Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

X,593
The Golden Lion, Lothern, Ulthuan.

In the early morning, the gray light passed through the low-hanging thick clouds, like the lowered gaze of an indifferent god, slowly falling on the quiet streets, reflecting a pale halo.

Galyan wakes up.

Or rather, he didn't really sleep at all.

He rolled over from the bed, his movements as smooth as the reaction to the morning whistle in the old military camp. Even though he had been away from the army for many years, his body still retained that almost instinctive regularity and tension. He stepped on the floor barefoot and skillfully performed a series of movements: stretching, turning, pushing up, push-ups... The whole process did not require the brain to issue commands, and the muscles and bones had already remembered how to move.

He had been a Triton, one of Lothern's proudest lines of defence.

As a citizen of Lothern, he longed for glory, longed to wield a sword on the deck of a warship and fight for the Phoenix King. Then, as Lothern citizens usually choose, he tried to join the Triton.

His application was not rejected. With his excellent physical fitness and keen intuition, he was selected, received formal training, and traveled around the world on ships. Those years burned with the taste of iron and fire, and the sword was engraved with memories of waves, blood and flames.

Later he retired and used the savings he had accumulated during his service to live a peaceful life, which was to open a bar.

Now, that peace was being torn apart by an invisible wind, which was why he hadn't slept much, because out of some deeper, uneasy intuition, he could feel that a storm was coming.

After the activity, he was maintaining his bow. After he became Triton, this bow had been with him everywhere, witnessing wind and fire, bloody battles and death. But today, when he was about to take out the maintenance oil, he hesitated - it was too quiet.

It was not the normal morning tranquility, nor was it the calmness before the port opened. It was a strange silence, as if the world had been muted by an invisible hand, and even the air had solidified a little, pressing on the chest, making it hard to breathe.

He frowned instinctively, but he did not look up to the window, because the room he was in had no windows, only mottled walls embedded with old iron hooks and faded maps, just like a microcosm of his old life.

Lothern is a land of gold. The name "Golden Lion" sounds impressive, but it's just that. It's more like a mockery of one's own little dream. The bar is located on the edge between the west side of the port and the big dock. It is the only way for ships to unload, but it is also the least populated corner.

Despite the bad location, the bar was very large, with a huge ceiling and many platforms overlooking the central area. Those platforms still had loading doors, which was where the cargo owners lifted their goods into the warehouse.

Yes, the bar used to be a warehouse, a silent stone skeleton, but now it has become his safe haven.

He immediately put down his bow, his movements quick and practiced, like the emergency response to a night raid in wartime. He opened the door, looking away from his trophy, a skeleton of a sea monster hanging from the ceiling, which he had obtained during his service. He harpooned it, the moment was still clear as yesterday, and the final roar of the sea monster still echoed in his ears.

He walked through the empty bar hall, sighing as he walked, feeling anxious and excited at the same time. These emotions intertwined into a web in his heart, pulling at every nerve.

Because of the location, his business is not very good. He is the only one in the huge bar, without even a waiter. He cannot afford to hire anyone, and his investment and income are not proportional. It's not that retired soldiers like him don't have dreams, but the reality is too heavy and it makes him breathless.

As a retired Triton, he could be called up again at any time. He wanted to make his business better, but he knew it was impossible. He wanted to return to the army, but...

He thought of his comrades again, those familiar faces, those who fought shoulder to shoulder with him on the deck, those who talked and laughed loudly around the campfire at night, and those who charged side by side in the sea breeze and blood mist.

If he was right, his comrades had died in Anaheim in the arms of Matheran, a battle so fierce and so heavy that the entire army was annihilated - no one survived, and the entire huge fleet was swallowed up by the waves, obliterating its existence forever.

During that time, he mourned, he suffered, he cried, he drank. Every night when the alcohol could no longer numb him, those faces would appear in front of him one by one. He remembered Villan's frowning face, the hairpin that Chellion used to tie his ponytail, and Theresa's singing at the bow, with youth and arrogance.

He couldn't forget that they left one by one, leaving only him.

He walked with mixed feelings, skillfully avoiding every creaking floor crack that he was familiar with, those cracks hiding his years of silence and his unspoken regrets. That was the bar floor that he hammered out by himself, the old wooden boards that used to be from the warehouse, and now became the walls of his inner maze.

Maybe retiring was a wrong choice. Maybe he should have died in Anaheim with his comrades, falling on the deck in the howling sea breeze, with blood splattering on the sails and the battle flag standing tall.

That way at least his name would appear on the tombstone, be called out and commemorated.

Now, like a ghost who has escaped from the war, he wanders outside the crowd, bound by memories and shame.

It was a mistake to open a bar in the warehouse area. Apart from his comrades and sailors who had no money in their pockets, no one wanted to drink here. They preferred to go to the long street or the bustling corners near the flower market. He thought retirement would bring him peace, but what he got was only a constant sense of self-blame and claustrophobia.

He stopped and looked again at the high ceiling where the skeleton of a sea monster was hung. The skeleton looked like some kind of giant judge. It had been hanging there since he retired, as if questioning why he was still alive.

He had raised the harpoon with pride when he killed the monster that day, but now he dared not look at it directly.

"Am I... already dead and just still walking?" he whispered to himself, his voice swallowed up by the empty bar.

His hand unconsciously stroked the bow handle. The bow no longer belonged to the battlefield. Like him, it was abandoned by history and put aside.
-
How should I put it, wrong time?
In a certain timeline, as Lothern transformed from a dreamlike mythical city into the center of a global trading empire, the Golden Lion Bar, which was gently blown by the spring breeze, was bustling with business - gongs and drums were ringing and drums were bustling.

The "junk area" where the Golden Lion Bar used to be located has been transformed into a hot golden area without anyone noticing. Every inch of land is valuable and every brick and tile has its value.

There is an isolated group of islands to the west of the port, which are of no value, but after Finnubar became the Phoenix King, this area was designated as a residential area for aliens.

It was a bold decision, an attempt to break with tradition.

Since then, this area has become the only place in the city where outsiders are allowed to enter and exit freely. There is no need to obtain a pardon signed by the Phoenix King himself. Even a small foreign vendor can settle down here, beg for food, or make a fortune.

But laws are laws, and the provisions on paper are ultimately no match for the gray areas of reality.

The reality is always more complicated, more...real?
Those seemingly noble clauses are often easily circumvented and trampled underfoot by actual interests. Businessmen understand the rules and also know how to circumvent them.

As a local boss and a retired triton, he naturally knew all of this. The Golden Lion Bar was located there, with an ordinary appearance, but the interior was like a miniature of an exotic wonder.

Although the entire area is vast, the Golden Lion Bar at that time was as crowded as a huge market, filled with goods from all over the world and the noisy bustle of people.

The maids, dressed in glittering clothes, moved freely between the wine tables, their steps light as if they were dancing a never-ending dance. They slid from one table to another, holding the wine jugs in their hands like holy vessels in a ceremony. The glowing stones inlaid in the chandeliers constantly reflected the brilliance, reflecting on the faces of every guest, whether they were elven nobles or foreign vendors, all looked equally drunk under this brilliance.

Servants walked around the gold-plated tables, holding tall glasses with amber wine in their hands. Some more sophisticated customers asked the waiters for hookahs from Arabia, and the curling smoke and laughter intertwined into an exotic picture.

Most of the maids and servants were human, which was not uncommon in Lothern. Almost all menial tasks were done by humans. After all, the Asur would rather spend their time on art, war, experiencing life or intrigue than serving dishes or sweeping the floor.

Some large trading houses even began to use human slaves as laborers on a large scale in their warehouses.

Although in theory, Asur can still only sell slaves for "daily services" in Lothern, the boundary between theory and reality is often just a sign that says "Do Not Cross", which has long been trampled into pieces of paper.

What are the differences between Asur, Duruchi and Aslai in essence?
In this greatest port city in the world, no deal is off the table - and as long as the profits are lucrative, the trade will never stop!
Young Tyrion, when he was just over 100 years old, was a frequent visitor to the Golden Lion. He and Galion were very familiar with each other, and they could even be called friends. During that time, the Golden Lion almost became his private club, a gathering place for his circle and his friends.

They are a generation that grew up with the city. They are young and energetic, just like a group of kings who have not yet been crowned. Many of them have served as captains, sailing to the end of the world, and have seen the most distant stars and the most ancient ruins. But this does not prevent them from spending money in bars, gambling, and drinking.

They are a special social group - the future dignitaries and the current young people of Wuling.

Tyrion always gets gossip from one channel after another and earns a lot of gold dragons from it. He knows how to repay others and when to take action. They have not yet truly inherited the family, but one day, the young master will become the head of the family. And as long as he is useful to them, they will definitely be useful to him.

In the future, they will form an extremely powerful organization that spans all levels of power in Lothern, an elite alliance that controls wealth and power. They will rule Lothern, and through Lothern, they will influence all other places in the world.

Of course, such social circles are not without enemies or conflicts. Where there are people, there are rivers and lakes. Where there are wine and women, there will be disputes, jealousy, misunderstandings, people turning over tables and chairs, and people pulling out swords to fight.

So much so that, "My Lord, Young Master, Don't use knives! Don't smash things!" This sentence has almost become Galian's catchphrase. He shouted it so many times that some people even imitated his tone to tease him, but he still shouted it. Although this sentence is useless most of the time, which young man in Wuling would listen to the advice of a bar owner after getting drunk?
-
After reaching the door, Garion stood for a few seconds, his fingers lightly touching the bolt, his ear pressed against the wood. Still no sound came, even the wind seemed dead silent, as if the whole world held its breath, not daring to make even the slightest sound.

His heart began to ring alarm bells, one after another, as rapid and heavy as drumbeats, beating between his eardrums and his reason.

Click——

He opens the door.

Outside, the streets were empty like a painting forgotten by time, devoid of color and warmth. The stone-paved ground was unusually clean, with no footprints or water marks, and even the rain that had fallen last night seemed to have disappeared without a trace, as if it had never existed.

In the distance, the port should have been filled with flags flying, sailors shouting, the familiar creaking sound of masts and sails, and waves hitting the dock, mixed with the city's morning noise and the chirping of seabirds. But now, there was silence, nothing, not even a ripple, as if the sea was covered with an invisible layer of silence.

Suddenly, the ground shook slightly, almost imperceptibly.

It was not an earthquake, but a rhythmic low-frequency resonance that came from afar, penetrating the bricks and entering the bones, like the heartbeat of some giant, slow but firm, with each beat carrying a sense of imminent oppression. Every beat was like thunder rolling underground, foreshadowing that something terrible was approaching, gradually approaching the heart of the city.

As if... no, it's no longer as if.

As a retired Triton, Galian was all too familiar with this feeling: it was an army approaching, an army marching in an orderly, disciplined, and silent manner.

His nerves immediately tensed up, and without the slightest hesitation, he turned around and quickly returned to the house, moving swiftly towards the oak box in the corner. The lid of the box was suddenly opened, and inside lay the remnants of his fighting years: a pointed helmet, plate armor, arm guards, a short sword, a dagger, a spare bowstring, and a Triton badge that had long lost its luster.

He gently picked up the badge, looked at it for a moment, and then solemnly put it around his neck.

It was a ceremony and also a vow.

"It seems... I have to go to the battlefield again. That's good." He took a deep breath and muttered to himself. His tone was low, but it revealed a hint of relief.

This time, it was no longer for glory, nor was it to go to war on orders, but - for Lothern!

He walked out of the bar neatly dressed with firm steps, as if he was back to the moment when he stood on the side of the ship to welcome the storm, and walked towards the unknown dawn.

The next second, he was stunned.

Not far away on the street, a neat line of troops was slowly crossing the intersection. The sound of metal boots hitting the stone slabs was particularly harsh in the silence. The rhythm was even and steady, and every step seemed to be a silent judgment on the city.

Their steps and solemnity did not belong to the silence of this morning. What shocked him most was their shield emblem, which was not the sea dragon beast used by the Lothern Sea Guard, but a flaming phoenix with spread wings, and the blue crescent moon and silver branch emblem of the Meltan family.

Itain Guard!
A chill suddenly ran up his spine to the back of his neck and rushed straight to his forehead. His body subconsciously tensed up. As a local tyrant and a retired sea guard, he knew the local garrison like the back of his hand, and was familiar with the number and rotation time of each squad.

He knew Captain Ophirion and the Sea Guards stationed at the port. These people would occasionally come to the Golden Lion Bar and take away a few bottles of wine after changing shifts, chatting and bragging. They took good care of his business and prevented his bar, which had already been doing poorly, from going bankrupt.

But now, none of those familiar faces are there.

There was no sight of Ophirion's tall figure, nor of the boys whose combat boots made clanking sounds every time.

Where did those people go?
What about Ophirion? Has he been urgently transferred to defend the city wall? Or...has something happened to him?

Why the Etaine guards? They should have been stationed outside the city, not suddenly appearing on this deserted street.

The Itain guards continued to move forward, their steps were unhesitating and in unison, the slight friction between the armors was particularly clear in the empty streets. The soldiers looked at Garion indifferently, there was no hostility in their eyes, but there was no sense of familiarity either, he was just a passerby who happened to pass by and had nothing to do with them.

Next to the team, the centurion obviously noticed the expression on Galion's face. It was an instinctive reaction of an old soldier to his fellow soldiers. He hesitated for a moment, stopped, and walked towards Galion. The sound of the armored soldiers tapping on the stone slabs created an unsettling rhythm, step by step, and every footprint entered Galion's heart.

"What's the situation now?" Garian lowered his voice, his tone cautious and a little tentative. The centurion's eyebrows moved slightly, and a hint of hesitation flashed in his eyes. It was obvious that he didn't understand the question, but he didn't know how to answer. He shook his head gently and whispered.

"It's complicated... I don't know either."

This short sentence was like ice water pouring down on Garion's head. His heart sank suddenly, filled with fear and an inexplicable sense of absurdity.

Don’t even they know?
So who is giving the orders?
Who is controlling all this?
Is it the Phoenix Court?
Or who?
Or... no one knows at all, and the entire city has been caught up in a dramatic change whose beginning no one knows?

He opened his mouth and wanted to ask something else, but was interrupted coldly by the centurion.

"go back."

The centurion pointed at the Golden Lion Bar behind him, his tone as cold as ice, as if he was facing an ordinary citizen, not a veteran who had worn the same armor and fought side by side. Then, he turned around without looking back and rejoined the silent and eerie team.

Garian froze in place, motionless, watching the neat line of figures gradually go away, until they disappeared around the corner and were swallowed up by the city. He slowly turned around, as if all his strength had been drained away, and walked back to the tavern step by step. He fell into a chair, leaning against the back of the chair, his shoulders slumped, his eyes empty and blank, like an empty shell without a soul.

He thought that when the war came, he would pick up the bow and quiver without hesitation, rush to the city wall, fight side by side with Captain Ophirion, and face the enemy again with those familiar Triton brothers.

But now? Not even the shadow of the brothers has disappeared.

The whole city became strange overnight, and everything familiar was shattered.

He looked at the pot of water on the table, took off his helmet, reached out to pour a cup, but never drank it. The water in the cup had faint ripples on the surface, swaying in the light, as if sensing his inner turmoil and anxiety at the moment.

In the end what happened?
However, this is not a residential area. It is surrounded by warehouses, empty docks, and docks where debris is piled up. There are no residents, almost no living people, and even patrols rarely come here on weekdays. Which Asur would live in such a place? He wanted to inquire about the situation, but he couldn't find anyone to ask questions.

Is it a total martial law? Is the enemy already at the gates?

Or a coup? He hadn't thought about it. "Coup" - this is an extremely rare word in the Elsalin language. Ordinary people don't even have the opportunity to use it. It is a secret vocabulary that only appears in the private conversations of the nobles.

He looked around, his eyes wandering in the empty tavern. This place that had accompanied him for decades was now exceptionally quiet, with the tattered nautical chart hanging on the wall and the faded old military flag still hanging between the wooden beams. The memories, glory, and struggles of the past could not bring any comfort now, but made this moment even more heartbreaking.

what should I do?
His mind began to work rapidly, and the instincts of planning, calculation and survival were reawakened at this moment.

Seal the doors and windows? Not realistic, too conspicuous.

Count the food and hide in the cellar? But there is no back door in the cellar. Once it is searched, it will be like a turtle in a jar.

Create a false impression? Seal the main door, hide on the platform above the cargo hold, and make it look like an abandoned empty house from the outside? Maybe it can delay for a while, but it is not a long-term solution.

Or... escape? Take advantage of the fact that the city gates are still open, go through the north gate, and quietly leave Lothern?
But where to escape to?

He was a man of Lothern, born and raised here. His bones, blood, and memories were buried deep under the stone bricks of this port. Where could he escape to?

Can he leave this place behind?
He clasped his hands together, his fingers dug deep into his hair, his knuckles turning pale from the effort. He kept repeating that question in his mind, over and over again.

Should I go? Or stay?
Two voices within him began to pull at him, tear at him, and torture him.

Half of me was yelling and roaring: "Go! The war doesn't belong to you anymore! You have retired! You are a tavern owner, not a soldier. The most important thing is to survive! Don't be stupid, take care of your life!"

The other half's voice was low and firm, like a horn sounding between the tides in the harbor late at night: "You were once a sea guard, and Lothern raised you. You witnessed its prosperity, and you also know its fragility. How could you leave when it needs you the most?"

He raised his head and looked at the door that was not closed tightly. The morning light shone through the crack of the door and poured into the tavern, and light and dust intertwined in the air.

He suddenly laughed, a little self-deprecating, but also a little relieved, he found that he had thought too much. He reached out and knocked on the helmet on the table, with a clanging sound.

"What on earth am I thinking?" he whispered to himself. "Lothern has never been conquered since it was built. It has never been conquered before, it will never be conquered now, and it will never be conquered again."

Then he stood up and moved. He tied his hair tightly again and gathered his scattered thoughts neatly. He took off his armor and washed, splashing cold water on his face, sober as if he were performing a pre-voyage preparation. Then he cooked and ate slowly, like a Triton's last meal before going to war, quiet and solemn.

After dinner, he put on his old but well-maintained armor again, which shimmered in the morning sun. He sat on a bench behind the window, standing straight, just as he always did when on night watch. He repeatedly wiped his longbow and dagger with a rough cloth while looking at the street outside. Sometimes he observed, sometimes he pondered, ready to be called upon at any time.

However, two hours later...

There were no horns, no whistles, no messengers knocking on the door. The city was still running silently, everything was just the deepest silence before the storm. He sat there, like a forgotten statue, his eyes gradually changed from firm to doubtful.

Until he saw the ship.

At first, he only saw a corner of the sail, slowly crossing the sky from the direction of the port. He didn't pay much attention to it until the wind blew the sail curtain, revealing the flag, the symbol.

His pupils shrank suddenly.

"The Carandiryan?"

He almost yelled out the name.

That ship, the dragon ship he was very familiar with, the Kalandirion, the flagship of the "Ocean Lord" Aislin, was slowly entering the port. He had been a member of that ship, and his youth, battles, loyalty and scars were all engraved on the decks of the ship.

He thought he was hallucinating, so he rubbed his eyes violently, even a little too hard, as if the illusion would be shattered if he rubbed his eyelids until they turned red.

But no, it was indeed the Carandiryan, the ship that had long been declared sunk in the waters of Anaheim!
"How... is this possible?" he muttered to himself, his voice so low that even he couldn't believe it.

He stood up suddenly, without time to think or organize his things. He rushed to the door, which should have been locked, but was now wide open. He didn't care.

He only knows one thing.

He had to see it for himself.

He rushed onto the street, running away, his old armor making a series of crisp sounds as he ran, like drum beats before a war. He crossed the empty street corner, stepped over the wet stone slabs, and ran straight along the road leading to the port.

But before he ran far, he was stunned.

He saw a ship, a ship so huge and breathtakingly large that he had never seen it before. It was not the Carandirion, but another ship - an iron ship, a huge silver ship.

It has no masts or sails, and although it is silver, it lacks the refinement and elegance that an Asur ship should have. It rises from the sea like a huge metal mountain, lying silently in the harbor, like a monster that does not belong to this world.

Galien held his breath, dumbfounded.

That's not Azul's ship!

His mind quickly connected with a possibility that he was almost unwilling to admit - Duruchi!

Only a Duruchi could build an iron ship like this, cold, practical, and deadly, not about elegance, but only about destruction.

As if responding to the inexplicable premonition in his heart, another ship slowly sailed out of the sea fog. It was black, and it was traveling parallel to the silver iron ship, with a cold and shiny oily light all over. It had no mast, no sail, and no figurehead, but it exuded a chilling atmosphere.

That's Drucci's style, undoubtedly his style!

Garion's breathing became rapid.

"How is this possible..." he repeated in a low voice.

How could Druki's iron ship enter Lothern? Who opened the Emerald Gate? Who ordered the defenders to retreat? Or was it captured?

He suddenly raised his head, looking across the port to the huge gate across the waterway - the Sapphire Gate, which was defenselessly welcoming the foreign fleet. And in the distance, he could even vaguely see that the Emerald Gate was also open.

This is a taboo, it breaks the defense, it opens the heart to the outside enemy!

And on this waterway that split Lothern in half, he saw a series of familiar names and ships.

Sunspear, Hidrok, Ingranion, Exelon...

These dragon ships that were supposed to have sunk were all sailing in formation, like a fleet of ghost ships from the dead. What was even more shocking was that among them were silver and black iron ships, which sailed openly in the heart of Lothern.

Garion stood there, almost unable to speak, and could only make weak sounds.

"This……"

A sudden shout interrupted his distraction.

"Gallian!"

It was a familiar voice, so familiar that it almost made him cry. He turned his head sharply and looked towards the source of the voice - the Carandiryan.

His eyes fell directly on the familiar dragon boat, and the figure on the boat made his pupils shrink again.

Chelion!
That smile, that armor, that posture... It's not an illusion, it's not a phantom, it's a real person!

Next to Chelion stood two people he was equally familiar with—Teresa and Verain.

Garian's lips trembled, and he could not utter a word for a long time. He walked towards the dock step by step, his feet felt like they were filled with lead, and his soul seemed to be blown out of his chest by the wind.

Aren’t these people dead? Aren’t they buried in the deep sea with no remains left?
Why are you back?

And—why were they traveling with Drucci’s ship?
He couldn't understand, nor did he dare to understand. Too many questions hit his reason, his beliefs, and his trust in this land like a storm.

He only knew that everything had changed.

The sea is whispering, the city is silent, and what is blown in the wind is no longer the glory of the past, but the omen of the coming reconstruction.

Garion stopped and stood at the end of the stone embankment, looking at the lagoon, the ship that should not have existed, and the people who should not have returned. His lips moved, and he finally spoke softly.

"What on earth did you guys go through?" (End of this chapter)