Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The night was very restrained and peaceful.

There was no banquet, no celebration, and no commotion. The entire camp seemed to be in collective mourning, silently bidding farewell to the end of an era and the beginning of another.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, the clouds hung low and the wind carried a slight dampness.

With Dakos seeing him off, Malekith packed his bags and set off on his return journey.

Those accompanying him were all important ministers and old acquaintances: Belanar, Finnubar, Aislin, Kadjoin, Tirya Silverwing, Malok, Itaris, and Egileser.

The troops consisted of the Phoenix Guards and Sea Guards brought by Malekith, plus a thousand White Lion Guards. Together, they escorted the coffin of the previous Phoenix King on its final journey to Flame Island, and then to Death Island.

This was not an ordinary farewell, but a ceremony in which an era bids farewell to itself.

Once Malekith's party disappeared from sight, Darkus turned and bid farewell to the other two—Adeana and Belorda. They piloted the raiding ship Darkus had brought, flying across the ring-shaped mountain range back to the Kingdom of Kosqui.

With that, the farewell ceremony came to an end.

"How was it?" After everything came to a close, Darkus turned to Marlene beside him and asked softly.

Marlene's face darkened, a heavy weight pressing down on her emotions. She took a deep breath, sighed heavily, and shook her head. That sigh seemed to encapsulate decades of suppressed repression and helplessness. Then, she gave Darkus a helpless, somewhat self-deprecating smile.

Darkus nodded, a gesture that could be interpreted as a response or an agreement. He understood that it was Marlene's answer.

Marlene is still the same Marlene, still the ruthless character he remembers.

Not bound or entangled by emotions. In the face of interests, stances, and political structures, even the most intense feelings can be completely severed.

From the moment she returned from the continent of Lustria until the long decades when the entire plan slowly unfolded, she never revealed any secrets to Kohein. In another timeline, after becoming the head of the family, she also resolutely made a choice, severing all ties with Kohein, cutting them off completely and treating him like a stranger.

He glanced at the people around him: the Takaya siblings, Saril, Finrel, the Twilight sisters, Cecin-Hal, Springtwin, River, Asanok, Drusara, Colonia, Hemara…

Some of these people were also the ones he was saying goodbye to.

The Twilight sisters, Liv, and Cecil Hal will travel to the Kingdom of Avalon to meet with the tenth Eternal Queen—perhaps for talks, negotiations, or simply a test.

Alisa, Asanok, Hemara, and Colonia will travel to the Windswept Plains to assume new responsibilities and oversee the establishment of a new order there.

However, not now, not today.

Today belongs to Hoss.

They will all head to the white tower, the White Tower of Hoss.

Who could resist the immense allure of the White Tower of Hoss for spellcasters?
That's no ordinary building.

The White Tower of Hoth was commissioned by the seventh Phoenix King, Bel-Khedrus. This was no ordinary royal decree, but a continuation of a millennium-long obsession and faith. It is not only the pinnacle of Asur's architectural art, but also the true center of Ulthuan's scholarship, rationality, and magical spirit. It is the most magnificent, complete, and pure treasure trove of knowledge in the known world, a crystallization of wisdom, a beacon of civilization, and the last bulwark that isolates chaos from reason.

The knowledge, wisdom, and reason contained within the tower belong to the most learned scholars of Ulthuan—the wisest, most rigorous, and most revered mages and scholars, and truly the sages of the world. They dedicated their lives to the expansion of knowledge, the pursuit of truth, and the transmission of wisdom; their names are not sung by bards, but are etched in history, enduring with the tower.

The ivory-white tower soars into the clouds, its body rising abruptly from the ground like a mountain range. It can be clearly seen from dozens of miles away, like a snow-white stone needle piercing the sky, standing between the sea of ​​clouds and the sky.

Even from a distance, the details of the tower's layers are still clearly discernible: rows of arched windows are embedded between the stone walls, blood-red flags flutter in the sky, and golden runes meander from the base to the top, like golden serpents lying quietly on it, densely packed yet orderly, shining brightly, flowing with spiritual radiance, sometimes appearing and sometimes disappearing in the morning mist.

At the towering spire atop the clouds, flocks of white-feathered birds soar gracefully through the air. Their swirling flight and song resembles a passage from an ancient symphony, considered the spirits of the tower's guardians, the embodiment of wisdom itself. They often perch atop the tower, and whenever the Grand Master returns, they burst into song, their calls melodious and long, like a celebratory melody, filling the air with a festive glow and solemnity.

“This tower took a thousand years to build.” Marlene stood beside Darkus, gazing at the distant silhouette of the tower, her voice low but filled with awe. “It is the culmination of a thousand years of effort by hundreds of the greatest magicians, with layers of spells and incantations interwoven, overlapping, and sealed, making it almost immeasurably powerful. It was built on a sacred site dedicated to Hos, the god of wisdom, and is also the source of the fountain of power.”

She paused, as if recalling something, or perhaps deep in thought.

"When I first came here, I thought this tower was the greatest achievement of the Elven race. Perhaps it will still stand in the world after our entire race has perished. Sometimes I even think that it will survive the destruction of the world, and that is its true purpose!"

When she said this, Marlene's voice was clear yet hazy, carrying an almost poetic despair and rational romance, a quiet dream woven from classics and prophecies, a lament of the rational.

Ah! That's the feeling. The timeline has changed, but some things remain the same, like Marlene's explosive works.

Darkus offered no rebuttal or argument, such as telling Marlene about what happened at the End. At the End, after the Great Vortex disintegrated and order collapsed, the White Tower of Hoth, along with all of Ulthuan, sank into the cold, deep, and vast ocean.

It did not stand after the extinction of the elves; instead, it disappeared from the horizon even before the elves.

Because the Elven race wasn't completely wiped out, they lingered on in Azsorloth for a while longer. The White Tower, however, had long since sunk, submerged in the silence of the deep sea before the calamity truly reached its peak.

Marlene's statement is exactly the opposite of these facts.

But Dakotas didn't say anything; he just nodded, like a quiet tourist listening to the guide's explanation.

After all, Marlene used words like "think" and "perhaps" in her words.

This is faith, not argumentation.

This is the echo of collective memory, the defiant voice left behind when a civilization once stood at the pinnacle of the world, and the flame that refused to be extinguished in the hearts of every person who stepped into the tower while it still stood.

"Looking at the mountain makes the horse run itself to death."

After walking for a while, he muttered something under his breath. There was no complaint in his tone, but rather a sense of resigned weariness. The white pagoda before him seemed almost within reach, towering into the clouds, its outline so clear it seemed he could reach out and hook the rune at its apex. But in reality, the distance was absurdly far. They were still several miles away from the white pagoda—a distance between life and death—it sounded exaggerated, but in reality, it wasn't far off.

No soldiers patrolled, nor did any overwhelming magic descend from the sky to obliterate the invaders.

There was no anger, no warning, not even a sound. The closer one got, the quieter it became, as if the heavens and earth held their breath. The White Tower was not surrounded by arrows and traps, nor by high walls and barricades, but by a protection far more terrifying than steel: layers upon layers of intricate illusionary barriers and labyrinthine spells, flowing like water, silently enveloping everything.

The creators of the White Tower protected it in a more ingenious way, and proclaimed the sacredness and inviolability of this land with a more elegant gesture. Those barriers will not directly harm you, but they are enough to obscure your direction, disrupt your will, blur your perception, and even make you gradually forget why you came here in the first place.

They can not only resist detection and spying, but can even avoid the interference of time itself. Even the most powerful divination techniques are like blind people walking in the fog in front of the White Tower.

These protective spells are extremely stealthy and cunning, making them difficult even for the most energy-sensitive elves to detect. They don't directly repel intruders; instead, they cause you to lose your way, stop, and remain stagnant, ultimately leading you to give up. Yet, they remain incredibly powerful, like layers of woven nets, enveloping every inch of air and land around the tower. Only those recognized by the White Tower can truly see the path leading to the tower—not a pass, but a qualification.

Over time, this phenomenon evolved into a legend: only those who truly seek wisdom and knowledge can find their place in the White Tower; while those who merely crave power and ambition will lose their way in Hoss's magical labyrinth for life, ultimately forgetting even who they are. If anyone dares to disregard the rules and attempt to forcibly cross the barrier, they will face the cold, sharp blade of the Hoss Sword Saint and a merciless judgment.

“Scholars abhor being watched,” Marlene said, her expression calm but her voice lower, as if reminding or warning, “Of course, they also have the ability to ensure that no one sees the secrets of the White Tower.”

When they reached the place where the Hoss Sword Saints had set up their formation the day before, she slowed her pace and turned to look at the group.

"Are you all ready?" she asked after a pause, her gaze sweeping over everyone present before finally settling on the sorceresses.

It's somewhat ironic, and a little comical.

Of the group that came, only Marlene and Finlaye had actually stayed at the White Tower.

When Saril and Asanok, the two incarnations and chosen ones of Hoth, were still living in Ulthuan, the White Tower of Hoth did not yet exist in the world. The tower was not yet completed, and the land was still a sacred place, but it was not the foundation of the tower.

As for the others, needless to say. This was their first time getting so close to the White Tower, and their first time truly facing this legendary forbidden zone.

Marlene asked this question, and specifically looked at the sorceresses, because she knew these protective spells were not only cunning, but also relied on 'impressions' and 'inner thoughts'. If one harbored ill intentions, it would reject them from afar. If one wavered, it would make them unable to move an inch.

“I’m fine,” Colonia said first, her tone light and casual, shrugging nonchalantly as if she were facing a picnic rather than a sacred baptism.

Drusara crossed her arms and, after hearing Marlene's words, said nothing. Instead, she stretched out her left hand and waved it forward, a small energy fluctuation flowing out from her arm as if responding to the layers of barriers.

Alisa remained expressionless and motionless, simply standing there, coldly gazing in the direction of the White Tower, her expression as calm as still water, as if she were an integral part of the tower itself.

Himara appeared slightly nervous; her fingers twitched slightly, and her gaze swept around hesitantly, but it was merely a sign of nervousness. She remained standing straight, without taking a single step back.

Darkus glanced at Renn, and seeing Renn shake his head slightly, he nodded. Then, he turned his gaze to Saril.

"All who come are guests, that's what I said!" Saril said calmly, then laughed and stretched out his arms. A radiance slowly emerged, and ripples of light spread from his body, spreading slowly in the air like surging water, gently yet firmly covering them all.

Immediately afterwards, the same radiance emanated from the group of people. It was a response, an initial recognition and acceptance from the White Tower of Hosse, and permission from the tower to pass them through.

The air suddenly became quiet and solemn. The white tower in the distance seemed to respond quietly, and the golden runes on the tower pulsated slightly, as if it were nodding in some way.
The resulting legends, in a sense, are not unfounded, but rather based on reality. Those stories about the White Tower's protective barrier are not myths or exaggerations, but rather manifestations of the White Tower's own power.

Protective magic does indeed possess the ability to guide the unworthy away, even causing them to vanish from the world forever, without a trace. It's like a silent chain, binding the soul deep within and then quietly pulling it into the void.

No one knows where these people went, not even the scholars in the White Tower.

Those who stumbled upon the wrong path left no trace, as if erased from history, from reality, and even from memory. Even if you possess an invitation personally issued by the White Tower, even if the letter bears an ivory seal and golden runes, the protective magic will not falter. It has no emotions, no preferences, only rules—cold and absolute.

Very few people can bypass the barrier; the number is almost negligible. In other words, unintentional intruders or those with ill intentions will be guided out by the protective magic and will reappear outside the barrier without their knowledge, as if gently persuaded to leave by the heavens and earth.

However, the situation is different if Chaos Believers, or those whose hearts have been corrupted by darkness, enter the barrier. Such individuals are likely to be identified as "enemies" by the protective magic and annihilated in the unseen depths of the void before even approaching the White Tower. If a powerful member of this group accidentally crosses the outer barrier and enters the core area of ​​the White Tower, what awaits them is not an answer, but the blade of the Sword Saint Hoss.

But these things... are not a problem at all for the group of people in front of them.

Among them were either the pure or the powerful. Both in spirit and will, they were recognized by the true form of Hoth, and their avatars personally cast protective spells upon them before they entered. This was a double guarantee, both a certificate and a talisman. In other words, the White Tower had given them the green light.

The moment Darkus stepped into the protective magic, he immediately sensed its presence—it was a gentle touch, like the spring sunshine on his face, like the soft call of an old friend returning home.

The consciousness, like water, was gentle and clear, flowing non-invasively across his mind. It was not an exploration, but a confirmation, a kind of polite guidance and inquiry.

He sensed that this consciousness was recognizing his essence, examining his will and stance—not mind reading, nor lie detection, but a deeper level of 'identification'.

The next second, the surrounding scenery changed dramatically. A lush forest appeared in his sight, surrounded by towering white mountains, making the whole place seem like a secluded sanctuary. He stood on a plain within the mountain range, and the white tower stood tall in the center, proud and upright, like a snow-white needle of truth piercing through heaven and earth.

"Prophecy magic?"

Colonia, standing nearby, reacted immediately. She turned to look at Saril; after their brief encounter, she had already vaguely grasped some of the components of this magic. This magic did indeed possess the ability to sense, filter, and guide, capable of probing the evil thoughts within those who came, even penetrating deep into their consciousness and the essence of their souls, and then subtly manipulating their perception, making it impossible for them to find the path to the White Tower.

This theory seems simple—judgment, guidance, and selection.

But in reality, it is incredibly complex, its structure resembling a star map, and its operation like that of celestial bodies. Even a powerful being like Colonia can only glimpse a corner of it.

“Not only that,” Saril smiled, his tone calm. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

After saying that, he turned to look at Darkus, his gaze lingering on the other's face for a moment. Then, he slowly raised his head, his gaze passing over Darkus's shoulder and landing on the tip of the white tower in the distant sky.

"The Shield of Asuyan?...No." This thought flashed through Darkus's mind for only a moment before he quickly dismissed it.

The so-called Shield of Asuyan is not an elf creation, but rather a creation of the Ancient One—more precisely, the Ancient One Zorga.

Zoga, an ancient being who represents stone spirits, power-givers, and arbitrators.

During the Great Invasion, the temple city of Taraxran nearly fell amidst the chaos. But in the end, it did not fall—because its core was held.

At that time, the three Sran priests in the city were sent to the Zorga Pyramid by Master A, where they successfully activated one of the most powerful artifacts left behind by the ancient saints: the Zorga Shield.

An unimaginable energy descended like a curtain from the sky, enveloping the city's core. The barrier was almost impenetrable, allowing Taraxlan to hold out until the vortex appeared.

Unfortunately, only this device exists on the continent of Lustria; there is no corresponding stone tablet. The stone tablet was discovered by Darkus in Laurentloren, Amanville.

Based on the instructions on the stone tablets, Dalorhan created a functionally crippled version of the device—which was later called the Shield of Asuyan by the Sons of Asuyan.

It sounds impressive, but it's actually rather crude. It's just a barely usable substitute with extremely poor compatibility. It can indeed play a certain role in isolating magical winds, but compared to the true creations of the ancient saints, it's a bit like putting a sheep's head on a dog's meat.

So, no.

Or rather, is it?

Like that variant of the Shaper Engine, the theory and model are correct, but there are huge differences in structure, energy guidance, material properties and even activation methods.

But as long as the concept is right, some possibilities can always emerge.

And this is precisely the most mysterious and fascinating aspect of the stone tablets left behind by the ancient sages; they themselves are keys to another dimension, just like the stone tablet that Tehenhoin personally handed to him.

When Tehenhoin was still on the continent of Ruscia, he was given a stone tablet.

It was just a stone slab, but its contents were incredibly profound. It revealed an alternative use of the solar engine, a system entirely different from the current one, a path of resonance born from the reverence and worship of the ancient saint Kotek.

By arranging them in a unique formation and adding special praise prayers (activation incantations), the isolated solar engines can resonate with each other, exchange their power, and trigger a qualitative change.

If the attack method of a single solar engine is like the scattered force of pinching, pointing, and squeezing with your fingers, then this resonant method is like clenching a fist—a heavy blow, blasting, and annihilation!
This method of use demonstrated its power during the final battle of Echo City.

one strike!
He struck a newly spawned, bloodthirsty berserker who had spread its wings in mid-air, ready to unleash its power. The opponent arrived quickly and left even faster, being sent straight back to its home base, without even having a chance to utter a complete roar.

Dakos didn't think much of it and stopped guessing.

The white pagoda was right in front of him; he had arrived.

He knew he was very close, and more importantly—he could already sense the presence of the stone slab.

The mountain path leading to the White Pagoda, like a white snake, winds its way through the forest, silently guiding visitors through its depths.

As a gentle breeze caresses your face, wondrous sights unfold in the forest. A series of waterfalls cascade down from the giant rocks, converging into pools of bubbling, silvery-white water. The cascading light, rainbows, mist, and magical glow intertwine, creating a vibrant, dreamlike world that seems to tinge even reality with a touch of fantasy.

In the distance, the Sword Saints of Hoth could be seen everywhere. Some were immersed in meditation alone, while others practiced their swordsmanship in clearings in the forest, sparring and competing with each other, leaping like cranes and twirling their swords like dragons. That speed, that elegance, that perfect blend of strength and grace, was almost unattainable for ordinary people. Even the strongest warriors of Ulthuan could only sense a transcendent presence emanating from them.

When they noticed the newcomers, all the sword saints except for a few who were still in deep thought stopped what they were doing, turned around, and bowed. They did not ask questions, nor did they question, only showing solemn respect and silent acceptance.

Fenrir, standing in the group, brightened up, a rare look of joy on his face. He recognized the three sword saints bowing to them in the distance—familiar faces, old acquaintances. He raised his arm and waved excitedly in greeting.

The three sword saints were clearly taken aback, but then a look of surprise appeared on their faces, and they waved in response.

Fenrir turned to look at Darkus, as if asking for instructions or reporting good news.

Darkus returned a smile, nodded, and then waved to the three sword saints.

One of the three great joys in life is meeting an old friend in a foreign land.

This might not apply to Fenrir, because the location doesn't match, but the excitement and heightened emotions are genuine. After all, his personality makes him exceptionally few friends—just a handful. And now, as he returns to the White Tower after so long, he is reunited with old friends.

“Elleon, Renanlier, and Maranlin.” Marlene recognized the three sword saints, her expression not changing much, and simply gave a casual introduction.

Darkus nodded. Although it was his first time meeting these three sword saints, he knew their deeds, their achievements, and their glory. That was why he waved to them.

This is not just politeness, it's respect, genuine respect.

But sadly, he stripped them of their glory, he took it away with his own hands...

The group continued their journey, traversing soft forest paths shaded by foliage, passing through the magically maintained fresh air and eternal spring. The closer they got to the tower, the more intense the otherworldly atmosphere became, as if walking on the boundary between reality and myth. The tower's enormous shadow stretched into the ground, bringing an overwhelming sense of solemnity, and at the foot of this towering white tower, vast forest clearings began to appear frequently.

Some open spaces are dotted with crystal-clear glass greenhouses, like jewels in the forest, bathed in sunlight and magical light. These greenhouses cultivate various herbs, magical vines, and exotic flowers and fruits, providing the mages in the tower with their daily food and drink, as well as serving as a research facility. The growers, clad in light robes, move back and forth within the greenhouses, carefully pruning the branches and leaves, like clergy serving a deity.

Other open spaces presented a tranquil and cozy scene, with rows of neat houses and stone paths faintly visible, clearly small villages inhabited by the monks' attendants and apprentices. Wisps of smoke still rose from the chimneys, proving that people still lived here, but the number was much smaller than before. Wind chimes hanging from the eaves tinkled crisply in the wind, as if whispering about a once bustling past.

“The mages often strolled around these open spaces, discussing academics and research.” Marlene walked at the front of the group, speaking softly, her tone calm and full of reminiscence. “When I was studying here, Bellorda, Adana, and I often came here too. We would walk for hours, arguing about runes, spells, and structural formulas.”

Her voice carried an undisguised sigh, as if the peaceful, focused, and pure days of learning were slowly emerging before her eyes, but were also gradually fading away, eventually dissipating in the chaos and war of reality.

Darkus once again transformed into a nodding machine. He certainly knew why Marlene was sighing, because what she saw before her eyes was completely different from what she remembered.

Where are the mages now on this open space? Because of the war, the mages who used to stroll here have left for various reasons. Those figures who once debated softly, those scenes of sitting on the ground studying scrolls, are now just fragments of light and shadow remaining in memory.

When the procession finally reached the majestic base of the White Tower, the marble steps beneath their feet stretched upwards, like a stairway to the heavens. The statues surrounding the base stood silently, bathed in the patina of time, their gazes fixed on the distance, as if guarding the last hope of Ulthuan.

At the top of these steps, a female spellcaster in a robe stood quietly, having waited for some time. Her robe was embroidered with intricate gold and silver runes, and she wore a circular headdress symbolizing her knowledge and rank. A pure white cloak flowed behind her, and she was dignified and composed, exuding an aura of authority like the ruler of this area.

“Fenrir…” Marlene recognized the spellcaster at first glance, then her tone suddenly changed, becoming slightly playful, tinged with sarcasm and a hint of disappointment, “He should be in the group.”

As they arrived, the white-feathered birds circling atop the tower suddenly sang in unison, their clear and melodious calls echoing in the air, like silver bells fluttering in the morning breeze, or like celestial music falling from the dome, cleansing the dust from people's hearts. It was a distant melody, mixed with some ancient rhythm and cadence, as if it were the prelude to some silent ritual, or as if the tower itself was expressing its welcome with the sounds of nature.

They descended slowly from the sky, their wings spread like snowflakes, one after another skimming through the gaps between the tower's spire and the colonnade, tracing arcs and spinning in mid-air, their movements coordinated and elegant, like dancers in sync, offering aerial blessings to the visitors.

Darkus gazed at the flock of birds, his eyes serene. He spoke not, but he knew this was no coincidence. The magic of the White Tower and the perceptions of these spirit birds had long since intertwined, like body and nerves, soul and dream. Their singing was a confirmation, a welcome, a whisper—'Destiny has turned.'

He stood there quietly, looking towards the spire, watching the white-feathered birds flitting through the sunlight, their wings trembling as if stirring the folds of the sky.

"we are coming."

After a moment, he uttered something softly, whether to himself, or to the tower, the mountain, the sky, or even to the long-awaited presence in the river of history.

The white-feathered birds continued to sing, their voices like morning bells and evening drums, solemn yet tender; and the procession continued forward, ascending the stone steps, approaching the white tower hailed as the pinnacle of wisdom step by step. (End of Chapter)