Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"In your words, I, an unhappy little punk, and that brainless autistic person made a bet!"

After hearing this, Dacus did not feel the slightest bit of shame, nor did he feel the anger or shame after being exposed. Instead, he seemed even calmer, as cool as a tempered knife, sharp but silent.

At this moment, he was staring at Kaela's face. There was a deep madness on that face, as if a flame was quietly burning in the depths of his soul, and the darkness that was about to swallow up his reason was surging in his eye sockets.

Yet even so, he could see something in that face—Aenarion, Tyrion.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Kaela's features resembled Aenarion's, just as Tyrion resembled Aenarion. This was not a simple copy, but a homogeneity that came from the depths of the soul.

"I am curious," he said at last, his tone probing. "What is your relationship with Aenarion? Did you walk these lands as a mortal at some time?"

Kaela did not answer immediately, but seemed to be trapped in some long-lost memory vortex again.

“Relative? Offspring? Perhaps something else? None of this really matters.” After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice filled with an ancient, untraceable weariness and disdain. “What matters is that mortals believe he is the incarnation of Asuryan and me.”

When he said this, he paused, extinguished the cigarette butt between his fingers, and gently pressed it on the edge of the chessboard.

"what do you think?"

"Independent." Daxus answered without hesitation, without any doubt in his voice, as if he was stating a truth.

"He is my greatest servant." Caela sighed.

"Aenarion has never been your servant." Dacreus' tone remained firm, with an almost provocative sharpness.

"He holds my sword," Caela responded calmly, "even though it's just a piece of metal, a piece of steel."

"That still doesn't mean he serves you." Dacius shook his head. "The sword is just a tool in his hand. Like you said, it's just a piece of metal, just like armor, flags, or even the blessing of God. It's just a tool."

"Maybe you're right." Caela lowered his voice, as if he had finally let go of his stubbornness. "What I want to say is... his goal and my goal were consistent for a period of time."

“At that point, I was almost there.”

After he finished speaking, he picked up a chess piece representing Aenarion from the side of the chessboard.

It was an extremely old chess piece, and the years had left clear marks on it. The surface was worn, and some of the symbols were blurred, and the original exquisiteness could not be seen. It could be silver that had lost its luster, or ivory that had become dirty. The material was unclear, but it revealed a heavy historical thickness.

"He is a great killer and a powerful warrior." Kaela said softly, "Even the great demons are afraid of him."

The next second, the frozen vortex completely dissipated as if the delete key had been pressed.

Daxus was still sitting in the same position, his posture unchanged, but the scene around him had changed drastically.

It was a strange transition, like a dream suddenly changing its channel. The surroundings became strange, yet vaguely familiar to him.

It only took him a moment to recognize it.

Blighted Islands.

He knew exactly where this was. The atmosphere of coldness and decay, the sense of desolation forgotten by time, all explained the identity of this place.

In this new scene, he saw Aenarion, wearing dragon armor and carrying a heavy fate and wrath. The legend stood there, as cold as a statue.

This feeling was more real than a movie, not simply "watching" but "being in it". He was like an audience sitting in a teahouse, quietly watching Aenarion perform beside him, the interweaving of blood and fire, the almost crazy determination, right in front of him.

"You... have power but nowhere to use it?" After taking a look at the shocking scene, he turned to look at Kaela, with a hint of mockery and ridicule in his tone.

"Thanks to you." Kaela replied unhappily.

Then he laughed again, with a smile that contained irony, relief, and a hint of self-mockery.

"Now, few people seek power from me." When he said this, his tone suddenly became heavy, "You know what I mean."

"I know, you are blaming me." Daxus raised his eyebrows and a smile appeared on the corners of his lips.

He knew what Caela was talking about.

Those followers of Khaine who were concentrated in Naggaroth had already been cleansed out by him one by one, leaving no trace, at least on the surface.

The rest either hide in the cracks of the shadows, barely lingering like ghosts; or are just superficial converts, saying sweet words but remaining the same in private.

Either it was the primitive, uncomfortably normal Cain cult that he had met in Elsing Alvin, or... it was human believers.

These believers cannot amount to anything and never will.

"No, I was just answering your question."

Caela's voice was calm, almost cold.

"Every living thing will die. This is inevitable!"

These words came out of his mouth slowly like some kind of ancient verdict. His tone was calm and almost indifferent, like a ruthless command coming from the abyss of fate.

No ups and downs, no mercy, only an unquestionable ending.

“When they emerge from the pot,” he said in a slow, low voice, with a certain sarcasm that was deliberately suppressed, “they are covered in the blood of babies and innocents…

His tone changed subtly, like a hound licking blood, and the corners of his mouth rose slightly, revealing a chilling smile.

"They all thought they had 'deceived' me and avoided my judgment."

"But they are not immortal."

He said it calmly, as if he was stating some law.

"They are only delaying the inevitable. Even this..."

His eyes narrowed slightly and his tone began to take on a chill.

"It's just another trick to delay my touching their bodies."

“That pot…”

Before Daxus could finish his words, he was interrupted by Caela with an almost cutting tone.

"no!"

The sound was like an iron nail hitting the ground, crisp, firm, and unquestionable, carrying the sense of a god's judgment, and it made the air tremble.

Kaila was silent for a while, as if he deliberately let the word "no" echo in the space for a few more seconds, and the echo lingered in the void.

Then he spoke again.

"I am very generous." His voice returned to a steady state, even with a hint of sarcastic calmness, as if he was talking about an old and ironic transaction.

"I'll leave the sword there for those who need it."

As he said this, he spread his hands, with an extremely casual gesture, like a vendor setting up a stall and filling it with goods.

"As long as it's a sacrifice," he added, speaking slowly, as if emphasizing some kind of unmistakable equivalent exchange. "No matter what the sacrifice is, I will give it power, as long as it's a sacrifice."

Having said this, his brows suddenly furrowed, and his tone rose, with a kind of almost excited sacred fanaticism.

"Because I'm Kane!"

At this moment, he was no longer speaking, but declaring, inscribing the creed of the gods, silencing all the dust.

Then, like a prophet finishing his sermon, his voice suddenly sank and his tone returned to a smooth one, but with a sarcastic ending.

"As for how they operate, that's their business. I think you should understand it?"

Daxus smiled, but that smile contained no joy at all. It was just ridicule, the kind of mockery that came from someone who saw through the rules of the game and directed it at the trader.

At this moment, he really wanted to applaud and give a full score to the person in front of him. This person was really good at pretending.

Besides, what was this? A reconciliation? A statement of duty from the gods to their followers? Or... was Cain trying to clear himself in front of him?
Of course he knew that there was a price behind every word Kaela said.

However, according to Kaela, it seems that the big pot was not made by him?

That thing was the work of Morathi, who had used blood and godhood, ritual and deception, to pull something out of Hades and then give Hellebron a poor copy.

No wonder Morathi will become Morathi Cain in the next era. This is really a great way to do it. Religious updating, faith packaging, redefinition of priesthood... This set of work is really fucking high-level.

The entire process, from beginning to end, had nothing to do with Kane. It can even be said that Kane was extremely disgusted with such behavior.

But it was just aversion. Kane didn't care. He didn't pay attention to how these believers developed their faith, how they interpreted the oracles, or how they changed their minds in altars and scriptures.

He cares only about one thing—that He responds when the sacrifice is offered.

The price is clearly marked, so no one can be deceived.

In some ways, Cain is more powerful, more direct, and more reliable than any other elven god except Asuryan.

Daxus shook his head slowly, as if denying some inexplicable sense of fate. His eyes fell to the side, looking at the fragment of memory and hallucination.

Aenarion, walking slowly towards the Temple of Khaine.

It was a true temple of the gods, with jagged black rocks standing in a ring like stone blades, surrounding the sacred and terrifying core area. The tops of those rock pillars were engraved with ancient red lines, like spells drawn with blood. Under the reflection of the blood-red sky, they pierced the sky, as if they were going to tear the entire sky apart.

Inside the circle, the ground was as black as ink, eerily smooth, and as deep as the heart of midnight, without reflecting any human shadow.

In the very center, a rock with red veins stood quietly, its veins pulsating like blood vessels, like some kind of living organ. And above the rock, something only half visible flickered and twisted in the void, looming like a dream, like a nightmare.

Then, a sound came from a distance.

It was a scream, a wail, a soul-tearing cry. The sound was ethereal and distant, yet as clear and discernible as a nightmare.

The clanging sound of collisions echoed around the altar, like the sound of thousands of blades clashing.

Daxus heard thunderous heartbeats, one after another, as if some huge existence was awakening.

He saw blood gushing out from an unknown place in the blurred edges, the wounds carved by the sharp blade tore the flesh, the limbs broke in the pulling, and the flesh and blood fell like rain - the red "veins" were not the rock itself, but the real arteries. It was pulsating, and the blood flowed from the altar like a spring, turning into a rushing river of blood.

Aenarion stood before the blood altar, his figure frozen like a statue, as if time had stopped at this moment.

The "thing" embedded in the rock was jumping and twisting in Daxus's eyes, and its shape was unpredictable, sometimes like an axe, sometimes like a sword, sometimes like a gun, sometimes like a bow, sometimes like a dagger, and sometimes it turned into many unheard-of strange weapons. Those outlines flashed a cold light in the darkness, and seemed to contain infinite power and secrets.

Finally, a clear image gradually emerged. It was a long-bladed sword, the blade was as black as ink, and the guard was curved into the shape of Cain's sacred symbol. On the blade, red runes of blood and death slowly appeared, depicting endless curses and fate.

If this perspective is the ultimate full-body experience, then the drawbacks also come with it. Daquus can only see the images in the scene, and he doesn't think that the sword of Cain he sees will look like this, because he is different from Aenarion who is about to draw the sword, but this does not prevent him from continuing to appreciate it as a spectator.

Aenarion held out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly, but he paused just before he touched the hilt.

The air froze and everything was silent, as if the entire world, even the gods, were holding their breath at this moment.

The earth shook violently, rocks cracked and made a rumbling sound.

Aenarion finally grasped the hilt and pulled it free from its stone prison. The longsword made a low grinding sound.

The runes on the sword began to ooze blood, as red as a gushing spring, flowing along his arm and drawing scarlet tracks on his heavy armor.

God Killer, Widowmaker, World's End, Spear of Vengeance, Death Shard, Ice Fang, Light of the Scourge.

Mortals, demons, and gods all call this sword by different names.

But it has only one real name - the Sword of Cain, the holy weapon of the God of Murder.

Now it belonged to Aenarion.

The fate of the elves seemed to be nailed to the ground at this moment, frozen in impending destruction.

The scene suddenly stopped.

"He is my greatest servant." Caela sighed, with mixed emotions in her voice, "His goals and my goals are aligned at this moment, and I am almost successful."

"Just now..." Daxus did not discuss this issue with Caela. It was meaningless. He changed to a question that he was more interested in. "What I saw, is it your ability?"

"You are powerful, Daxus," Caela replied, with a hint of respect in her tone, "and you interfere with me."

Daxus nodded, he understood what Caela meant.

When the force came towards him, he was immune to and distorted the force, and saw the original picture, a scene in the second line outside the established line, and then the force was reconnected.

"Lilith..." Daxus said softly.

"Just a little girl living in her own dream." Kaela's words were full of disdain.

Dakwus shrugged. There seemed to be nothing wrong with Kaela's sharp comments. After all, Lilith's prophecies and dreams had never involved the scene of Aenarion's bloodline fighting.

The scene changed again, and he returned to the bottom of the big whirlpool, but this time, the whirlpool had disappeared.

He held back, not letting himself complain again - he really had energy but nowhere to put it, and it seemed that Kaela, who lived here, was feeling suffocated.

Because he saw an old acquaintance again. (End of this chapter)