Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"You betrayed all of us!"

Imrek roared, his finger trembling as he pointed at Tegris.

His rage burned like a raging fire in the tent that should have been filled with glory. His anger was not only directed at Tigris, but also an outpouring of all the suppressed, collapsing, and disordered emotions he had been suppressing.

Tigris did not meet the gaze head-on, but instead stepped aside, revealing his companion who had been quietly following him.

"You invited...this thing into my tent?"

When Imrek's gaze fell upon the newcomer, his pupils contracted sharply, and a long-forgotten chill ran down his spine. He recognized the newcomer, the figure that symbolized a thousand years of bloodshed and curse.

He roared and drew his sword, energy surging across its blade, its cold light as bright as the sun.

"Put down your weapon." Malekith spoke calmly, his voice deep and resolute. He waved his hand lightly, the ethereal, indistinct hand making a small movement, yet conveying a sense of contempt and composure. "Even your enchanted sword cannot harm this projection."

Imrek stared coldly at Malekith, then turned, his sword pointing at Tegris, his anger undiminished.

"This traitor is real, he has blood to shed!"

"You haven't received my gift?" Malekith continued forward, his tone flat. "I believe my messenger has made things quite clear."

“Those dragon eggs?” Imrek’s arm trembled slightly. “I can hardly believe that you returned them yourself.”

“This must have been more difficult for you than for me.” Malekith’s tone was unexpectedly gentle, with an almost sincere admission. “I do not deny that there have been many conflicts with your ancestors, from the time of Imrek, the name you inherited.” He paused, as if searching for the most appropriate words, “but I have never hated your kingdom, nor have I ever despised your people.”

"Lies flow so easily from your mouth, you kinslayer."

Imrek growled, his gaze returning to the illusory projection of Malekith.

Meanwhile, Tigris had already quietly taken a few steps back. He knew that this conversation did not allow him to say anything more.

"The crimes you committed against the Kingdom of Caledon are no less than those against any other kingdom."

“I do not accept that,” Malekith said calmly. “I have never sent a large army to invade the southern mountains.”

"The reason you didn't attack is because you knew you would inevitably lose."

Imrek coldly retorted, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms, a gesture that conveyed a complete rejection.

But Malekith had already sensed that Imrek's anger was no longer as burning and tearing as before, but rather a deep-seated inertia. It was as if it were some kind of conditioned reflex etched into his blood, no longer stemming from hatred itself.

“My refusal to fight is not out of fear,” Malekith said in an extremely calm tone, with a kind of unsettling rationality, “but because I understand that in order to achieve victory, I must destroy the entire Caledo.”

His projection shrugged slightly, a gesture that was understated yet carried great weight.

"Now, I have finally reclaimed my rightful place among my people. If Asur still possesses reason and faith, the Dragon Prince will no longer be abandoned on the frontier, but will become the vanguard and core of our army."

"Only a mediocre ruler would appoint the woodcutter and hunter of Charis as his personal guards, instead of the dragon prince of Caledor."

These words were like a dagger, piercing the very core of Imrek's pride. His brow furrowed slightly, and for the first time, a crack appeared in his previously resolute demeanor. His gaze unconsciously fell upon Tegris.

"Have you... told him about what we discussed earlier? About my ancestor's visit?"

“No.” Tigris bowed slightly. “I hope that Malekith can reach an agreement between you, which is why he is here today.”

Imrek seemed to have suddenly lost all support, slumping into the chair. His usually composed figure now appeared utterly exhausted, his elbows propped on his knees, his gloved fingers pressed against his forehead, trying to suppress the wildly churning thoughts.

After a moment of silence, he raised his head, his expression pained, his eyes fixed on the monk, his voice dry and low.

"Is there no other way?"

His tone no longer carried anger, but rather a long-lost weariness.

Before Tigris could speak, Malekith answered first.

"To wage war, one needs a great leader."

He paused, his tone flat, yet possessing a steely strength.

"But what is needed to create peace is a greater leader, Imrek."

The air seemed stagnant.

“If we’re talking about injustices, I am undoubtedly the most wronged.” Malekith gently raised his empty hands, as if to soothe the resentment and heaviness hidden in his words. “Six thousand years—I have never regretted what I did in the slightest!”

“Millions are dead.” He lowered his voice. “This is not a number to be taken lightly, not a past that can be easily forgotten… But now, we have an opportunity, a real opportunity, to end it all.”

"It's easy to cling to the past."

"Pleasing people is easy."

"But doing the right thing is extremely difficult."

In Malekith's view, this Imrek was no longer of the same kind as his ancestors.

His bloodline remained noble, his glory remained heavy, but his temperament... softened, though he himself was unaware of it.

Caledo I was never arrogant. He was stubborn, silent, and rude, with a fiery temperament like lava, but ambition was never his weakness. He was a man who did not desire high positions and never longed for the throne; it was fate that pushed him onto it.

But the Imrek before him—marginalized by Fennubar, alienated by Tyrion, once a core member, now an isolated island—stands alone on the remnants of Caledor's authority and responsibility, at the threshold of a cataclysmic change.

For Malekith, this was the perfect opportunity for transformation.
-
Imrek stood silently in the center of the cave.

He did not respond immediately, nor did he move an inch, as if nailed to the rock by some invisible force. His tall figure, intertwined in the firelight and shadows of the rocks, resembled a stone statue, sculpted at the crossroads of fate.

As a descendant of the dragon tamer Caledo, he carried not only the glory of his family, but also the last vestige of the kingdom's faith. He once believed that his mission was to awaken the sleeping dragons, to ignite the fire of the end, to respond to betrayal with thunder, and to defend the crumbling order with blood and iron.

But now——

What remains of that old order?
Does everything that has sustained him until now truly still exist?

He slowly closed his eyes, but instead of silence, he heard Leandera's calm yet sharp questions, each word like a short blade, precisely and cruelly piercing the softest part of his heart.

He heard his heart breaking.

He wanted to say "no".

I wanted to tell her, "We still have a chance."

Imagine, as in the past, forcing yourself to seal all doubts and anxieties into the majesty of a king.

But he couldn't do it.

He couldn't deceive himself.

He opened his eyes and slowly looked around. Those familiar faces, those warriors and mages he had summoned here one by one, those who had followed him in the flames and storms, were now silent as ashes, their eyes as dark as ink.

They were not waiting for orders, nor for declarations.

They are waiting for a 'reason'.

A 'reason' that allows them to persevere and keep fighting.

It's not about glory, it's not about revenge, it's about—faith.

But Imrek asked himself, "Do I... still have the right to give them this reason?"

He recalled his youth, the moment he first blew the dragon horn atop the snow-capped mountain. Amidst the interplay of wind and snow with sunlight, ice and fire coexisted, and he believed that the sound of that horn marked the beginning of a new era, a symbol of his destiny.

He believed that he would become the inheritor of the flame, the one who unites the dragon and the king.

But all of this now seems to be shrouded in a thick gray fog, blurred, faded, pale, and dissipated...

He finally spoke softly, his voice so low it seemed he was speaking not to someone else, but to himself.

“I once thought that what we upheld was the way of the gods, the chain of glory, and the will of the Phoenix Kings generation after generation.”

"But now, all of this... seems more like a dream that has been carefully woven by someone."

He paused, his tone growing increasingly somber.

"A lie supported by blood and sacrifice."

"The ridiculous thing is... this lie seems..."

He shook his head and didn't say anything more.

He wanted to utter that most hurtful word, but at the last moment, he swallowed the disrespectful remark about his ancestors.

No one made a sound; the cave was eerily quiet.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze slowly falling on Leandera.

Leander stood still, neither avoiding his gaze nor offering a mocking sneer. She simply met his eyes calmly, her gaze devoid of pity or blame, filled only with understanding and waiting—waiting for him to find the answer himself.

“If…” Imrek’s voice finally broke through, hoarse and trembling, as if it were being torn from the deepest part of his throat, “If Malekith really… if the gods really accepted him…”

At this moment, his tone was filled with hesitation and wavering.

"Then what should I do?" His voice grew lower, yet it struck straight to the heart. "Continue to defy divine will? Continue to let this land burn because of me?"

He seemed to finally admit that he was neither an invincible stone wall nor a fearless iron body.

His throat was trembling.

"I'm not afraid to die..." he said, each word as if forcing himself to speak his true feelings, "I'm not afraid to die!"

“I’m afraid I’ll lead you to your deaths, and we’ll be on the wrong side.”

The moment he finished speaking, he seemed to be swept away by a storm, his shoulders slumped heavily, as if he had finally unloaded an invisible mountain.

At this moment, he was no longer the proud regent, no longer the last bloodline of Caledor, no longer the last pillar of Asur. He was merely a mortal trapped by fate, a man who witnessed the changing of the times but was powerless to stop it... Imrek.

He lowered his head, his fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly in silence, his knuckles turning slightly white and his veins throbbing, as if he were struggling in the raging fire churning within him.

The silence lasted for a long time.

When he raised his head again, his gaze was no longer confused, bewildered, or hesitant, but rather a chilling clarity, a calmness born only after all hope has been burned away.

At this moment, he had made up his mind, and his boiling blood began to surge irreversibly, like an avalanche in the mountains.

Unfortunately, this world has no Don Quixote, no idealistic charge as described by poets.

But he could be Don Quixote, the first Don Quixote, the one and only one charging forward.

Regardless of how future generations judge him, regardless of how history records him, he was determined to burn himself out!

"Now," he said, his voice like steel scraping against a rock wall, "return to the surface, seal these caves, and ensure no one enters. Anyone who disobeys... will die!"

He repeated exactly what he had said before Leandera appeared, in the same voice and with the same determination.

But neither the Dragon Prince nor the Dragon Mages made a move.

They remained standing there, like statues in the snow, all staring at him with unwavering eyes, their gazes filled with no doubt, only anticipation.

"You sing the Dragon Song all by yourself?" Finally, Lamela spoke, repeating what he had said earlier.

This time, it wasn't shock, nor was it a test; it was confirmation, it was an inquiry.

"I will!" Imrek's answer was without the slightest hesitation, like a vow, like a command from fate.

“I might die,” he continued, his voice firm as a mountain. “I might not.”

"If I die, you can decide how I should proceed."

"If I don't die, whether I succeed in awakening the dragon or not, whether the dragon is willing to fight alongside me or not, I will fight."

"As a warrior, I will fight to the last moment." "Just like my name, just like my ancestors."

“I am the son of Caledo.”

"I am Imrek Calad!"

"Worthy of the name Caledo!"

After he finished speaking, he prepared to sit down. He wanted some peace and quiet, he wanted to calm down, he wanted to catch his breath...

However, just as he was about to sit down, before he was fully seated, a figure suddenly rushed in from the side and grabbed his neck tightly!
A sudden feeling of suffocation caught him off guard, causing him to lean backward and lose his balance instantly.

Perhaps he really should wear a robe; that way, the other person wouldn't be able to grab his bare neck so easily.

But it was too late.

The sharp knuckles pressed hard into his carotid artery; it was not an ordinary attack, but an emotional outburst of anger.

Someone finally lost control.

The figure that burst forth streaked through the air like a flame, resembling a falling star—it was Harald Corona.

The once handsome warrior, whose golden hair flowed like the blazing sun and whose sharp aura resembled that of a sword blade, had long since lost his composure and brilliance. He had fallen into a near-berserk state, his eyes bloodshot and the whites of his eyes red, like molten iron scorched by rage.

Without warning, he rushed towards Imrek, grabbing Imrek's neck with his left hand and raising his right hand high, his fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and you could almost hear the cracking sound of bones and muscles tensing in his rage.

However, Harald's fist ultimately did not fall.

He just gritted his teeth, panting heavily, his anger still burning, his reason struggling on the verge of collapse. His chest heaved violently, as if each breath was ignited by rage.

He released his left hand from Imrek's neck and shoved Imrek hard, causing him to stumble and almost fall to the ground.

"Are you crazy?!" he roared, his voice like thunder, echoing through the cave. "What do you mean, 'We decide the future'? What do you mean, 'You'll fight to the last moment'? What do you mean, 'You're not afraid to die?!'"

"What about us?!" His voice rose, like thunder tearing through the sky, "What about us?! What about us?! You idiot!!!"

He roared with almost all his voice and all his anger, his words so fast they were indistinct, his emotions so intense they seemed to shatter the entire rock wall.

In Rahil's view, at this moment, Harald the Sunroof, who was in the Phoenix King's Council Chamber of Lortheon, had returned.

Haral, with his fierce tone and exaggerated expression, seemingly wanting to use his fists to speak, opened his mouth to shout angrily, spittle flying everywhere, his voice almost broken by the overwhelming emotion. Even so, Rahil could still sense an extreme anger and sorrow from his exaggerated lip movements, his rapid breathing, and his faintly hoarse voice.

Dorrian's sons—Quirellien and Marendry—also stepped forward. They slowly walked to Imrek's side, but neither helped him up nor offered any words of comfort. They simply stood beside him, staring at him with angry, silent eyes, eyes as sharp as swords, undisguised.

Astherion and his son, Assanil, exchanged a glance, then took a step forward together. They didn't speak, but their footsteps said, "We've come; we're still here."

Isis Fire stood still, glanced back at the family members standing behind him, and finally his gaze fell on his youngest brother, Dalamas. At that moment, he was confirming his suspicions.

Then, he stepped forward, his eyes blazing, his tone sarcastic.

"Yeah, can you explain this? What about us? You idiot! You coward."

The irony was tinged with pain, and the anger was laced with resentment.

More and more dragon princes and dragon mages are beginning to take the plunge.

Kelly, Lamela, and Tynton, who has been silent for a long time but whose magical skills are no less than the former two.

Dragon Princes—Eldarion Firewing, Calidor Flamescale, Rahil Morven… one after another, step by step.

The footsteps were soft, yet they echoed in the silence like the prelude to an avalanche.

Some of them were there out of genuine support for Imrek; some had no other choice; and some were unwilling to bow down to a phoenix king like Malekith, even if he was crowned by a god.

They are not spineless cowards, not lackeys, they are—the Dragon Prince.

He is the Fire Child of the Kingdom of Caledo.

Even knowing that the end result would be destruction, they would not give in.

I'd rather die, I'd rather die in battle, than kneel.

Tears welled up, and Imrek finally stood up once more.

He looked at these people, each with a familiar name and a familiar figure, and bowed deeply to them, slowly and solemnly.

He knew it, and they knew it too.

Next, they will face an overwhelming enemy, a raging tide that will flatten the city walls, divine fire, and a judgment that will shake the heavens and the earth.

But they still chose to stand by his side, still telling him with their footsteps: You are not alone.

So the dragon prince and the dragon mages also bowed deeply to Imrek.

They were silent, but their bows represented an oath.

At this moment, the Kingdom of Caledon still exists, the flames still burn, and the Dragon Song has not yet been extinguished.

They are still children of fire.

According to etiquette, Liandra, who was originally standing behind Imrek, should have stepped aside to avoid the bowing of the dragon prince and the dragon mages.

But she didn't move.

She stood there, like a silent statue, her gaze fixed on the scene before her, as if gazing upon some unspeakable miracle.

A slow smile spread across her lips.

That smile, without sarcasm or shadow, was one of relief, of acceptance, of a wish fulfilled.

It was as if this moment was the only one that should truly happen.

She gently held the staff upright in front of her, released it with both hands, and clapped in the silence of the cave.

The applause was sparse, unsteady, and weak, much like when she first entered the cave—slightly abrupt, yet filled with a kind of untimely determination.

All eyes turned to her.

The Dragon Prince and the Dragon Mages wore undisguised confusion and bewilderment, with anger also surging within them. They didn't understand what she wanted to do.

But she remained unmoved, continuing to clap her hands as if the applause were dedicated to some higher will, rather than to pleasing any of the elves present.

“As I said before, I actually…didn’t want to come.” Leander stopped clapping, her voice soft. “But in the end, I came anyway.”

She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over everyone as if reviewing something, or perhaps confirming some kind of outcome.

"Because I anticipated that this would happen. Although... the chances are extremely low."

At this point, she couldn't help but shake her head slightly, her expression complex, as if she were mocking herself, or perhaps regretting it.

“I made a bet with Darkus.”

“He’s betting that this will happen, betting that you will still choose to stand by Imrek’s side, even knowing what you’re about to face.”

"And I...I lost."

She looked up, a chilling sense of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a complex emotion encompassing both feeling and reflection) lurking beneath her smile.

"I admit, I underestimated you."

“His understanding and perception of you is far deeper than mine. It’s strange, he seems… more like a true Caledonian, while I…”

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Harald Corona interrupted her sharply, his longsword trembling in his hand, a cold glint flashing in its light. "You should leave!"

He made no attempt to conceal his murderous intent, his sword pointing directly at Leandera, as if a single word could lead to bloodshed.

However, Leander simply stared at the sword's edge without flinching or showing fear; instead, she gave a meaningful smile.

She sighed heavily, as if releasing all the pent-up emotions that had been building up in her heart for years.

"It's you who should leave," she said calmly. "Not me."

She squinted and looked at Harald.

"Also, little guy, you seem... to lack any respect for me?"

At this moment, her voice was no longer gentle, but like steel forged in a blazing fire, carrying a noble and ancient majesty.

As soon as she finished speaking, she gripped the staff with both hands again, and the symbol that had stood silently on the ground was awakened at this moment.

"I am—Leandra Asino!"

"Yes—the Dragon Mage!"

"It is—the Fire Maiden!"

Her voice echoed like thunder in a cave, as if the heavens and earth paused briefly at her declaration.

Immediately afterwards, an invisible shockwave suddenly exploded outwards from her center!
There was no chanting, no spellcasting gestures, no flames, and no gathering of Akashic winds; it was as if the power originated from her own being, rather than from the essence of magic.

Caught completely off guard, the dragon prince and the dragon mages were all blasted away in that instant!
The first to suffer was Imrek, who was standing closest. He was sent flying backward like a kite, crashing heavily into Harald's arms. Fortunately, Harald managed to deflect his sword at the last moment, otherwise... the unarmored Imrek would most likely have died on the spot.

In the chaos, Imrek tumbled to the ground, but he did not get up immediately, nor did he curse or rebuke.

He sat there in a very undignified posture, as if he were stunned, or as if he were... concentrating on sensing something.

Because, just a moment ago, he seemed to have caught some kind of vague fluctuation.

He noticed that the slumbering dragon in the distance seemed to have opened its eyes.

Those eyes, as ancient as stars and as fiery as lava, briefly opened a crack before slowly closing again.

“You…” Kalidor Flamescale was furious. He rolled over and stood up, drew his magic sword, and was about to shout at him with a face full of rage.

"Quiet!"

Imrek didn't look at him, but simply raised his right hand high in a strange gesture and roared.

"Shut up!!!"

The sound was so loud that it startled everyone.

In silence, he struggled to his feet, his face pale, but his expression resolute. He looked at Leandera, his gaze devoid of anger, filled only with question.

"A bet... what is a bet?"

His voice was hoarse, yet it went straight to the heart of the matter.

“There was no bet…” At this moment, Leander seemed as if nothing had happened, as if the shockwave hadn’t been unleashed by her. She calmly shook her head, her tone unusually gentle. “But I made a bet with myself, a bet that I would lose.”

She sighed softly, a sigh filled with regret and relief.

"And I lost."

“Actually, I’m very happy… really happy to see this.” Leander looked at everyone, her gaze gentle, her tone revealing an indescribable emotional fluctuation. “You are the true Caledonians, and I am truly gratified.”

She paused, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips.

"This feeling... is like watching your own child grow up, isn't it?"

She turned her gaze away and looked at Imrek, her eyes becoming calm and profound.

“Now, perhaps it’s time for you and them to leave,” she said softly. “Leave the rest to me.” (End of Chapter)