Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"Before all the supplies are transported to Lothern, the defense of the Tower of Doom needs to be strengthened. Similarly, the northwest area of ​​Lothern must be strictly guarded to prevent possible harassment from small groups of troops from the direction of the Kingdom of Caledor."

Malekith imitated Dacus' tone and repeated the series of calm, serious and rhythmic military orders. While speaking, he raised his left hand and put it in front of his mouth, pretending to smoke a non-existent pipe. At this moment, he was like an actor performing a serious one-man show.

Daxus was stunned for a moment, then he was amused by this funny and incongruous imitation. He chuckled and his shoulders shook violently.

Malekith ignored Daxus's laughter. He calmly changed the movement of his left hand, stretched out his index finger, and gently tapped his helmet, with a hint of teasing in his tone.

"There are many people around us. You keep explaining the various mobilizations and defense points, and the people listening to you take notes from time to time." He said the narration while switching to Daquus's tone again.

"Where is Lady Vienne's army now?"

After saying this, he immediately changed his tone and imitated the other person's tone.

"My lord, Locksiah's fleet encountered a man-made storm. They just entered the waters of the Drifting Islands this morning."

Daxus suppressed his laughter, glanced at him sideways, and said, "If I'm not mistaken, this should be what Ryan said?"

"Correct answer!" Malekith immediately raised his right hand and made the classic finger gesture in the poster, pointing directly at Daquus.

This action once again ignited Daxus's sense of humor, and he couldn't help but laugh even louder. That unbridled laughter seemed to free him from the shell of contemplation and strategy.

"Too slow!" Malekith still refused to leave his role. This time, he said in his usual tone, "Tell her that if she doesn't capture Elsali by tomorrow, I will give her a decent reward!"

"What's the truth?" He changed the subject, looked at Daxus, and his tone returned to calm.

Darkius responded to Malekith's question with even louder laughter.

The fact is, no one has discovered the other side of Vienne. She has never been a suitable teacher. She is irritable and impatient. She has the beauty of a mother tutoring her children with homework. She is emotional and has a strong sense of oppression. She often replaces explanation and guidance with silence and sarcasm.

But there is no doubt that she is an extremely good general, who knows her business very well, almost to the point of paranoia. She will not let her troops take any meaningless risks, but when the real difficulties come, she will never let them back down.

Her existence is a combination of blade and shield.

When Malekith keenly realized that she was not suitable for the responsibility of "teaching", he ended her term in the atrium without hesitation and ordered her to form a brand new force - the 12th Army.

At present, the 12th Army is still stationed in Lothern on standby, and has not launched an attack on South Ivresse as Malekith had performed.

"The fact is, the Black Ark can't enter the Inner Sea at all! Can't enter the Inner Sea!!"

Malekith suddenly opened his arms and roared like a philosopher who had just revealed the truth about the universe, his voice filled with exaggerated anger.

Dacus was already laughing so hard that he was out of breath and almost squatted on the deck. He kept wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, and even his laughter started to become intermittent, as if he was choking.

After the performance, Malekith slowly raised his head, his eyes passing through the drifting morning mist, looking towards the magnificent palace whose outline was gradually emerging in the distance - the Temple of Asuryan.

After a moment's silence, he spoke again, his voice as low as the rumble of the rising tide.

"The fact is, we did not launch an attack on Lothern, and the Black Ark did not wash ashore."

After saying this, he suddenly changed the subject, and there was a hint of emotional fluctuation in his tone that was difficult to conceal—perhaps resentment, or sadness, or perhaps the release of some long-suppressed emotion.

"So, you don't really feel my pain."

Daxus was slightly stunned when he heard this, his laughter stopped, and his expression froze for a moment.

Seeing his expression change, Malekith walked up to him, glanced at him, and then patted his chest. The sound of metal friction came clearly through the wind, like a blade dragging on the rock surface, with a piercing coldness and heaviness.

"You will soon find out, my dear Dacius."

"Midnight Armor?" Daxus spoke slowly, with a hint of confirmation and recollection in his tone.

"Yes!" Malekith affirmed without hesitation, his voice mixed with some complex emotions, like pain and relief.

This time, Dacus did not continue to ask questions. He just nodded quietly with a subtle expression. He recalled a fragment that was forgotten by time and illusion. (Chapters 135-139)
That time, he and Malekith went to a strange place together - a realm abandoned by reality and intertwined with dreams.

There, their experiences were completely different.

He put on the Midnight Armor, and it was during the process of putting it on that he truly felt Malekith's pain, the indescribable feeling of oppression, and the fate that was so heavy that it was suffocating.

But he also knew that although those illusions touched his mind, they were full of logical loopholes and unreality. They seemed reasonable in general, but there were loopholes in the details. Those illogical timelines, those contradictory reactions and behaviors all exposed the hypocrisy of the illusion.

Even so, Dacus understood what Malekith meant by "You will know soon." Because the fact was that this journey was not something he persuaded or forced Malekith to take, but something that the latter took the initiative to propose.

Malekith today is no longer the Malekith of the past. He has changed. Although the illusion has its flaws, to some extent, it does play a positive role - awakening something and reshaping something.

Of course, illusions only played a small part.

More changes and more real influences came from Dacius's silent shaping over the years, a profound influence that was not expressed in words but lasted through time. He was not influencing or persuading, but was subtly infiltrating a thought and a belief into Malekith's heart, like a trickle that eventually merged into a river.

It was not a burning flame, nor a majestic thunder, but a kind of extremely patient and almost stubborn continuous carving. He used his words and deeds as a hammer, and his own firmness as a chisel, bit by bit knocking on the long-closed barrier in Malekith's heart.

Sometimes there is argument, sometimes there is silence; sometimes there is tit-for-tat, sometimes there is tacit understanding.

He never forces, and never does it deliberately - he just keeps demonstrating, keeps reminding, and keeps standing in the position where, if one day you are willing to take a step forward, he will watch, wait, and accompany you.

That is why Malekith took the initiative to propose this journey, no longer needing others to pull him along, no longer relying on some external force to push him forward. It was his own choice, what he finally decided to face, and what he was willing to accept.

This is not something an illusion can do.

The illusion only peeled off a little of the protective shell, revealing some cracks, but the one who actually turned those cracks into gaps, and the gaps into door cracks, and finally pushed open the door was Daxus, the one who always stood outside the door without saying a word, without retreating, and without giving up.

Dacuus always knew that a person can defeat all external enemies, but it is difficult to defeat himself. And Malekith, the most powerful enemy he had ever faced, was never Ulthuan, not Asur, not fate itself, but himself.

Now, the man who once locked himself up is unlocking those locks with his own hands.

This is what change really means.

Don’t be forced to accept, but walk out of it yourself; don’t retreat because of pain, but move forward because of understanding.

"If...I mean if..."

After a long silence, Malekith spoke again. His tone was filled with rare tentativeness and hesitation, and even the word "if" seemed particularly light and fragile. Halfway through his words, he suddenly sighed, and the flames on his helmet dimmed.

"Davus, compared to you... my demands are few and small... you..." But before he could finish his words, he was interrupted forcefully by Dacus.

"Remember, there are no ifs!"

Dacus spoke in a firm tone, as strong as iron, with an irrefutable affirmation. He was not refuting, but comforting; he was not denying the other person's emotions, but shouldering all the uncertainty for him in a very powerful way.

He did not think that Malekith had become weak again, nor did he think that this was a retreat. He knew that this was just human nature, a normal psychological fluctuation.

"Don't worry, everything is under control!"

Malekith said nothing more, but nodded silently. He cast his gaze towards the distance, the temple that was getting closer and closer - the Temple of Asuryan.

Where it all begins is also where it all ends.
-
The golden crops swayed gently in the magical breeze, as if moving in rhythm with the breath of time.

In the distance, the palace slowly floated in the sky of Safri, like a floating dream. The white and silver towers shone softly in the sun, and the dove-wing-shaped flying buttresses were like spread wings, supporting the cloud-like palace in the sky, casting a long and mysterious shadow on the blue sky.

Slender spires and spiral bell towers surround the golden needle column in the center. The runes engraved on the needle column dance in the magical light, jumping and flickering like sparks, as if whispering the secrets of the old days.

Cosir looked up at the palace, his eyes filled with admiration and a hint of indescribable anxiety.

He got up exceptionally early today, so early that it was a little unnatural, or rather, he didn't get much sleep.

After killing the white lion Charandis, he did not show off or celebrate like many warriors, but returned home immediately. When he placed the bloody lion's fang on the shrine and presented it to Kurnos, he saw his father nodding silently and his mother hugging him in tears.

He knew that he had to go, and he knew that his name would be remembered from today on.

He set out on a journey to Lothern, a journey more circuitous than any he had ever taken.

Just like going from the Varangian Sea through the Neva River, entering Lake Ladoga, then entering Lake Ilmen through the Volkhov River, continuing on the Lovat River, and then entering the Dnieper River by land and water transport, sailing to Kiev and entering the lower reaches, passing seven dangerous rapids, and stopping at Hertitsa Island. Then transfer to a sea ship and sail along the western coast of the Black Sea to Constantinople.

He first walked out of the forest of the Kingdom of Chrace, followed the Fire River, and entered the territory of the Kingdom of Cosqui, an area filled with fog all year round due to geothermal heat. After crossing the wetlands, he found the legendary ancient road and crossed the crater - a road that only old hunters would mention, narrow, rugged, full of thorns and abandoned outposts.

When he finally stepped out of the mountain pass and entered the inner ring of Ulthuan, the mysterious forest of Avalon opened its chest to him like a sleeping beast. Tall ancient trees whispered in his ears, and vines brushed his armor like tentacles. He walked silently along the way, as if he was afraid to disturb the silence and dreams of this ancient land.

When he walked out of the end of the forest and finally set foot on the land of the Kingdom of Safri, he thought that what followed was just an ordinary journey until he arrived at Tar Finnu, an important town in the north of Safri.

There, everything changed.

When he stepped into an old tavern, the room was noisy and bustling, but no one paid attention to him, no one paid attention to his burly figure and the white lion fur on his shoulders.

"Bel Hathor fell into a coma. I heard that he was attacked by magic backlash."

"The Phoenix King's scepter is vacant, and Imrik has become the regent!"

"Finubar voluntarily gave in? I don't believe it! It's obvious that there's nothing he can do, but now he's pretending to be so noble."

"I heard he was crazy... and actually opened the gates of Lothern and let Druki in!"

Cohill sat there, listening to these rumors pouring out all at once. He felt as if he were in a theater, stunned. He tried to interrupt several times, but was interrupted by new shocking news.

The people of Tar Finu were in a state of panic, like wheat waves before the wind, restless. But all this meant little to him. He only cared about one piece of news.

Bel-Hathor was brought back to his hometown, Saphision, by Belannaar, where he was ready to complete his final journey. The White Lion Guards naturally followed him and stationed beside him to protect their aging king.

This is the real purpose of Cohill's trip.

He didn't care who was the Phoenix King - that was a game for the nobles, he was not a noble, and those names, those bloodlines, and those titles were as distant to him as the stars in the sky.

He couldn't decide these things, nor did he need to care.

It would be enough if it was an Asur sitting on the throne. It couldn't be Malekith, right?
This joke is not funny at all.

What he cares about is his own destiny and his own goals. What he cares about is whether he can enter the White Lion Guard, whether he can really stand out, and write his own legend on the battlefield like his idol, Kehain Iron Sword, instead of dying in mediocrity.

After a short rest in Tar Finnu, he set out again before dawn the next day, leaving the city almost at night and embarking on a journey across the Finnuvar Plain.

This is a lonely journey.

He hardly stopped along the way. The wind on the plains howled continuously, like an invisible hand, whipping his cloak, stained its color bit by bit. The wind whipped the scabs of old wounds, carving into the texture of his cheeks bit by bit, making his face look more determined and more desolate under the cold moon.

It was not until the second half of yesterday night, when the stars were sparse and the sky was clear, that he finally arrived at Saphision.

At this moment, he was outside his tent, exercising his body while waiting to be summoned by Kehain.

His heart was beating fast. He had already prepared the words to introduce himself and to show his military exploits and loyalty. He couldn't wait to become a member of the White Lion Guard and prove that he was not just some nobody, but a real warrior!
He had simulated the conversation of that day countless times, and had carefully considered every detail. He even practiced how to salute and how to look directly into Kehain's eyes without appearing timid.

But as time passed, his wait became longer and longer. The sun had risen, and the morning light shone through the mist onto the flag of the camp. The light and shadow intertwined, as if everything was still.

Can be summoned, but never started.

The next moment, he felt the camp in chaos.

It was not the orderly noise of soldiers in drill, but a mixture of anxious, hurried footsteps and whispers. A White Lion Guard suddenly walked past him quickly, his face solemn, and he said nothing. Another noble-looking Asur was whispering something, his tone was rapid and choked.

He grabbed the arm of a White Lion Guard and asked in a low voice.

The soldier paused for a moment, then finally looked at him and nodded slightly.

"Bel Hathor... just now, died in his sleep."

At that moment, it was as if something collapsed in Cosier's chest. He had already prepared himself mentally for this. After all, the Phoenix King was already terminally ill, and returning home would mean a farewell.

But when the news really reached his ears, he still felt shocked, lost, and even felt a kind of almost helpless emptiness.

"He passed away very quietly." The White Lion Guard glanced at Cosir's White Lion cloak and added, as if to make the news less harsh, "There was no pain, just like... just sleeping."

Cosir didn't say anything else. He just stood there quietly. The wind in his ears suddenly became extremely cold. The sunlight shone on his armor, but it couldn't dispel the chill in his bones.

In the main tent in the center of the camp, which had already been decorated with curtains, the white lion flag slowly fell, as if whispering mourning for a king. (End of this chapter)