Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The cutting board was stained with blood, and strips of meat that had not been completely drained of blood were still hanging on the iron hook. Drops of blood fell onto the wooden board and seeped into the iron bucket below through the cracks, emitting a strong fishy smell.

A Duruci soldier chewed on a half-smoked cigarette, the gray smoke swirling slowly beneath the shed, making his eyes red and dry as if from long-term irritation.

He held a butcher's knife in his hand, chopping meat with a steady, ruthless force. Each strike of the blade sent up shards of flesh and blood, as if he were not preparing dog food, but venting some pent-up emotion, as if he were pressing the restlessness in his heart into a wooden board, one cut at a time.

After chopping a piece, he slammed the back of the knife onto the cutting board with a loud thud, causing the board to tremble slightly and meat scraps to scatter. He snorted coldly, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and slowly pushed the chopped meat aside. Then, he grabbed a strip of meat from the hook, roughly ripped it off, and blood trailed in an arc in the air before continuing to chop.

Just then, footsteps approached from afar, their rhythmic patter on the ground conveying a casual, unhurried nonchalance.

Another Duruci warrior walked over, a mocking smile on his face, his gaze sweeping back and forth between the bloodstains and the half-piled meat on the cutting board.

"Ha!" he teased, his voice laced with mockery. "Did you sneak some food while I was gone?"

Duruci looked up from the chopping board, the cigarette dangling from his lips trembling slightly, a cold smile playing on his lips. His eyes suddenly turned icy, sharp as a knife, scrutinizing the newcomer without any attempt at concealment, while his hand holding the butcher's knife twirled incessantly, as if the newcomer was nothing more than a piece of meat to be slaughtered, and he was pondering where to begin his cut.

The newcomer ignored his chilling gaze, as if he were already used to such cold threats. After making a joke, he walked over nonchalantly, picked up a butcher's knife from the side, slammed it down on the chopping board with a bang, and joined in chopping meat without hesitation.

The one who was always chopping meat was named Dragiel, while the newly joined Dragi was named Kayla Mayne.

The smell of blood and tobacco mingled together on the cutting board, heavy and intense, as if it were pressing down on the air, making even breathing feel sticky.

"What's going on?" Dragil flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground, rubbed it with his boot, making a hissing sound, and asked nonchalantly after the sparks went out.

"Some new comrades have arrived?" Kayramine didn't answer immediately, but continued chopping meat with a loud thud, faster than Drakil's, blood splattering with each stroke of the blade. Only after finishing did he look up and give a curt reply.

"Hmm?" Dragil frowned, a hint of curiosity in his expression.

"Asley!"

Draghi shook his head in response, then turned his attention back to the cutting board and continued chopping.

“Assigned to our chariots,” Keramane added, casually pushing the chopped meat aside, his hand wiping his mouth, leaving a trail of blood.

"What happened to those guys before?" Dragil asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"I suppose so? From what I heard, they're planning to reinforce the supply teams?" Kayla Mayne said, then suddenly burst into laughter, a rough laugh tinged with schadenfreude. After laughing, he smacked his lips.

“I will miss them. Has Asley arrived?” Draghiel asked.

"We'll have to wait a while; they're still adjusting. We should be able to see them around lunchtime."

"I'm going to feed the horses." Drakil put down his butcher's knife, wiped his hands twice with a rag, which was still stained with blood. After saying this, he left without looking back.

Kaylamaine nodded, stopped working, and looked towards the chopping board, watching Drakil's departing figure. Only after Drakil's figure had completely disappeared did he let out a long breath, a faint smile appearing on his lips. He shook his head, refocused his attention on the work in front of him, raised the butcher's knife once more, and brought it down heavily, the sound of chopping meat resounding once more.

After chopping, he used his palm to push the pile of minced meat on the cutting board together and put it into the iron bucket. Blood slowly slid down the side of the bucket, leaving dark red marks. He lifted the bucket by the handles with both hands, making a clanging metallic sound, and the heavy weight made his shoulders slump slightly.

As he approached, the black wolves inside the enclosure, which had been either wandering around or lying lazily with their limbs outstretched, immediately became restless. Some suddenly stood up, their paws scratching the ground impatiently, while others stretched out their bodies and lay on the fence, their front paws gripping the wooden bars tightly, their tails wagging wildly, and low growls emanating from their throats, saliva dripping from their teeth and splashing onto the ground, leaving a small wet patch.

The low sobs and heavy breathing mingled together, instantly filling the air with an even stronger sense of wildness.

“Don’t rush, my dear little ones,” Kayla Mayne said as she steadily poured the meat from the bucket into the trough.

The bright red chunks of meat poured down into the trough with a splash, immediately eliciting eager howls and a scramble from the black wolves.

After emptying the two buckets, he carried them back to the cutting board, bent down to pick up the other two buckets that had already been filled, and walked steadily toward the feeding trough on the other side, repeating the feeding action.

Despite being called "little guys," they are not small at all. On the contrary, they are all robust, with muscles as taut as iron blocks, and you can't tell that they are pets at all.

Although called a hunting dog, it is more like a domesticated giant wolf.

In the old days, Durucci's animal trainers were skilled at raising wolves, especially giant wolves, but they had not yet been systematically studied as military dogs. Those wild, untamed behemoths were more of a symbolic and companion existence than military equipment in the strict sense.

While wandering through the treacherous peaks, Darkus encountered an attack by a pack of giant wolves. He personally shot and killed the wolf leader, whose ferocity and threat left a deep impression on him.

When the new era arrived, he instructed Adrell and Callion to begin research into taming the giant wolves and gradually breeding dogs that obeyed commands, similar to wolfhounds and sheepdogs. These dogs could be provided to the Duruci army for assault and defense, as well as for guarding and patrolling key locations.

The hounds that Keira Mayne now raises are a breed domesticated from giant wolves. Adult males weigh an average of 45-65 kilograms, stand about 0.8-0.9 meters tall at the shoulder, and are well-proportioned and agile.

Of course, this is just an average. Some individuals even exceed 70 kilograms, and a few particularly large males with excellent bloodlines can even reach 90 kilograms, which is almost the weight of a small mount. However, these big guys are not assigned to beast tamers, but to the Edict Black Knights.

Although nominally dogs, Duluche habitually called them "Black Wolves." Firstly, Duluche admired black, and secondly, the breeds bred from these dogs all had thick black fur, which perfectly suited Duluche's aesthetic.

The feeding process doesn't end here.

In terms of feeding methods, Duruci divided them into two categories: raw food feeding and dog food feeding. Raw food feeding makes the hounds' coats shinier, their teeth sharper, and their energy more vigorous, while also maintaining their wildness and aggressive instincts. Dog food, on the other hand, is mainly used to maintain muscle mass and balanced nutrition to ensure that they can maintain stable physical strength during long marches and guarding.

So, while the hounds growled and wolfed down their food, Keira Mayne slipped into the storeroom. A moment later, he emerged carrying a heavy sack on his shoulder, his steps faltering slightly as his shoulder slumped under the weight. Reaching the feeding trough, he slammed the sack to the ground, used his dagger to tear open the seams, and the fabric ripped open to reveal the tightly packed dog food inside.

He then slowly tilted the sack, pouring the dog food into the trough with a clattering sound. The dry kibble hitting the wooden trough made a crisp, rhythmic noise. The black wolves, hearing the sound, pounced without looking up, their teeth chattering.

The feeding session ended here, but Kayla Mayne's work wasn't over yet, and she didn't leave.

He had to return to the chopping board and begin carefully cleaning the bloodstains. He picked up the butcher's knife and rinsed it repeatedly in the iron bucket, the bloodstains fading layer by layer. He then wiped it with a rag until the blade reflected a cold gleam. Next, he scrubbed the iron buckets one by one, the walls scrubbing until they emitted a harsh, grating sound.

His movements were skillful and meticulous, not because of so-called obsessive-compulsive disorder, but because Duruci's manual had long stipulated that all equipment must be cleaned and tidied up after use, and no negligence or dirt should be left behind.

In Keramain's world, this is both discipline and the law of survival.

After he finished cleaning up, he clapped his hands to shake off the remaining water and bloodstains, and then habitually glanced around to make sure that the cutting board, butcher knife, and iron bucket were all clean and tidy before slowly walking to the fence.

He stood a short distance from the feeding trough, his gaze calm and focused as he watched the black wolves eat. They tore at the food, the sounds of chewing and howling mingling as chunks of meat mixed with dog food were swallowed, creating a rough melody.

This is also a rule of the training manual: black wolves must be fed at fixed times and in fixed quantities, and the trainer must supervise the eating to prevent them from killing each other or wasting food.

Any leftover dog food must be cleaned up immediately. Kayla Mayne was already used to this; he carried it out like a precise machine, coldly executing the task until all the black wolves had finished eating and the food trough was thoroughly licked clean and shiny before he could truly relax.

Once everything was completely over, he turned and left the kennel, his footsteps treading the muddy road as he headed towards the stables.

When he arrived at the stables, he was greeted by Dragil's all-too-familiar appearance. The man was leaning against a wooden post beside the stables, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, his posture so casual it was almost as if he were about to fall asleep. Wisps of smoke rose in the sunlight, mingling with the warm breath exhaled from the stables.

"You're slacking off again!" Keira Mayne teased, walking to the stable and stroking the mane of a warhorse as she watched it chew its feed.

Drakil ignored Keira Mayne's words; he was used to it. He simply rolled his eyes, took a deep drag of his cigarette, let the smoke swirl in his chest, and then slowly exhaled.

Their relationship was more than just that of comrades-in-arms. Their bond was far deeper than it appeared on the surface. If measured by the four great ironclad bonds, they were only missing a single haul of a dart.

They were both born in Krakarond and happened to be in the same class when they went to school.

However, their family backgrounds differed. Keramane lived in Nagarond Prison from a young age, and his parents were laborers. Drakil, on the other hand, was placed in an orphanage and only entered school when he reached the appropriate age.

Their meeting seemed like a cruel twist of fate, yet in some way, it destined them to be together.

When they came of age and got married, they got married together.

Of course, the so-called "joint marriage" did not mean they became husband and wife—such a strange custom had never existed in Nagalos, or even in the entire elven society. Rather, it meant that they both happened to marry their female classmates, and the wedding was a group wedding held in the hall. Not only them, but three other couples were also married at the same time, making it a lively and festive occasion.

Because they both shared the potential to become animal trainers and handlers, they joined the army almost without hesitation after graduation. Once in the army, fate brought them together once again. They walked side by side across the training grounds and the battlefield, never separating. In fact, it could be said that they spent far more time together than they did with their wives.

Now, they both belong to the Fifteenth Army, the Grand Legion under the command of Vaselier. As time passed, this Grand Legion had been deployed to the dense forest behind Phoenix Gate. Relying on the natural cover of the forest, the Grand Legion could establish close contact with the Itaien garrison holding Phoenix Gate, and also form a thick barrier, firmly protecting the entire flank of the Fourteenth Army.

“Let’s go see our new teammates.” Kayla Mayne said after Dragil threw his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with the sole of his boot until the sparks were completely extinguished.

When they arrived at the tent side by side, their new teammates were already waiting there. The two exchanged a glance, their eyes conveying a tacit understanding, before turning back to look at the new faces before them.

Although neither of them said it aloud, they shared the same feeling.

The new teammates before them resembled raw recruits. Flustered, flustered, unsure of what to do with their hands and feet, their eyes darting around, their posture stiff. They'd seen this scene far too often, to the point that they could almost instantly sense the tension and unease in the other's heart.

However, despite having seen so much, a strange emotion still welled up within them—a sense of novelty, and even a touch of nostalgia. After all, they had all come this far, step by step.

The new teammates weren't just one person, but four in total—four Asleys, three men and one woman. They stood in front of the tent, neatly dressed but bearing the marks of travel, clearly having marched a long way. Their brown-green clothing, wide cloaks, and hoods were very typical of the Asleys, the traditional attire, carrying a strong forest vibe.

Among them, some carried swords at their waists, others held hunting spears in their hands, and without exception, each of them had a longbow and a matching quiver and arrow slung across their back.

In addition to these conspicuous weapons, they also carried Duruci-style marching bags and a series of miscellaneous items on their shoulders, including brand-new military boots, water bottles, mess kits, several pieces of waterproof cloth that could be used as raincoats or simple tents, and matching nails and short shovels.

Behind them was a small cart with armor neatly arranged inside.

Kayla Mayne shifted her body and took the lead, her steps steady and measured, her eyes filled with a cautious scrutiny, while Dragil followed a beat behind.

“Kayramine Blackthorn.” Kayramine spoke, her voice not loud, but as steady as a rock landing.

“Dragil the Horned Slayer.” Dragil followed closely behind, with a hint of casualness.

Although these four Asleys would be under their command from now on, their tone was not at all provocative, they did not adopt a superior attitude, and they did not try to intimidate anyone.

In fact, in this four-against-two situation, they became the weaker party.

If these four Asleys were to take it seriously and argue with the Black Knight according to the manuals and military regulations, then the two Duruci would most likely suffer. They knew the Black Knight's nature all too well; he would definitely make them pay dearly. Moreover, they also knew that for a considerable period of time to come, they would be living, eating, and fighting alongside these four.

"Lyndell".

"Serarian".

"Fylendil".

"Irisla".

The four men spoke in turn, introducing themselves.

They spoke with an accent that sounded somewhat disdainful and awkward to Asur, but both Druhir and Finn-Elsalin were derived from the ancient Elsalin language and were essentially of the same origin, so there was no barrier to communication.

"Did you know each other before?" After the introductions, Kayla Mayne turned her gaze and asked in a calm but direct tone.

“Yes,” Ryandel said calmly, pointing to Serarian. “This is my brother.” Then he turned to Philendil and Irisla. “These two are my cousins.”

Kayramine nodded, silently taking it all in. After this brief exchange, he clearly understood who was in charge among the four. Then, he turned to Drakil, his voice still calm, "So, you and Seraphim will follow me, and you two will follow him?"

The four Asleys exchanged glances, a hint of hesitation flashing in their eyes, but soon they nodded almost simultaneously, and the ranks were clearly divided.

"Put your luggage down, grab your lunchbox, it's lunchtime. Oh, and bring your water bottle too," Kayla Mayne ordered curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

There were no grand speeches, no inspiring words, and no superfluous chatter; life on the battlefield was that simple and direct.

Nothing is more important than eating.

So the four Asleys put down their luggage, picked up their lunchboxes and water bottles, and followed Keramane and Drakil toward the dining area. Along the way, they either encountered other Asleys from Asororen, nodding in greeting, or ran into other animal trainers and former comrades.

The dining area wasn't a mess hall, but an open space in the very center of the camp. The ground was covered with a thick layer of gravel and dirt, polished smooth by military boots. Several rough wooden stakes stood around the perimeter, with ropes strung up to symbolically demarcate the area, marking the boundary between the dining area and the food preparation area. There was no shelter; above was a heavy sky, with dark clouds slowly rolling by. Occasionally, a breeze would sweep through, carrying the mingled aromas of fire and meat.

There was no pushing, no joking, and no shouting; there was only silence and the sound of metal clashing against metal.

Keira Mayne and Dragil led the four Asleys to line up for food, then found an open space and sat down casually. In contrast, the four Asleys seemed much more reserved. Although they were also sitting on the ground, their posture was noticeably awkward, their backs ramrod straight, and their movements cautious, as if they were not yet used to such a rough atmosphere.

The food itself wasn't exactly delicious, but the two Duruci ate extremely quickly, with a practiced ease as if performing some kind of prescribed action. The Asleys, on the other hand, ate slowly, even savoring the food, as if they were seriously appreciating its rough texture.

Kayla Mayne watched, secretly amused, but said nothing. He simply put down his lunchbox, unscrewed the kettle, and took a sip. The moment the liquid entered his mouth, his brow furrowed slightly, a look of disgust flashing across his face. The kettle had a faint sour and rusty taste, which he disliked the most.

Meanwhile, the Asleys, on the other hand, seemed to be drinking from some rare spring, their expressions serious and their movements slow, as if they were searching for some kind of sense of security. Seeing this, Keira Mayne paused for a moment, then shook her head speechlessly.

Although it's called a beverage, it's not really a real beverage in the strict sense. It's a product of technology and hard work: wine bricks that dissolve instantly in water and don't require fermentation. Just put them in a container and stir, and you'll get a purplish-red liquid in no time.

It tastes like wine, but it actually has no alcohol content; it's more like a flavored beverage. If too much water is added, the taste becomes so weak it's almost like watery soup, so weak it makes you wonder if you're drinking colored water—it's not as substantial as a bottled drink.

Despite his barely concealed disgust, Kayla Mayne didn't say much. He tilted his head back and gulped down the rest of the liquid, only letting out a slow breath after finishing. Then, he raised his chin, pointed to the field kitchen truck that wasn't yet in line, and said casually.

"This... drinks? There are pre-meal and post-meal options. You can have one serving before the meal and another after. If you'd like to drink more..."

“Thanks, we know that, back in Lorthorn,” Ryan Diehl replied in a low voice, his tone barely concealing his disdain. He then changed the subject, lowering his voice to complain, “But this food…”

Kayla Mayne didn't respond. Instead, she deftly wiped her mouth, then squeezed the white bread in her hand until it was deformed, before stuffing it into her mouth without hesitation and chewing it very crisply.

"That's the situation right now."

He said no more.

In fact, the food conditions in the entire camp at this moment were far from ideal for the elves; it was rough, bland, and rushed, with hardly any enjoyment to speak of.

But there was nothing that could be done. The camp had only been built for three days. The fact that there was hot food available in this area near the crater was already a result of the logistics department's best efforts. Subsequent supplies had not yet been fully delivered, so everything had to be made do.

After the meal, they refilled their water bottles, and the two Duruci led the four Asleys back to the tent. There was no further conversation along the way, only the suppressed sound of footsteps. Once back in the tent, the Duruci began to teach the Asleys how to set up a military tent, demonstrating step by step with practiced ease.

There were no changes to the tent allocation: the two Duruci continued to live together, while the four Asleys worked together to build one large tent, with the siblings crammed under the same eaves.

"What's next?" After everything was over, Ryan Deer couldn't help but ask.

“You don’t need to patrol the camp, stand guard, or conduct reconnaissance. You have immunity if you follow me.” Kayla Mayne had already anticipated their questions and gave a calm and decisive reply. “Sleep! It’s lunch break now. We’ll talk about it when you get up.”

After saying that, he nodded to Ryan Deer, who was still standing there in a daze, and then bent down and crawled into the tent. There was no conversation, no teasing, and no further comments. He simply lay down on the blanket, pulled it over himself, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep almost instantly. Beside him, Drakil had already turned over, his snoring making the tent flap tremble slightly.

Outside the tent, the four Asleys exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of unease, confusion, and a touch of anxiety. They whispered a few words to each other, then reluctantly placed their luggage beside the tent. After a moment's hesitation, they too crawled inside. However, none of them could fall asleep immediately; their eyes remained open, staring at the tent ceiling, the two heavy snores echoing in their ears.

So they lowered their voices and began talking about the two sleeping Duruci, then about their lunch. The conversation went from military rations to tents, from snoring to their own thoughts. Their voices were as soft as the wind rustling through dry leaves, and gradually, drowsiness finally overcame their tension and curiosity.

With scattered complaints and unfinished words, the group slowly closed their eyes and drifted into a light sleep. (End of Chapter)