Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Three days before Imrek sang the Dragon Song, Lorthorn.

Gallian and Cherion waved to the departing Dulcines. After they had created a distance between themselves and the Dulcines that was so great that they could not hear each other, feel each other's breath, or sense each other's emotions, they looked at each other. There was no hostility or fear in their eyes, only an indescribable, silent absurdity.

Deep within them, an indescribable feeling welled up—a complex emotion they themselves couldn't accurately name. It wasn't fear, hatred, or longing, but rather a sinking sense of confusion and unreality.

“This is really…” Garian began instinctively, trying to say something, even if it was just a casual complaint to vent the unease churning in his chest, but he stopped abruptly halfway through his sentence.

Perhaps he was not good at rhetoric, perhaps he felt that saying that sentence was meaningless, or perhaps he himself couldn't figure out where that strange and vague emotion came from or what it meant.

Cherion glanced at Garian, his eyebrows slightly raised, seemingly guessing the unspoken words he had. He didn't urge him, but instead shook his head and smiled wryly, a smile tinged with weariness, helplessness, and a touch of relief he himself didn't even realize. Then he raised his hand and patted the car, producing a dull thud, signaling Garian to move.

Galian sighed, took a deep breath of the still damp morning air, then bent down and began to push the cart.

The strange, inexplicable feeling in his heart wasn't something that started today, nor was it something that started yesterday. He had actually had a premonition long ago. Ever since Duruci appeared in Lorthorn, that unreal sense of unease had quietly crept into his heart, growing stronger and clearer until it became an odd heaviness that constantly clung to his chest.

This was the first time he had personally experienced such a upheaval, truly becoming a small participant in this unprecedented upheaval. He didn't know how to express himself, nor did he have any words to accurately describe the confusion and unease he felt at the eye of the storm.

All he could do was push his bike and keep going.

The cart he was pushing was his; Cherion was the helper he had hired, essentially a laborer.

The car contained all his belongings.

Yes, he was kicked out, "invited" out of his Golden Lion Bar.

To be precise, after "friendly negotiations" with Truc, he temporarily "transferred" ownership of the Golden Lion Bar to Truc's army. This ownership remained until the end of the war, until Truc no longer needed the bar, or rather, the warehouse in that location.

Everything changed after Darkus interfered with the future.

Finnubal did not become the eleventh Phoenix King. The legendary "spring breeze" symbolizing openness and revival never had a chance to blow before it withered away in the wind, and naturally, it did not reach him and his Golden Lion Bar.

But... that has changed.

When the proud, silent, yet incredibly efficient army of Duruci set foot on the land of their loyal Lorthorn, the entire region was quickly requisitioned to store supplies and house soldiers.

His Golden Lion Bar was naturally requisitioned, and his role naturally changed from host to assistant, or more accurately, temporary bartender serving Duruci.

He didn't actually want to continue operating, especially with Duruci entrenched in the area and coming and going all day. But he had no choice but to bite the bullet and keep the business open.

Why? Because his bar was the only one in that entire area.

However, things didn't turn out as badly as he had initially feared. At least the Duruci customers who came for drinks would pay their bills properly and in full. Although they always liked to complain sarcastically about how expensive the drinks were, how bad they tasted, and even joked that he was diluting them.

But that's it.

No one threw money on the ground for him to pick up; no one punched or kicked him in the bar; even after he got drunk, no one smashed glasses, fought, or damaged furniture or set the bar on fire.

He knew perfectly well that all of this was a manifestation of the iron discipline within Duru's army, a silent maintenance of stability by the Black Knights whose orders would suddenly appear every half hour. Those Black Knights didn't utter a few extra words; a single glance or gesture was enough to silence all the commotion.

Even so, he didn't want to continue like this.

Even if all this maintains a superficial peace, even if he can keep the bar running, even if no one holds a knife to his throat, his heart is still like a barrel slowly filled with fine sand, heavy, suffocating, and unable to be emptied.

During his service, he fought against Duruci more than once, risking his life in the process. His military tent contained seven bandit heads, spoils of war earned through real combat.

Three of them were killed by his own hands during the melee, in close combat, every move stained with blood; the other four were killed one by one with arrows.

Fortunately, this situation didn't last long. One evening, he chatted with the Black Knight who was off duty.

Perhaps Matheran heard his plea; perhaps his words had an effect; perhaps the usually silent Black Knight was truly doing his bidding; perhaps Duruci's policies changed after he gained a foothold in Lorthorn.

His request was resolved in a few days, cleanly and efficiently, without any delays.

The solution was straightforward: his Golden Lion Bar was requisitioned, but this time it was taken over under official documents, becoming a military-political arrangement.

It is said that Truc will later convert it into a military mess hall to supply food to the troops stationed nearby.

The Duruci officer who signed him up explained it quite logically: "After the renovation, you can cook here, and after the war, you might even save on renovation costs."

then……

Now, he had a bulging bag of coins in his pocket, real and substantial hard currency. As he walked, the slightest movement of the bag produced a crisp, pleasant metallic clinking sound, even more melodious than the clinking of glasses and plates in the Golden Lion Bar.

The remaining drinks and the bar's old but sturdy furniture, structure, equipment, and other fixed assets, after repeated meticulous calculations and inventory checks, eventually turned into a sum of money higher than he had expected. He calculated carefully, and the price was even higher than the market price before Duruci arrived.

In other words... he, who was originally barely able to make ends meet, struggling to stay afloat every day, has now suddenly escaped from that vortex of debt and is no longer a small businessman whose life is being strangled by fate.

He came back to life, somewhat like a prisoner sentenced to death who was suddenly told he was innocent and released, plus compensation.

It's as absurd as someone who owes a huge debt, is disheartened, buys a lottery ticket, and wins five million.

Everything felt like an unreal dream, even more absurd than a dream.

It has to be said, this is truly ironic, an extremely profound irony.

“They are the ones who should be the owners here, we…” Galian sighed as the truck started moving, his tone a mixture of relief and unspoken melancholy.

Cherion gave a wry smile and said nothing.

He was supposed to be a talkative person, very talkative, able to chat for three days and three nights even when drinking with strangers in a bar; he was also once cheerful, hopeful about life, and convinced that he would overcome the storm.

But everything changed when the massive Asur fleet sailed to Anaheim.

His worldview was severely shaken; it was a fundamental upheaval that shattered a long-held belief he held dear. And now, so many things he never dared to imagine or even conceived of were happening.

Besides forcing a bitter smile, he didn't know what else he could do.

Just now, under the Black Knight's arrangement, the two of them boarded a steam barge that travels between lagoons, sailing from the west bank of the lagoon to the east bank.

There were very few passengers on the boat at first, just the two of them and the truck, and Garian thought the trip would be quiet. But just as the boat was about to set sail, things changed.

A group of Duruci came up.

A group of Trucchi officers, dressed in impeccably tailored uniforms—their uniforms impeccable, collars straight, shoulder boards gleaming, and caps adorned with metal insignia displaying their rank and status—boarded the ship one after another, their steps synchronized and their presence imposing, as if the very air itself made way for them.

Some officers had the Loik emblem tattooed on their foreheads, while others, though not bearing the Loik emblem, wore grotesque, exaggerated gold masks at their waists. These were not ornaments, but symbols of status, the mark of Kledan.

Galian recognized some of them at a glance.

They were regulars at the Golden Lion Bar; some had been there more than once, had a taste for the drinks, and were interested in conversation. There were also some faces he was seeing for the first time, but he knew the officers' backgrounds.

These men all belonged to the army units within Duruch's military order, specifically the Tenth Army stationed in Lorthorn. They were from various corps within the army group, some were officers, some were staff officers, and some were Credan.

As always, he could sense pride and self-confidence emanating from these Duruci officers—a conceit and glory that seemed to be rooted in their very bones and permeated their very blood. Especially when they talked about the scene of Malekith removing his armor and emerging from the sacred fire of Asuyan, that pride and self-confidence almost materialized, burning and dancing like flames, as if what emerged from the sacred fire was not the former Witch King or the current Phoenix King, but themselves, the sublimation of their collective will and destiny in Duruci.

At first, the two sides got along well. The officers talked about the matter with great interest, describing, speculating, praising, and even arguing, but they did not extend the topic to practical interests, nor did they transfer their praise to themselves or others present, nor did they bring up the matter to their bloodlines and positions, thus avoiding possible conflicts or disputes.

The two men stood cautiously in the corner, feigning to look at the lake, as if attracted by the surging waves, but in reality, they were straining their ears to listen intently to the strange rhythm and guttural sounds of the Duruci's Elsalin language. They listened with great interest, while remaining sufficiently vigilant, knowing that any careless word or misinterpreted glance could lead to unforeseen trouble.

However, halfway through the journey, the atmosphere subtly changed. The officers gathered around the truck, their eyes fixed on a few pale yellow bones among the cargo.

Those were the bones of a sea monster, the skeletons that once hung from the ceiling of the bar. Though not ornate, these bones carried an aura of the sea and the passage of time, making them strange and eye-catching.

Now, due to its owner's insistence, these items have been dismantled, packed, and transported back. They are Galian's personal belongings and, according to current military and administrative regulations, are not within the scope of Duruch's requisition.

So, the conversation naturally turned to him.

Some of them, curious and doubtful, inquired with a hint of mockery about the bone's origin, while Galian was forced to step forward and, in his slightly hoarse voice, recount the proudest experience of his life. When he spoke of how he had slain a colossal beast with a harpoon in the raging sea, the officers, who had initially listened as mere tales, suddenly changed their expressions, their eyes shifting from initial mockery and scrutiny to shock and respect.

Those with ability will naturally earn respect; this is a consensus among Duruci in the new era, and an instinct ingrained in his elven blood.

When the barge docked, the officers tacitly helped them push the truck onto the dock platform.

Finally, they waved goodbye to each other and parted ways.

However, they hadn't taken more than a few steps, and hadn't completely left the dock area, when they were stopped.

A formidable squad appeared before them: a team of Sea Guards, equipped with two Edict Black Knights.

In the sea breeze, their cloaks fluttered, their armor gleamed coldly like the surging tide of night, and the heavy thuds of their footsteps pressed down on the stone pavement, as if conveying some kind of deliberately amplified warning.

Then, another black knight wearing a red belt slowly appeared with his hands behind his back. He did not approach, but stood at a distance, like a silent statue, quietly watching this scene.

If Tyrankar were present, he might recognize the Black Knight who appeared last; they had met briefly during the Chapeyuto holiday. At that time, his interaction with the lizard had drawn some displeasure and attention from Duruci, and it was this Black Knight who kindly suggested he change positions to avoid trouble.

Everyone has his own life.

Now, Tyrankar is the captain of the Great Eastern-class ships, while Duruchi, who once served as a guide, has been promoted to centurion, in charge of security and censorship in the area.

"Routine inspection."

One of the two black knights spoke in a deep voice, his tone unhurried yet imposing. As soon as he finished speaking, the sea guards dispersed, their footsteps precisely forming an encirclement around them.

Although some of them clearly recognized Cherion, and Galian also recognized several of the Sea Guards' faces, at this moment, no one dared to speak with familiarity, and the proceedings continued.

“We have proof.” Galian stood still, his tone cautious.

“If you hadn’t proven it, you wouldn’t be standing here right now, but rather…” Another black knight chuckled and spread his hands, the gesture elegant yet carrying a clear warning.

Galian didn't say anything more, but glanced at Cherion. Seeing Cherion shake his head, he didn't say anything more.

The truck was full of Galian's personal belongings.

A black knight bent down and tapped the burly skeleton that seemed to be hiding something. He put his ear close to listen and, after confirming that the sound was dull and solid, he slowly ran his fingertips along the edge of the skeleton to check for any signs of cutting, splicing, or inlaying.

Meanwhile, another black knight walked to the other side and pulled open the side panel of the wagon. The heavy wooden plank slowly lowered with the click of metal joints, revealing the objects that had been pressed under the frame: spears, shields, longswords, bows, armor... neatly arranged and well-preserved.

There was no harsh reprimand, nor was any immediate order to attack given.

The black knight who had been probing the skeleton glanced at the weapons indifferently, then looked up and calmly surveyed the surrounding sea guards. His tone was neither warm nor cold, yet it carried an unavoidable interrogation.

"You're very well-maintained. Do you know her?"

"know."

"know."

Several sea guards spoke almost simultaneously, their tone tinged with unease and wariness.

"Can you guarantee that?"

This time, the Sea Guards present did not answer immediately. They exchanged glances and finally all turned their gazes to Galian and Cherion.

They understood the implications of that statement perfectly. Acquaintance was one thing, familiarity was another, but "acquaintance" did not equate to "trust," and "guarantee" meant risking the entire family, their reputation, and even their lives.

This is not a light, empty promise, but a truly weighty vow.

Standing to the side, Cerion clearly understood the situation. He stood there and began to explain the cause and effect, as thoroughly and clearly as possible, without any concealment. Meanwhile, Galian quickly took out several documents from his baggage, including a certificate issued by the Black Knight on the west bank of the lagoon, an identity document issued to him by Duruci, and a household register showing only his household.

The Black Knight did not immediately accept the gift, but listened quietly, his gaze slowly sweeping over the two of them.

What are your plans next?

Galian was silent for a moment, then lowered his head, shook it forlornly, and responded in a low voice.

"do not know."

The Black Knight pondered for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the weapons and armor. He spoke, his tone unchanged, yet a sharp edge lurking beneath his calm.

"According to orders, weapons and armor are not allowed on the streets. Not only will they be confiscated, but you two will also..."

As he said this, he slowly pointed his finger at Cerion and Galian.

But the stern words remained unspoken; he neither uttered them nor gave the gesture to carry out the order.

During his years of study and practice at the academy, he understood that law enforcement is not simply about rigidly following regulations. Sometimes, it's crucial to strike the right balance, distinguishing between firmness when necessary and leniency when appropriate. Furthermore, there are unwritten rules, tacit consensuses, and underlying power struggles.

“So, can you guarantee that?” another Black Knight spoke up, his tone carrying a clear reminder and warning. “You need to understand that we are now bound together.”

“I can guarantee it!” Captain Haiwei glanced at Galian, then at the crowd, gritted his teeth, and took a step forward.

Under his leadership, the other guards also expressed their opinions and solemnly made their promises.

Without further hesitation, the Black Knight checked his identification, then took out a blank document from his waist and quickly began writing. Finally, at the end of the document, he signed his name and pressed his right thumb.

The bright red fingerprints stood out on the paper, like a silent vow.

He then handed the certificate to another Black Knight, who took it, checked it carefully, and after confirming that it was correct, repeated the same signing and fingerprinting process.

However, the certificate was not immediately handed over to Galian.

It was first passed around among the guards present, with each person signing their name and pressing their fingerprint on it. This circulation was not for formalities, but to make everyone understand that this piece of paper was not just paper, but a shared responsibility and risk.

Finally, the Black Knight walked up to Galian, handed over the certificate with both hands, and said in a calm tone.

“This certificate will allow you to pass through the dock area.” Just as Garian reached out to take the paper, he suddenly took a step closer, lowered his voice, and whispered the instructions.

"Don't cause trouble!"

“I promise!” Galian said firmly as he took the certificate.

"Horses can be rented there. Have a pleasant journey." The black knight pointed to a brand-new building that looked like a post station in the distance.

Galian looked in the direction he was pointing and saw the officers from the ship gathered there. Some were waiting in line, while others had already mounted their horses or carriages and were heading into the distance along the paved road, leaving a thin trail in the damp morning air.

The Black Knight then nodded, took a step back, and gave a blank salute as a farewell and a form of etiquette. He gestured to the sea guards behind him, indicating that they could proceed and assist in slowly pushing the heavy truck across the inspection line.

After the process was completed, the aloof and cold-looking black knight centurion who had initially appeared in the distance had vanished without a trace, as if he were just a shadow who had happened to pass by and disappeared into the edge of the world after completing his duties.

After waving goodbye to the sea guards once again, the two rented two packhorses and, after confirming that the direction and route were correct, set off again to continue this journey that was both realistic and absurd.

“From what I’ve heard, it’s a 1 to 10 exchange rate.” Cherion, sitting next to the driver, suddenly broke the silence, his tone low and filled with a sense of suppressed frustration and a sigh of helplessness.

“You mean…” Galian, holding the reins, frowned slightly, his tone revealing a hint of disbelief.

“Duruci, one.” Cherion nodded, his tone slow and heavy, like a dull knife scratching paper.

"We're ten?"

Cherion nodded again, his expression complex, as if he were chewing on a fact that was hard for him to accept.

"Have……"

“No! No! Not at the moment!” Cherion interrupted directly, seemingly having already anticipated what Galian was going to say, his tone revealing a rare sharpness.

Upon hearing this, Galian breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders slightly.

The journey then fell silent for a time, with only the rhythmic sound of horses' hooves and wheels rolling on the road echoing in their ears, monotonous and repetitive, like the drumbeats of some kind of destiny, striking their nerves one after another.

Until they reached the edge of the residential area.

Just like last time, they went through another round of tedious but necessary checks and inquiries. Only after obtaining a pass stamped with the Black Knight and Sea Guard's signatures and handprints were they allowed to continue.

“If…” Galian started to speak, but he didn’t finish his sentence.

“No ifs!” Cherion suddenly looked up, a fierce glint flashing in his eyes like an unprecedented dagger, instantly piercing the hesitation in the air.

Knowing he had touched on a sensitive topic, Garian gave an awkward laugh, shrugged, and shrank back like a cat that had done something wrong, averting his gaze and focusing on continuing to drive the truck.

However, Cherion had no intention of ending the conversation. His gaze fell on Galian's face, staring at him with a strange and scrutinizing look, as if he were hesitating, struggling, or wanting to say something that had been weighing on his mind for a long time.

A slight wavering appeared in his heart.

He had just returned to Lorthern the day before yesterday and had been given a short break. Before leaving the western shore of the lagoon, he had visited the Golden Lion Bar, where he learned that Galian needed a temporary place to stay and change his plans because the bar had been taken over. So he agreed, partly as a favor and partly as a gesture of brotherhood.

But now, he has some regrets.

Unlike Galian, who was alone, he had a family, not just parents, wife and children, but a whole extended family.

Although he did not leave his fingerprints on the travel permit, he and his family will not escape punishment if something goes wrong.

"I was just curious... I'm sorry..." Sensing the suppressed anger in Cherion's eyes, Garian spoke quickly, his tone hesitant and apologetic, his voice lower and softer than usual.

“If you take out your weapon now, you will die, I will die, my family will die, and those Black Knights and Sea Guards who left their handprints… will also be implicated.” Cherion lowered his voice, his tone frighteningly calm, as if stating some established law of nature.

In other words, elves don't use gunpowder, and there's no word for "fuse" in the Elsalin language, otherwise...

“I know, I know, I was just curious, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to do anything, everything is fine now, isn’t it?” Garian explained quickly, speaking rapidly, as if afraid that Cherion would misunderstand his true intentions.

“Yes, everything is fine now, so! You know that!” Cherion’s eyes narrowed, his tone like a knife hidden in its sheath.

"What they were talking about on the ship..." Galian tried to change the subject, asking tentatively in a very low voice, as if afraid the wind would hear him.

“It’s true.” A glint of memory appeared in Cherion’s eyes. “At the banquet that afternoon, I saw Malekith emerge from the sacred flame with my own eyes. I saw the nobles surrounding him, and their expressions were not feigned. I could feel the genuine joy and excitement of those dignitaries.”

“The fire of Asuyan, I really can’t believe it…” Galian murmured, his eyes somewhat unfocused, “We were before…” He shook his head and sighed deeply at the end.

Then, there was another long silence.

Only the "click-clack" of the carriage wheels hitting the stone pavement echoed in the air, monotonous yet steady, until the carriage was stopped again for a routine inspection and a new pass was issued.

However, this time, they did not leave immediately.

Unlike the spacious and unobstructed dock area and residential area before, the roads here are extremely congested.

In the middle of the road, a black-clad knight stood firmly at the crossroads. He would sometimes raise his left hand, displaying a green sign to signal vehicles to proceed; other times he would turn and raise a red sign in his right hand, ordering oncoming traffic to stop. His movements were swift and decisive, without hesitation, like a military command.

Not only were there horse-drawn carriages, but also a large number of Asur pedestrians.

The pedestrians were orderly and silent, as if they had become accustomed to this arrangement. Everyone obeyed the Black Knight's instructions, either moving forward or stopping, without any complaints or disobedience.

At a glance, Asur, who came from three directions, was moving in another direction at a predetermined pace, while those returning from that direction were almost all carrying supplies on their shoulders or carrying heavy bags and cans in their hands.

Everything was so orderly, as if Duruci had never been in Lorthorn.

Sitting in the car, Garian watched all this. He knew that the bags being carried were canvas sacks filled with flour; while those being carried in their hands were either sealed cans of food, charcoal, or other daily necessities. He knew this because he had received similar supplies before, except he didn't have to wait in line; Duruci would deliver them to his door.

But soon, he noticed something was amiss.

"Where are the men?" he asked instinctively, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“Dulucci is expanding the North Wharf, and they were conscripted there,” Cherion replied calmly, but a hint of something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “They get paid daily. Some of the women were also assigned to sell supplies, and they get paid daily as well.” He nodded at the women carrying sacks of flour as he finished speaking.

Galian looked towards the North Wharf. They were currently on a higher slope with an exceptionally clear and unobstructed view. He could clearly see the North Wharf in the distance, with figures moving about, like a giant beast awakening from its slumber.

When he finally saw the true state of the North Wharf, he gasped, his throat tightened, and his pupils contracted sharply.

“They…” His voice was dry, and he only managed to say half of what he wanted to say.

"They're organizing the first wave of attack." Cherion glanced over there, then looked away, his brow furrowed and his expression filled with undisguised worry as he spoke these words in a low voice.

North Pier.

Large numbers of Durucci soldiers were orderly assembling at the dock to board ships. Their armor gleamed with a dark metallic sheen in the sunlight, and their weapons swayed with each movement, creating a flowing forest of steel. In the distance, on the sea, groups of ships were slowly sailing, waiting, and forming formations, like a symphony about to unfold at sea.

After watching for a moment, Galian slowly turned to look at Cerion, his expression full of confusion and unease. However, Cerion simply shook his head, his face grave, indicating that he knew nothing about the matter either.

"Isn't Haiwei going to participate in the attack?" Galian asked in a low voice, as if afraid of alerting something.

“The Asur navy is not in the attack sequence. We seem to have other missions, specifically…” Cherion lowered his voice and leaned closer, “I’ve heard some rumors that our mission is to continue protecting the colony and ensuring that the interests of the elves are not harmed.”

“An elf?” Galian repeated, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yes, elf!” Cherion nodded, his tone slightly helpless. “This seemed to be the will of the Son of Matheran, but everything changed after Malekith emerged from the sacred fire. The naval commanders’ idea was to join the attack to secure their future political influence and status.” He finished speaking and sighed softly.

He paused briefly, then changed the subject.

"What are your plans next?"

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” Galian shrugged, gazing into the distance. “You know, I have a lot of money right now, but I don’t know what to do with it. My home is in Lorthern, and I don’t want to leave. And ultimately, money doesn’t seem that important to me. I just want to find something I can do, something that gives me purpose.”

Cherion did not mock Galian at all, because he knew there was no exaggeration or hypocrisy in Galian's words; he was telling the truth.

Since retiring, this former soldier has seemed quite lost.

That said, it was he who suggested opening a tavern, even though he didn't invest a single penny, and he never expected that Garian would open the tavern in such a strange location.

"Fight for the Phoenix King?" he suddenly asked, as if testing the waters, or perhaps joking.

“Me?” Galian blinked, momentarily incredulous. He wanted to laugh, but ultimately held it back; this wasn’t the occasion.

Ten minutes later, traffic at the intersection finally resumed, and the carriage slowly moved again, its wheels rolling on the paved road with a dull and continuous sound, seemingly symbolizing the heartbeat of this ancient city.

After two more checks and a long wait, they were finally nearing their destination, Cerion's home.

But the carriage did not go directly to Cerion's house; instead, it went around the corner and headed in another direction.

Galian sat in the wagon, knowing his equipment had to be securely fastened inside; he had to guard it himself. He sat there, his eyes following Cerion as he slowly returned carrying a small sack of flour and some supplies.

He lightly jumped off the carriage, skillfully took the supplies, and carefully placed them in the carriage.

"wait for me a while."

After saying that, Cherion turned and left.

Galian didn't ask any further questions, but continued placing the supplies. He knew that this batch of supplies was being distributed free of charge, allocated to residents in minimum quantities based on population and needs.

This time the wait was much longer than before.

He sat in the car, watching from afar as Cherion moved slowly through the procession, talking to the Asur women responsible for selling the goods—they wore uniform red uniforms with Assati badges on their chests, their movements efficient yet gentle.

After a long wait, Cerion finally returned.

He carried two heavy sacks of flour on his shoulders, with a large piece of raw meat hanging from them. He held two cloth bags in each hand, but what caught the eye most were the two live chickens he carried, their wings flapping and emitting short squawks as they struggled to escape their restraints.

Galian couldn't help but smile, not with sarcasm, but with a touch of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a feeling of deep emotion or reflection).

This is Lortherne now, different from before, yet still alive.

Galian jumped off the carriage again and took the heavy load of supplies. After receiving the first bag, he glanced inside as usual. It was neatly stacked with canned and bottled drinks, liquor, candy, and fresh exotic fruit, a vibrant mix of colors and the aroma of tin and fruit. The other bag was bulging and heavy, like a lump of iron, filled with charcoal and kindling.

"enough?"

After skillfully loading the supplies onto the cart, he patted his chest, the sound not loud, but accompanied by the crisp clatter of coins.

"not enough."

Cherion replied casually, patting his chest in response. It was another soft rustling sound, only softer. Then, he looked at Garian, his tone tinged with helplessness.

“They limit the amount you can buy based on the number of family members. I wanted to buy more, but they wouldn’t sell to me.” He shrugged. “Let’s go. These, plus our previous reserves, should last us two months.”

“I…” Galian raised his hand and pointed to the sales point not far away, as if to say that he could go there again.

“You need to register before you can buy anything. Go back first.” Cherion interrupted him, his tone calm but revealing his familiarity with the system and procedures.

Cerion's home is a typical Assur commoner's house—a standard apartment building, and from some angles, it could also be described as a simple urban villa.

To paraphrase Dakota, it was—'Rome'.

This two-story building has exterior walls on all four sides. The white walls and red tiles still show their former glory in the setting sun. However, with the passage of time, the tiles have faded slightly, and the walls have become mottled. There is only one door on the front of the building, and people live upstairs and downstairs, each with their own separate entrance.

There was a small garden in the center of the ground floor with an olive tree in the middle, but in the current tense situation, Cerion's family has converted it into a chicken farm, and the clucking poultry have become one of the sources of meat and eggs for the family.

With the combined efforts of Galian, Cerion, and Cerion's family, the carriage was pushed into the ground-floor storeroom, its heavy wheels creaking on the stone floor. Sweets were distributed to the children, and supplies were carefully moved into the kitchen, neatly stacked and categorized. The weapons and armor were locked away by Cerion himself in chests deep within the storeroom. Not entirely at ease, he even added a double lock to the storeroom, checking it repeatedly to ensure nothing went wrong.

Once everything was settled, they left home again to begin the second round of their mission.

This time, Cerion first helped Galian complete the residency registration procedures, and everything proceeded smoothly. Afterward, he took Galian back to the sales area and helped him purchase his personal quota of supplies.

Once everything was finally over, they returned home and put the supplies away.

Finally, they went together to the nearest rental shop to return the horses. The handover was completed cleanly and efficiently, and then they began their journey home on foot.

As the sun set, the two walked silently on the stone path, their steps steady.

In the evening, after all of Cerion's family had returned, dinner began, with twelve people dining including Galian. However, Cerion's family consisted of more than just these; three others were serving in the army and were not at home.

The dinner was simple yet warm. First, Galian was welcomed, followed by the usual time for sharing. The family members began to talk about what they had seen and heard that day, their work at the North Wharf, or their experiences in the sales area—many things that were trivial yet full of life.

After dinner, Galian was seated in a guest room on the second floor, where the window faced the North Wharf, offering a superb view.

Under the cover of night, he sat alone by the window, watching the distant Truc warship maneuvering in the dim light, the flames on its deck reflected like a dense array of stars on the water.

He sat there quietly, his mind racing with thoughts, and he couldn't close his eyes all night.

The next morning, just as he was preparing to take a nap to make up for the exhaustion of the night, a sudden noise broke the tranquility of the apartment.

He hurried downstairs and saw a sea helmet standing at the door talking to Cerion, his expression urgent and his tone low. Before he could even greet him, the sea helmet mounted his horse and galloped away.

Cerion turned around and met Galian's gaze. He nodded to Galian and came to his side.

"I have a mission. I need to report for duty the day after tomorrow morning. My vacation is over early." There was no dissatisfaction in his tone; instead, it conveyed a sense of anticipation and a soldier's sense of belonging.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Galian replied calmly. He didn’t ask about the mission details or inquire about any specifics; he simply stated his decision with a sharp gaze.

"what?"

"Fight for the Phoenix King!" Galian's voice was firm, not loud, but on this ordinary morning, it sounded like a vow, resounding deep within our hearts. (End of Chapter)