Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The Tempelwijk district of Marienburg lies quietly on the harbor, like a holy silver seal inlaid on the water, carrying the weight of faith and history. There are many holy places and temples scattered here, which are dedicated to the sea god Mannan or worship the gods of the Old World. They are the places where the souls of sailors and pilgrims rest.

Yet, among these temples of faith, none can compare to the Cathedral of Mannan.

The cathedral seems to have grown out of the sea, with white limestone walls gleaming like pearls in the sun, like the rising of waves or the emergence of gods from the water. Three golden bell towers stand tall on the roof of the church, with waves and tridents carved on the towers, symbolizing the threefold nature of Mannan's divine power - the rise, fall and eternal silence.

The fully armed knights of the Sailor Knights stand guard at the gate day and night. They are not just guards, but also the embodiment of faith itself. They stand like statues, watching the pilgrims coming in and out, as if they can tell whether they are pious from their eyes. The church door has never been closed, symbolizing Mannan's eternal call to the world. Even if the storm roars and the tide backflows, the door is still open.

Entering the cathedral is like stepping into another world.

The dome is high, and the columns with carved beams and painted buildings are arranged on both sides like tides. Each column is wrapped with algae-like reliefs, as if decorated by the messenger of Poseidon himself. There are smaller shrines and private chapels on both sides, where merchants and nobles of Marienburg often pray in silence, free from interference and harassment from the lower class people.

But the real ceremony is held in the solemn main hall.

At high tide, the ground of the main hall will be covered by the tide, and the silver sea water will slowly flow in along the hidden stone channel, submerging the floor tiles, as if the entire hall has turned into an underwater palace. Worshipers need to walk barefoot into the water, chant in a low voice, and pray to the sea god. This ritual, known as "Praying with the Tide", is the highest form of Mannan's faith. Believers believe that only in the water can they truly "hear" the whispers of God.

At the end of the wide and half-flooded hall, there stood nine stone steps, each of which was engraved with ancient sea language spells, leading to the big rock known as the "cornerstone of the city" - it was said that this was the place where "Swamp Wolf" Marius stepped when he first established Marienburg. The footprints of a generation of pioneers and the source of faith overlapped here.

Behind this solemn stone altar, the most amazing thing is a huge transparent glass wall.

It is as pure as a dream. Behind it is a huge aquarium full of miracles. Hundreds of marine treasures swim in it. Some are as big as a boat, some are as colorful as the morning light, and some have never been named. The aquarium is a sacred object given to humans by the high elves. Its magical structure and craftsmanship have long surpassed the scope of mortal understanding. It seems that it is not man-made, but transplanted from the palace of the sea god. It is a "living witness" that truly belongs to the Kingdom of Mannarn.

This is not only the spiritual heart of Marienburg, but also a holy place for sea believers throughout the Old World. Every year, countless pilgrims travel across the ocean just to see this "Window of Poseidon" with their own eyes and bathe in its grace.

However, this aquarium only appeared several hundred years later in the timeline without Daxus.

With the appearance of Dacus...

A giant aquarium. Do you know about religious wars? Do you know about ocean ownership? However, a giant aquarium will also be given to the Martian Cathedral in Miragliano.

The sovereign of the Cathedral of Mannan is Camille Dauphine, who is respected by the world as the Matriarch of the Ocean.

She is the supreme leader of the Mannanite sect, holding the scepter where religion and the secular world meet. She presides over the Council and controls a tight inner circle of five high-ranking priests, managing both sect laws and making divine judgments on shipping, fisheries, and port policies. She manages the church's vast wealth and dispatches the resources of the Albatross Order and the Knights of the Sea. Her influence far exceeds that of ordinary clergy, and she even holds a pivotal seat on the Marienburg Council.

But outside of Westland, many local churches questioned her authority. They only regarded her as a "high priest" blessed by God rather than a secular ruler.

At this moment, Camille was kneeling in front of the altar, immersed in the sound of water and the whispers of God. Her cloak fluttered slightly in the tide, her brows were tightly closed, her lips trembled slightly, and the surrounding blue light cast on her silver hair, making her wear a circle of sacred sea blue holy ring.

And in this sacred silence, a steady sound of footsteps was heard from the temple door, disturbing the sound of water, and the echo reverberated in the dome.

The footsteps stopped beside her.

Camille opened his eyes and slowly turned his head.

The person who came was none other than the Grand Master of the Knights of the Sea - Dietrich Ogg.

This warrior, known for his iron and thunder, had a face covered with traces of wind erosion and war. One of his arms had long been lost on the battlefield, and now it was replaced with a small trident prosthesis made of silver steel. His reputation spread like a storm throughout Marienburg, but it was more fear than respect. His knights were known for their lax discipline and unruly nature, but he himself used iron-blooded means to force them to submit.

"Fleet." He spoke briefly, his voice like the sound of iron boots on rocks. "A large fleet. A... strange fleet."

After saying this, he raised his trident prosthetic and pointed in the direction of the port.

When Camille Dauphine led the high-ranking clergy of the Mannan sect, wearing ceremonial robes and sea-blue tassels on their shoulders, and slowly stepped onto the traditional stone pier, the morning mist had not yet completely dissipated, and wisps of light gray water vapor were still floating in the air, like whispers from the deep sea. However, the entire port area had already been as turbulent as boiling water.

The crowd was like a beach washed by the tide, layer upon layer, densely packed with all places where people could stand or even barely hang their feet. From the balconies of the nobles' towers to the roofs of the shabby houses in the slums, all eyes were focused on the port, like countless prayers to a miracle. Shouts, questions, exclamations and hurried footsteps intertwined, one wave after another, converging into the roar of the city's heartbeat.

But the strange thing is that at the front of the port, right next to the waves, there is a large open space that is like a holy land marked by the hand of a god, and there is no one. It is not because of the lack of space, nor is it forcibly divided by the guards, but the fear that comes from instinct makes everyone automatically stop outside the "line".

That place belongs to the high elves.

It was as if the heaven and earth had created a special stage for them, and an invisible but frightening "wall of air" separated the elves from humans. Even the most unscrupulous and greedy hooligans dared not cross the line. No one explicitly said that it was forbidden to enter there, but everyone understood that that place belonged to another civilized order.

Sarandil the Voyager, wearing a silver-blue robe that fluttered like waves, stood quietly at the front of the elf area. His eyes were like the stars that appeared after the morning mist, staring at the sea in the distance, as if he could see through every ripple hidden under the layers of water.

Beside him stood Merotheg Strongwind, Gilyard Fairwind, and Angaril Talandro, and behind him was a whole row of neatly dressed Sea Guards holding spears, standing as solemnly as statues. Their existence itself was a declaration of power.

"Iron ship?" Gilliard murmured, his tone filled with a shock that he was unwilling to believe but had to admit.

"This is simply a miracle." Meroseg, who was a spy for Druch, couldn't help but sigh in a low voice. There was no jealousy in his voice, only submission and praise.

As they looked, the morning mist on the horizon was gradually breaking.

That was not sunlight, but a silver glow penetrating through the fog, a holy mark woven from steel and storm.

Two Great Eastern-class cruise ships painted silver-white slowly emerged from the waves like mythical beasts. The hulls were like floating silver mountains, reflecting an unreal metallic luster in the sun, and the water ripples on both sides of the hulls were like gauze curtains, as if the entire ship was not built, but carved by the sea god himself and placed in the sea.

Each Great Eastern-class ship is 250 meters in length, 25 meters wide at the belly, and has three decks. The hull is inlaid with metal runes and mysterious decorations, like a floating temple - they are both tools and sacred symbols, the embodiment of maritime legends.

The storm steering system guided the silver beast to move nimbly. It made no noise, no roar of steam engines, and no noise of metal collisions. The whole process was almost eerie, with only the sound of wind and water whispering in the ears. But it was precisely because of this silence that it was even more frightening.

It was a kind of overwhelming silence and shock, like the moment before a volcano erupts, the crustal tension has reached its limit, the atmosphere is still as death, and everything seems to be holding its breath waiting for the arrival of a natural disaster. The silver-white hull is like a sleeping dragon, gliding slowly on the sea, and every turn of the rudder and every thrust carries an indescribable sense of weight.

The already narrow waterway in the harbor looked narrow and fragile in front of it, as if it would crush the dock and the entire port area if not handled with care.

The human ships anchored in the harbor, even the three-masted ocean-going ships of the aristocratic consortium and the artillery-modified ships of the mercenary fleet, were like a group of wooden toys thrown into a bathtub in front of this behemoth.

They shook their masts, creaked, and whined under the heavy load. Some ships were even carried sideways by invisible currents, with their hulls tilted. The sailors ran in panic, trying to steady their course, like refugees trying to stabilize their broken tents before a storm.

These two ships do not belong to this era, do not belong to this port, and even - should not belong to this planet.

On the other side of the port, the clergy of the Mannan sect looked horrified.

Some young deacons subconsciously took a half step back, and the holy emblems in their hands almost slipped; the old priests recited rapid prayers, and even their tones became trembling.

"That's not a ship... that's a floating castle, the incarnation of the sea god..."

A mid-level clergyman murmured, and for the first time in his eyes there appeared fear and awe as faith and reality overlapped.

Camille Dauphine, who was standing at the front, looked calm and her blue eyes were as deep as the holy water of Mannan, but her expression was as cold as the cold crystals on the seabed. She understood better than anyone else that this was not just a visit, nor a signal, but a new order that was approaching the border of the sea and would tear apart the old order.

The amazement of the human people at this moment swept across like a tsunami.

"Is that... a battleship?"

"Have you ever seen such a big ship? My God, it can hold our entire fishing village!"

"Oh my god, is that a carving or something on that deck?"

"Marienburg... can it really handle a ship like this?"

The children stood on the wooden stakes, their eyes as big as silver coins; the fishermen no longer cared about drying their nets, and did not even care that the fish on the ropes were trampled to pieces; an old sailor knelt down trembling, and kept drawing the holy emblem of Mannan on his chest.

Although Marienburg is known as the "largest port in the old world", it still seems inadequate in front of the real giant ships. Once the two silver-white Great Eastern-class cruise ships approached, they almost approached the theoretical limit of the port's design capacity. The port water fluctuated violently, the floating bridge trembled, the heavy waves hit the shore again and again, and the old stone embankment in the port even made an unsettling creaking sound, like the groaning of a giant beast.

Fortunately, this was not a hasty arrival.

Drucci's side had already known about the situation and had done their homework in advance.

As the ship slowly approached the shore, the heavy floating platforms on both sides opened up and slowly lowered with an inch-precise mechanical rhythm, seamlessly connecting with the dock structure to form a temporary berthing area that fits like a skeleton. Every connection link fits perfectly, reflecting the precision of the elf's craftsmanship and the cold planning of Drucci.

However, an even more shocking scene came a moment later.

The sea fog had not yet completely dissipated, and as the morning light penetrated the water vapor, an escort formation consisting of ten warships appeared one after another. They were like sharp spears chasing the waves, and their hulls were painted in the same silver-white color that symbolized authority and nobility. The emblem representing Matheran was painted on the sails, and the triple logo of the star, longbow and breaking waves hung high on the top of the mast, which was very impressive.

Elsing Alvin, is watching!

Elsin Alvin is very important to Daxus, or the entire elves. Elsin Alvin's layout is long-term, and he will not destroy the previous layout for the so-called face. What he wants is long-term interests, the pattern of the next fifty, one hundred, or even one thousand years, the reconstruction of power, and the reshuffle of broken power in the old order. Under these temptations, this temporary face is meaningless.

He chose the skin of Asur just like when he first came to Elsin Alvin...

It's his business whether he wears it or not, but it's your business whether he sees it or not.

The two warships slowly sailed into the core of the port area along with the Great Eastern class, piercing the heart like a sharp sword. The other eight warships silently stayed in the outer waters, surrounding and guarding, without making any berthing movements, but forming an invisible maritime cordon, like a kind of "deterrent border", dividing the entire port into two worlds, inside and outside.

That is the elves' "Sea Garden" - a line of authority that no one can enter without permission.

Sarandil Far Voyager quietly gazed at the silver waves glittering in the sun, with a slight smile on his face. His eyes penetrated the crowd and astonishment, slowly swept across the entire dock and the city wall, and finally landed on the top of the Cathedral of Mannarn.

"I only know." He said calmly, his voice low but like the sound of the tide, it surged into the ears of every elf, "This port... should be upgraded."

As soon as these words came out, a burst of laughter broke out among Asur's entourage.

It was not sarcasm, but a kind of elegance and confidence that came from top to bottom. The laughter was gentle, like a silver blade cutting through the water, but the meaning behind it was worth more than a thousand words.

At the same time, the two warships docked steadily at the secondary berth of Marienburg Pier, and the anchors fell into the water with a bang, causing huge waves.

Although their size is not as grand as the Great Eastern class, they exude a completely different aura. They are not thrones, nor altars, but sharp blades, army-breaking blades, and warships born for war and killing.

People originally thought that this was just a frigate and would just stay quietly at anchor, but when the sailors on the ship showed up, the entire dock fell into deathly silence.

They wore uniform navy blue uniforms, the material was dark, the cut was rigorous, and the metal buckles reflected the cold light of obsidian in the morning light. Their military boots stepped silently onto the deck, each step was carefully paced, and they lined up neatly, like statues controlled by magic.

They did not shout slogans, did not draw their weapons, and did not even make any threatening gestures. But the murderous aura that permeated from inside to outside was like ice water pouring into their bones.

They just stood quietly behind the railing of the ship, looking down at the noisy crowd of people on the dock.

There was no emotion or hostility in that look, but there was absolutely no respect either. It was a cold gaze, as if observing some low-level creature struggling in the mud.

That look was condescending, indifferent, and even carried a hint of elegant contempt. It required no words, no action, and only its quiet presence could make everyone present feel the contempt and humiliation from the depths of their souls, as if its own existence itself was some kind of proof of failure.

What’s even scarier is – this isn’t a novel experience.

Most of the humans present, especially the merchants, officials and officers of respectable status in the port, had long been accustomed to such looks.

The awareness that "they don't treat us as human beings" did not arouse anger, but instead triggered a strange numbness and secret submission. It was as if some kind of group consciousness or collective Stockholm syndrome was growing secretly, as if this was the only way to coexist with the elves: endure being scrutinized, get used to being despised, even if you don't say it, your heart has already acquiesced. Camille stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, her eyes calm and far-reaching, like a seasoned game player, looking for flaws in the chaotic situation.

She glanced at the rows of sailors, her eyes showing no anger or fear, but a calmness of scrutiny and contemplation. It's not like she had never seen an army before, from the Empire, the Dwarves, or even the Orcs, but these... did not belong to any army she had ever understood.

These sailors did not seem to be fighting for glory, nor for faith, wealth, homeland, or hatred. Their existence itself was like an extension of orders, a manifestation of will, and a projection of some huge, cold, and irresistible rational structure.

It is the mechanism, the structure, and the indifference that is compiled and registered.

At this moment, Camille understood in his heart: this was not a courtesy visit, this was a statement!
An entrance ceremony with silence as its horn announced to the entire old world: the elves are back, no longer spectators, but participants, judges, and potential reconstructors.

She turned her gaze towards the end of the dock, towards the group of high elves.

It's time to talk again.

At the same time, outside the northern city a few miles away from Marienburg, in a forgotten stinking swamp, the air seemed to be frozen on the edge of corruption. It was a mixture of dampness, mildew and death, like an invisible snake winding around people's lungs, making every breath almost suffocating.

At the edge of the swamp, broken fences lay in the mud, wild grass grew wildly, water snakes roamed around, and rotting birds and blistered corpses together weaved a distorted ecological picture, as if the entire nature itself had given up order here.

The "Human Widow Killer" Trankas Kundamanliye stood on the edge of this lifeless place.

He was wearing a greasy leather cape whose color was unclear, his feet were stepping on the thick wet mud, and he was smoking an out-of-date old pipe. Thick smoke slowly rose from the corner of his mouth, mixing with the wet mist around him. He had an elusive expression on his face, a smile that was a mixture of impatience, expectation, and vigilance, as if a vulture that had had enough of waiting had finally smelled the smell of rotten meat.

He muttered something under his breath, but his eyes were always fixed vigilantly on the edge of the foggy woods ahead.

At that moment - a very regular drum beat sounded, very light, but very steady, like the sound of prophecy before some kind of ceremony began.

Immediately following, there was a continuous and fragmentary sound of metal colliding, like the friction between armor, or like a guard of honor performing some kind of arrangement that could not be disturbed.

The fog surged violently, as if an invisible hand was tearing it apart from reality.

Invisible forces spread through the air, rippling the puddles on the mud, and even the crows on the fence flew away in panic.

The next moment, an army from the dream emerged silently, as if growing out of a crack in the fog.

They lined up neatly and walked out of the woods with unified steps. Their formation was like a mirror, just like a phantom coming into being and a dream coming into the world.

As the Enil army appeared, Trancas' smile grew wider.

At the same time, Master Batto and the old farmers in Brione were experiencing similar things. The fairies living in the magic forest walked out of the forest and boarded the ship to the unknown distance.
-
Marlene, who was pacing on the deck, stopped. Her movements were extremely slow, as if a precision instrument had suddenly stopped working. She reached into her bosom and, with her fingertips, she took out the silver cigarette case from her inner pocket with a familiarity. She opened it with a snap and took out a cigarette.

She lit it skillfully, the faint flame illuminating some gloomy thoughts in her eyes, and the burning tobacco trembled slightly, like a microcosm of the uneasy emotion hidden deep in her heart at the moment.

She raised her head and looked at the sky covered with dark clouds - Arsalan and the Spear of the Silver Star were back.

This was the moment she had been waiting for for a long time, no, this was the moment the entire fleet had been waiting for.

The next moment, a huge shadow passed through the sky, accompanied by the wind pressure. Arsalan's mount, Sharp Claw, landed steadily on the deck. The sharp claws made a heavy but crisp sound when they landed, as if announcing the return of a noble knight.

Then, a familiar figure jumped off the mount like the wind and rushed towards her without even having time to steady himself.

Marlene raised her eyebrows slightly, and a hint of ambiguous arc appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"Here it comes." She whispered to herself, and there was no surprise in her tone, but rather it sounded like some kind of confirmation.

The word "coming" does not refer to Arslan's running, but is an intuitive response to some deeper changes.

She knew her relative, and the meaning behind every one of his subtle movements. From the lingering murderous look between his brows to the oppressive feeling implied in his movements, it was enough to judge that the situation they were facing had quietly changed.

The fact was just as she expected. Arsalan narrated to her one by one the thrilling experience he had just experienced. Every detail was like a stone hitting the water, causing ripples in her heart.

She listened, and calmly put out the cigarette butt with her fingers. The remaining smoke lingered between her fingers, but she did not sniff the remaining scent of tobacco. Instead, she tilted her head slightly and used her nose to sense the changes in the wind.

She was smelling, no, she was sensing the concentration of Ji Lun's wind, which was a very keen perception of the flow of energy. With the second sight, she had an observation angle different from that of ordinary people, and could "see" the trajectory of energy flowing between the worlds, falling like rain, gathering into a pool with the stream, like a spiritual river irrigating the earth.

Unfortunately, she saw nothing.

She frowned slightly and turned to look at Bell-Tanya and Morian who were walking quickly not far away. The two seemed to have guessed what she was thinking, and even without her asking, they shook their heads with solemn expressions.

She sighed, a sound like the retreat of the tide. She said nothing more, but took out another cigarette from the cigarette box, and continued to pace with her steps soft and restrained as the sparks jumped.

She looked at Arsalan, who was full of fighting spirit, his eyes burning with anger and mission that had not yet subsided; she looked at Bell-Tanya and Morian, both of whom seemed to be hesitant to speak, obviously weighing whether to say anything; then she looked around, at the sailors, although they were nominally merchant ship crew members, at this moment, their eyes were fiery, their muscles were tense, and they had quietly entered a state of preparation for battle.

This fleet is the merchant fleet of the Emerald Sea Family.

And Marlene is the commander-in-chief of this fleet.

On the surface, they are cargo carriers and trade messengers between ports, but inside... it is a different story.

All the sailors on the ship are retired Tritons.

They have fought in storms, held their ground under sieges by sea monsters, and survived dozens of naval battles. Each of them is not a docile lamb but a silent hunter.

What they took off were military uniforms, but the fighting spirit in their bones has never been truly washed away by time. This is the way of survival for the followers of Matheran.

If this fleet encountered Drucci's warship formation, it would be a disaster without a doubt, because the ships were no good, the speed was not good, and the firepower was not good. There was only one result waiting for them, and that was death. The only difference was whether they would suffer a complete defeat and be annihilated, or fight to the death and let only a few escape.

But what if what we encounter is not Duruchi, but - the greenskin fleet?
"Hey hey hey..."

She grinned, and that smile held a certain dangerous anticipation, like a white lion ready to pounce.

The ecological niche has changed.

Don't be fooled by the boat type.

Even though these were merchant ships, they had cargo holds and crossbows. More importantly, the veterans who had once worn armor and fought in battle were eager to once again grasp their weapons and write another bloody chapter on the raging waves.

Moreover, naval warfare and land warfare are two completely different concepts after all.

Marlene took a deep breath of the cigarette, closed her eyes, and let the smoke swirl in her lungs.

The wind is changing.

She really wanted to fight, not bluffing or taking the opportunity to intimidate, but with a determination that rose from her bones.

Let’s have a big one right away!
As an Asur, she could not accept the greenskins trampling on the land of Ulthuan, even if it was a desolate and uninhabited island.

In her view, this was not just a territorial invasion, but a desecration of her bloodline and honor.

She could even imagine that one day in the future, in a certain hall of history, in a chronicle written by an elven scholar, someone would say in a relaxed tone: "Oh, in that battle, the greenskins did land on Ulthuan... The island was unguarded at the time."

To her, these words were sharper than any sword. She didn't want to be the background of those words, and didn't want to be the commander who "failed to react in time" in history books.

She couldn't tolerate it, and she wouldn't tolerate it.

But reality is always much colder than will.

Ji Lun's style is not enough... (It's Ji Lun)
She opened her eyes and looked up at the gray sky.

The fleet was in the "Ocean Desert" - a sea area with thin energy. Here, the Wind of Gilen was as weak as the ebb tide and could not support the operation of a large-scale spell system. The Wind of Aegir was not enough either. If a large-scale ritual magic was to be used, it would be almost impossible for a tsunami or whirlpool to send the greenskin fleet away.

She knew in her heart that she could no longer rely on her intuition to judge the situation and had to confirm everything.

"Please work harder." She finally spoke. Her voice was not loud, but it was firm and unquestionable. "Using that fleet as the center, conduct reconnaissance to the north and east."

Her gaze turned to Arsalan, with a hint of complex tenderness in it.

Arsalan was startled at first, for he had not expected Marlene to give such an order. But soon he nodded, very seriously, as if he had made up his mind.

He understood what she meant.

Marlene is even more cautious than him.

Before she gave the order to attack, she had to confirm whether there was only this greenskin fleet in this sea area.

If Arsalan's judgment was correct, she would definitely send him to conduct further reconnaissance to confirm whether there were other warships or main forces lurking behind the fleet. Although he didn't think so, what if? Absurd things had already happened, and perhaps there would be even more absurd things?

This is a strategic-level judgment, an analysis of the enemy's plan and a risk assessment, and it is a commander-level thinking.

"Send a message to Tal Iris and ask them to move and join us." Marlene then turned and looked at Bell-Tanya, her tone as calm as ever.

Bell-Tanya turned around immediately, taking decisive steps without the slightest hesitation.

Marlene then raised her hand and waved to the captain on the deck not far away.

"Notify all ships to count the total number of arrows and move the crossbows on the bow of the Albatross-class ship to the sides."

Her tone was steady, as if she was simply issuing an order to fine-tune the route.

But the captain's eyes became serious. This was a sign of battle deployment, a transition from "navigation mode" to "battle mode". Once the bow crossbows were moved to both sides, it meant that the fleet was ready to launch a flank attack and deal with a multi-directional pincer attack.

After everything was ready, Marlene breathed a sigh of relief. She looked at Morien, who was still standing by her side and remained silent. Morien was her mentor, her think tank, and the person she rarely showed her vulnerability to.

She shrugged at him like a little girl who had just finished a bunch of boring official documents.

"This is the only way." She said softly, with a kind of helplessness.

Morian simply responded with a smile that was unique to elders. In that kind smile that had been baptized by the years, there was neither doubt nor comfort, only quiet trust.

He knew that Marlene was ready to face the storm. (End of this chapter)