Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The Hammer of Vaal was held in Daxus's hand. He was like a child who had obtained a new toy. Sometimes he would mutter in admiration, and sometimes he would swing it in the air without any plan. The hammer shadow flew and cut through the sea breeze, leaving behind a series of whistling afterimages, like the whisper of a prelude to thunder.

Dais stood quietly beside him, like a silent grandfather, as if he had long been accustomed to this kind of youthful recklessness and the excitement of touching a divine object for the first time. His eyes had lost their light, but he could still "see" everything in front of him. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, revealing a gentle and complex smile, which contained both nostalgia and bitterness, and even a hint of inexplicable pity.

Although Korthek is a traitor and a renegade, he is by no means a dull person. He was once a gifted craftsman and a devout apprentice, with talents and ambitions far beyond ordinary people, and therefore he is more deeply aware of the fragility and danger of his own destiny.

He knew that he was only alive because of Malekith's whim, so he prepared for the future and set up layer upon layer of defense for himself - magical barriers stacked and shimmering like crystals, and mundane mechanisms as intricate as spider webs, embedded between stone and steel bones - just to fight for even a few brief chances of escape when the Witch King's wrath came.

However... he did not die at the hands of Malekith in the end.

In the dark night, unknown to anyone, he died quietly from Morathi's poison. There was no whistling spell, no echo of ritual, only the silent poison flowing through his blood, quietly taking him away.

With the death of Kotek, the armory that supported his ambitions collapsed like a tower without its backbone. The enchanted weapons and artifacts passed through the hands of the powerful and the greedy, becoming bargaining chips and trophies, wandering between shadow and fire.

This is why Korthek's ring eventually fell into the hands of Daxus, while the Hammer of Vaal, which symbolized the blessing of God and the glory of craftsmen, belonged to Morathi and was placed in the warehouse by Morathi as a collection.

I have to say, it’s quite interesting.

Malekith burned the forest of Anhara Draco, cutting off the possibility of Asur rebuilding the dragon ship. Morathi tricked Kothek into betraying him, causing the Asur to lose the possibility of forging sacred objects.

Now, the property has been returned to its original owner.

The Hammer of Vaal returned to Dess's hands again. The hammer he had passed down to Kotek personally - now it had returned after blood, fire, exile, and betrayal, like a destiny that had been severed but then reconnected, once again in the hands of the old craftsman. The handle of the hammer felt cold and familiar, and the marks on the hammer whispered the unfinished chapter of the past.

"He's an excellent apprentice." Des's voice was low, like the echo of iron hammering.

"Yeah." Daxus nodded and returned the hammer to Dais, with a hint of a smile on his face, "You're just too smart..."

"He was too thirsty for knowledge." Dai Si said slowly, stroking the handle of the hammer with his fingertips. "He could have been a craftsman who inherited my position, or even surpassed me... His talent was awe-inspiring, but he had neither patience nor reverence."

"Perhaps... he was in awe of you," Daxus chuckled, "but that respect was exhausted by your long silence?"

The words came out lightly, but they pierced deep like a dagger. Dais, who understood what Dacus was hinting at, did not refute but nodded slightly. He knew why Kotek betrayed him and the role he played in it. He did not stop Kotek, nor did he try to lead him back.

"May his soul find peace among iron and fire." He whispered, and the sound was like a requiem, echoing in the sea breeze. Then he gently hung the forging hammer on his waist, as if temporarily placing the echo of an era.

Dacus rubbed his chin with his hands, his knuckles slowly rubbing against the hard bones of his jaw, making a slight but clear friction sound. He looked over the railing, staring at the sea fog that had not yet completely dissipated. The mist was like the afterimage of a nightmare, like an old dream from yesterday, or like the remnant soul of the dead, floating gently in the broken morning light, ethereal and uncertain, approaching yet not approaching.

He was silent for a long time, as if he was talking to some distant memory, or waiting for some answer to emerge. Finally, he slowly spoke, his voice as low as the sound of the tide deep in the morning mist.

"Yenlu."

"What?" Dai Si tilted his head and looked at him in confusion, with a hint of tentativeness in his voice.

"Yenlu." Daxus repeated, this time with a firmer tone. It no longer sounded like a casual thought, but more like a declaration, a wake-up call from within. He paused, his eyes resting somewhere in the mist, and suddenly threw out a new word.

"Moderate!"

He did not explain immediately, but let the two words quietly echo in the cold air, like two stones dropped into a deep lake, stirring up ripples, and then quickly sinking to the bottom of consciousness. There was light in his eyes, but it was not a fanatical flame, but the kind of gentleness and firmness that was rekindled after going through too many things.

After a moment, he finally spoke again, his voice was calm and almost cool, but it contained a subtle tension that could not be ignored.

"Elves are so powerful."

"That's why we need to be restrained." His voice sank into the sea mist. "Not by external forces, but by ourselves - not by chains, but by will. If we can't discipline ourselves, we will be like Druki, indulging in hatred and desire, thinking we are noble, but actually sinking; or like Asrai, hiding ourselves in the depths of the forest, exiling ourselves from the world, until we even forget the meaning of existence."

He walked slowly, the sound of his boots hitting the deck like a hammer hitting an anvil, and each step was as steady as the rhythm of forging the soul. He continued speaking, his speed was neither fast nor slow, but every word was like a hammer.

"Too much emotion will make us fall into fanaticism and indulgence and lose our rationality; too much restraint will make us gradually numb, refuse empathy, and eventually transcend ourselves to the point where we no longer have a self. We need a boundary, a framework, and a philosophy - to harness the innate spirituality and emotions of the elves."

His voice lowered, with a certain unconcealable solemnity, as if he was reading out an ancient code, or paving an unformed road for the future.

"Yenlu is neither light nor darkness, but a conscious balance between the two - it is the choice to stand between extremes, to remain clear between madness and indifference."

"It is to choose not to succumb to the temptation of depravity, nor to escape from the illusion of nobility; it is to dare to face oneself, rather than define justice with extremes." Dais did not respond immediately. He just stood there and listened silently. The morning breeze blew his silver-gray hair, and it trembled slightly in the wind like the branches of an old tree. He listened to what Daquus said. Those words were not just a declaration, but more like a forging of the soul - a profound reflection on the nature and future of the elves.

"You are right. Elves need this kind of philosophical thinking." After a long time, he said slowly, his voice hoarse but with a rare hint of affirmation.

"But not now. I can feel that it is still too young. You have only just finished the forging mold, and have not yet cast its true skeleton and soul fire. But one day, it will become the spiritual pillar of the elves. Just like the fire in the forge is still burning, it also needs the support of the anvil. If emotions and strength are to last forever, they need a solid spiritual foundation."

Dacus laughed when he heard this. The laughter was deep, long, and not frivolous. The laughter echoed in the sea fog that had not yet completely dissipated, and dissipated into the distant sky along with the wind and waves.

"What are your plans after this is over?"

"Nagaroth?" Dais asked back, without much emotion in his tone.

"Perhaps... you could go to Asheril first?"

Dais did not answer immediately. He just looked at Daxus quietly. That look penetrated the morning mist, as if he was foreseeing the future and saying goodbye to the past.

Finally, he nodded slowly.

Just as Dacus was about to say something else, there was a sudden commotion. The passengers on the ship screamed in surprise, and the sound surged from all sides of the ship like a tide, quickly spreading to the entire deck.

He raised his head, squinted his eyes, and looked through the gradually thinning sea fog and the salty and humid sea breeze, looking at the huge outline that was slowly emerging at the junction of the sky and the sea - the Temple of Asuryan.

"Coming."

"Yeah." Dai Si sighed softly, with a complex feeling in his expression, "Where everything begins is also where everything ends."

He looked at the temple in the distance that was becoming increasingly clear, then he retracted his gaze and nodded solemnly to Daquus.

"I'm going to get ready."

"The one who tied the bell must be the one who untied it." Dacus did not try to persuade Dais to stay, but just watched Dais walk away. His steps were firm, but faintly heavy, like an iron embryo about to enter a furnace, knowing that it will experience burning and tempering, but still refusing to turn back.

After saying that, he turned and walked towards the other deck, taking steps in the direction where Malekith was.

As he walked, he looked at the approaching temple. The huge pyramid-shaped building was like a sleeping beast that slowly woke up in the morning light and sea mist. The flames burned fiercely at the top of it, illuminating the surrounding large areas of water. The flames reflected on the sea surface, dyeing the sea water red gold.

However, he felt an indescribable sense of disharmony and discomfort.

"Weird, so damn weird." He muttered with a frown.

He was very sure that the overall structure of the Temple of Asuryan - the stepped pyramid, the axis of symmetry, the angles of the walls - was undoubtedly typical of the Lizardmen style, almost identical to the pyramids on the continent of Lustria.

But not.

The paint style doesn't match at all.

The decorative textures, colors and layouts clearly adopt the elves' aesthetic system, which is elegant and symmetrical, with calm tones and emphasis on sacred geometry.

On the deck in the distance, Chupacoco and Tiktato looked at each other. The confusion and curiosity in their eyes almost became physical, and their gazes were full of suspicion.

They are Skinks, native Lizardmen, and are very familiar with this type of building style. The pyramid shape, the distribution of the stone steps, and the position of the brazier on top all correspond precisely to their beliefs and structural traditions.

"This kind of pyramid...why does it appear here?" Tiktat asked in a low voice, with a vigilant look in his eyes.

Chupakoko did not respond, but slowly narrowed his eyes. He had a strange feeling, an atmosphere mixed with loss, confusion and sacredness, quietly growing in his heart.

At the same time, other elves who had visited or lived in Asheril began to discuss in low voices. They also sensed the "familiar yet strange" - as if the temple belonged to their cultural memory, but also carried the shadow of a foreign land.

"Do you remember that trip to Lustria?" Malekith suddenly asked in a low voice with a hint of reminiscence.

"Of course! I have a good memory." Dacus said, turning to look at Malekith. (End of this chapter)