Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Leander did not respond to Lamela's question with words, but instead slowly tilted her head, revealing a smile that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

It was not a mocking laugh, nor the laugh of a victor, but a sorrowful laugh, the kind of subtle expression that only appears after seeing the impermanence and cycle of life, the sedimentation of time and memory, the cold patterns woven from scars and insights, gently spreading across her pale face.

Lameran was stunned.

Of course he's not stupid.

As a dragon mage, he studied at the White Tower of Hoss and is a legitimate polymath. In the professional ranks of the Hoss school, he has entered the inner circle and has been granted the title of "Great Polymath".

That is not just a title, but also signifies the knowledge he has accumulated over a century, the spiritual refinement he has undergone, and the insight he has cultivated by navigating the long river of history.

At this moment, faced with Leandera's silence and that unspoken smile, he didn't need words; he already understood.

She said nothing, yet she said everything.

All the fears and truths hidden beneath the flames surged into his chest like a tidal wave, utterly shattering his mind.

His face turned deathly pale instantly. The flames that had been flowing slowly across his body, leaping like a campfire, were extinguished by an invisible, chilling wind. It was as if a necromancer's hand had seized his heart, its cold claws piercing through the surface of his soul, like a shadowy ghost lying on his shoulder, slowly draining his life force and siphoning him dry from the inside out.

His face, which still retained a trace of youthful radiance, aged and withered in a matter of breaths. His eyes became sunken, his lips bluish, and wrinkles on his forehead seemed to suddenly emerge from the abyss of time, spreading without warning. Just like his dear friend Imrek a moment earlier, he unconsciously stepped back, staggered, and almost collapsed onto the cold cave floor.

Fortunately, Kelly intervened.

The mage, also from the White Tower of Hosse and possessing the dual identity of a great scholar and a dragon mage, instinctively stepped forward to support him, his movement tinged with hesitation and instinct. But the moment their hands touched, he himself was struck by a tremendous surge of emotion.

His face was also pale, his eyes unfocused, his gaze wandering aimlessly, like a lost soul unable to find its place. His fingertips trembled slightly, as if he were holding a burning hot stone, knowing he would be burned, yet unable to let go. In that moment, he seemed to have touched some ancient, unseen fragment of truth, a fragment that was tearing apart his reason and destroying his faith.

The two great scholars leaned against each other, almost collapsing to the ground together. Their figures appeared exceptionally weak in the light of the brazier, like flickering candles in the wind.

But in the end, they managed to regain their footing.

They looked at each other, and in each other's eyes, they saw not comfort, nor doubt, but naked fear.

That is a truth that even the gods would not want to bear.

They knew far more than any other dragon mages or princes. They understood better than anyone what this meant.

This means that Malekith emerged from the sacred fire without using a fire-avoidance spell.

No longer a charred shell, no longer the punishment of being burned to death, and no longer the loser from a thousand years ago.

He was reborn from the sacred flame.

As a true voter of Asoyan!

He was not rejected, but accepted.

This fact struck the depths of everyone's souls like a hammer blow, stirring up a series of unstoppable ripples.

This means that he, like his father, Aenarion, the first and greatest Phoenix King in Ulthuan's history, is qualified to pass the Trial of Asuyan. He is no longer merely a tragic heir, no longer the Witch-King who was burned in the sacred fire, banished, and defined as a 'traitor' by a thousand years of history.

He is the promised son of the Phoenix King.

He is not the son of regret, nor the son of destruction, but the son of prophecy, the king who returned from the flames, the true bearer of the lost, misread, and altered divine oracle.

Then comes the problem.

Why didn't Malekith become the Phoenix King in the beginning?

Why was he scorched and engulfed by flames when he stepped into the sacred fire, like a blasphemous usurper, rejected by the will of heaven and denied by the gods?

Why was the second Phoenix King Bell-Shana instead of him?

Is he unworthy? Or... is someone unwilling to let him be worthy?
Now, a thousand years later, when everyone had long believed that he was destined to fall into darkness and be destroyed, he was accepted by the Holy Flame and, like a true chosen one, stepped into the Phoenix Flame—reborn from the ashes.

At this moment, a long-standing and somber truth, shrouded in layers of dust, emerged in their hearts and quietly unfolded, like a curtain taut for thousands of years being torn apart, stirring up an invisible storm in the empty and silent cave.

Asur, who proclaims himself a loyal subject of Asuyan.

They built temples, established ordinances, inscribed the name of God on military banners and legal codes, and engraved their faith on armor and murals. They called themselves God's chosen people and proudly declared that only they were qualified to interpret, inherit, and defend God's will.

But are they really as devout as they claim?

Or perhaps from beginning to end, they have been defying God's will, mocking and concealing, constructing a thousand-year-old lie in the name of "orthodoxy," and weaving a false glory with honor and sacrifice?
If this is true, then Malekith was the king who was abandoned by them but accepted by the gods.

He is not the embodiment of disaster, but the messenger of judgment, and later becomes the arbiter who returned from the sacred fire, the inheritor of Asuyan's true will.

He is the returning flame.

And what about Bell-Shana?
Was the chosen and crowned "legitimate one" merely a facade to conceal the truth, an empty shell who ascended the throne but never truly entered into divine will? Did he represent only the starting point of Asur's collective self-deception?

Bel-Shana became a joke, Caledo I became a joke, and this was just the beginning.

The Kingdom of Caledon, a nation that considers itself closest to divine will and most understanding of sacrifice and glory, may have been, from the very beginning, merely an actor in a tragic script.

Even the entirety of Ulthuan is nothing more than a stage built over a thousand years, forgotten by the gods, betrayed by faith, and manipulated by history. A thousand years of sacrifice, a thousand years of war, and all the heroes and martyrs etched in history are now pale and empty amidst doubt.

Did their blood all flow in the wrong direction?
Is that glory merely a self-comforting sentiment written on a stone tablet, a refusal to face the truth?

perhaps……

This is also why Finnubar made that seemingly absurd but actually well-thought-out decision.
Perhaps he had already realized that even a fragment was enough to shake his seemingly loyal but actually wavering faith. He didn't know when he realized something, or when he stopped praying and raising the emblem of Asuyan, but began to ponder and question, and ultimately—he chose to stand on Malekith's side.

He did not betray Ausuan.

Instead, it betrayed that false Ulthuan, that Ulthuan built on lies and sin.

Imrek realized the problem at that moment, and he remained motionless, as if petrified.

He is the sharpest sword in the Kingdom of Caledo, the King of the Captors, the Lord of Dragons, the heir to the Phoenix King, and the son of fire and glory.

Now, standing before the truth, he is no longer the regent who made a solemn vow to awaken the dragon, but a mortal whose faith has been shattered, an Asur who has been defeated by the truth, a sentinel standing at the end of a thousand years of lies.

He lowered his head, clenched his fists, his knuckles turned white, and his joints made a faint cracking sound. It wasn't anger, but a sign of impending collapse.

He didn't know who to hate or who to be angry with.

He could only remain silent.

Leander remained standing, silently observing the reactions of the crowd. Her gaze was cold, yet filled with compassion, like a seasoned tailor who watched helplessly as a thousand-year-old brocade began to crumble and tear from the smallest thread, beyond repair and unwilling to stop it.

Her gaze pierced through everyone's soul, and their facades of pride, order, and glory were peeling away layer by layer, like heavy armor melting in flames, leaving behind naked fear and helplessness.

The flames of the sacred fire may be far away on Flame Island, but at this moment, they are already burning in the air of this cave.

Silence, like a layer of solidified liquid, thick and unbreakable, enveloped the hearts of every dragon prince and dragon mage.

There was no roaring, no questioning.

Those proud bodies, those figures that once symbolized glory, now seem frozen in place by time.

Arrogance and pride vanished quietly at that moment, like ashes blown away by an invisible wind.

Those once proud and piercing eyes have now become dull and lifeless, as if they have lost their focus. Their souls have been ripped out, leaving only empty shells of bodies standing stiffly in the cave, like statues, but without the radiance of a soul.

“There is even worse news, gentlemen.”

Leandera's voice was soft, even gentle, like a whisper in the night breeze through the treetops, as if stating a trivial fact. But it was precisely this gentleness that, in the oppressive silence, struck like a heavy hammer, shattering invisible yet sharp ripples in everyone's ears and souls.

As soon as she finished speaking, only a very few people managed to raise their heads, looking at her with a numb or even blank expression. There was no emotion in their eyes, not even anger, only a bewildered state on the verge of collapse, a state of being in between when faith has crumbled but before a new faith has been established.

"He claimed that he was the eleventh Phoenix King, not the second."

She laughed after saying that.

It wasn't a lighthearted laugh, a mocking laugh, or the arrogant smile of a victor. Rather, it was a helpless laugh born of anger, an absurd laugh of feigned magnanimity on the verge of collapse. The laugh carried a hint of neurotic arrogance, as well as the irony accumulated over thousands of years, as if saying, "The lies we ourselves have woven will ultimately backfire on us."

It's like the desperate smile of someone whose reason has been repeatedly mocked and whose emotions have been repeatedly trampled upon, after finally realizing that they are powerless to resist fate, a smile that asks, "Should I cry or laugh?"

Kelly's gaze slowly shifted to Lamela, as if seeking some kind of confirmation, or perhaps looking for someone to sink with. But Lamela remained lost in his own tangled thoughts, as if he were trapped in an abyss called 'truth.' He remained silent. His lips parted, as if wanting to say something, but as if blocked by some invisible curse, he could not utter a sound.

He simply opened and closed, then opened and closed again, like a malfunctioning puppet. He took a deep breath, but ultimately couldn't utter any words of rebuttal, only letting out a helpless, bitter smile.

It wasn't a laugh of approval, nor a laugh of mockery, but a bitter laugh that acknowledged defeat yet refused to give in, a desperate sigh of not knowing whether one could still trust the world.

If he could, he would even want to roar to the heavens: "Beautiful!"

Yes, beautiful.

Seemingly generous, seemingly tolerant, seemingly adding a gentle touch to the millennia-long fratricidal conflict, using a mild and harmless "eleventh leader" to break the millennia-long strife that had plagued the elven race.

It appears to be about atonement, but it is actually about recounting history in reverse.

In the game of politics, this is a vicious scheme, a brilliant move, enough to leave any seasoned political advisor speechless and amazed.

How vicious, how cunning!

Malekith no longer vies for the rightful place of the "Second Phoenix King," but instead calls himself the "Eleventh." He does not deny the existing line of Phoenix Kings, nor does he openly challenge any of the deceased, but in practice, he places himself alongside Aenarion as the legitimate successor—skipping all historical controversies, skipping millennia of fighting and political confrontation, and reshaping the legitimacy of his kingship through "the continuation of inheritance" rather than "the beginning of usurpation."

He has never denied your existence.

He simply pushed you away from the list of historical glories—relegating you to transitional figures.

Not an enemy, not a usurper, not a tyrant, but a "temporary ruler".

He doesn't need to judge you; he just needs to reshape the narrative.

How will elven scholars write this chapter in the annals of history?

The one most hurt by this step was the originally chosen successor, the current regent, and the future Caledo III—Imrek.

This step was not a sharp sword, but a nail slowly piercing his marrow; not anger, but a chilling irony; not defeat, but history rewriting before him—rewriting, erasing, and reshaping as if usurping the throne.

Because Malekith not only returned, but also took the lead in standing before the sacred flame. He didn't claim to have overthrown anyone; he simply stated, "I am the eleventh Phoenix King."

There was no war cry, no conquest, and no direct denial of Imrek. But it was precisely because of this that this step was all the more fatal; it was not a deprivation, but a plunder of the future; not a coup, but the premature end of the era that belonged to Imrek on the eve of its beginning.

In Imrek's eyes, the future was clearly visible. He would inherit the throne, carry on the will of the previous ten Phoenix Kings, and stand behind the fiery figures of his ancestors to continue writing the glory of the throne.

But now, all of this has been overturned by the seemingly insignificant "eleventh term".

He became a traitor.

He was not an ordinary nobleman; he was not the kind of bystander who could quietly retreat and accept the dictates of history.

He was a descendant of House Calard, a son of the dragon tamer Caledo, someone who knew the lineage, achievements, and glory of every Phoenix King, and an heir who had studied every inscription and epic since childhood beneath the stone tablet. He knew that from the second to the tenth Phoenix King, there were many heroes, wise men, martyrs, capable individuals, guardians, and sacrificers.

He once thought that what he inherited was their will, the spiritual torch that still burns today, and a historical coordinate jointly forged by gods, kings, and people.

But now, Malekith's phrase "eleventh" has nailed them all to the pillar of historical shame.

Those kings who raised their swords, ignited the sacred fire, and built their thrones amidst the flames of war, those sages whose names were inscribed on the white tower of Hosse, the temple of Asuyan, and the marble walls of the council's rotunda—are now defined by this political act as: a transition, an error, a corrected historical deviation.

At this moment, the pen of history shifted its course; before the ink was even dry, the future began to question the past.

In the future, when future generations read through the history books, they will ask: "Why?"

Why was it Bel-Shana, rather than Malekith, who succeeded Aenareon?

Why was Malekith rejected when he was clearly qualified? Was it a god or a human who rejected him?

If he never fell into depravity, but was only misunderstood, rejected, and wronged, then are all the Phoenix Kings over the past thousand years just a continuation of misjudgment?

Is it true that Malekith is the king truly chosen by the gods, and you are all wrong?
At that time, they would look at Imrek.

They will look toward the Kingdom of Caledon.

They will look at Asur, a being sculpted by 'history'.

At that time, the word "Asur" was no longer a symbol of glory, but a heavy riddle, an echo of shame and unspeakable embarrassment.

“All bad news, not a single good one.” Leander’s voice was like a muffled rumble of thunder before a storm, slow and oppressive. “I first met Gilid in Elsoloren. I can confirm that his identity is real; he is of Bel-Shana blood, the rightful heir to the Kingdom of Tyranlock. As far as I know, the garrison stationed in Anaheim has not engaged in any real battle with Duruchi.”

She didn't raise her voice or emphasize anything, but the faint "confirmation" in her words pierced Kelly's heart like an ice dagger.

Although Kelly was neither the smartest politician nor the most composed strategist, and he was not adept at political maneuvering, he understood—he understood the crucial message that Leander had not explicitly stated in her words.

The appearance of Gilead means that the Kingdom of Terenlock is no longer a staunch ally of the Kingdom of Kaledo.

Anaheim is the coldest and most somber proof.

The Kingdom of Terenlock has sided with Malekith.

Perhaps they haven't completely collapsed yet, perhaps they still have some hesitation and face-saving issues, but it's only a matter of time, a political collapse that will come sooner or later, a reconstruction slowly pulled by fate.

This is not an isolated case, but a trend.

It is now confirmed that the following kingdoms are on Malekith's side: the Kingdom of Itien, the Kingdom of Kosqui, and the Kingdom of Iris.

Each name is an important part of Ausuan's maritime gateway.

Every defection of a name represents a substantial weakening of the strategic structure of the Kingdom of Caledon.

The shield protecting the seas of Ausuan has shattered.

All that remains is land, the homeland of Ulthuan.

Having lost naval superiority, the war now will be a final struggle between flesh and blood, fortresses and cities.

It will be a war of swords and flames; a full-scale war that will take place in the homeland of the elves, between the sacred temples and the ancestral tombs.

When the nobles of the kingdoms of Elion and Charis learn that Malekith has been reborn and returned in flames, what choices will they make?

How will they face the king who emerges from the sacred flame?
Will they continue to maintain their fragile alliance with Caledon, or will they, like Ithen, Kosquie, and Iris, bow down and submit to the rightful lord recognized by the gods?
How many allies does the Kingdom of Caledon have left?

Are we counting on the Kingdom of Nagareth?
How much longer can it hold out?

How much time do we have left to gamble on a future where we have no other choice but to fight?

Is this war destined to end before it even began?

Is it really true that in the end we can only rely on the power of the dragons?

But as Leander had already stated, Duruci was already prepared. They were no longer the madmen who indulged in slaughter and destruction; they were now a disciplined, strategic, and future-oriented iron-blooded legion.

They possessed high-altitude early warning aircraft, heavy ballistae with astonishing range, and anti-aircraft balloons that crisscrossed the lagoon like a spiderweb. These things hung silently among the clouds, like a specially designed dragon-hunting array—ruthless, precise, and deadly.

The former air superiority is gradually being turned into bait to lure the enemy.

“Enil and Asley, who live in Elsin Alwyn, have also chosen to side with Duruci.” Leander dropped another bombshell.

In the past, the Dragon Prince and the Dragon Mages would have scoffed at such news, laughing mocking their tree-dwelling relatives for their cowardice, their small numbers, and their weak power.

But now, no one is laughing.

“I just mentioned a name—Lord Des from Azsorloth.” Leandera’s tone suddenly turned gloomy, like dark clouds looming overhead. “You don’t know him, but some of you should have heard of ‘Vaal Hammer’.”

"He is... one of Val's chosen ones?" Lamela asked, her voice trembling slightly, finally snapping out of her shock. She knew what Leandera was implying; having studied this history, she understood the key to it.

“No!” Leander sighed softly, her voice so low it was almost a whisper, yet it was as cold as a blast of wind. “Things are crueler than you can imagine.”

She didn't say anything more, but that was enough.

Rahil's expression changed drastically as he stood in the crowd; he understood.

That Des was not a voter, but the embodiment of Val!
This means that Val's Anvil, the most important strategic location in the southern part of the Kingdom of Caledon, has also become unreliable.

That was the lifeline of the Kingdom of Caledor's war effort, and the most important place for forging weapons in Ulthuan.

He didn't even dare to imagine what kind of upheaval, chaos, and division would occur if that Des appeared at the Anvil and exercised the power of the Val in that sacred place.

The entire Caledo was like a dragon with its spine broken, its very core exposed before it could even take flight.

But all of this is just the beginning.

“Sarril—the incarnation of Hoth, Serene—daughter of Matheran, Liariel—the offspring of Loyke, they have all sided with Malekith.” Leander no longer suppressed her emotions and simply laid bare all the truths, as if tearing off the last veil covering the truth.

There was dead silence.

Rahil's pupils dilated to their maximum, his lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. He tried to take a deep breath to alleviate the growing fear in his chest, but the air seemed to have vanished. He felt as if he were being tightly suppressed by an invisible fire, and even breathing had become a luxury.

He knows what this means.

Asuyan, Hoz, Val, and Loik, these deities of the Kada'i pantheon, no longer pity Asur, no longer answer their prayers. Their incarnations have turned away, turned to the other side.

If even the gods have abandoned Caledo, abandoned this kingdom forged in fire, then what is left? Who is left?

The most terrifying thing is that the appearance of Hos's incarnation means that the Kingdom of Safri has also become unreliable.

That country, once regarded as the "crown of knowledge," may now side with Duruci at any time, or perhaps it has already done so.

Former allies have now turned against each other; former gods have now cast their light upon another king.

The sky over Ausuan is cracking open.

An unprecedented sense of despair quickly gripped the hearts of the Dragon Prince and the Dragon Mages.

They finally understood: Malekith had not "returned".

Rather, the entire world was making way for his return! (End of Chapter)