Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"Have you two decided to stay here?" Aris asked, with a hint of helplessness and confusion in his tone.

Facing this uninvited guest, Eltharion and Bel-Ahor did not show too much enthusiasm, but they did not treat him coldly either. Their reaction was just flat, as if this was just an ordinary conversation.

"Of course." Bel-Ahor responded briefly, his voice calm and low, but there was a firmness in his tone that could not be ignored. He answered without hesitation. He had made this decision before coming to Naggaroth, and there was no need to discuss it further.

Eltharion expressed his attitude in a more direct way. He slowly tore off a small piece of bread, shrugged his shoulders, and said vaguely, "Where else can we go?"

Aris looked at the two of them and sighed. He wanted to say something, but found himself at a loss for words. He looked down at the carpet under his feet, and at this moment, his thoughts were in a mess. The scenes that had happened in the past few days emerged in his mind, and the overlapping events made him feel dizzy.

He had experienced too many things in the past few days. Morathi died, and Hellebron also died. This should have been a good thing, a victory worth celebrating. He thought he would feel a sense of relief, even comfort. However, the reality was not like that, and his heart was shrouded in a lingering uneasiness.

This abnormality had nothing to do with his personal safety, he knew very well that he was safe at the moment. His intuition told him that the source of this uneasiness was closely related to the future of the elves. He could vaguely feel that the Duruchi, a group intertwined with blood and conspiracy, was undergoing some profound changes, and this change might make them stronger, more cruel, and more difficult to deal with.

"Druchi will be stronger." Aris whispered to himself, his eyes passing over Bel-Ahor and Issarion, looking towards the inner tent not far away, looking towards some place farther away.

Bel-Aihor noticed the change in Aris's expression, but did not ask any more questions. He just watched quietly, waiting for Aris to speak out his inner confusion.

Eltharion continued to eat his bread, as if it had nothing to do with him. But in fact, he kept looking at Aris out of the corner of his eye, and it was not that he really didn't care. He swallowed a mouthful of bread and finally asked.

"So, do you have any plans for coming to us? Or... do you just want to talk to someone?"

Aris came back to his senses, his eyes wandering between Eltharion and Bel-Ahor. He opened his mouth, wanting to answer, but in the end he just shook his head and sighed deeply.

In his youth, he spent time with the raven messengers of Moiraig, followers of the goddess of fate who took on the symbol of the black feather and dedicated their lives to weaving the web of fate.

During those years, he had seen the subtle arrangements of fate and experienced the incredible miracles of the interweaving of the threads of fate. Therefore, many people suspected that he himself was the incarnation of fate, or at least the embodiment of the Queen of Vengeance, Dracula.

But he knew his own affairs clearly, and he knew that he was not the incarnation of fate, nor the messenger of revenge. He was the chosen one of Kunos and Lilith, just a chess piece on the line of fate.

He could not control the overall situation, nor could he reverse his future destiny. The only thing he could do was to accept the fate, just like everything he was forced to accept when he was young.

His eyes gradually dimmed, and a feeling of powerlessness rose in his heart. He was indeed here, but his existence was due to Lilith's revelation, not his own choice. Lilith had asked him to come to this place, but had never given him clear guidance. He had no idea what was going to happen next, and he could not take the lead, so he could only watch.

"Perhaps, the only thing I can do is to fight for a glimmer of hope for our people at the critical moment." Aris whispered to himself, with a complex emotion in his tone, including helplessness and a hint of relief.

The atmosphere in the tent was silent. Aris sat in a chair and fell into thought, Bel-Ahor was in a daze, and Isharion continued to chew on the damn bread one bite after another as if nothing had happened, as if that piece of bread was the most delicious thing in the world.

After a long time, the curtain of the tent was lifted.

Dacus walked in, exuding his calmness and dominance. Isharion and Bel-Ahor immediately stood up and bowed to him. He waved his hand, indicating that they did not need to be polite. His eyes swept across the tent and finally landed on Aris, who had his back to him. Seeing Aris turned his head, he nodded slightly, as a greeting.

Then he walked over to Aris, pulled out a chair and sat down, picked up a piece of bread on the table and started eating.

"What happened last night?" he asked casually while taking a bite of bread.

"That barbarian... he is very strange. Should he be a deformer? But there is a demon living in his body, a very powerful demon." Eltharion put down the bread in his hand, hesitated for a moment, and replied.

At the end of the conversation, a trace of lingering fear appeared on Issarion's face. His memories resurfaced, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt something was wrong. The power and presence of the demon were too terrifying.

“Zakhan.” Daxus nodded and said firmly, “I fought it a long time ago. It was the turning point of your fate, but you defeated it. Otherwise, maybe what I saw today would be another Malus, tsk…”

He took a sip of the grape juice he carried with him, moistened his throat, and began to talk about Little Pony... No, not Little Pony, his Little Pony was his cousin Malanul, the Middle Pony was Malekith, and the Old Pony was his beloved Mazdamuddi, Malus... No Pony?

"It was in Grond that I exiled Zakan with the Scarlet Sword and Cain's Dimensional Sword in my hand." After saying this, he sighed, "The Scarlet Sword..."

The Scarlet Sword had accompanied him for a long time, but it was eventually destroyed in a world-shaking battle, but it was not a loss. The Cain Dimensional Sword was sealed up, and perhaps it will be exhibited in the Cathedral of Edraze in the future to show its glory?

"Any special feeling?" Darkus paused and looked up and asked.

"I can't tell you what it feels like, but I can feel... I seem to have become stronger?" After hearing the story, Eltharion's face turned pale. He would rather die than be possessed by the devil, and he also understood why the devil chose him. He thought for a moment and answered.

“Should I congratulate you? You already have two achievements in killing big demons, which is far beyond your peers.” Daxus smiled with a hint of teasing.

"Are you among your peers?" Isharion glanced at Dacreus with a strange look, obviously dissatisfied with Dacreus speaking in the tone of an elder.

He had never really adapted to Dacus's attitude, as he was only ten years younger than Dacus and they were the same age. However, Dacus's unparalleled achievements and personal charm convinced him and even made him admire him.

He was now used to Dacus's way of speaking.

"No, I'm not in this age range. You know," Daxus raised a meaningful smile after swallowing the last bite of bread, "You've seen me at that meeting. I'm the chosen one of Molaig, I'm the incarnation of destiny itself! I come, I see, I dominate!" His laughter echoed in the tent, with a firm and confident aura, as if this whole land was under his control.

After hearing this, Eltharion and Bel-Ahor did not refute, but just nodded. They knew in their hearts that this was not an exaggeration of Dakwus, but an undeniable fact. They had witnessed with their own eyes how Dakwus dominated the situation and how he single-handedly forced those forces that had never met to the same table.

It was Dacus's existence and actions that placed them in this land they had never set foot on, and forced them to admit that fate had shown its most unfathomable side in this man.

"What meeting?" Aris, who had been listening silently, suddenly spoke up, breaking the brief silence.

Eltharion and Bel-Ahor looked at each other, weighing whether to reveal more. Finally, they turned to Dacreus, waiting for his answer.

"There is nothing that cannot be said." Dacius waved his hand, not seeming to mind sharing. "Although you are ostracized by the mainstream of Ulthuan, you should know that Finubar led a delegation to Elsin Arwen, and I also led a delegation. We eventually met in a special place, the garden of the Old Ones, that is, Athel Loren."

Aris raised an eyebrow, confused by the unfamiliar location.

"That place was originally dominated by the Chosen of Kurnos and Aisha's incarnation." Darkus paused, a slightly sarcastic smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, "But with my appearance, everything has changed. I come, I see, I dominate!"

"Druchi, Asul, Aslai, and Ainil sat together for a meeting to discuss the past, present and future." He said, but his eyes seemed to return to that historic moment.

Ares frowned slightly, dissatisfied with this ambiguous description. He opened his mouth and wanted to ask more questions, but quickly closed it again. He knew that Dacus paused at the critical moment to attract him, but in the end, he couldn't help but ask, "What are the specific contents?"

"The meeting didn't last too long, but there was a lot of content, and it would take more than a day to tell the story. However, I can tell you some important excerpts." Daxus smiled and continued, as if he had known this long ago.

He deliberately spoke in a slow tone, whetting Aris's appetite.

"Sariel first told us about the past. He talked about the origin of the elves, how they were born from the creations of the ancient saints, and how they blended with nature..."

"You want to know who Salir is? He is the incarnation of Hoss." After saying that, he added.

Ares opened his mouth to speak, but finally closed it. He wanted to say that he didn't ask at all, but seeing Dacus's smug expression that looked like "I knew you were going to ask", he simply chose to remain silent.

"It was peaceful at the beginning," Daxus continued, "but as the story progressed, the conflict between Duruchi and Asur began to intensify. In the end, the two sides quarreled over who was responsible for the division and who should pay for the war." His tone was calm, but every word seemed to reveal a past that was too painful to recall.

"Malekis? Barshana?" Aris asked tentatively. "Yes, when the quarrel escalated to the point of being irreconcilable, I had to intervene." Dakwus nodded, and as he spoke, his eyes swept over Eltharion and Bel-Ahor. He paused and did not continue to describe in detail, "There are some details that I will not mention." He sighed, he did not want to open the scars again, there was no point.

He turned to Aris, with a hint of complex emotions in his tone, "Fate is cruel, Aris, especially to you. Your whole life has been swept away by the waves of fate, which is why I asked Lilith to contact you."

Ares did not respond, but lowered his eyes, thinking about every word of Dacus. The two second sons in the tent remained silent, each with their own thoughts. They knew that the truth of the meeting was far more complicated than what Dacus said, and the tide of fate was far more turbulent and unpredictable than what appeared on the surface.

Soon, Aris's thoughts became vague, and gradually, his thoughts returned to the past.

He stood side by side with his companions, looking quietly to the west. Soon, Duruchi's army appeared in sight, marching from the northwest road, like black ribbons cutting through the hilly area.

He scanned the sky for any sign of a dragon rider or a manticore, but saw none, a sign that his plan had succeeded: the Witch King would come to confront him personally.

Despite all the hardships he had endured, he still felt a little uneasy when he saw the sight of the Duruchi army covering the hills. There were so many Duruchi that it was hard to imagine, roughly estimated at more than a hundred thousand. Where did all these warriors come from? He had no idea. Perhaps Morathi had been secretly hoarding these troops for years, waiting for the right leader to appear?
In the distance, the Duruchi army paused beyond the range of the ballistae, his intention clear: he faced no direct threat and would remain where he was.

Low whispers and alert shouts caught his attention, and the shadow warriors pointed to the sky, where a dragon slowly descended from the clouds. It was the largest dragon he had ever seen, and he was about to order his troops to retreat to the forest when he saw the dragon turn around and fly back to the Duruchi army, landing in front of the army.

A tall figure leaped down from the dragon's back and landed beside the dragon. The air twisted around him, and black mist and heat waves intertwined.

Ares stared at the Witch King as he slowly approached.

The Witch King was taller than any elf, and was covered in black armor. He held a shield inlaid with burning golden runes, which stung Aris's eyes. He held a sword in his right hand, and a faint blue flame burned from the hilt to the tip of the sword, casting a swaying shadow on the snow.

However, what attracted Aris's attention the most was the Witch King's armor. When the Witch King approached within a hundred steps, he saw that the armor was not pure black, but emitted a dark red glow. The rivets and seams on the armor seemed to have just been taken out of a furnace, still emitting heat, and the steam swirled around the Witch King.

With every step the Witch King took, the snow beneath his feet melted, the ground burned, and the air retreated from his presence, forming a swirling vortex around him.

The shadow warriors watched the Witch King warily and loaded their bows with arrows, but Aris ordered them not to attack.

Aris wants to find out who this man who calls himself the Lord of Nagarythe is.

Soon, his eyes were attracted by the eyes of the Witch King, which were a pair of eye sockets burning with black flames, empty but full of energy. Except for those terrifying eyes, the face of the Witch King was completely covered by a helmet, which was made of black gold and a non-reflective silver-gray metal, and the top of the head was decorated with a crown composed of spikes and horns.

Ares took out a dagger from his waist and cut the canvas rope that wrapped the spear. He shook the spear, and the canvas fell in the wind, revealing the flag on the spear, and the flag tied with golden ropes spread out in the wind.

It was a tattered battle flag, with holes and frayed seams on the edges, and the flag, which should have been white, had now turned a dirty brown-gray. Although the pattern was blurry, he could still recognize it at a glance as the emblem of the golden griffin wings, the symbol of the Anar family.

A surge of courage surged into Aris's heart, dispelling the fear that surrounded the Witch King. He drew upon the banner that had flown since the days of Aenarion, a strength that not even the blood of the House of Anar could wash away, and with determination he looked upon his foe.

"Why do you enter this land without the permission of Aris Anar, the Lord of the Anar Family and the Shadow King of Nagaryth? If you come to negotiate with me, then listen to my oath! There will be no forgetting, no forgiveness!"

Aris questioned, holding up the tattered flag.

The Witch King stopped six steps away from Aris, his hot breath burning Aris's skin. His hellish gaze moved to the flag, and he pointed at it casually. The flag instantly ignited with black flames, turned into a piece of charred fragments, and drifted away in the wind, leaving only a smoking flagpole.

"The House of Arnar is destroyed," the Witch King whispered. His voice was deep and resonant, as if it came from a distant palace. "Now I alone rule Nagarythe. Pledge your allegiance to me, and your past will be forgotten and your treachery forgiven. I will give you this land to rule as a lord in your service to me."

"You made me the king of the tomb, a guardian of nothingness." Aris laughed. He was so angry that he laughed. Then his expression became serious and his eyes were sharp. "Why do you demand such loyalty?"

The Witch King took a step forward, and Aris almost used up all his courage not to retreat. The heat was almost unbearable, making his eyes red and his skin cracked. He licked his lips, but found his mouth dry. What made him most unbearable was the cold and filthy feeling of black magic, as if it was sucking his blood out and freezing his heart.

"Don't you recognize me, Aris?" The Witch King said in a low voice, his tone cold. He lowered his head and approached Aris. "Don't you want to be loyal to me again?"

The voice of the creature before him was hoarse and cracked, but Aris recognized it. Long ago, he had placed all his hopes and dreams on the promises of this voice. This voice had vowed to free Nagarythe from the tyranny of Morathi. He had believed in it, and now, this voice demanded his submission.

That was Malekith's voice.

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" The bread in Daxus's hand seemed to be given life. He slapped it on the table, and the dry sound echoed in the tent, like a gavel.

Ares came back to his senses, looked at Dacus with complicated eyes, and did not answer.

"Now, it's over." Daxus spoke first, his tone flat, as if he was stating an established fact.

"So, should I leave? Will you let me go?" There was no emotion in Aris's voice, neither a question nor a doubt.

"What else?" Daxus raised his eyebrows. "I promised Lilith that I would not do anything to you. Although my relationship with her is... just that, I made a promise, and I value my promises."

"Like what you did to Hellebron?" Aris asked coldly. He witnessed Hellebron's death. He didn't know the details, but he knew that Hellebron's appearance in Gorond must be related to Dacus.

"Hahahaha." Daxus laughed loudly, with a hint of unknown emotion in his laughter, like sarcasm, or like a joke.

Aris's response was just a cold stare.

"Don't worry." After the laughter stopped, Daquus said, "There will be a raiding ship to take you away in a while. By the way, I have also prepared some specialties from Asheril. They are absolutely safe. After all, there is no point in doing this, right?"

"Should I say thank you?" Aris said in a low voice with sarcasm in his eyes.

"You're welcome." Daxus shook his head with his usual smile on his face. "This is my duty as the master. Don't come back after you go back. Aris, I am the chosen one of Molaig. To me, fate is like a painting. I can feel its texture and direction. So, when I first saw you, I recognized you." He paused, his tone became serious. "To be frank, don't even think about sneaking into Naggaroth. You know better than anyone what will happen if you do that."

Ares didn't say anything, but just looked straight at Dacus, as if he was looking into the depths of Dacus' soul through his smile.

"The problem between you and Malekith will be resolved one day, but not now. It will be in the future, in Ulthuan. You will meet there and resolve the grudge between the two of you." Dacuus' tone returned to calm. He looked at Aris with a hint of complicated emotions in his eyes. "Don't worry, I won't interfere. That's a matter between you two. I won't interfere."

"So, in the destiny you see, what will my future be like?" Aris was silent for a moment and finally spoke.

"Elsin Arwen." Daxus put away his smile, his eyes were deep, as if he was looking directly into the vein of fate. His voice was slow but firm, "You will walk the path that Ashnir walked, and eventually stay there."

When Ares heard this, he smiled, but his smile was full of sadness and irony. He seemed to be laughing at his own fate, and also seemed to be mocking fate itself.

After laughing, he looked at Eltharion and Bel-Ahor. The two Asur did not speak, but lowered their heads with complicated expressions. He took a deep breath, stood up, straightened his cloak, and then turned and left the tent.

Dacus watched Aris leave, tapping his fingers lightly on the table, as if thinking about something.

"Will he return?" Eltharion asked at last.

"No, he won't." Daxus replied calmly, with a calm and knowing look in his eyes, "But he will leave his mark somewhere else."

After saying this, he picked up the grape juice beside him, took a sip, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as if he was carefully feeling the future that was about to unfold. (End of this chapter)