Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"What are they doing? Calculating?"

Rahil did not respond to Ellesander's words.

It wasn't that he didn't hear it, it's that he didn't know either.

He could only raise his binoculars and begin to observe carefully. The clicking sound of adjusting the binoculars was very faint, so faint that only he could hear it. The outlines of the officers and soldiers in the distance became clearer in his field of vision, their movements magnified and zoomed in, so close that he could see the color of the notebooks in their hands.

Although there was movement, no one climbed to the top of the device, no one untied the ropes securing the tarpaulin, nothing happened. The devices wrapped in the tarpaulin remained quietly crouched on the grass, like a group of silent beasts awaiting orders.

There were only soldiers and officers gathered around an observation instrument, taking turns peering through the eyepiece, notebooks in hand. Some were taking notes, some were calculating, and some were simply standing there, waiting for their turn. It was as if they were recording something, or perhaps calculating something.

What are we measuring? What are we calculating?
Rahil didn't know, but he knew it must be important.

"What's under the tarpaulin? A new type of twisting cannon?" Drakil hunched over, but his gaze was fixed on something not far away. As he looked, he began to answer his own question.

"You'll find out soon enough. Now, come and help!" Kayla Mayne said irritably while she was busy.

His voice came from under the car, muffled, as if blocked by something. His hand was tightening a bolt, the wrench getting stuck on the nut several times before finally getting it, and fine beads of sweat were already seeping from his forehead.

Dragil shrugged, then half-knelt down to assist Kayla Mayne. The tire had been removed; now it was time to inspect the brake pads, bearings, and suspension. Every component had to be carefully inspected, cleaned, lubricated, and then put back together.

Four hundred and eighty vehicles, each one had to be checked.

The convoy has now reached the other side of the riverbank, behind the installation area. Looking down from the hillside, the vehicles resemble a herd of animals that have just completed a long migration, panting and steaming, scattered across the grass.

Yes, the maintenance and evaluation phase.

Every vehicle had to stop and be inspected. The hoods were lifted, the wheels were removed, and the parts were laid out. Soldiers moved among them like a swarm of busy worker ants, carrying out a precise division of labor that only they themselves understood.

Vehicles can only be put back on the road after they have been confirmed to be safe to continue driving.

The driver, co-driver, trainees, Black Knights, and soldiers were maintaining the vehicle. Some were lying on the ground checking the chassis, some were squatting next to the engine listening to the idling sound, and some were wiping the dipstick with a rag, rubbing a little engine oil between their fingers, and smelling for any burnt smell.

Meanwhile, the Val priests and sorcerers, led by Des, assessed the condition of each vehicle and recorded their findings. Their hands roamed over the parts like doctors feeling a patient's pulse; their eyes lingered at the junctions of the components like appraisers scrutinizing the authenticity of a work of art.

They didn't speak, they just looked, they just took notes, they just wrote down numbers and symbols that only they could understand on forms.

The whole scene was quite lively, after all, there were 480 vehicles, not counting the motorcycles driven by the Black Knights.

Meanwhile, in the equipment area not far from the convoy, officers and soldiers were still making calculations. They gathered around the observation instrument, taking turns peering through the eyepiece, each turn accompanied by whispers and note-taking.

Their expressions were serious and focused, as if they were doing something of life or death.

In fact, this was a matter of life and death, except that it wasn't their life or death, but their future military careers.

Without a doubt, they are seeds.

Whether they are officers or soldiers, they must undergo the calculation, which is crucial and important, as the results of the calculation determine whether they can advance further in their military careers.

If the calculation is accurate, then you can go to a better unit, receive better training, and be exposed to newer equipment.

If you can't predict the future, you'll just stay where you are, watching others move up and get the opportunity you could have had.

The opportunity has been given.

If you miss the mark and the calculated data is wildly different from reality, then I'm sorry, it's your own fault for not being able to grasp it. Whose fault is that?

No one will sympathize with you, no one will speak up for you, and no one will help you change the numbers on the evaluation form.

This system doesn't believe in tears; it only believes in data and its own strength.

At the front of the equipment area, closer to the riverbank, the team leaders and deputy leaders were queuing to receive supplies. The line was long, but quiet; no one cut in line or complained.

As for what the supplies specifically are...

Yes, guns, ammunition boxes, and wire cutters.

After receiving the supplies, the process didn't end there. They also had to learn how to use the weapons and the rules: when they could fire and when they couldn't; when they needed to ask for permission and when they could make their own decisions.

Each rule was printed on a thin card, which was stuffed into a shirt pocket. The rule required that the rules be memorized before the operation began, to the point that the rules could be answered verbatim whenever asked.

The scene was equally lively, with nearly 60,000 people, including naval and army personnel. After participating in the brief morning parade, they began their march along the road towards this location.

However, the navy, which was behind, arrived before the army, which was ahead. The rear column became the front column, not because they were faster, but because their means of transportation were different.

Hmm, motorization, is that some kind of benefit?

The area closer to the riverbank was where the high-ranking officers were located.

There weren't many people there, but everyone's shoulder insignia were adorned with enough badges, and everyone stood there wearing enough medals. If you threw a stone at random, you would hit either a high-ranking or mid-ranking fear lord. If you called out a name at random, the person who responded would either be a commander who had once led thousands of troops or a fierce general who had made a name for himself in a battle.

It can be said that the stars of generals are shining brightly.

"This was not in the plan."

Newkel's voice was low, but deep.

He looked at Dulias in front of him, then at Aislin who was trying to persuade him, and then at the distant hillside.

Finally, he sighed, a sigh that was light yet heavy, as if all his hesitation and weighing of options were contained in that single sigh.

"We'll give you a thousand spots! It will begin immediately after the shelling ends!"

Upon receiving the order, Dulias and Aislin's expressions changed instantly. Their eyes lit up, and the muscles on their faces relaxed, transforming from tense to solemn. They then saluted solemnly, fists pounding their chests, arms raised and lowered with crisp, precise movements, as if measured with a ruler. They then turned and ran off, their boots clattering rhythmically on the grass.

"I'll give you 350 spots." After returning to the naval ranks, Dulias looked at Aislin.

Aisling did not try to persuade him further.

Besides the fact that time was running out, another reason was that he knew this was his limit.

However, before Aislin could turn around, Dulias called out to him.

“Wait, pick the right people, don’t cause trouble, you know that!” Dulias’s voice was low, but every word seemed to be nailed into wood. His gaze was sharp, like a knife just taken from a whetstone and not yet sheathed.

"Non-combat casualties? I know! Don't worry!"

Aislin turned to Dulias and nodded emphatically, a much larger nod than before, as if making a vow or a confirmation. Then he turned back, this time without Dulias calling out to him.

He had been in the Truc naval force for some time and knew that within the Truc military system, there was a term called "non-combat attrition," which referred to attrition caused without combat.

To elaborate, each of these three types of content is a lengthy treatise that requires him to study, understand, and mentally review repeatedly.

The first cause of attrition was malnutrition.

It's easy to understand; they're lacking nutrition.

Energy deficiency-related attrition occurs when long-term calorie intake is lower than the basal metabolic rate and activity expenditure, leading to rapid weight loss, muscle atrophy, and physical exhaustion. Symptoms include slow movement, loss of endurance, inability to complete basic training or combat maneuvers, and in severe cases, hypoglycemic coma and organ failure.

Protein deficiency-related casualties lead to decreased immunity, delayed wound healing, edema, and anemia. This type of casualty often manifests as recurrent infections, persistent diarrhea, and skin lesions, ultimately resulting in loss of combat effectiveness due to multiple organ failure.

In addition, there was frostbite.

If any of the above three situations occur, it indicates that logistics have failed, supplies have been interrupted, or rations are severely insufficient.

To analyze this more specifically, either the supply chain is broken, or the troops are surrounded and have run out of food and medicine. Being surrounded is a strategic mistake, or simply a matter of being unable to win a battle, but if the supply chain is broken... that would be a catastrophic disaster.

From the warehouse to the company level, every link in the chain of command was to be thoroughly investigated, every order was to be rechecked, and every person involved was to be questioned. No one wanted to see that scene, but everyone knew that if something like that really happened, that scene would definitely occur.

Training casualties are also easy to understand.

Training attrition refers to situations in which personnel are injured, fall ill, or suffer physiological collapse due to inappropriate training content, intensity, environment, or organizational methods during military training, sports training, or high-intensity operations, thereby losing their normal ability to act.

It can be divided into the following three categories. Acute sports injury-related casualties are common in explosive, competitive, or high-load movements, such as fractures, soft tissue injuries, contusions, and hematomas. They are sudden, with high injury and mortality rates. Mild cases may result in being unable to train for several weeks, while severe cases may lead to disability.

Overuse and strain-related attrition occur when training volume, frequency, and intensity exceed the body's repair capacity, gradually accumulating without any obvious sudden external injury. This type of attrition has an insidious onset and is easily overlooked in the early stages. Once it develops into chronic or structural damage, it often requires long-term rehabilitation or even surgery, resulting in continuous attrition.

Environmental and organizational factors leading to attrition during training can cause large-scale physiological collapse due to improper training environments or methods. Typical examples include heatstroke, hypothermia and frostbite, attrition-related syncope, and rhabdomyolysis due to overtraining.

Regardless of which of these three categories it falls into, if someone falls ill or experiences a breakdown in physiological function, resulting in a loss of normal mobility, then it is an extremely serious matter.

A one-stop service.

The highest-ranking commander on site had to report up the chain of command within the specified time. Then a joint investigation team appeared, checking the plans, records, equipment, weather, terrain, and every detail.

Next, the officer directly responsible was suspended from duty and placed under investigation, while the on-site commander was immediately suspended from duty, prohibited from contacting troops, and subject to investigation. During this period, his duties were temporarily performed by a deputy or a person temporarily appointed by a superior.

If the death is directly related to the training program or safety measures, the training supervisor will face suspension.

Black knights will also be held accountable if they fail to fulfill their obligations to assess risks or provide emergency assistance.

Then comes the military court. If the investigation finds that there was subjective intent or gross negligence, such as knowingly forcing training despite equipment malfunctions, concealing high-temperature warnings, or training content that poses a clear risk of death, the officer involved may be transferred to the military judicial authorities for prosecution.

Even if it doesn't constitute a crime, going through a military court will be extremely painful, and the officer's career development will be permanently affected. This then impacts the overall management of the unit, with the entire unit's security rating being downgraded, training plans being frozen, and all officers having to undergo reassessment.

In short, the death of a soldier during training will immediately trigger suspension, investigation, disciplinary action, and even criminal prosecution of officers from the field commander to senior management, directly affecting their promotion and career, and leading to safety reforms and a tightening of management culture throughout the military.

Regarding deaths due to illness, it is important to first clarify that deaths caused by illness differ significantly from deaths due to training accidents in terms of the logic of attribution.

Training-related deaths are often directly linked to training organization, safety measures, and on-site command; while deaths from illness involve more aspects such as public health and disease prevention, medical treatment, living environment, and early warning and reporting mechanisms. However, this does not mean that officers are exempt from responsibility. On the contrary, military management holds officers equally accountable for non-combat attrition, especially preventable deaths from illness, only the chain of accountability extends to medical officers, health departments, logistics officers, and even higher levels.

If a soldier falls ill and you fail to notice it in time, that's your problem; if a soldier becomes seriously ill and you fail to send him to the hospital in time, that's your problem; if a soldier dies and your clinic doesn't have the right medicine, that's your problem.

The problem doesn't become smaller just because he died from illness rather than from training; the problem only becomes bigger because it could have been avoided.

In short, the death of soldiers due to disease primarily impacts the military medical system, grassroots officers, and the logistics support chain. The focus of accountability shifts from whether training is safe to whether prevention and treatment are adequate. Officers also face the risks of suspension, demotion, criminal prosecution, and termination of their careers. Moreover, because diseases often have a clustering and insidious nature, once an incident occurs, it often has a wider impact than a single training accident, and may even lead to a major overhaul of the entire unit's health management system.

Overall, it is "3 pathological".

In the old days, Truc soldiers were pure expendable resources; these three types of casualties were commonplace and perfectly normal. No one would hold a memorial service for you, no one would inscribe your name on a monument, no one would even send a letter of condolence to your family, let alone any compensation.

You were simply crossed off the list, that's all.

But in the new era, the military has gone from one extreme to the other, and each soldier has become a precious individual.

They are no longer humanoid expendables, but people.

We will get hungry, tired, sick, injured, and die. And each of these experiences corresponds to a series of processes and responsibilities that need to be taken seriously, handled rigorously, and those responsible held accountable.

This is because it is related to the social system.

First, the military is an integral part of society, not an isolated entity. Connections can be established in multiple dimensions: personnel come from society, resources are drawn from society, legal systems are formulated by society, cultural values ​​are shaped by society, and social cooperation is needed in crisis response. The military, in turn, will contribute back to society when needed. Furthermore, while the military system possesses a degree of isolation and discipline, it must be embedded within the larger social system.

Therefore, a messed-up social system is destined to be unable to produce a powerful army, especially an army.

The new era of Trudeau's social system is destined to have an impact on the military system.

To put it bluntly, it's all about money, money, money!

In the new era, every child is raised with money from the national treasury, and socialized upbringing is practiced.

Tuition fees, meals, textbooks, teaching aids, clothing, and even settlements upon reaching adulthood, followed by development within different systems—all these are built on money. And this is just for the individual; add to that the entire system that serves them—from kindergarten to school, from textbook printing to school operations, from teacher training to salaries—that's even more money involved.

And then, it all disappeared, all the money was gone?
To die on the battlefield is nothing to say. That's war, and war kills people; everyone knows that.

But casualties during non-combat periods? Isn't that ridiculous?
A soldier who was raised by the state with its own money, was well-educated, healthy, and skilled, did not die on the battlefield, but on the training ground and in the infirmary.
This is a disservice to the money, to those years, and to everyone who raised him from a child into a qualified soldier.

Therefore, non-combat casualties are not just the death of an individual, but also the death of an individual to whom a great deal of social resources has been invested, the death of a warrior who could have lived to continue contributing to the Witch King, and the death of a son, husband, or father who should not have died.

This is just about money; there are other aspects that also have an impact, such as morale, trust, and cohesion. These things cannot be measured in money, but they are more important than money.

On the other side, on the hillside, Tolandil and Ryan engaged in a solo match. Specifically, Tolandil played the violin, while Ryan played the flute, creating an atmosphere that resembled both a duet and a contest.

It's not the kind of alternating melody where you take turns playing a section; it's the kind of sound where you play your violin and I play my flute, neither giving way to the other, but neither suppressing the other, like the complex, indescribable sound stirred up when two winds from different directions meet on the same lake.

The violin's sound was deep and resonant, like a person standing on a mountaintop shouting a long, drawn-out word into a vast valley. The content of the words was unimportant; what mattered was the sound itself, vibrating and spreading through the air, striking the chests of everyone who heard it.

The flute's sound was high-pitched and bright, like an eagle swooping down from the clouds, then suddenly pulling back just before hitting the ground, its wings cutting a sharp, almost tearing-the-sky cry through the air.

The two sounds intertwined and intertwined, like two threads of different colors, woven by the same unseen hand into a complex pattern that cannot be described in words.

As the music began, Darkus opened his eyes. He went from lying face down to lying on his side, then to sitting up, and finally, supporting himself with his hands, slowly and seemingly reluctantly stood up from the tarpaulin. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and then looked into the distance.

On the side occupied by Duruci, not a single soldier could be seen moving about the position. Those figures who had been digging trenches, laying barbed wire, and setting up positions had been wiped off the chessboard as if by an unseen hand; there wasn't a single person left.

At a moment he didn't notice, at a moment when he was hypnotized by Drusara's lap pillow and the afternoon sun, the soldiers completed their mission and then quietly, orderly, like the receding tide, withdrew from the position and returned to where they were supposed to be.

Meanwhile, the officers and soldiers near the device had stopped their calculations, closed their notebooks, and put their pens in their pockets.

Further along, tens of thousands of soldiers had completed their final preparations. No one spoke, no one coughed, no one looked around. Their gazes were all fixed in the same direction—across the river, the place they had come from that morning.

Further ahead, the stars of the generals still shone brightly. The high-ranking officers were still standing there, some with their arms crossed, some looking down at maps, and some whispering with their colleagues. Their expressions were calm and composed, as if this operation had been rehearsed countless times in their minds, requiring no further confirmation or discussion.

Meanwhile, near the riverbank, the thousand naval personnel who had been selected had completed their final preparations and were waiting for that moment to arrive.

Then, Dakota stood up. After straightening up, he brushed the grass clippings off his robe and straightened his wrinkled collar.

"Is it about to start?" Aris asked as he walked over.

Dakos didn't respond immediately. He looked up at the sky, his gaze sweeping from east to west, from south to north, searching through gaps in the clouds and the refracted sunlight. After a moment, he saw what he wanted to see, and then he nodded.

"Ah."

Just then, he felt a gaze upon him. He followed his senses and saw it was Malekith.

There was an invitation and a provocation in that gaze, both things squeezed together in the same look, like two different flavors of wine poured into the same glass, mixed together, making it impossible to tell which was which.

The next second, Darkus switched to a grinning mode, shaking his head like a rattle-drum so fast he felt like he was about to snap his neck.

What a joke! He still has a ton of things to do; he doesn't want to die today.

Feeling bored, Malekith pursed his lips, then looked at Aris—his gaze conveying, "If he won't come, you will?"

However, he was met with another disappointment; Aris didn't even look at him.

Dakous followed Malekith's gaze and turned to look at Aris, who was staring into the distance. He looked at Aris's expressionless profile, which seemed to be carved into stone, and then his expression became even more distorted.

What a joke, Aris is not even as good as him.

As Tolandil and Ryan's solo reached its climax, the violin's sound changed from deep to passionate, and the flute's sound changed from high-pitched to sharp. The two sounds collided at the highest note, producing a resonant sound like metal clashing, sending chills down your spine.

Baine raised the flare again, his thumb resting on the trigger, but he didn't fire immediately. Instead, he looked at Malekith. His gaze held a question, a confirmation.

After Marekis nodded, he pulled the trigger.

A green flare shot from the muzzle of the gun, accompanied by a short, sharp whistle, leaving a dark green trail as it rose into the sky. The green remained striking in the afternoon sunlight, like a drop of burning bile flung into the blue sky.

Rahil, who was looking through his binoculars, put them down, looked up at the sky, and then saw a scene that left him speechless.

Fortunately, there is no such saying in elven culture as "to kill someone by destroying their spirit," otherwise he would have said it right now.

Darkus, looking up at the sky again, made a sarcastic remark.

"Strategic bombers are here to clean up the mess." (End of Chapter)