to happen.

Today, there was no fighting, let alone a major battle, but the canned beef shank was released.

This means that something unusual will happen this afternoon.

Kayla Mayne didn't study what was going to happen that afternoon; that was the officers' business, the commanders' business, not his concern. His task now was to have a good meal and then continue learning how to drive.

He picked up the can, poured the juices into the lunchbox, and drizzled them over the flatbread. The juices were a deep brown color, thick and flavorful with the aroma of meat and spices, seeping into the crevices of the flatbread and turning the pale yellow flatbread a dark brown.

However, having received some education, he didn't pour all the juice into the lunchbox. He glanced at the liquid level, and when it was about a third full, he removed the can from his mouth, tilted his head back, and drank the remaining juice in one gulp. The juice was very salty, so salty it made his tongue numb, but it was also very fragrant, so fragrant that he didn't want to spit it out.

He squinted, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, making a soft gurgling sound.

Without a doubt, he will eat.

A trickle of broth spilled from the corner of his mouth; he licked it off with his tongue, then let out a satisfied burp. The burp was short but loud, carrying a rich, meaty aroma. He smacked his lips, then began cutting the beef shank from the can.

The movements were slow and meticulous, as if he were doing something that required patience. He took the meat out of the can, placed it on the lid of the lunchbox, and used a dagger to slice it piece by piece into evenly thin slices, each slice with a ring of transparent tendons.

After slicing the meat, he arranged the slices one by one on the flatbread, neatly, like a row of soldiers waiting for inspection.

Meanwhile, Drakil downed his soda in one gulp and then began to imitate him. He pulled out a dagger, pried open the can, and began slicing and arranging the meat. His movements were much faster and rougher than Keramain's; the meat was cut into varying thicknesses and arranged crookedly. But he didn't drink the remaining juices. Instead, after slicing the beef, he handed the can to Keramain.

The gesture was very natural, like offering someone a cigarette.

Without hesitation, Keira Mayne took the can, tilted his head back, and downed the juice in one gulp. After letting out a satisfied burp, he handed the soda he had received to Dragil.

They served together for so long that they didn't need to speak, didn't need to look at each other, didn't need any hints. One would hand them a can of food, and the other would take it and drink it; one would hand them a soda, and the other would take it and gulp it down.

They both know what the other likes and dislikes; they know what the other will do and won't do.

"The hot water is ready." A shout came from not far away a short while later.

Kayla Mayne walked over with the lunchbox and poured hot water over the flatbread, covering it completely, along with the slices of meat and the surface of the flatbread, which had already been stained a dark brown by the sauce. Steam rose, carrying with it a salty, fragrant aroma and a more intense, mouthwatering flavor brought out by the hot water.

He waited two minutes, then used his dagger to pick up a noodle, blew on it, and put it in his mouth. The noodle had soaked up the broth perfectly, not mushy, but in a state that was just right—plump and elastic, having absorbed the broth.

Soon after, they began to enjoy a different kind of beef noodle soup, constantly commenting on it. Just like when they were serving in Nagarond, they would come to a new restaurant on leave, eat, and rate it. But their utensils never stopped, their mouths never stopped, and the noodles in their lunchboxes dwindled, until finally even the broth was completely drunk clean.

Things are getting better. Perhaps it won't be long before he's wearing a floral shirt, beach shorts, and flip-flops, riding his scooter to the market to sell vegetables or go for a drive.
Well, now I have the floral shirt and beach shorts, all I need is a scooter.

Dakos pondered this after finishing his instant noodles.

He never imagined that one day he would be eating such familiar instant noodles in this world.

Those dough sheets were machine-pressed, and the packaging was made of multi-layered composite material.

None of these things existed when he first came to this world. Now, they have appeared one by one, like fragments with a familiar scent leaking in from a crack in another world.

"So beautiful." At this moment, his head was resting on Drusara's lap, looking at Drusara's chin and nose. He forgot what this perspective was called, maybe a girlfriend's perspective or a lap pillow perspective? Or a blind spot?

But he felt that what she was called was not important. What was important was that, from this angle, Drusara's jawline was soft and smooth, her nose was straight and delicate, her lips were slightly pursed, and she was focused on the book in her hands, her eyelashes casting a small fan-shaped shadow on her cheek.

"Oh? Is it me who's beautiful, or the scenery, or..."

Drusara moved the book aside and looked down at her lover with interest. A slight smile played on her lips, a hint of mischievousness in her eyes. She liked this kind of conversation—not the heavy, commitment-demanding kind like "Do you love me?", but the lighthearted, playful kind, like a cat's paw gently scratching at your heart.

Unfortunately, just as her chin began to drop and her lips began to curl upward, Darkus, who was lying down, reached out and blocked her chin with lightning speed.

"I'm beautiful!"

"Darkus said with a grin."

Drusara chuckled softly, a short, almost forced laugh, as if squeezed from her nose. Then she lifted her chin and looked back at the book.

Darkus rolled over, off her lap and onto the tarpaulin beside him. He then fell silent, lying there asleep like a cat warmed by the sun, finding a sunny corner and curling himself into a ball. His breathing was even, his eyelids still, and a faint smile lingered on his lips.

“Very…relaxed?” Estrel, sitting cross-legged on the tarpaulin, glanced at the sleeping Darkus and commented with a smile.

"He seems to always be like this?" Marist's voice came from the side.

“You can remove the word ‘all’,” Malekith, sitting between the two of them, scoffed.

The cold snort was short and soft, but its meaning was clear: "Always like this"? No, it wasn't "always like this," it was "forever like this"!
No matter the occasion, no matter who he's facing, no matter what's about to happen, he can switch himself from online to offline, from highly tense to completely relaxed, whenever needed.

This isn't something you can learn through practice; it's an innate quality.

On the other side, Finnubar was standing in a circle with Moralion and D'Aroland, talking in hushed tones. The three of them were very close, almost as if they were plotting something. But their expressions weren't those of someone plotting; there was no tension, no excitement, only the seriousness of someone discussing something important.

The observation group, led by Baine, was gathered together, evaluating and analyzing. They were huddled around a fixed telescope; some were watching, some were taking notes, and some were exchanging opinions in hushed tones. Their expressions were serious and focused, as if they were doing a task they had practiced countless times, but never dared to be careless with.

Baine stood at the front, holding a report in her hand. She looked away from the binoculars, glanced at the report, and then looked at it again through the binoculars, as if checking some data.

The members of the Stormweaver Order, led by Serene, surrounded her. Some looked towards the resting navy soldiers in the distance, while others whispered amongst themselves. Serene stood in the middle, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the distant grassland. Her expression was calm, but her brow was slightly furrowed, as if she were pondering something she hadn't yet figured out.

The nobles either discussed everything that had happened that morning—the swooping of the four iron birds, the three explosions, the bridge that automatically formed on the river, the endless stream of vehicles—or speculated about what those devices wrapped in waterproof tarpaulins were.

Meanwhile, the Horace scholars gathered around to study the instant noodle packaging. It was the first time they had ever seen such a material, and they couldn't help but feel curious.

"We are people of the mountains, we are resilient and unyielding, we..."

Before Rahil could finish speaking, Elisande patted him on the shoulder, interrupting him.

“I know what you’re saying, and you’re right, but your personality really isn’t suited to saying these things.”

Although it was meant as a joke, Alessandro looked quite serious.

Seeing that Elisander understood his meaning, Rahil said nothing more, but gave a helpless bitter smile.

His meaning couldn't be clearer: if what Darkus said in Lorthorn was just empty talk, then everything he saw today was that talk coming true.

If we don't seize the opportunity now, we'll truly miss it.

Unlike other kingdoms in Ulthuan, the Kingdom of Caledor is mostly mountainous and located at high altitudes. Coupled with its traditions, the Asur people here are resilient and unyielding. This is their pride, the foundation of their position in the political landscape of Ulthuan, and their greatest source of confidence when dealing with other kingdoms.

But now, that pride is a thing of the past.

As the stronghold of the Vaal Order, Caledor is the most important center of faith for the blacksmith god Vaal in Ulthuan. Its mines provided the elven civilization with the finest metals thousands of years ago, and its artisans forged the sharpest blades and the strongest armor thousands of years ago. Although many things have happened in the past, it can still be restored if possible.

Besides, the Kingdom of Caledo has few other things, but it is rich in minerals.

In the future of machining, engine blocks will require cast iron, gearbox gears will require forged steel, and Carredo will have to take a share of that.

If he can't even get this, then Caledo will truly have nothing left.

Time passed by, second by second.

Following Darkus's example, some elves also lay down on the tarpaulin and fell asleep. They imitated Darkus, spreading the tarpaulin on the grass, closing their eyes, and emptying their minds, allowing themselves to temporarily detach from their observation and shock during this brief midday break.

Those who hadn't slept focused their attention on the re-flowing convoy of vehicles, which were now moving again, traveling from one side of the river to the other and back.

But soon, they turned their attention to the other side of the river.

There was no way around it; those devices wrapped in waterproof tarpaulins had a strange attraction for them, as if an invisible hand was pulling their gaze, making their eyes unconsciously drift in that direction.

The Durucis surrounding the device began to move. (End of Chapter)