Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Ever since Eldan entered the meeting hall and took his seat, his gaze and attention had been fixed on Darkus. Almost from the very first moment, he seemed to be drawn in by an invisible force, unable to look away.

On the way there, Miserion had given him some instructions, reminding him of details and words to be mindful of, and even admonishing him more than once to remain restrained and cautious in front of Dakota. But when he actually stepped into the imposing meeting hall, he quickly realized that there was a subtle discrepancy between Miserion's words and his own perception.

That discrepancy gave him an uneasy intuition: what Miserion said was merely the surface, and Dakota's true aura was far deeper and more dangerous than his words conveyed.

As a lord, his instincts and intuition had long been honed by the years and countless political struggles. He could keenly sense the indescribable oppressive aura emanating from Dakos—a kind of control that wasn't outwardly visible but pervasive in the air. It was the aura of a monarch or a butcher, enough to make everyone present unconsciously adjust their breathing and even slow their heartbeats.

As a warrior, his perception was more direct. He could feel the power within Dakos that could be unleashed at any moment, like a colossal beast roaming within a crater.

The mere existence of it is enough to send chills down one's spine and send a shiver down one's spine.

He even had the illusion that, if Darkus wanted, he himself would die in the next second. There would be no struggle, no resistance, not even a chance to draw his sword; his fate would be severed in an instant.

Perhaps this is why the equally powerful twins, after the meeting ended, were about to stand behind Darkus, but were politely refused by him with a smile.

As for why he was standing behind Darkus?

The answer speaks for itself.

Of course, it's to guard against him.

“They may have talked about me on your way here, and Miserion may have told you something, but out of courtesy, I should still introduce myself: Daquus, Daquus Helban.”

After saying that, Dakotas added something that seemed casual but carried immense weight.

"From Krakrond!"

When the word "Krakkarond" appeared, Eldan's heart tightened suddenly, as if an invisible hand had gripped his chest, causing him to almost suffocate. It felt like a secret deep within his heart, sealed away and painstakingly hidden, had suddenly and ruthlessly been ripped open.

He could clearly feel Michelion's gaze fixed upon him, a gaze filled with undisguised surprise and questioning, like sharp arrows piercing his skin. He instinctively panicked, his mind buzzing, even forgetting to breathe, and almost reflexively stood up. His voice trembling with unease, he introduced himself.

"Eldan Aidan, from the Kingdom of Elion, Tar Ariel."

As soon as he finished speaking, he realized that his actions were too abrupt, but by then it was too late.

"Sit down, don't be so formal. This is like another home for you, isn't it?"

Darkus gestured with his hand, his tone calm and reassuring, the gesture seemingly casual yet containing undeniable power.

Eldan's throat bobbed, and he nodded with difficulty, sitting back down under the oppressive gaze. But before he could fully recover, Darkus spoke.

What happened then?

This seemingly casual remark, spoken in a low voice, was sharp and incisive, like a slender blade gently slicing through the air. No time was mentioned, no place was specified, and no one was named—the three essential elements were missing.

But it is precisely this that makes the statement all the more heavy and dangerous; it is like a sharp blade hanging in mid-air, quietly waiting for Eldan to face it.

As expected, Eldan's expression instantly darkened after those words were spoken. His face grew increasingly serious, his eyes flickered, and his entire body tensed like a string about to snap, with even fine veins appearing on his forehead. Tension, fear, and repression surged in his chest, making him almost unable to sit still.

"I...I..." he stammered, his voice hoarse, as if a sharp blade was stuck in his throat, making it difficult to utter a complete sentence. Subconsciously, he first looked at Miseria, then turned to Darkus, only to meet a pair of deep, unfathomable, calm eyes. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he still couldn't muster the courage to say them.

On his way to the Kingdom of Safri, he couldn't help but inquire about his brother from all over the delegation.

Unfortunately, regret always lingers.

He didn't get a definite answer from Liver and Finrel. He could sense that they did know something, but that knowledge was vague, like something seen through a fog, far from enough.

On the contrary, the Twilight Sisters gave him a more straightforward and clear impression—they knew absolutely nothing. That undisguised bewilderment offered Eldan no solace whatsoever.

His attention inevitably turned to Springtwin.

In contrast, this time the feeling was much stronger. He could clearly sense that the humanoid dragon did know something, and might even have grasped the key. But Springtwin remained silent throughout, only giving him a meaningful, ambiguous, almost unreadable look at one particular moment.

After that, they completely ignored him.

This indifference and concealment tormented Eldan to the point of mental anguish. The more he craved answers and was shut out, the more intense his inner pain became.

“He…he…” At this moment, he looked at Darkus with an almost pleading gaze, his voice trembling slightly.

"Darkness, pain, sorrow, anger, hatred, light..."

Darkus first slightly pursed his lips, a faint hint of coldness appearing at the corner of his mouth. Then, he suddenly changed his tone, mimicking Tolandil's unique intonation, and began to chant softly.

He remembered those long, dark terrors, and even longer, chilling fears. He remembered the excruciating pain that sent chills down his spine, the nightmarish figure clad in iron armor, eyes burning with fire, staring at him with a chilling curiosity, whispering in a language he couldn't understand. And the terrifying woman, with raven-black hair and the face of an enchanter, who tormented him day and night, crushing him with decadent pleasure and unspeakable humiliation until he was filled with utter disgust and loathing.

Night after night, he was violated, tossing and turning between physical weakness and mental torment. His body bore no physical scars, but indelible nightmares were etched into the depths of his soul. These nightmares, like the tentacles of shadows, relentlessly clung to his soul, tearing and oppressing him, making it hard to breathe. He was pushed into an abyss of madness that no mortal should ever touch, teetering on the edge of it time and again, until the last vestige of his reason crumbled, teetering on the brink of collapse…

"That's enough, don't say any more!"

Eldan finally let out a roar that was almost a howl, his voice hoarse with anger and pain, like the cry of a torn beast. He tried to stand up abruptly to escape this torment, but in that instant, a hand gently but irresistibly pressed down on his arm.

He looked down and suddenly realized he couldn't move. It wasn't a physical suppression, but a more eerie sense of confinement—his body had been stripped of its ownership, leaving him an empty shell. He tried to struggle, but found that apart from his eyeballs being able to move slightly, his entire body was completely frozen in his seat.

"He screamed at the top of his lungs until he forgot his own name and his past, and forgot all memories of the past."

Darkus's voice sounded unusually calm at this moment, like a deep bell, echoing deep in Eldan's eardrums.

"His mind was completely severed from history; he was reduced to an empty shell of flesh and bones. Without intellect, without reason, without memory, only a blank void remained. The tentacles of magic wriggled in his heart, cold and cunning, slowly slipping in like venomous snakes, planting seeds of darkness."

His tone suddenly became heavier, each word like a heavy hammer striking Eldan's heart.

"Only emotions remain: anger! hatred! and fear!"

Those three words burned like fire in Eldan's ears, and his tears could no longer be held back. They rolled down his cheeks, forming a cold mark on his cheekbone and jaw.

"And when his last vestige of self was about to dissipate, they pieced him back together, brutally and cruelly reshaping him. His mind was forcibly repaired, just enough to allow him to function like a human. He resisted, unwilling to face the horror he had just experienced, but he could feel the touch of magic. Those memories of pain, darkness, and manipulation had not disappeared, but were sealed, covered by layers of extremely cunning spells. Only specific instructions, or certain forbidden magic, could break the seal and awaken them again."

Dakos continued his narration without stopping. His gaze was calm and profound, and he continued calmly under the shocked and almost speechless stare of Miseria.

"In prison, he wept constantly, haunted by nightmares that pierced his mind like countless sharp nails, keeping him awake all night. Yet, as the magic penetrated deeper into his soul, he gradually sank into silence, even into a deep sleep. He became immersed in that wilderness of the mind, where he found a new, illusory refuge. New ideas and talents were implanted: the rhythm of music, the conception of art, the melody of poetry and song."

His voice was low and slow, as if carrying a hypnotic power, dragging Eldan into that dark memory.

"At this point, he was still just a shell supported by emotions and fragmented memories, until one day, they brought him into the cabin. The ship rose and fell in the churning fog, the planks and nails made a dull creak, and the waves crashed against the hull, as if each tremor was preparing for some ominous ritual. He was lifted high and suspended above the turbulent sea."

"That last shred of reason and thought finally returned amidst the howling sea wind, and he fell..."

Dakos paused for a moment, then his voice suddenly rose.

"The icy seawater rushed into his lungs, stinging, suffocating, and tearing. He sank to the bottom, struggling desperately in the darkness and oppression. His reason collapsed in despair, and he finally surfaced, coughing up a mouthful of choking salt water, his throat burning as if on fire."

"Just then, a broken piece of wood floated beside him. He reached out and grabbed it tightly. In that instant, it was as if he had grasped the last salvation of his entire life."

"A thunderous roar echoed from the coastal cliffs, and giant waves crashed against the rocks, bursting into pure white mist. Emerald waters churned in the channels between the islands, the waves like a stampede of ten thousand troops, white foam billowing, with tremendous force, until they crashed against the distant shore shrouded in mist."

He let out a heart-wrenching howl that tore through the air. The howl contained not only pain but also the despair of being betrayed by one's closest loved one, like the raging waves of the deep sea, pressing down layer upon layer, making everyone present tremble.

He was moved by the Eternal Queen's magic.

It was an irresistible force, like light piercing through thick shadows, suddenly shattering the seal deep within his soul. Memories that had long been sealed, suppressed, and altered surged forth like a torrent, flooding his mind wildly. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, all sound vanished, leaving only the beating of his heart and his breathing in his ears.

His vision narrowed, the world compressed into a single focus: the dagger in his hand and the beautiful ruler of Avalon. She stood before him, hands outstretched, her eyes pleading, filled with anguish, like a sorrowful goddess begging for forgiveness. Her posture, her expression, silently spoke of compassion and mercy.

He wept, tears blurring his vision. He was heartbroken by her sorrow, and his chest ached as if it were being torn apart.

However, the harsh reality is right in front of us!
Her existence was a natural enemy to the darkness within his soul. Her pure aura was like a raging flame, scorching the shadows in his heart. He struggled against that desire, unwilling to raise a weapon; his heart cried out: No! Absolutely not! But his limbs were no longer under his control; he had become a puppet, pulled by invisible threads.

The weapon emitted smoke, and from its blade, Deha's tentacles writhed and seeped out. It clashed with the pure radiance of the Eternal Queen, black and white violently intertwining in the void, tearing apart a bizarre balance.

Everything moved slowly, like a dream, and a cold, inevitable destiny descended like a tide. His breathing became rapid, his chest heaved violently, and his heart pounded in his ears. At that moment, three figures suddenly appeared before him, and the relentless torrent of fate pushed him toward that instant.

The first person was an unfamiliar female elf, carrying a giant sword on her back.

As for the other two... oh, how cruel fate is!

Ryana.

Eldan.

In that instant, a raging fire erupted from the depths of his heart, transforming into a blazing inferno that consumed his reason. The dagger in his hand came alive, thirsting for this intense hatred, greedily drinking in it like parched earth absorbing rain. It needed this hatred to sustain its existence; in this land filled with healing and light, only hatred could prolong its life for even a moment.

Someone called his name, the sound lingering in his ears, slow and distant, as if swaying between a dream and reality.

He saw Eldan, and in that moment, he finally recognized the man's face. Yes, it was not an illusion, nor a phantom; it was indeed his own brother.

But the memories tore at his heart like a knife. He recalled the betrayal inflicted upon him by his loved ones, those indelible scars, that unspeakable shame and pain.

Then, with a heart-wrenching scream, he unleashed all the pent-up hatred and grief. Driven by an unseen force and his own inner madness, his arm lashed out. The dagger, gleaming with a chilling light, pierced the air and, without hesitation, plunged into the Eternal Queen's chest!

After telling the story, Darkus slowly spread his hands toward Mithril, appearing completely nonchalant, as if what he had just told was nothing more than an ordinary story. His movements were natural and casual, as if to say: Look, that's all.

But the deep meaning in his eyes flickered like a flame.

If Miseria's face were so gloomy it could devour a person, he might even want to ask: How was my performance? Was it engaging and expressive?
It must be admitted that although Nagarus's climate and environment remain as bleak, cold, wild, and hopeless as ever, its culture and people have seen a tremendous improvement compared to the old days.

This is inseparable from the efforts of the followers of Tolandil and Loyk, oh right, and the one who played the bartender. They infused art, song and beauty into the ice field, and also taught many people to listen and tell stories again.

He also learned a lot during this process.

After all, it's an excellent pastime.

Through constant exposure, his storytelling ability improved significantly. He could even piece together fragmented memories and clues, re-integrating them into a completely new story, imbued with the reality of blood and fire, and the ethereal beauty of poetry.

"is this real?"

Miserion, who had already stood up, was panting heavily, his eyes burning with intensity.

This time, Darkus didn't respond with words; he responded only with his expression and gestures. His eyes widened slightly, his expression filled with doubt, as if asking in return: What are you talking about? At the same time, he slowly spread his arms wide, a gesture both calm and provocative, like a silent mockery, leaving everything to the other party to interpret.

Having received a response, Miserion slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on Eldan. His eyes suddenly narrowed, his pupils contracting like pinpoints. He abruptly stretched out his hands and gripped the collar of Ariel's robes tightly, with such force that it almost tore the beautiful fabric apart.

At first, he was completely confused and couldn't fully understand who the "he" that Darkus kept mentioning was. But as the story unfolded layer by layer, the vivid details slowly revealed the truth, and the suppressed doubts and fears finally converged into an irrefutable conclusion—he knew who that "he" was.

“What happened? What happened?!” Mithrion’s voice roared, filled with tearing pain and questioning. He gripped Eldan’s clothes tightly with both hands, the trembling force almost suffocating. But in the next instant, he realized with a start—Eldan was still trapped by the restriction he had placed on him, completely unable to move.

He abruptly withdrew his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, released the binding spell. Freed from his restraints, Eldan immediately collapsed to the ground as if his spine had been ripped out, falling heavily and convulsing violently. He let out intermittent sobs, tears blurring his vision, his weeping like a child's, yet heavy enough to suffocate the entire hall.

At this moment, the plot suddenly shifts, turning into a blatant family drama.

Mithrion Silverstag – Riana's father. Eldan Aydain – Riana's husband, Mithrion's son-in-law.

The "he" in the Darkus story is Eldan's younger brother, Kellier.

The relationship between the three is so complex that it could drive a bard mad. Ryana's emotional entanglements with the brothers are even more chaotic, comparable to the most absurd script.

You love him, but he doesn't love you; he loves her, and you and she are best friends; brotherhood, friendship, and love intertwine here, twisting into a tangled mess that's hard to untangle.

This industry is a complete mess...

And the question that Dakous just raised—what happened back then?
By intentionally omitting the three key elements of time, place, and people, it transforms into a pun with a sharp edge.

In fact, Eldan could have easily recounted exactly how the Eternal Queen was stabbed.

Although Liv never mentioned this incident, she did mention that Ryana took a blow for the Eternal Queen, and that Eldan was present at the scene. This suggests that Eldan was likely there when the incident occurred and witnessed it.

"That nightmarish figure clad in iron armor, with eyes burning with fire, is that Malekith, isn't it?"

Mithrion stared at Eldan, his eyes filled with questioning and piercing disappointment, but all he received in return was trembling and silence. He then turned his gaze to Darkus.

When Darkus nodded slowly, confirming that it was indeed her, he spoke again, his voice trembling, "That terrifying woman with raven-black hair and a face like a bewitching banshee... is it Moras, isn't it?"

Dakos nodded again, his expression indifferent.

“He…he…” Miseria stammered, his words caught in his throat. He seemed to suddenly remember something, abruptly raising his head, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I remember, not long ago, you told me that Moras…was dead?”

“Yes, she’s dead.” Darkus’s voice was flat and flat. “I killed her.”

He spoke so casually, as if he had not killed the legendary witch queen, but merely slaughtered a chicken for the New Year.

“Then he…” Miseria’s voice trembled, he was probing, and trying to find comfort for himself.

“If I remember correctly, he was there too.” Darkus pretended to try to recall, pausing for a moment before adding, “Yes, he was definitely there, I’m quite sure, because the last time I saw him, he was wearing the Second Battle of Gorond medal.”

Miseria's chest heaved violently. He finally slumped back into his chair, utterly drained of strength. Although Darkus's words were vague, even carrying an ambiguity that made it difficult to discern their truthfulness, he detected a certain comfort in them: Kelly, at least, was still alive?

"Can you tell me what he is like now..."

His voice was no longer as sharp as before; it was low and tired, with a tremor that sounded almost pleading.

He had been dealing with Dakos for quite some time; ever since the port of Elistra was occupied by Duruci, he had remained there. Living in the palace, he handled a mountain of official business, coordinated Duruci's civil administration, and meticulously arranged countless intricate details.

However, during this time, he never, not even once, asked about any news regarding Kelly.

In his mind, Kelly was already dead.

That happened more than fifty years ago—a devastating raid on Krakalund. Eldan, returning alone to Ulthuan, told him: Kel'Thuzad was dead there.

But now... things don't seem to be that simple.

"At the time, he was captured, but as for how he was captured..."

Darkus paused deliberately, then slowly turned his head, his gaze fixed on Eldan. Although Eldan was still slumped on the ground, like an empty shell devoid of a soul, his eyes clearly conveyed a silent accusation.

Miseria felt a pang in his heart; he knew these words were meant for him.

"When he awoke, he had amnesia. After resting for a while in the Tower of Destruction, his memory gradually returned. After that, he began to stay by Kaldor's side. Although the two of them were not well acquainted in Ulthuan, at least on this cold land, they could look after each other, couldn't they?"

“Kaldor…Kaldor Corris? Kaledan’s brother?”

Miseria looked up abruptly, her voice filled with disbelief.

Dakos nodded, his expression remaining calm.

Miseria leaned heavily back in his chair, raising his hand to his forehead, his knuckles rubbing his temples as if trying to suppress a multitude of chaotic thoughts. After a moment, he finally let out a long sigh, his voice hoarse and bitter.

"What...what's going on here...?"

He knew Kaledan; strictly speaking, he wasn't Kaledan's mentor, but he did personally teach Kaledan.

He had also heard of the Chrysos family—one day, Kaldor set sail with his followers and vanished silently into the vast ocean. He was never heard from again, as if forgotten by the entire world. Now he heard that he hadn't perished, but had instead gone to Nagarus.

The entanglement between Eldan and Kel'Thuzad, these two brothers, stirred up a storm in his heart.

Mithrion has always had a close relationship with the Adain family. In his early years, when he was young and still full of passion, the brothers' father saved his life in a life-or-death situation.

For this reason, he always treated the two brothers as his own sons. Later, he even married his most beloved daughter to Eldan. Although there were some ups and downs and rifts in between, in his heart, this affection and trust never changed.

However, at this moment, a sense of defeat, heavy as lead, slowly welled up from the bottom of my heart.

He failed to discipline his daughter and protect the brothers. If he had been stricter and more resolute, preventing the unnecessary entanglements between Ryana and Kelly, perhaps... perhaps things wouldn't have turned out this way.

After a long while, he finally lowered his head, his gaze falling on Eldan, who had collapsed to the ground. His face was streaked with tears, a mixture of pain and regret, like that of a soul utterly destroyed.

He was suddenly struck by a realization; he understood.

He finally understood why Eldan, ever since returning from Naggaroth, had seemed lost in thought, absent-minded, and completely uninterested in anything.

Something must have happened back then. Eldan made a crucial choice at a critical moment, and the price of that choice was that Kelil fell into enemy hands and became a prisoner. (Chapters 576-578)
"And then?" Miseria looked at Darkus, his eyes complex and heavy, but a bitter smile appeared on his lips. He was laughing at himself, laughing at his fate.

"later?"

Dakos repeated the word, pausing slightly, as if recalling something or choosing the right words.

“I wasn’t in Nagarus then. When I returned, Duruci had entered a new era. It was a time of extremes and upheavals, when the old authority was torn apart and a new order was forged in blood and fire. Moras died during that time. Her death was not a solitary farewell, but a fall that accompanied Helburn.”

He spoke so casually, yet it sent a shiver down Miserion's spine. Those two names carried countless memories and bloody shadows, and now Darkus was glossing over them with such nonchalant words, making them all the more chilling.

"As for Keliel... after the Second Battle of Gorgrond, he entered the Upper Court. He received in-depth and systematic training, learning how to become a qualified general. After he graduated, he was sent to Ashriel."

Dakos paused slightly, as if weighing whether to continue. He sighed softly, then spoke slowly.

"The last time I saw him was six months ago. Before the start of the great war, he returned to Nagalos to attend that massive pre-war conference. Now... he commands a large legion, in the Fourth Army. According to the latest battle reports, he is currently leading his troops on the northern peninsula of the Kingdom of Elion—is he home?"

This time, Darkus didn't tell a story, nor did he fabricate any plot. His words were clean and concise, without any embellishment, carrying a cold and direct reality. That massive legion stuck on the northern peninsula was under the command of Kylier.

Upon hearing this, Miserion let out a long sigh of relief.

Kelly was indeed still alive, and unlike the story before, he hadn't succumbed to torment and madness. Not only was he alive, but he was thriving, and had even become a commander in his own right. If one were to truly consider this way of returning home, though ironic, could it be seen as a kind of compensation from fate?

He slowly turned his head to look at Eldan, who was still lying on the ground with tears still wet on his face, and suddenly shouted sharply.

"Get up! How long do you intend to lie here?"

"This is not a place to sleep," Darkus added casually.

Eldan shrugged, struggling to sit up, and finally managed to sit up again.

Dakota looked at him, a flicker of hesitation crossing his mind. He wanted to ask again: What happened back then?
But this time, he wasn't referring to the horrific events of the raid on Krakarond. He already knew that history; his uncles had recounted the truth back in Chapeyuto.

In his understanding, if Kelly's account is true and unaltered, then he had indeed gone too far, failing to know when to stop and ultimately getting himself into trouble. As for how he got into trouble...

However, from another perspective, if they hadn't taken such a risk, the brothers would likely have perished in that brutal pursuit. Instead, the entire group, along with the waiting ship, was wiped out, leaving only Eldan to escape back to Anaheim in a sorry state.

He understood his mother's personality and temperament.

He wanted to know how those cultists assassinated the Eternal Queen. What exactly happened? What were the Eternal Queen's handmaidens and the Avalon sisters doing?
Or is it really as he just told the story? Only the characters and setting have changed?

But given Eldan's current state...

"How is Riana?" Darkus changed the subject, turning his gaze to Miserion.

“This is bad. Deha is lingering in her body, corrupting her soul. Perhaps it won’t be long…” Miseria’s expression instantly turned grim, his face as if shrouded in an invisible shadow.

“Okay,” Darkus interrupted him.

"What?" Miserion practically jumped up, his chair scraping against the floor with a screeching sound.

His eyes were filled with shock, and an uncontrollable excitement. His usual elegance and composure vanished completely; he trembled like a burning torch, staring intently at Darkus.

His presence here was not accidental, but because he had a need.

But he also knew that the chances of his request succeeding were extremely slim, almost like grasping at a mirage in despair. Even so, he was still willing to try, even at the cost of everything, even his own life. For him, if it could bring back even that sliver of hope, he would gladly accept destruction as the price.

However, when Dakota uttered those unexpected words that seemed out of place in the context, a spark suddenly ignited in his heart.

That was a long-awaited hope, one that we almost dared not acknowledge.

What if? What if what Dakota said is true, and it happens to meet his inner desires?

“We are all intelligent people, aren’t we?” Darkus’s voice was steady, with a certain unyielding coldness.

Before he finished speaking, he slightly turned his head and cast his gaze at the still somewhat bewildered Eldan. Seeing his wooden and helpless appearance, he couldn't help but shake his head speechlessly, his expression carrying a hint of mockery and indifference.

"Is it really possible?" Miseria finally couldn't help but ask, his voice trembling with uncertainty and barely suppressed excitement. His fingers unconsciously clenched his sleeves, as if grasping at the last straw.

"Why not? Your and your daughter's surname is Silver Deer! You know what I'm saying, right?"

Mithrion's heart skipped a beat, and he nodded excitedly, his eyes shining with an unprecedented light. If he wasn't mistaken, Darkus was referring to the glorious legacy etched into his family's bloodline—his ancestor, Rianos the Silver Deer.

That great ancestor participated in the final, grand ritual at the very end of the Great Invasion. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the dragon tamer Caledo, creating and activating the Great Whirlpool. When the Whirlpool appeared, Rianos resolutely poured his soul into it, sacrificing himself to ensure the continuation of the world.

That is the glory that the Silver Deer family will forever remember, the brilliance that flows endlessly in their bloodline.

"Furthermore... she saved the Eternal Queen! If she hadn't stepped forward at that moment to take that fatal blow for the Eternal Queen, perhaps the Eternal Queen would have died before she even saw Lief."

As he spoke, he slowly raised his left hand, extending his index and middle fingers. As he finished speaking, he brought his two fingers together; that instantaneous movement, like a symbol of a contract, carried an undeniable meaning.

Michelion held his breath, a multitude of thoughts surging through his mind in an instant. He was a clever man, and clever men have their own understanding; he grasped the true meaning of what Darkus had said earlier—that conversations between clever men should be more direct.

Trembling with excitement, he could barely contain the surging emotions within him. He hurriedly and solemnly straightened his robes, striving to maintain his dignity. Then, he bowed deeply, offering the most respectful greeting to Dakota.

"The Silver Deer family owes you... no!" His voice was hoarse, yet incredibly firm, as resounding as a vow, "Whenever you need the Silver Deer family, no matter what, whenever and wherever, the Silver Deer family will respond, even at the cost of everything!"

When he slowly raised his head, his eyes were filled with only a sincere promise and a burning belief.

“Alright, that's settled then.” Darkus replied casually, his tone devoid of any emotion. He then stood up, flicking his sleeves as if to brush away invisible dust. “It's in my luggage; come with me to get it. As for the rest, we can talk about it tomorrow. Saving lives is the priority, isn't it?” (End of Chapter)