Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"It's so bright."

Dakos spoke very seriously, and then he laughed without restraint. His laughter was loud and unrestrained, echoing across the deck of the raiding ship and reverberating in the thin wind at high altitude.

The raiding ship hovered steadily above the battlefield under Drusara's control, air currents swirling around its hull. Just then, sunlight streamed down at an angle, landing on that gleaming…head below.

The light made Malekith's bald head shine brightly.

Like a freshly baked hard-boiled egg.

Ah, it is so bright, like a mirror reflecting the morning light into the sky;
Ah, it was so dazzling, as if the sacred runes had just been wiped clean and were beginning to flaunt their divinity.

It was so shiny and captivating that it was impossible to look away.

Dakos laughed even harder, almost collapsing onto the railing with laughter.

It seemed that his unrestrained laughter carried too far, or perhaps he sensed something, or something else entirely, because the Phoenix King, who was pacing towards the front of the formation, suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Malekith slowly raised his head and looked in his direction.

The moment their eyes met, Darkus returned a bright smile, raised his hand, and waved it at Malekith without any politeness.

Malekith's expression... was absolutely fascinating.

Darkus could almost see the muscles on that face, gleaming in the light, twitching slightly, his teeth clenched, and his razor-sharp eyes practically spitting fire. Malekith's right hand seemed to instinctively rise, as if to point at him and unleash a torrent of abuse, but he forcibly restrained himself.

Is it refinement? No, Dakotas was well aware of the level of refinement this esteemed emperor possessed.

A more likely reason is that Malekith knew that if this action were misinterpreted as hostility, it could easily lead to a misjudgment by the White Lion Guards. After all, the current situation is somewhat tense, and if the misunderstanding escalates, the scene could... be a cause for Tzeentch's ecstasy.

Malekith's hand froze in mid-air, seething with rage yet forced to withdraw. At that moment, his expression was more ironclad than armor and more ferocious than dragonfire.

But in the end, he laughed in exasperation, sighed, and raised his hand, not to accuse Darkus, but... to touch his own shiny, captivating head.

He then ignored Darkus.

Behind him came a truly magnificent entourage—his niece, the renowned Twilight Sisters of Azsor Loren; Finnubal, the "Phoenix King's Left Hand," who had once been slated to be crowned king but was now a key regent; Tirya Silverwing, his attendant and manager of the Naga Lund dungeons; Aislin, the "Ocean Lord"; Kadjohn, captain of the Phoenix Guard; and his intelligence officer, Egileser.

Following closely behind were a group of familiar figures: Marlene, Adana, Italis, Belorda, Finrel, River, Asanok, Colonia, and Hemara.

Daxius knew why they had come, and he knew the function and purpose of each of them.

Marlene's father has returned to Lorthorn on the dragon ship, and she is acting on his behalf, representing the family's will. Adeanna and Bellorda are traveling together, having made a special trip to the White Tower of Hoth. After their business is over, they will circle the crater back to the Kingdom of Kosqui, informing their families of what has happened here, and bringing back Malekith's decree and the naval commanders' letters. Bellorda hasn't been home for a long time and finally has the opportunity to go home and visit.

As senior administrators of the Emerald Gardens, Liv and Asanok had a very clear purpose for their trip—to work with Alisa to plan the land use of the Kingdom of Safri. This included how to integrate agricultural production and how to establish food routes.

Fortunately, these specific matters were not under Darkus's direct control; he only needed to coordinate the allocation of resources.

Hemara is here to assist with the work at the Emerald Gardens and to register the commoners of the Kingdom of Safriar, essentially issuing them identity cards. She will work with Colonia to design the transition from population to productivity, preparing for subsequent production and governance.

As for Fenrir...

Finally, the troops stopped in the middle of the battlefield.

Malekith stood upright, his hands clasped behind his back, his robes billowing gently in the wind. But he didn't stand there like a statue; instead, he kept observing.

Sometimes he would look up at the raiding ship where Darkus was; sometimes he would stare at the White Lion Guard opposite him, as if assessing their combat strength or weighing the pros and cons; sometimes he would turn his head slightly and scan the entourage around him with an extremely oppressive silence.

Darkus knew that Malekith was nervous, but he was pretending not to. And this nervousness didn't come from a tense atmosphere, but from a strange and wonderful feeling.

Not long after, Belanar also appeared.

Accompanying him were Kohein and Koshir, a stern-faced, steady-step deputy captain of the White Lion Guard.

High in the sky, Darkus had a clear view. He recognized the first three immediately, not by their faces. To be honest, elves all look quite alike, especially at a distance, with oblique lighting, tricky angles, and while wearing helmets, recognizing people by their faces is basically unreliable.

He relied on clothing and guesswork.

As for the vice-captain? I recognized him by his face.

He remembered that face so clearly that, even though a long time had passed since their last meeting, he recognized the figure instantly. This wasn't a memory in the ordinary sense, but an almost instinctive reaction, because he had once had a fierce argument with Malekith over this guy.

The vice-captain was originally a gladiator.

A beast that fought its way through the Naga Lund arena, a being "too bulky" by elven standards—strong, ferocious, with shoulders as broad as doors, and a bloodthirsty thrill in every swing of its axe. The way it displays its power is also very "Drucky"—cruel, direct, and undisguised.

But from the first time he saw him, Darkus vaguely sensed that he was different from the other gladiators.

Beneath that seemingly rude and savage face lay a subtle cunning. He could sense a strange charm about this gladiator, an aura capable of winning the trust of elves in certain situations.

So he "discovered" it.

Daxus and Malekith disagreed, even argued, about how to use him as a "tool".

While still suffering from the illness, Malekith firmly believed that the gladiator should be infiltrated into the group of captured contract gladiators to find out what they were thinking, obtain intelligence about Elsin Alfvén, and inspire these gladiators to fight, thus staging a better gladiator show.

Darkus knew what he was thinking; he simply wanted to have some fun. In his imagination, a 'script' had already taken shape: a story that would resonate with the audience, erupt into conflict, and might even incite a gladiator uprising. He wanted to stage a Spartacus-style slave revolt to extract political resources and fuel his fighting spirit.

Kekeus disagreed.

He advocated sending the gladiator to the Kingdom of Charis through some "special channels," attempting to infiltrate the White Lion Guard and secretly plant a seed in the Phoenix Court—a seed that could influence the future.

Ultimately, Malekith agreed to his decision. (Volume 5, Chapter 24)
Now, it turns out he succeeded; this gladiator has indeed risen to become the vice-captain of the White Lion Guard.

But that's about it.

Darkus knew very well that the gladiator had only one mission: to gain the trust of Kohein and the Phoenix King, and then, when necessary, at the most crucial moment, to deliver a fatal blow to the Phoenix King.

This axe blow was not the product of a political conspiracy, but rather a "reasonable mutation" in the arrangement of history.

To seize control of the White Lion Guard and take control of the entire White Lion Guard?
Do not be silly.

This is an impossible task, and it makes no sense at all, to make the White Lion Guards defect on the battlefield and side with Duruci.
How much must that be?

Even when dreaming, you have to choose a reliable script.

Dakos did not feel regret about this; on the contrary, he thought about it with a slightly ironic tone.

Unlike in another timeline, Finnuval did not become the eleventh Phoenix King. Instead, he sided with Malekith, becoming his supporter and playing an alternate role with Darkus, becoming the "left hand."

And now, the eleventh Phoenix King is Malekith himself.

Perhaps, it might be another kind of fun?
A scene flashed through my mind: Malekith, filled with astonishment and confusion, slowly collapsed into a pool of blood. That axe blow was clean and swift, coming from the vice-captain.

The infiltration mission is complete, and the objective has been achieved.

Really...

nerve.

When Darkus saw Saril approaching, he turned slightly to the side and pointed downwards.

“What?” Saril asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone calm.

“It’s nothing.” Darkus shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. He did find what was happening below quite amusing, even carrying a sense of absurd fate, but for Hoss… it meant nothing.

He felt unwell, not physically, but spiritually.

It felt like a million ants were slowly crawling all over him—not violent, not fatal, but just unbearably itchy and irritating. The sensation was as if a voice was whispering repeatedly in his ear—to bring them together, to make something happen.

He knew very well that this was some kind of pimping instinct within him—no, to put it more elegantly, it was the complete activation of his matchmaking instinct.

Because, if he wasn't mistaken, this was the first time Adana and Koshir had met.

I think so? It's very likely the first time.

Koshir was of commoner origin. In the eyes of the Asur nobles, he was nothing more than a "Fanio," someone without family background, fiefdom, or clan crest. Before joining the White Lion Guard, he had no chance to come into contact with someone of Adana's caliber.

The reason he was 100% certain that it was Koshir himself was because the white lion fur was so distinctive that it made Kohein and the symbol of the White Lion Guard's vice-captain seem less distinctive.

And that axe, which you can tell at a glance is used for chopping trees, is heavy, sturdy, and full of wildness.

Add to that his full head of dreadlocks, not hidden by his helmet—this isn't just anyone's style; it's Koshir's signature look, a badge of identity written all over his face.

Aside from Adana and Corsil, who are meeting for the first time, the relationships of the other people present can be seen as a series of plot intersections.

For example, Finnubar and Kohein were friends; Marlene and Kohein were lovers; Belloda had pursued Kohein, although it ultimately came to nothing.

Italis, while in hiding, was a friend of Kohein, but in another timeline, he killed Kohein with his own hands during the Battle of Finnoval Plains.

Of course, that's a matter of another timeline.

Dakos did not believe that a championship duel would take place here and now, in front of the White Tower of Hoss, under the noses of all the Asur, and that Kohein would be killed.

It is said that when Kadjohn was still a playboy, he met Kohein while hanging out in Lorthorn. Aislin's fleet was based in Lorthorn, so there was no reason he wouldn't know Kohein.

Marlene, Adana, Belorda, and Fenrir all studied at the Tower of Hosse, while Belanar was the tower's manager and the supreme magic swordsman in that tower that symbolized reason and knowledge.

Now, all of these people have returned to the White Tower of Hoss.

Returning with a completely new identity, attitude, and aura, stepping back onto this familiar land in a different way.

It's like a group of graduates who have stepped out of the ivory tower and returned to their alma mater years later, only to find the principal watching them from a short distance away.

This ironic yet solemn scene left Dakotas speechless for a moment.

He glanced around, finally looking in the direction of the White Tower of Hoss.

The same thing happened; the Horace system remained unchanged.

Whether they were magic swordsmen, scholars, or archmages, they all remained standing still. They observed silently, like statues, or perhaps projections of the tower's own will.

They did not appear beside Belanar; they simply watched quietly, scrutinizing him in silence.

Darkus turned his head and glanced at Saril beside him, who was also looking down. Then, he suddenly broke the brief silence.

"Don't you have anything to say to me?"

Saril did not answer immediately; he simply raised his head slowly and turned his face very slowly, as if time had slowed down for him.

But at that moment, the gaze no longer belonged to Saril.

That gaze was deeper, more ancient, like the starlight of the stars, the kind where you look at him and he looks at you, yet you are unaware that you have already been seen through.

"Observation is for the purpose of understanding; but understanding does not mean agreement."

Hoss spoke, his voice not loud, but to Dakota it was as heavy as a morning bell. His tone was emotionless, like an absolutely neutral statement, yet it was so calm that it sounded exceptionally clear. After speaking, Hoss's gaze slowly swept down.

Those Asur who were born and raised under His protection are now divided, confronting each other, suspicious of one another, and cautiously advancing. He saw Malekith, and He also saw Belanar; He saw the towering white tower, and He also saw the silent, stone-like figures beneath it.

We saw order crumbling, and we also saw reason struggling.

"What do you want me to say?" After reading it, He turned back, His eyes completely unmoved. "Say you did the right thing? Say it was all worth it? Or do you just want to hear a blessing?"

Dakos did not respond immediately; he simply gazed at Hoss intently, his eyes fixed on him.

“I want to hear your assessment of all this.” He paused, “as the god who once established order, wrote laws, and ruled the White Tower.”

Hoss slowly closed his eyes, then opened them again.

"evaluate?"

He uttered the word softly, with a hint of mockery, a sarcasm not directed at Daxus, but rather as if he were mocking himself.

Do you think God judges the struggles of mortals? Do you think reason can define chaos? Do you think logic can overcome the instinct for survival?

He stood even straighter, the wind billowing around him, his robes fluttering, yet the wind could not stir him in the slightest; he seemed to be the eye of the storm, the unmoving axis of divinity.

"Order is a temporary victory over chaos; knowledge is a brief relief from ignorance; justice is a temporary compensation for the absence of power."

"But...none of them are eternal!"

"Then what's the point of building the White Tower?" Darkus raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp as a blade. "You teach them logic and reason, so that after they all fall, you can watch them devour themselves?"

Hoss did not answer. He looked at Daxus with eyes as calm as the deep sea, and then he asked in return.

"So what are you trying to achieve by establishing a new order?"

“Me?” Darkus chuckled softly, his voice like the light tap of cold iron, carrying both sarcasm and undisguised composure.

"For a miraculous era!"

Hoss laughed after hearing this. The laughter was very faint, but it was like night rain falling into a dry well. It was soft and deep, like the pages of a white tower turning in the darkness a thousand years ago, or like a god sighing quietly after dusk.

"Miracle……"

He repeated the word.

"This word is too expensive. Its price is blood, life, sacrifice and deception, and countless tears between ideals and reality. You exchange everything for it, and in the end, what you get may not be a miracle, but only a greater loss of control."

"So what?" Darkus stepped forward instead of retreating, his gaze burning. "When you built the White Tower, didn't you know that people would eventually fall? You teach them to follow the rules, but what about yourself? Didn't you also come from chaos?"

His question seemed to have struck the very core of Hoss's divinity.

After a moment of silence, Hoss finally spoke. His voice was soft, yet it possessed a penetrating power, like still water flowing into a deep pool, seemingly silent, yet stirring ripples in people's hearts.

"Yes, I too emerged from chaos. But it is precisely because of this that I understand the meaning of order," He said slowly, as if stating something to someone else, yet also reflecting on His own journey. "Not for perfection, but for resistance. Not because I believe they will not fall, but because I hope that even if they do fall, they will still have a way back, an anchor point!"

"Then do you regret it?" Darkus followed up with a question that was not barbed, but certainly not gentle.

Hoss did not answer immediately. He simply looked down silently at the familiar yet unfamiliar figures, rising and falling like waves between the interplay of sunlight and shadow.

“I never regret building the White Tower, just as you would never regret reconstructing Duruci.”

"Then do you regret teaching them to reflect on themselves?" Darkus continued, a hint of sharpness creeping into his voice.

This time, Hoss did not answer immediately. His eyes flickered slightly, as if he had seen something, or perhaps he was lost in a distant memory. After a long while, he finally spoke slowly.

"Self-reflection is both a curse and a salvation."

His gaze fell upon Dakota, calm and profound.

"Just like you."

"You know what you're doing and you know the consequences, but you still choose to keep going."

His words contained no accusation, but rather sounded like a heavy acknowledgment.

"This is neither reason nor faith; it is simply will, a will that transcends divinity."

"It sounds like you admire me a little?" Darkus smiled slightly, a smile that contained both probing and that familiar hint of mockery.

“It’s not admiration.” Hoss slowly shook his head, his tone becoming even lower and gentler, “but rather… regret.”

Dakos did not deny it.

The wind swept through the hull of the raiding ship, as if time itself were flowing back through the cracks of time. Distant war songs seemed to echo in the clouds, and the whispers of ancient gods were like murmurs reverberating on the edge of Ragnarok.

“But I’ve never believed there’s any side to this world that’s pure.” He straightened up, his tone surprisingly calm, as if stating an axiom. He looked at Hoss, his eyes devoid of divinity, destiny, or creed, only those of a mortal, an old man, a philosopher, who, having seen through all the light and shadow, still chose to move forward with that stubbornness, “I will only walk the path I am meant to walk.”

Hoss did not respond immediately; he remained silent, gazing at Daxus, as if through Daxus he saw a more distant and indistinct future. It was an unknown age, an age where miracles and calamities coexisted.

“Then keep going, Ashoranka.” He finally nodded. “Don’t look back, even though things are different now.”

"Look at the miracle era you speak of, and see if it can take root and sprout in real land."

His voice paused, and his last words fell like an engraving.

May you have enough compassion to bear the end of all this.

Dakos said nothing more.

It wasn't because of poor communication skills or a lack of emotional depth, but because nothing he said would change Hoss's mind. He understood Hoss far better than most so-called believers.

Who is Hos? Like Aisha, Loik, Lilith, and Val, He belongs to the Kada'i pantheon and is a close follower and companion of the supreme god Asuyan.

They all follow Asuyan, but carry different ideals and symbols, while Hos represents the divinity of reason and knowledge. He should be calm, transcendent, and like the White Tower—steadfast, standing proudly in the sky, overlooking the mortal world.

But they are different from Asuyan.

Asu never bows his head; he will carry his will through to the very end, until he himself turns to ashes. But Hos and the others are different; they... will have mercy.

Yes, Dakota used the word "pity." He thought about it carefully, weighing it against logic and emotion countless times, and ultimately felt that it was the most accurate, and also the most somber, description.

These deities did indeed have compassion for the elves.

It's not pampering, not protecting one's own, and certainly not spoiling; rather, it's a complex and almost paradoxical aggregation of emotions. It's like parents watching their seriously ill child refuse to take their medicine, powerless yet unable to ignore it; or like a poet gazing at a withered flower swaying in the wind, knowing it will fade, pitying its beauty, yet unable to stop its withering.

Hoss will show mercy, Aisha will, Loik will, Val will, and Lilith will too, but each deity's way is completely different, with no overlap between them, just like Lilith who can always come up with new ideas.

Darkus's understanding of Lilith never went beyond the superficial title of "pure maiden." He knew that those patterns, those riddles called oracles, the omens cloaked in the guise of dreams, and the symbols and guidance projected in dreams were never unfounded, but rather a kind of divine intervention, and also a vague and ambiguous call.

However, this "compassion" itself is a manifestation of a paradox.

Because these deities know without a doubt what will happen in the future—the world will be destroyed, the era will end, all living beings will fall apart, and they... will eventually take their final bow.

They are not omnipotent; they simply see further and understand more deeply.

They understand, but cannot stop it; they have compassion, but cannot save it.

And this was especially true of Hosse.

Dakos never doubted that the path Hoss wanted to take was the one known as the first path—stable, controllable, calculable, and replicable. It was a path that could be gradually ascended and grew logically, a proper track where rules could be written, systems could be established, and inheritance could be continued.

Because Hos is that kind of god.

He is the symbol of reason, the embodiment of knowledge, and a model of using logic to combat chaos, order to suppress disorder, and rules to resist desire. He built the White Tower not for aesthetics, nor for power, but to establish a barrier—the spine of a civilization.

He wrote the Law to teach the Elves to think in the heat of the moment, to be disciplined in the heat of passion, and to remain clear-headed and directional in the long years of solitude.

This path represents the continuation of Hoss's self-identified divine authority, and is the essence of his role in this grand drama of the gods.

Dakos knew very well that the second route was a different matter.

It was a path fraught with the unknown, with fission, variables, and ruptures. It had no complete map, no mature paradigm, and no precedent. It was full of chaos, yet also brimming with hope; full of danger, yet also containing miracles. It was unpredictable, primordial, the most turbulent undercurrent in the sea of ​​destiny.

Hoss did not agree with this path.

But He will not destroy it, not because He cannot, but because He will not.

He is a rational God, and rationality allows for disagreement, but not destruction.

Darkus understood that, in a sense, He was being swept along, a god being pushed forward by both the times and destiny. He could neither choose to stand by and watch, nor could He fully intervene; He could only stand on that boundary line, refusing to retreat an inch.

He will remain silent, observe, and at crucial moments extend a finger, not to disrupt the overall situation, but to ensure that a certain variable continues to exist.

Even though He already knew the outcome, even though He understood that everything would be destroyed by an inevitable collapse, He still could not take the initiative to intervene.

This is the constraint He faces as God, and the price He pays for His existence.

Divinity endowed Him with great power, and also gave Him invisible chains.

He must obey Asuyan's will.

That 'will' is irresistible and unchangeable. Like heavenly fire that cannot be stopped, like stars that cannot be reversed, like the clock of fate that cannot be turned back.

This is the tragedy of the Kadai pantheon, or rather, the fateful tragedy of the Elven pantheon as a whole.

The Kadai pantheon was like this, as was the Sessarai pantheon, and even the Molaiq, which belonged to no particular pantheon, was not spared. They were all creators of civilizations, originators of faith, and legendary miracle executors.

They are burning lighthouses, yet they cannot guide the way; they are the hands that sculpt destiny, yet they cannot touch destiny itself.

They know everything, yet cannot stop everything. They pity all beings, yet cannot truly redeem them. Their existence is a sorrow of a higher dimension, a divine desolation.

Dacules understood this better than anyone else; he knew where the gods' compassion came from and where it would flow.

But it's different now...

At that moment, he felt a silent solace. He smiled, his lips devoid of sarcasm or the coldness of a victor, but rather a soft response born of genuine understanding.

"Then let's keep watching."

He spoke softly, but the wind heard him, and God heard him.

Because that was not a casual remark, but a covenant between an ancient sage and a deity.

He will not turn back, and they will not leave the stage.

The bells of the Age of Miracles have not yet rung, but they are already standing silently at its doorstep, waiting. (End of Chapter)