Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

On one side of the square, a magnificent palace rises from the ground. Its scale is almost comparable to a town.

This mansion seemed to be built entirely of emeralds. Under the sunlight, the entire building exuded a faint green glow, like a giant emerald embedded in the heart of Lothern. Surrounding the palace stood towering emerald towers, and the tops of the towers were inlaid with finely carved crystals. Under the morning and evening sun, they reflected colorful brilliance, as unreal as a dream.

Above the palace, a large flag fluttered in the wind. The flag depicted not the emblem of the Phoenix Court, nor the majestic figure of a white lion, but a majestic elven warship - its masts were high, its sails were fluttering, as if it was riding the wind and waves, heading for unknown seas. This flag hung high on the top of the palace, announcing to the entire Lothern who its owner was, and also showing the true ruler of this place.

When night falls, the lighthouse of the palace lights up with green light, covering the area with a mysterious and deep green. Unlike the surrounding buildings that have become dilapidated due to the passage of time, this palace still maintains its prosperity, with bright lights and servants coming and going, like a kingdom of its own.

——This is the Emerald Sea Palace located in Lothern.

"Lothern was built on wealth, and the Palace of the Emerald Sea is the home of the richest of all merchants. At the same time... it is also the most hated!" - Kehain Ironsword, Captain of the White Lion Guard.

On the top floor of the Emerald Sea Palace, on a wide balcony, Finnubar was sitting there quietly. He was slightly thin, and his pale face showed deep fatigue, as if some unbearable pressure had been lingering on his shoulders for a long time, making him almost unable to breathe. He used to be full of vigor and vitality, but now there was an indelible haze between his brows, and his eyes were slightly sunken, revealing a hint of worry.

But this did not prevent him from sitting there, maintaining an indescribable calmness, holding a cigarette between his fingertips and slowly exhaling a puff of smoke. His eyes wandered in the courtyard of the Emerald Sea Palace, his eyes were calm and profound, as if he was thinking about something, or waiting for something.

In the courtyard, green lanterns hung high between the columns and branches, illuminating the entire courtyard like a dream. The wide pool was like a pool of jade, and the water rippled and sparkled under the breeze. In the center of the fountain stood exquisitely carved sculptures - dolphins, sea beasts, and other legendary marine creatures, as if they were telling a lost maritime legend.

Finnubar's gaze slowly moved to the other side of the courtyard, where a martial arts training was in full swing.

The young elves wearing armor are undergoing rigorous training from Italis. They hold sharp blades in their hands and their movements are quick and decisive. Every time they thrust their swords, there is a hint of sharp chill in the air.

As Italis demonstrated, he reprimanded those apprentices whose movements were not precise enough. His voice was as cold and merciless as a knife.

In the past, Captain Kehain of the White Lion Guard also often came here, either to spar with Italis, or to bicker with each other, or to personally teach the children of the Emerald Sea Family how to become qualified warriors.

But that was in the past.

Ever since the tenth Phoenix King, "Sage" Bel-Hathor, fell critically ill, Kehain has been guarding the Phoenix Court, protecting the dying ruler day and night. In the courtyard of the Emerald Sea Family, his presence is missing, as is his rough and heroic laughter.

"May he be healthy." Thinking of this, Finnubar muttered softly.

There was not much genuine emotion in his tone, it was more like a habitual prayer. But no matter what, if there was anyone in the world who least wanted Bel-Hathor to be in trouble, it was undoubtedly Finnubar himself.

One was that Bel-Hathor had done him a favor and supported him in going to Elsin Arwen as an official of Ulthuan despite political pressure from other kingdoms, supporting his views, his cause, and Ulthuan's quest for change.

however……

Another reason is that the living Bel-Hathor is too important in his plan, so important that if he dies now, the entire layout will be completely disrupted.

As a political master, Finnubar certainly prepared a backup plan for this. He would never let himself get into a situation that he could not control, but he knew very well that the cost of the backup plan would be an exponential increase in costs, while the tolerance rate would decrease exponentially.

He is now in a difficult situation.

If the plan was disrupted or even failed, he didn't even dare to imagine how future history would evaluate him.

"Perhaps, they will say that I am a complete traitor..." He sighed, smiled self-deprecatingly, took a long puff of his cigarette, and then looked further away.

The bright lights were lit by the fiery magic, illuminating the surroundings. The soft but brilliant light filled the streets, embellishing the city like a dream. The long winding streets spiraled through the wooded mountains, complementing the scattered pavilions. Countless stone steps wound up the steep hillsides, like silver ribbons, connecting the towering palaces together.

The palaces were surrounded by towers, the tops of which were decorated with delicate carvings, and gilded weather vanes hung on the spires, swaying slightly in the sea breeze. In the square, the gurgling fountains flowed with crystal clear water, so clear that it seemed to reflect the stars in the sky.

The fountain is surrounded by various sculptures - there are wizards holding magic wands solemnly, warriors standing on the battlefield with swords, as if they are about to fight the enemy, and kings sitting on the throne with deep eyes like wise men who know the world. In addition, there are legislators holding codes, orators with arms outstretched, and poets bowing their heads in contemplation to compose a long poem.

These statues are not just masterpieces of craftsmanship, they seem to have life. Every stone has been carefully carved to lifelike, even the light in the eyes, the folds of the robes, and the patterns on the armor are clearly visible. Their charm comes not only from the sculptor's exquisite craftsmanship, but also from an almost imperceptible magical aura.

Those ancient protective magics protect them from the erosion of time and wind and rain, making every corner of Lothern immersed in glorious history.

These sculptures are not just decorations, they are a symbol, a declaration, a political statement.

Every sculpture, every fountain, was built for a political purpose. They not only celebrated the dead, but also symbolized the glory of the living elves themselves. These statues represented not just individuals, but the glory of entire families. The richest elven merchants, the noblest nobles, the most influential scholars, their families used them to declare their status and to show their bloodline to the world.

Politics is a serious matter in Lothern, and while you can laugh at it if you want, it has an influence that runs deep into every aspect of life.

The statues and fountains are a microcosm of the city’s political culture. Their existence is both a symbol of glory and a warning monument.

It reminds those noble families that their power comes from the glory of the past. If their descendants degenerate and lose the dignity and wisdom that the family deserves, then the glory carried by these statues will one day turn to dust.

This political atmosphere is not only present in Lothern, but also in the entire Ulthuan. The marble corridors echo with empty echoes, the secluded pavilions hide secret meetings, and the verdant hunting grounds hide the games of countless factions. Those secret alliances, those superficial friendships, those smiles and toasts at the banquet... Behind them are countless calculations, negotiations and transactions, which gather and disperse like duckweed according to opportunities and needs.

The years in Ulthuan were undoubtedly much more peaceful than those in the human world. Even the life in the Outer Ring was much more peaceful than the chaos and war in the Empire of Sigmar. The people of the Inner Ring Kingdoms enjoyed a poetic and long life, their lives were full of art, music, poetry, and the sedimentation of history.

But this does not mean that there is no conflict in the world of Asur - on the contrary, conflict is always there, but it rarely breaks out in a violent way.

In Ulthuan, politics is a profound art. It is both a serious political conspiracy and a pastime among the nobles, and it is also a ruthless power game.

Those princes, great wizards, generals, nobles, merchants... they plan their layout on the chessboard of power, consolidate their own power, suppress potential opponents, promote their own ideas, or even just to get some precious item, which may be a fiefdom, a castle, a magic artifact, a trade agreement, or even... just a forbidden love.

Romantic affairs are especially prevalent in elven society.

Many Asur are addicted to the thrill of forbidden pleasure, and in their world, love and politics are often inseparable.

Some use it to climb to the pinnacle of power, while others simply indulge in it. However, in any case, conspiracy and calculation are not only a part of elven society, but also a means to make Ulthuan go round.

Of course, not all political games are malicious. Some people use power to achieve good deeds: reuniting scattered families, sheltering the poor and forgotten, or strategizing in the dark to build a stronger barrier for the future of Ulthuan.

However, calculating nature does not always bring glory.

It has threatened the stability of Ulthuan countless times, undermining alliances, usurping positions of power for mediocre people, and driving true sages away from the Court of the Phoenix. This tendency has been ingrained since the days of Aenarion, but it reached its peak during the reign of the eighth Phoenix King, Addis the Singer.

At that time, the entire aristocracy, the court and even the servants were indulged in deceit and wit rather than wisdom and honor.

To this day, the Court of the Phoenix remains the pinnacle of intrigue in all of Ulthuan.

Every prince and every noble is secretly wrestling in this magnificent palace, trying to ensure that they are in the most advantageous position before the storm comes.

Perhaps this is Asur's fate.

They are one of the smartest, most elegant, and greatest races in the world, but they are also the most adept at intrigue. In this land, glory and shadow coexist, honor and betrayal are intertwined, and the final outcome...

"History will judge." Finnubar sighed, put out the burnt cigarette, and then looked further away.

Next to him, a bronze telescope stood steadily on an intricately carved metal tripod, gleaming with a faint luster.

This is Erardesi's device. He uses it to observe the ships in the harbor and record the shadows of each ship entering and leaving. But even without the help of this sophisticated optical instrument, standing on the balcony, the magnificent view of Lothern can still be seen at a glance.

The vast harbor is like a natural shelter, handling fleets returning from afar. It is large enough to berth the fleet of the Osu Security Department. Even without the towering seawall, it can still provide a stable anchorage for every ship returning from a long voyage. The sea wall surrounding the harbor stands tall, not only blocking the violent storm, but also becoming the first barrier against foreign enemies. If those fearless plunderers dare to break in, they will be greeted by the wrath of the ballista in the sea fortress.

However, at this moment, Finnubar sighed.

In his original plan, Lothern's port should be prosperous, with masts and sails. Trade ships returning from all over the world should come in an endless stream, some of them are fast sailing ships with new paint, pristine as new, frequently sailing along the coastline of Ulthuan; some are ocean-going galleys loaded with treasures, carrying rare treasures brought back from distant countries such as Elsin Arwen, Araby, and Cathay.

They crossed the waves, traveled thousands of miles, and established trade ties with every corner of the world. From the frozen north to the warm south, from the howling sea to the misty archipelago, there was no ocean they had not explored, no land they had not set foot on.

And Lothern is the core of it all, the intersection of all routes, and the symbol of Asur's wealth and wisdom.

In his original vision, the port would be a bustling marketplace, with foreign merchants gathering here with their exotic goods. The Dwarves from the World's Edge Mountains brought intricate clocks and gold and silver utensils, and the fleets of Men carried rare minerals and gems from Ulthuan, as well as wool, tobacco, salt meats, and grain from their own vast realms. Even the most distant eastern kingdom, Cathay, would send their fleets, loaded with silks, porcelain, and exquisitely carved artifacts, to unload their treasures at the port of Asur.

But the reality is... dead silence.

Finnubar's eyes swept across the harbor, and what came into view was an empty lagoon, with waves rolling silently in the morning light, and only a few Asur merchant ships anchored alone on the shore. The once busy docks now only had a few sailors, as if the whole world had forgotten Lothern. Since the Asur main fleet went to war, trade has dropped sharply, and foreign ships have disappeared. The once bustling docks are now like a deserted city.

He turned his gaze to the west of the port. The isolated islands were still silent. In his imagination, this should have been a foreign residential area, the only place in the city where foreigners were allowed to travel freely without the personal pardon of the Phoenix King. Humans, dwarves, and even occasional Arab merchants and envoys from Eastern Cathay should have traveled through those wide streets, negotiating trade with Asur merchants and exchanging rare items from their respective worlds.

Thinking of this and seeing this, Finnubar's thoughts involuntarily went back to the past, back to what Dacus had said to him - those words seemed to be engraved in his heart and still echoed in his ears.

"There's no point in doing this."

Daxus's tone was as calm and insightful as ever, as if he was stating an unshakable fact.

"The problems of the elves, Ulthuan, and the world as a whole cannot be solved by trade alone."

Finnubar did not refute at the time, because he knew that what Dacius said was right. Even if the commercial prosperity he envisioned could be realized, even if the port of Lothern really became the center of world trade, and could easily affect the trade routes of humans, dwarves, and even as far away as Cathay, what would it do? This would not really solve the dilemma of Ulthuan, could not bridge the rifts within the elves, and could not prevent the ambitious from plotting in secret.

But at least it was a start, maybe the elves could use the influence brought by trade to do something, to change something. And, most importantly, he had to do something to try to save Ulthuan, which was in decline.

"At best, this will make Itain the most powerful kingdom of the modern era."

"Its trade and military strength will force other states to submit on the surface, but in fact they are secretly looking for opportunities to strengthen their own voice. In such a situation, you can't really solve any problems."

Finnubar knew this was true. He had carefully considered every family dispute, trying to maintain absolute fairness and balance in mediation, without bias, to ensure social stability. But he also knew that even if he was so cautious, those families would still not be satisfied, they would not thank him, and would not stop. Instead, they would only continue to fight openly and secretly, trying to gain more benefits under seemingly fair rules.

"Even if you eventually become the Phoenix King, even if your judgments are fair and impartial, they still won't be grateful to you."

Every word that Daxus spoke was like a heavy stone hitting the surface of a lake, causing ripples that lasted for a long time.

Finnubar was silent.

He silently looked at the harbor where he had pinned his grand ideas. The pier that should have been bustling with people was now empty and silent. On the west side of the harbor, the island that was originally planned as a residential area for foreigners was still deserted. The prosperous scene that he had imagined was now nothing more than a bubble. "In the beginning, it was probably only the size of a fishing village."

Daxus's sarcastic words resurfaced in his mind.

"But soon, there will be as many people there as there are elves in the city."

"It won't be long before they outnumber the elves."

Finnubar tried to argue, but he could not find the words to speak. Because it was true. Humans multiplied too fast, and their expansion was almost unstoppable. Their fleets came from everywhere, their merchants were everywhere, and their cities were springing up like mushrooms after rain. And if they were allowed to settle freely in Lothern without restrictions, then...

"If you're lucky, you may even see dwarves living alongside humans appear in Lothern."

"They even give you the standard smile as you pay for your weapons. Race? War of Revenge? War of the Longbeards? Screw that!"

There was a hint of playful ridicule in Dacus' voice, but Finubar could tell that underneath the ridicule was some deeper worry.

Finally, he had to admit...Darkius was right!

and so……

He cancelled all those plans.

Trade must still go on. After all, more money is never a bad thing, right?
But no longer in Lothern, but in Tor Yvresse, the capital of the Kingdom of Yvresse. There the fleets of the Asur would gather, and from there they would sail to Elsin Arwen, and begin their trade with the outside world. Lothern would no longer be the meeting point of all races, it would not become a market where foreign merchants could freely come and go, it would not become the gateway to Ulthuan's loss of control.

However, Finnubar's ambition did not stop there. He had thought of building a towering statue in the center of the harbor on a pedestal the size of an island - a statue of Aenarion nearly two hundred meters high.

A statue that is a hundred times taller than a normal elf.

The statue will be carved with unparalleled craftsmanship, and every detail will be carefully crafted to make it almost lifelike. Anyone who looks at it will be shocked by its momentum and will feel an indescribable admiration in their hearts.

This will be a stunning work of art.

It perfectly captures the true nobility of Aenarion, the first Phoenix King, and his loneliness and sadness. A huge stone warrior stands on a pedestal, leaning on a huge sword with one hand, and the flames on the blade are carved as if they are rolling and burning.

Aenarion's eyes were not fixed on any of the spectators.

He gazed outward, his eyes far above the heads of all the others, as if he were looking out to some distant place, seeing something farther and higher than any mortal could see.

He is not like the stereotypical hero. He does not have an arrogant smile or a confident look. His forehead is slightly wrinkled, and his eyes are shrouded in heavy gloom. In his eyes, there is a trace of imperceptible worry, and the unspeakable fatigue and loneliness - the sculptor accurately captured all of this and carved it into the hard stone.

This is not the image of an arrogant king.

This is a lone warrior, a being that bears a weight that no mortal can bear.

He carried the fate of all the elves on his shoulders, faced demons from the outside world, and from within himself. When all seemed lost, he never stopped. In the end, he gave everything he had, in exchange for the survival of the world and the continuation of his people to this day.

This statue will be built entirely according to the drawings left behind by the first Phoenix King before his death.

Even if Morathi came here in person, he would have to admit...

"Like, so similar!"

However, Morathi fell...

Thinking of this, Finnubar suddenly laughed. He didn't know why he could think so far, nor did he know why he laughed. Was it because of his unfulfilled ambitions? Or because he thought of Morathi's death? Or...

Soon, the smile disappeared from his face and his eyes became deep, as if the emotion just now was just a breeze passing over the lake, leaving no trace.

Because he thought of Dacus, and he thought of his trip to Naggaroth.

When he set foot on the land of Naggaroth, the cold breath hit him and attacked his skin. The winter here was long and cold, the sky was always covered with dark clouds, and the sunlight was thin, as if even light itself was blocked by this land.

But to Finnubar's surprise, the people of Duruchi living here were not immersed in endless pain and hatred as rumored. He thought this would be a lifeless land full of betrayal, conspiracy and despair, but what he saw was a completely different scene.

He saw a kind of vitality he had never seen in Ulthuan before. The streets of the city were full of people, and the eyes of the Duruchi were full of vitality and hope, rather than the indifference and gloom he had imagined. He saw huge factories in operation, the sound of hammers echoing in the air, steam rising in the air, gears spinning rapidly, and craftsmen concentrating on making weapons and tools.

They are creating, they are building, they are developing.

He saw a group of young Druks reading books in the school. Their tutor was talking about astronomy, engineering, and how to design stronger walls and bridges through mathematical calculations.

They are producing, they are adapting, they are improving.

All this deeply shocked Finnubar.

He saw so much. Although it was his first visit to Naggaroth, he knew that Naggaroth was not like this before. All of this was shaped by Dacus when he returned to Naggaroth.

Ironically, his youngest son, as an Asur, also played a big role in the process.

Does this show the tolerance of the new era of Druki?
In contrast, what did he himself do?
Finnubar was silent. He was unwilling to admit it, but the bitterness in his heart lingered. His ambitions were once great. He wanted to change Ulthuan. He wanted to bring new life to Asur. But now...

He didn't do anything, he achieved nothing.

He thought of all his efforts in Ulthuan. He hoped to revitalize the elven society through trade, he hoped to repair the rifts within the elves through diplomacy, he hoped to free the Asur from their stagnant arrogance and stubbornness through reform... but all these plans were stuck in the quagmire of reality.

Aside from his supporters, the nobles of Ulthuan are too proud and privileged to face change, and will resist any move that might affect their own interests. They are unwilling to acknowledge Ulthuan's problems, unwilling to admit that Ulthuan has fallen into decline, clinging to past glories and reminiscing about past glories rather than facing reality.

Finnubar had envisioned a vibrant Ulthuan, one that could engage with the world and adapt to the changing times, but whenever he tried to push for a reform, he encountered resistance. His plans were always delayed by various excuses from the nobles, and his ideas were always shelved, debated, and endlessly revised in the parliament until they became meaningless or were simply rejected outright.

The reason why he could go to Elsin Arwen or Bel-Hathor...

"The Elves of Ulthuan have never changed. They still live in the illusion of their own righteousness."

Dacius had said this of Ulthuan, and Finubar had been unable to refute it then, and he was even less able to reply now.

"No matter how great your ambitions are, what's the point?"

Finnubar seemed to hear the question in his heart.

He had thought trade would bring change, but the nobles of Ulthuan saw it only as a new source of wealth, never changing the social structure, only seeking to extract more profit. He had thought diplomacy would mend the rift, but Asur pride proved more stubborn than he had imagined.

They completely ignored how Daxus had built a truly professional army in Naggaroth, and they ignored the fact that Druch's fleet had begun to adopt new tactics and equipment. They refused to admit that they were falling behind and that they had stagnated.

The armies of Ulthuan still rely on ancient traditions, and still use those ancient tactics to deal with this ever-changing world. They still believe that their fleets are the most powerful in the world, and they still believe that their bows and spears are enough to deal with all threats...

They still live in the illusion of thousands of years ago, as if time had never passed.

The trip to Naggaroth made Finnubar understand.

He finally understood why the gods chose Dacus and Duruchi instead of Asur.

He finally understood why Naggaroth had undergone such earth-shaking changes, while Ulthuan was still immersed in its past glory and standing still.

Finnubar slowly closed his eyes, the wind blew across his cheeks, and he felt weak.

Ulthuan was still Ulthuan.

It remains the same arrogant and obtuse empire.

It remains the country imprisoned by history.

And what about him?
He was just a fool trying to raise the dead, a loser trying to sow hope in a rotten land.

And Daxus changed Naggaroth, he changed Druki.

And he hasn't changed anything.

That being the case...

That being the case...

That being the case!

Just as Finnubar was immersed in his own thoughts, not far away, Elardesi was sitting in front of a huge table, the table top was almost filled with thick documents.

The light shone on his profile, pale and tired. His eyes had lingered on these documents for too long, and the handwriting seemed to be twisted and wandering on the paper, making his vision increasingly blurred. He finally signed the last document, put down the pen that Bell-Aihor had given him, exhaled a long breath, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pain between his eyebrows.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if this could temporarily get rid of the fatigue, but after only a moment, he opened his eyes again, his sharp eyes piercing through the air and falling on Finnubar who was still in a daze. He stared at Finnubar, frowning slightly, with a bit of helplessness in his eyes. He sighed lightly, pushed away the documents in front of him, and slowly stood up with his hands on the table.

His movements were crisp and clear, without any hesitation. Even though he was exhausted physically and mentally, his steps were still straight and steady, without a trace of slackness. He walked around the large desk, and the heels of his boots made clear sounds on the floor, steady and powerful.

He walked slowly towards Finnubar and stopped beside Finnubar, his eyes slightly lowered. After a moment of silence, he slowly spoke, his voice low and with a hint of imperceptible fatigue.

"What are you thinking?"

(It's time to start the work) (End of this chapter)