Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Half an hour ago, Asaniel, who had barely managed to close his eyes in the middle of the night, was abruptly dragged out of his sleep by a rough but unavoidable shout.

The sound wasn't just a simple wake-up call; it was more like a hook that suddenly pulled him from the deep sea to the surface, tearing apart the last remaining moment of tranquility.

He opened his eyes, which were bloodshot and unusually empty. There was no trace of morning grumpiness or drowsiness in that emptiness; those emotions had been forcibly suppressed, as if sealed in his heart by a heavy iron plate.

At this moment, every gear of his mind was being forced to turn, producing a dry but steady grinding sound.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched, staring intently at the attendant who was bending down to wake him. The candlelight flickered inside the tent, casting intermittent light and shadow on his taut face.

When he heard the brief but heavy words, "Truucci is here," he showed neither shock nor erupted in fury like a volcano, nor did he panic.

He simply nodded blankly, as if this moment had been rehearsed countless times in his mind, like an old scene unearthed from a nightmare, only in a different place and at a different time.

Without any unnecessary movements, he slowly rose, as if every joint carried a weight, and walked towards the equipment rack placed to the side. The metal and leather gleamed with a cold light, like some silent beast in the interplay of night and candlelight, holding its breath and waiting for its master to don its fangs and armor.

Five minutes later, with the skilled and hurried assistance of his entourage, Asaniel emerged from the tent fully armed.

Even before he appeared, news of Duruci's arrival spread like wildfire through the cracks in the camp. The bugle calls were short and urgent, like drumbeats urging the heart to beat faster, accompanied by heavy footsteps and chaotic shouts, rising and falling like countless waves colliding with each other.

The scene before them was like a pot of boiling water that had been ignited in an instant: some soldiers were already fully armed and quickly lined up under the leadership of their officers. Their movements were crisp and efficient, and the sounds of weapons clashing and their neat commands intertwined. Others were still hurriedly tidying up their armor, frantically loading their bows and arrows or tightening their sword belts. Some even had dry rations in their mouths and were haphazardly fastening the buckles on their armor plates.

This state appears orderly, yet it is still mixed with chaos.

This is not surprising, as the army was hastily assembled from various families. Some had received years of training and could complete their full armor in a half-asleep state; others were being so abruptly awakened for the first time that they needed help even to fasten their breastplates and couldn't even tell which side their quiver was on.

The people of Caledo are proud, but their pride is not blind arrogance.

They are by no means stupid.

That day, Leandera, who suddenly appeared in the cave, clearly explained the impending crisis with her words. Not taking action would be tantamount to etching shame on one's forehead.

That was a humiliation more unbearable than death.

Last night, this hastily assembled force of nearly three thousand men, placed under the command of Asanir, arrived near the Val's Anvil, preparing to deploy around the area. Combined with the existing defensive forces of various families already stationed there, the total strength now exceeds five thousand.

This is just the first wave; more troops will be added here later, but that's a matter for today and beyond.

These five thousand men were the first and last shield wall standing in front of Duruqi.

Asaniel took a deep breath, the cool air in his chest instantly clearing his mind. He raised his hand and waved it slightly.

The attendants immediately understood, raised the horn, and sounded the assembly call for the generals.

Before long, the first to arrive were the officers stationed at the outpost.

Upon discovering the enemy's presence, the officer immediately spurred his horse and galloped back to camp to relay the message.

"How many people?" Asanir asked in a low voice, his tone low but firm.

“Many.” The officer’s voice trembled slightly with suppressed emotion.

Asanir's fist clenched slightly, his knuckles turning white. What he feared most had come to pass.

"What do you mean by a lot? How much exactly?" He gritted his teeth, but still tried his best to remain calm.

"A black ark, more than sixty iron-hulled ships, and at the very front were several strangely shaped vessels... I have no idea what they were for." The officer frowned, his eyes filled with helplessness.

"They're definitely for landing! Otherwise, why would they be at the forefront?" Astarion, who arrived later, interjected impatiently, his tone laced with anger.

"Could you be more specific?" Another dragon prince accompanying them asked in a cold voice, clearly filled with doubt about the situation. He pressed the officer for more details.

The officer shook his head and sighed helplessly; clearly, the information was limited.

Asanir frowned, making a decision in an instant. He turned to look at Astarion, his voice firm and unwavering.

"Uncle, I'll leave this to you and go investigate."

Astarion did not refuse, but nodded vigorously, responding with unwavering certainty. Before Asaniel arrived, as the dragon prince, he was the backbone of this place, shouldering the heavy responsibility of guarding the Vaal Anvil.

In terms of family relations, Astarion is the younger brother of Aserion, who in turn is the father of Assanil. The Sarn family's territory is located on the western slopes where the crater and the dragon spine mountain range meet, bordering the Kingdom of Tyrannolog to the west and facing the vast ocean. It is a land of abundant water and fertile soil.

The important town of Tar Sarn, a stronghold of the Kingdom of Caledon, stands majestically here, and Sarn is also the surname of this ancient family.

Just as the Angrel family runs Angrel, the second largest city in the Kingdom of Ithaan, the Saln family is equally proud of their territory.

Since the Sarn family was located quite close to the Vaal Anvil, the responsibility of defending this crucial location naturally fell on their shoulders. This was one of the reasons Asanir was sent there, but another, more important reason, was that he had a powerful dragon companion.

Asanir, who had finished giving instructions on military affairs and was about to leave, suddenly stopped, as if recalling some important detail. He turned back, his gaze solemn as he looked at his uncle, who was still standing there, his tone carrying an undeniable air of authority.

“Organize that group of Valhalla priests, if necessary…”

“I know!” A sharp glint flashed in Astaroth’s eyes. He nodded again, his resolve unwavering.

Asanir nodded slightly, then turned and left.

However, just as he took a step, he suddenly heard a hurried and firm call in his ear, carrying a hint of sternness and concern that could not be ignored.

"Asanir! Remember, return immediately after completing your reconnaissance. Do not act rashly!"

At this moment, Astarión felt an indescribable emotion welling up inside him, like the oppressive feeling before a storm, a feeling that was hard to bear but impossible to express. All he could do was to use these words of advice to transform his heavy unease and worry into a concise and powerful admonition, and pass it on to his proud and stubborn nephew.

“I know.” Asanir’s voice was short and firm. He didn’t turn around, but just turned his head slightly to give a firm response.

As soon as he finished speaking, he quickly left.

"And so I became employed by Prince Remas, and standing beside me stood the elven lord Azanil and his dragon—Death Fang. Azanil had told me that Death Fang was merely a crude translation of the dragon's true name. Perhaps so, but I dare say the name couldn't be more fitting. Countless enemies have been crushed and burned by its fiery breath, not to mention its fangs and claws—I've lost count."

The Fang of Death is larger than a townhouse and more fortified than a fortress. I've seen a cannonball bounce off its scales, and what surprised me most was its sense of humor.

In one battle, we faced a group of green-skinned monsters dressed in black and yellow, whom the soldiers called night goblins. Among them was a madman wielding a flail, who almost charged into our lines. At the critical moment, Death Fang descended from the sky, grabbed the small, screaming man by the back of the neck, and threw him back into his own ranks. The ensuing chaos sent the goblins screaming and fleeing in all directions.

In the air, I heard a low, guttural 'whoosh—' sound, and realized that the Fang of Death was looking down at the night goblins who were scattering in all directions… It was laughing. The goblins heard it too. A dragon's contemptuous laughter nearly shattered their morale, and they all fled in disarray.

—Sergeant Uller, Carloburg War Dog Regiment
Victory was finally within reach, but without warning, a colossal green dragon descended from the sky, blocking our path. Its teeth were like scythes, and its nostrils spewed a foul, bile-like green mist. And on its back sat a proud warrior. That was our first encounter with Azanil…

—Excerpt from "The Glorious Adventures of Günter Friesheim"

The Fang of Death—meaning "revenge from the heavens" in the ancient Elsarin language—bears a striking resemblance in appearance and breath to the forest dragons that roam the Elsin Alwyn Forest.

However, it is not.

Death Fang is not a forest dragon, but a real fire dragon, which underwent some mysterious mutation in some unknown era.

At least, that's what Death's Fang believes.

At this moment, he seemed to already sense the impending war. Just moments ago he had been curled up in a light sleep, enjoying a comfortable rest, but now he was alert and awake. His limbs were firmly planted on the ground, his enormous dragon wings were slightly spread, and his tail rhythmically slapped the ground, producing a dull thud.

This is his signature standby stance, a declaration: everything is ready, and we are ready to fight at any time!

Asanir glanced at his companion, shook his head and refused the rations and water bag offered by the squire, instead asking in a deep voice.

"Wine." The attendant's lips twitched slightly, revealing a reluctant expression, but he still slowly untied the heavy wine bag from his waist.

However, before his hand could reach Asaniel, the eager hand had already grabbed it first.

The next instant, the wine bag was twisted open, and a strong aroma and heat of wine rushed out. Asaniel tilted his head back and drank it down. A stream of scalding wine burned down his throat and into his chest cavity, while some spilled out from the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin and neck, leaving several dark marks on the surface of his armor.

"Comfortable!"

He uttered the word heavily, as if using alcohol to dispel the gloom in his heart. The wine pouch was roughly shoved back into the henchman's hands, the metal armor making a soft sound against the leather, and then he roared, making the air around him seem to tighten for a moment.

Prior to this, he had been in a low spirits and looked exhausted.

When he sang the Dragon Song in the cave, he poured out a great deal of strength and energy, each chant seemingly draining his very soul. After emerging from the cave, he didn't even have a moment to catch his breath before being forced into a new emergency—raising an army, assembling personnel, issuing orders, delivering messages… each step felt like a boulder pressing down on his shoulders.

Immediately afterwards, without any rest, they marched to this place.

This bag of spicy and strong liquor, like a flame, burned from his throat all the way to his heart, forcefully reawakening his almost extinguished spirit. In that instant, he even felt a ringing in his ears, his blood becoming scalding hot, and his breath carrying waves of heat.

He shook his head, wiping away the spilled wine from the corner of his mouth. The aroma of wine and the metallic scent mingled on his armor, carrying an aura of impending battle.

Then, he strode onto the back of Death's Fang, his armor scraping against the scales with a low creak. Seated on the throne, he reached for the heavy chains, securing himself firmly to the seat.

In the air, even a sudden swoop from the back of a dragon is enough to throw a careless knight off.

Meanwhile, his entourage had already prepared his dragon spear, which gleamed like a long thunderbolt in the night.

Reconnaissance was certainly part of the mission, but he was never the type to just watch without taking action. For him, there was no clear dividing line between reconnaissance and attack.

"Fang of Death, let's go!" He raised his dragon spear high, his voice like the beating of a war drum signaling the start of a campaign.

the other side……

Alalos originally turned around just to check the battlefield situation, but what came into view was a scene that was... indescribable to him.

Above the black ark, the churning spectacle made him instinctively think of a phrase—"seafood feast."

He thought about it carefully and felt that although the description was absurd, it seemed strangely accurate. Even if it wasn't accurate, he really couldn't find any other suitable words to replace it.

Since his encounter with Darkus, he thought he had seen a great deal and that the wonders of the world would no longer surprise him. However, what he saw before him once again overturned his understanding.

He couldn't understand why these sea creatures, which should only be swimming in the deep sea, would appear in the sky.

Why can crabs leap so fast through the air?
Why can sharks, eels, sea turtles... swim in the air, as if the sky is another vast ocean?
“Landcraft.” Tyrande glanced back slowly and offered his answer.

"Landcraft?" Alalos squinted and repeated.

“Yes, Land-based device, the name Darkus gave it.” Tyrandeur said with a hint of helplessness, “But I’ve always felt that this term is inaccurate. Logically, it should be called Air-based device.”

"Whatever they're called, why can these sea monsters fly?" Alalos's doubts didn't lessen; in fact, they deepened.

At this moment, Tyrandor's gaze was no longer lingering on the sea, but turned to the first pass—or more precisely, the outpost. Below the outpost, the Evil Guards were advancing with difficulty and speed, while the outpost itself had long been abandoned by the soldiers who had originally been stationed there.

"It's the function of the Land-based Traveler. Once activated, it transfers the properties of seawater into the air. This is why sea creatures that originally lived in the sea can move in the air as if they were in the sea. If you look closely, you'll see that they are not flying, but swimming."

Tyrandor spoke as if he were giving a lecture, with an air of matter-of-fact calm.

After saying that, he was about to turn around and observe the barge to check on the army's progress.

However, just as he was about to turn his head, a huge, almost sky-covering black shadow slowly emerged from the other side of the mountain.

"Stop staring at that damned landcraft, and forget about those sea monsters, the enemy is coming!"

The Fang of Death carried Asanir straight up the mountainside, its dragon wings slicing through the air with deafening roars. The wind high above lashed at his armor like knives, causing his cloak and the tail of his dragon spear to flutter wildly in the gale. Just as they soared over the mountain peak, their vision suddenly opened up, as if stepping from a dark cave into the boundless sky.

Asanil squinted and began his reconnaissance. He immediately spotted the massive, pieced-together barges, which to him resembled huge, stitched-together corpses floating on the sea. Countless black dots moved densely along the barge hulls and connecting channels, like a swarm of ants crawling on candied bread, but he knew very well that they were not ants.

Those are soldiers.

Soldiers preparing to disembark.

Soldiers preparing to attack the Val's Anvil.

Every step they took brought them closer to the flames of war.

A cold smile curled at the corner of Asanir's lips. Before he could speak, Death Fang seemed to read his mind, suddenly folding its wings and swooping down towards the sea. Its entire body resembled a green spear, aimed directly at the barge. The dragon scales rubbed violently against the air, creating a low rumble, like the prelude to a battle.

A fierce wind swept over them as Asanir laughed loudly on the dragon's back. His laughter echoed long in the wind, carrying a chilling sense of pleasure.

Once the dragon is in position and unleashes its breath, what awaits these enemies is utter death!
Time is running out!
If these enemies had any self-awareness, they would have better jump into the icy waters before the dragon arrived, avoiding the inescapable line of death and the dragon's breath that could turn flesh and bone to ashes.

However, just as he gripped the dragon spear tightly, breathing heavily, and awaiting the arrival of that strike, his smile suddenly froze.

In an instant, the smile vanished like a flame suddenly extinguished, frozen completely beneath his helmet. An incredulous look spread across his eyes; he even wondered if the alcohol had clouded his judgment.

He instinctively reached out to rub his eyes, but the helmet blocked the connection between his hand and eyes, so he could only blink repeatedly, but the scene in front of him did not disappear.

Was he drunk?

No... absolutely not.

That was a reality so clear it was almost chilling.

At the edge of his vision, an extremely absurd yet cruelly real scene was rapidly approaching!

The longtailed war shark has a dorsal fin like a knife and a long, narrow tail like a whip, which it whips rapidly through the air. Its gaping maw reveals rows of serrated teeth that gleam metallically in the sunlight, resembling neatly arranged butcher knives.

The giant tortoises followed closely behind, their shells so thick they seemed capable of cracking mountains. The shells were covered with scars and marks from previous barnacle attachments, like an ancient city wall that had withstood countless baptisms. Every time they swung their limbs, they carried a heavy feeling that seemed to crush the air.

Groups of sharp-toothed eels swam around them, their bodies long and eerie, their gleaming teeth appearing and disappearing in mid-air, each time they opened their mouths, they seemed capable of biting through steel.

The Demon Crab... it was an absolute monster. Its claws were so huge that they could crush a ship's mast, and its hard shell was like that of obsidian. It swung its giant claws and moved rapidly through the air with a ferocious aura.

There is another eel-like creature with a pair of forelimbs ending in sharp claws that can tear flesh, and spiral horns on its head that it can use to kill prey and enemies; it has rows of sharp teeth, and its hind limbs end in a whip-like tail. Its body rolls in the wind like a tide, and with each light step of its tail, the surrounding air ripples like water.

These sea creatures have no wings, yet they swiftly swam through the air with fluid movements, as if the seawater had been invisibly moved into the sky, and they were the overlords among them.

Each one was larger than a small boat, and every roar seemed to shake the boundary between heaven and sea. Moreover, on the backs of these sea beasts were firmly fixed the poised Duruchi warriors and cold ballistae. The ballistae gleamed with a blinding cold light in the sunlight, as if they had already locked onto their prey, waiting only for a command to unleash death.

Asanir's heart tightened suddenly; the battlefield was forcibly dragged into a dimension he had never imagined. The boundary between sky and sea was completely blurred at this moment, and the enemy combined sea monsters with aerial combat power into a completely new form of slaughter.

The Fang of Death roared low beneath him, a thunderous resonance rumbling deep in its throat. Its scales stood on end, reflecting a cold, metallic light—its instinctive response to the threat. He could feel the taut muscles of its back, like a giant bow drawn to its limit.

Fortunately, he was still a sufficient distance from these sea monsters, and the planned dive attack had not been completely disrupted. Soon, he and the Fang of Death would be able to unleash the first wave of breath, turning the soldiers and ballistae densely packed on the barge into ashes.

After this wave of attacks ends...

However, right now.

A high-pitched cry of a giant eagle pierced the air, drilling straight into his eardrums and shattering the plan that had surfaced in his mind. (End of Chapter)