Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

After the small battle group crossed the drawbridge, it was not immediately retracted but remained firmly anchored over the moat. Soon, accompanied by the thunderous roar of hooves, a wave of cavalry surged out from the west and north gates simultaneously.

This cavalry force was similar in composition to small battle groups, with a mixed configuration that at first glance appeared somewhat chaotic.

Leading the pack were the Duruci Dark Riders, clad in black cloaks and moving with swift and ruthless precision. They were like sharp blades, cold and cruel, exuding an aura of oppression. Closely following behind were the Asley Woodland Riders, whose riding style was light and effortless.

As for the equipment, it was both unique and comical.

The Asleys still wore their distinctive brown-green cloaks and attire, the color of the forest, the scent of earth and leaves. But beneath this naturally inspired outfit, they were forced to wear the standard Duruci armor—helmets, throat guards, breastplates, and gauntlets without gloves.

The effect of this black, green, and brown color combination is completely devoid of any beauty or harmony. It's as jarring and ugly as can be, as if two worlds have been forcibly pressed together.

However, the poor appearance comes at the cost of substantial protection. For light cavalry, this is the best protection achievable. Adding more armor would conflict with the Black Knight's role, completely negating the agility of light cavalry.

As for weaponry, they stubbornly continued to use the tools they had brought from Azsorloth: short swords, spears, Asley longbows, and their ever-present shields.

As for the warhorses, they were no longer the almost naked creatures they once were. Instead, they were equipped with basic armor, including a visor, neck guard, and breastplate—that is, a helmet, throat guard, and breastplate triangle. Now, gleaming coldly in the sunlight, these warhorses from Azsorloth possessed an added air of majesty.

Woodland cavalry were perhaps the most powerful light cavalry of the Old World. The elves' innate agility and reflexes enabled them to perform a variety of incredible maneuvers, which, though seemingly reckless, far surpassed the capabilities of other races. Whether shooting arrows with their backs while moving at full speed through the depths of the forest, or weaving through enemy lines like lightning, woodland cavalry, thanks to their exceptional skills and unwavering confidence, often emerged unscathed.

What sustains all of this is not just skill and instinct, but also a profound bond. After years of fighting side by side, riders and warhorses have developed an almost spiritual connection. They often act as one, and even without any commands, the warhorse can accurately understand the rider's intentions.

That's why they were assigned to the 15th Army Group instead of being reorganized into an independent unit in the rear.

Tarrendan's reinforcement of the 15th Army was a tactical necessity, not a political compromise. There was no conspiracy or calculation involved; it was simply a matter of necessity.

More flexible troops are needed to compensate for the shortcomings of the front line, and military units that can play an optimal role in complex terrain are needed.

This camp was reinforced with a hundred-man squad of woodland cavalry, personally led by a woodland knight. Unlike the system in Asur, woodland knights are not necessarily of noble birth; they may be commoners. But regardless of their status, there is only one prerequisite for becoming a woodland knight—one must be a champion. Just like the pioneers among the Elion raiders, this is a symbol of strength and honor.

When this hundred-man woodland cavalry unit entered the camp, it was quickly split in two and reorganized. At the same time, the camp's original hundred-man Dark Rider unit was also dismantled and reorganized.

Ultimately, two new 100-man squads emerged, each consisting of five squads of Dark Riders and five squads of Woodland Riders, thus creating a bizarre yet highly efficient mixed unit.

This is why the Dark Riders of Duruch led the way, followed by the Woodland Riders of Asley. In terms of command structure, the centurions who commanded the Dark Riders led a hundred-man squad, while the Woodland Riders commanded another.

Like the previous small battle groups, these cavalrymen were now undergoing acclimatization training while conducting regular reconnaissance of the camp's perimeter. Once the drawbridge was lowered, they surged forward like a vibrant tide, spreading into the depths of the forest.

Once inside the deep forest, the massive wheels rolled over the rugged forest floor as if it were flat ground, as if tree roots, fallen leaves, and potholes did not exist.

The chariot would sometimes accelerate at full speed, kicking up clouds of dust and fallen leaves; sometimes slow down, as if mimicking stealth during an ambush; sometimes draw a large circle on the spot to test the agility of the warhorses when turning; and sometimes suddenly charge, whistling through the shadows of the trees.

The purpose of this was to allow the warhorses to retain their memory and sense of the complex environment of the deep forest, preventing them from panicking on the actual battlefield; it also allowed the trainers to maintain their feel for the chariots while maneuvering in the forest, making their movements natural and fluid. For the Asleys on the chariots, this was also extremely necessary—they had to get used to the vibrations caused by the chariot's movement and learn to shoot and assassinate while the chariot was speeding, turning, and bumping.

On both sides and behind the chariot, the black wolves maintained a dispersed formation, crouching low and moving swiftly, constantly adjusting their distance from the chariot, never getting too close to the sharp, scythe-like weapons. Possessing a certain level of intelligence, they dared not make a mistake in this regard; any fool who rashly approached the chariot would only be met with being sliced ​​into pieces by the sharp weapons.

Once the chariot starts moving, the lethality of its scythe is no joke.

As a pack of hunting dogs, black wolves do not have an alpha wolf, but they do have a lead dog that acts as a guide.

In addition to managing the other black wolves, the alpha dog also uses its keen sense of smell to track prey. Once it spots a target, it will continuously emit low or sharp howls to guide the entire pack's actions.

Surrounding the head dog are even more numerous Quick-Help members.

The role of the Quick-Helper is very clear: respond to the lead dog's signal, immediately and quickly pursue, using attrition-based chases to weaken the prey's stamina, while simultaneously encircling and confining the prey within a controllable area. When necessary, the Quick-Helper will pounce directly, engaging in bloody and direct close combat.

As for heavy hauling, there is no such designation.

Because the black wolf's bloodline originated from the domestication of giant wolves, its size and bite force far exceed those of ordinary hunting dogs. They are born with the ability to confront large prey head-on, and their fierce and fearless nature makes them all capable of shouldering heavy responsibilities.

Furthermore, their targets are never ordinary wild beasts like wild boars or deer, but living humanoid creatures. They are bred specifically for this kind of bloodier and more dangerous hunting, and when necessary, they are even equipped with armor and released directly as weapons of war.

"How do you feel?" Keramane gradually slowed the chariot's speed, turning his head to look at the two Asleys inside—Lyndear and Serarian. His tone was unhurried, but his eyes were sharp, clearly observing their reactions carefully.

"Feeling good."

"no problem."

“Next is full speed. You can try shooting a few arrows or thrusting your spears out.” Kayramine nodded slightly, her expression revealing little, and then spoke calmly.

Before he could finish speaking, he gave the Asleys no time to prepare. He yanked the reins, and the warhorse neighed and accelerated. The chariot sped up instantly, its wheels kicking up dirt and leaves as it raced through the forest with a piercing whistle.

Ryandir held the bow in his hand, but he didn't rush to release the arrow. It wasn't that he was reluctant to part with the arrow, but rather that he felt the chariot hadn't yet reached its true speed limit. His eyes were fixed on the arc of the horse's mane as it billowed in the wind, the whistling wind and the rhythmic clatter of hooves overlapping in his ears. He was waiting, he was assessing the situation.

He quickly figured out the reason—this time, the warhorse wasn't equipped with armor, so there was no extra weight to restrain it. Its current speed was probably the maximum speed the warhorse could maintain when fully armed.

Once the thought surfaced and he quickly confirmed it, he stopped dwelling on it and stopped being distracted, instead refocusing all his attention on the training at hand. What he needed to do was feel the difference in speed and the changes in inertia of the tank under different maneuvers. He had never experienced this feeling in the forests of Asloren—not because of the different woodland environment, but because…

Soon to become a Ranger, Ryandel, as a Forest Ranger, spent almost all his time on foot in Asororen. His relationship with the forest was one of his feet touching the earth, his breath mingling with the shadows of the trees. The speed of the chariot, and the jarring sensation of the ground, briefly gave him an absurd thought: perhaps it would be more appropriate to have those Woodland Riders on the chariot platform? After all, they were already accustomed to the combination of speed and weaponry.

However, this speed difference was not enough to stump him. On the contrary, it awakened his instincts.

Once he confirmed that the chariot maintained a certain balance and stable speed whether moving straight or turning, he finally drew back the bowstring. In the instant the chariot swerved sharply, he released his grip. With a slight twang of the string, the training arrow shot through the air, whistling as it flew, accurately striking the target he had envisioned. Almost simultaneously, Serarian beside him also fired his arrow, which also hit the target squarely.

Then, the training continued.

Whenever the chariot turned, Ryandel and Serarian would each fire an arrow, either at a target in front of the vehicle, a tree trunk marker to the side, or a suspended target behind the chariot. Their movements became increasingly skillful, and each shot hit their intended spot precisely, as if the chariot's jolts and inertia were nothing more than ripples in the air.

After five arrows, Ryandir carefully sheathed his bow, hanging it behind the railing of the chariot platform, and took out his hunting spear. As the chariot sped forward, he thrust the spearhead outward, the tip slicing through the air with the characteristic whistling sound of a hunting spear, striking the target hard. The vibration from the spearhead traveled through the wooden shaft to his arm, where he steadily absorbed the impact.

Meanwhile, Keramane, driving the chariot, was not idle either. He showed off his skills to his cousins, maneuvering the reins while simultaneously drawing the harpoon from the shaft with his free right hand. He made no unnecessary preparations, no securing it with his left hand, no pause, and no deliberate aiming.

He simply raised his hand, placed it on the railing, and fired.

The movements were executed in one smooth, decisive motion.

The speargun fired, hitting his intended target with pinpoint accuracy.

In that instant, it was almost as if the gun hit the target the moment it was raised, and the head was instantly killed the moment it appeared.

He then skillfully secured the harpoon to the slot on the platform, loaded it with one hand, and his movements were swift and decisive. After loading, he hung the harpoon back on the cart shaft, leaned forward, and pulled the bowstring. With a deep hum, the harpoon was ready to fire again.

Throughout the entire process, the tank traveled at high speed, even making a sharp turn. The sounds of hooves, wheels, wind, and howls mingled together, forming a prelude to a tale of iron and blood.

And so, the adaptive training continued to progress.

Sometimes they maneuvered alone, practicing various tactical maneuvers; sometimes four vehicles traveled side by side, like a black torrent, vibrating the air in the forest. Sometimes they went straight, testing speed and stability; sometimes they turned, training coordination and reaction; sometimes they stopped, getting off to retrieve scattered training arrows and harpoons. Sometimes they were fast, the wind whistling like knives; sometimes they were slow, the rhythm gentle, yet concealing the power to erupt again.

Not far away, the cavalry were also undergoing similar acclimatization training. Unlike the tank units, their training was far more complex. They needed to adapt to the changing terrain of the dense forest and hone the coordination between cavalry units. Alternating firing, coordinated cover, rapid encirclement, and concentrated charges were all extremely demanding skills.

Any problem in any link could cause the entire team to collapse.

We must not allow a situation where thousands of cavalrymen throw spears at the same time, which would be a ridiculous occurrence.

Fortunately, both Duruci and Asley were elite soldiers with the characteristics of woodland dwellers, allowing them to move freely through the deep forest.

Even the dense bushes, tangled tree roots, and damp mossy areas will not hinder them. After a period of adjustment, their teamwork will become increasingly seamless, perhaps even more adapted to this forest than the raiders of the Kingdom of Elion. When the opportunity to clash with them arises, it will surely show the Asur what true surprise is.

Unfortunately, reality is often cruel, and they are unlikely to encounter any raiders from the Kingdom of Elion. This is not within the scope of their current mission. Blocking the forces from the Kingdom of Elion in the forest is the task of another large legion, and their force will only encounter... other enemies lurking in the shadows, who may reveal themselves at any moment.

Soon, the two-hour acclimatization training ended. It wasn't that they didn't want to continue, but they had to call it a day.

It is currently the transition period between winter and spring. Although there is no snow, the sun sets earlier than in summer.

Before nightfall, the troops must complete their withdrawal and subsequent maintenance work; otherwise, the darkness will provide an opportunity for the enemy and even wild animals in the forest. After all, there are not only unknown enemy troops here, but also the possibility of a predatory beast rushing out from the crater at any moment.

During the return journey, the chariot gradually slowed to its lowest speed. Finally, Keramane nimbly jumped off the chariot, gently took the reins of his horses, and led them slowly away.

Although the Elf Warhorses are incredibly stylish, they are still horses, living beings with flesh and blood. As their most reliable companions, both riders and trainers must provide them with the utmost care, maintenance, and protection.

Just like armored soldiers need to maintain and service the tanks they drive, they disassemble the tracks...

Now, the Truc Army possesses a set of maintenance manuals that can be described as very scientific.

At this moment, what Keira Mayne is doing is helping the warhorse safely and smoothly transition from a state of vigorous exercise to a state of rest.

If you immediately make the horses stand still after exercise, you are torturing them. That will only lead to muscle stiffness and soreness, and may even cause more serious health problems.

The correct way is to lead them slowly, allowing their heart rate and breathing to gradually slow down and blood circulation to return to normal, thus helping the muscles metabolize waste and dissipate excess heat. During this process, he closely observes each warhorse's breathing, heart rate, mental state, and gait. He occasionally lowers his head to touch the external maxillary artery below the horse's jawbone, feeling the throbbing pulse, and meticulously observes the horse's leg movements for any slight limp or unnatural gait.

The moment Keramain jumped off the chariot, Ryandel and Serarian also leaped from the platform, naturally dividing their tasks upon landing. They followed behind the chariot, responsible for providing cover and adjusting to the inconveniences of the armor, while simultaneously attempting to build initial trust with their new companion, Black Wolf.

They would slowly approach, extending their paws for the black wolves to sniff, and softly call their names, allowing the wolves to become familiar with their scent and remember their appearance. Black wolves are extremely intelligent hunting dogs, but to gain their true trust, those who are not animal trainers must invest sufficient patience and time.

Kayla Mayne occasionally gave them pointers, introducing the names of the hounds and telling them how to soothe the hounds' emotions through body language and breathing. She also asked them to observe whether the hounds' breathing was rapid, whether their tongues were abnormally colored, whether they were overly excited, and whether their gait was coordinated.

Like warhorses, hunting dogs also need a safe and smooth recovery from their heightened and high-metabolic state after strenuous exercise; otherwise, they too risk injury. Walking on a leash and taking slow walks are essential steps to allow their heart rate and breathing to gradually return to normal.

After returning to the barracks in an orderly manner, the joyful time for outdoor exercise came to an end, and they returned to the monotonous and tedious life in the barracks once again.

There are few surprises here, and little room for relaxation; what awaits them is still the repetitive, routine of daily life. But it is precisely this routine that lays a solid and calm foundation for the unpredictable battles to come.

Upon returning to the stables, Dragil immediately led the black wolves back to their enclosure. He needed to give the hounds small amounts of water frequently to prevent gastric torsion from drinking too much at once. Then, he knelt down and carefully stroked the hounds' entire bodies with both hands, from their necks to their backs, from their abdomens to their limbs, leaving no muscle or bone untouched, especially their limbs and paw pads.

He gently pressed on the paw pads to check for muscle strain or over-tension, and examined them for cuts, abrasions, blisters, or foreign objects lodged in them. After all, high-speed running and sharp turns cause significant wear and tear on the paw pads, and even a slight mishap could render the hound incapacitated.

In addition, he checked the ears and eyes one by one to prevent scratches from branches, as any minor wounds, if not detected in time, could cause problems later. The fur was also repeatedly inspected to avoid ticks, grass seeds, or other parasites attaching to it.

After the inspection is completed, cleaning is also required.

Rinse the limbs and abdomen with clean water to remove dirt, sweat, and grass clippings picked up during running. Only in this way can the hunting dog's physical condition be maintained at its best.

This entire process is tedious and rigorous, but necessary. It not only effectively maintains the hunting dogs' fighting ability, but also prevents non-combat casualties caused by minor injuries or illnesses.

He has no desire to write reports or even be questioned.

Meanwhile, the Asleys remained in the stables, watching Keramane skillfully tend to the warhorses, and gradually joining in with tasks within their capabilities. Only when the horses' breathing stabilized, their sweat lessened, and their muscle temperature dropped did they move on to the next stage of care. During this process, their role was to remove the yokes from the horses and return the equipment to its designated positions.

And then no more.

The next steps—rinsing the horses' limbs, necks, and major blood vessels with cold water, scraping off sweat, giving them water and hay, and then performing a full-body physical examination—were procedures they couldn't help much with. At most, they could lend a hand when disassembling saddles or moving equipment. But they weren't idle. Keira Maien took advantage of the breaks in grooming the warhorses to teach them some new things—like how to use a jack.

Thus, a rather bizarre scene unfolded.

Unfortunately, the tanks and their maintenance tools were from completely different eras.

Under Keramain's guidance, the four Asleys busied themselves, first securing the yoke, then placing two jacks at the bottom of the chariot platform. As they pressed the metal handles, the chariot was gradually lifted. Once the chariot was fully raised, they began to inspect the wheels located in the center of the chariot.

As Keramme and Drakil entered their final stages almost simultaneously, the sun gradually sank into the crater, the curtain of night slowly rose, and the temperature dropped rapidly.

It's lunchtime! Time to show off our food.

However, just as this tranquility was about to descend, something strange happened.

High in the forest, a blurry human figure suddenly appeared atop a thick branch, standing between darkness and fading light. Then, more figures gradually emerged, one after another, their cold, sharp outlines peeking out from the shadows. The leader looked down at the forest floor, his gaze fixed on the tracks scattered across the ground—hoofprints, wheel tracks, footprints, and the paw prints of hunting dogs.

At first, these marks appeared chaotic to him, like the remnants left by an undisciplined army. But as he examined them closely, the logic behind these traces gradually emerged.

All the marks were placed at a precise distance from the trees, a meticulous habit that sent a chill down his spine. He instantly understood that this was Duruqi conducting his daily training, and what was even more frightening was that the details of these marks revealed another side of this unit—they were not just qualified soldiers, but elite troops skilled in fighting in the forest.

This suddenly reminded him of some past events he didn't want to recall, and he also realized that the enemy he was about to face was far more troublesome than he had anticipated.

As fragments of memory flashed through his mind like lightning, his expression instantly became even more solemn. He carefully secured the rope firmly to the thick branch, ensuring the knot was secure enough to support his own weight.

He then slowly slid down the rope, his body swaying gently in mid-air until he hovered not far from the ground. If he had wanted to descend a few more feet, he could have placed his feet on the messy footprints, but he didn't.

He suppressed the thought and chose to be cautious.

Because he knew very well that his footprints were completely different from Duruci's military boot prints—the patterns on the soles, the way the force was applied, and even the distribution of the soles touching the ground all carried undeniable differences.

If he rashly covered up the original mark, he had no doubt that when Duruci resumed training the next day, he would discover this abrupt footprint.

That would mean that he himself, and the entire army he led, would be completely exposed.

With a slight twist of his wrist, he controlled the tension of the rope, allowing his body to slowly rotate in mid-air, like a night raven dancing in the wind. The rotation became smaller and smaller, and when his body was directly facing the rough tree trunk, he suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing sharply.

Right in front of him, there was a hole in the bark. Based on his experience, he could almost instantly tell that it was an arrow hole.

Then, he frowned deeply. He had seen arrows that could create such holes before, and more than once.

He took a deep breath, swung his body slightly, and used the rope to gently swing closer to the tree trunk. He pressed himself against the hole, his face close to the rough bark, his eyes almost aligned with the edge of the hole, carefully observing the details.

The hole was extremely irregular in shape, larger and more torn than a typical arrow slit. The edges of the hole were rough and messy, with large amounts of wood fibers forcibly torn apart, as if a sharp blade had brutally cleaved the wood.

All of this clearly illustrates one fact: this was a 'yaw angle hit'.

The arrow flies in the same direction as the target, but there is an angle between the arrow's axis and its direction of flight. In other words, the archer did not shoot while stationary or running in a straight line, but was in a state of high-speed motion, most likely drawing the bow forcefully during a sharp turn.

However, the more he observed, the more conflicted he felt.

The depth of the arrow slit was unexpected, and the trajectory inside was smooth and straight, almost indistinguishable from a direct shot. If it had truly hit at a yaw angle, the arrow should have deflected sharply upon impact, perhaps even bounced off or broken, rather than penetrating so cleanly and precisely.

But he didn't get lost in long, drawn-out thoughts. He knew the reason; at least, he had his own answer. He reached out and carefully inserted his little finger into the hole, slowly feeling around. The tearing sensation of the wood fibers against his fingertip confirmed certain details. When he withdrew his finger, a cold glint appeared in his eyes.

He turned his head, his gaze fixed on the remaining traces in the distance, trying to further verify his deduction.

If Dakota were standing next to him right now and saw this, he would probably exclaim in surprise: What kind of expert is this, specializing in gunshot marks!
The only difference was that he wasn't examining bullets, but arrows. Yet his movements, expression, and logic at that moment were indistinguishable from those of a seasoned forensic pathologist.

Soon, he found a new breakthrough, or rather, the answer he was looking for.

Not far away, on the damp mud, lay a strange tire track. He immediately recognized it as the mark left by the Duruch chariot, its depth and light uniform, the texture of the wheel clearly visible. More importantly, judging from the arc of the wheel and the way the soil was compressed, it was a sharp turn made at high speed, but that wasn't the truly strange thing.

What's strange is that not far from this tire track, there is another obvious turning mark.

This situation is highly unusual. After a high-speed turn, a tank should continue on its new trajectory rather than turn again within a short distance.

Then he turned his gaze to the nearby hoofprints. Unlike the wheel tracks, the hoofprints were extremely messy and disordered, showing signs of abrupt stops and turns. Combining the two, he almost immediately concluded that the chariot had circled around in the vicinity, then turned back, and then turned again not far from where it had turned before.

At that moment, a clear image appeared in his mind, as if memory and imagination intertwined, bringing back the scene and unfolding it frame by frame before his eyes.

The reason why the hole and the arrow hole do not match is because of the presence of the arrow, which fired two arrows in succession.

The first arrow was fired while the chariot was spinning at high speed, but it was clear that the arrow missed its mark.

The archer did not fully grasp the rhythm, and his body and the chariot's rotation failed to synchronize. The force and angle were misaligned in an instant, causing the chariot to veer off course.

The second arrow was also fired at the moment the chariot was spinning at high speed. The difference was that this time, the archer seized an extremely subtle moment. As the chariot spun rapidly, his body also rotated, achieving a rhythmic fusion in an instant, forming a perfectly fluid movement.

So the second arrow flew out, correcting the flaw of the first arrow and creating the effect of a seemingly straight shot.

That arrow was perfect.

It struck the hole created by the first arrow squarely, completely covering its interior. The deep, smooth penetration is an illusion created by this subsequent coverage. This is why there is a noticeable mismatch between the edge and the interior of the hole, why the exterior appears rough while the interior is as clean as a straight piercing.

To further confirm his judgment, he held his breath, slightly tightened his waist and abdomen, and used the rope to suspend his body upside down, like a silent bat, slowly lowering his head.

His eyes carefully scanned the details of the footprints below. At the first glance, the breath he had been holding back for so long involuntarily escaped his chest, as if a long-stretched string had finally loosened for a moment. Then, his gaze moved beyond the footprints to the traces further away, his concentration growing even stronger.

His judgment was correct.

The archer was no ordinary archer, but a master of maneuvering in the forest. He leaped from the chariot, landed silently on the ground, and then made his way to the foot of a tree.

However, the footprints he left behind were not isolated traces, but the result of two overlapping walks. When he went back, he walked backwards.

Whether moving forward or backward, every step is exactly the same as before. The same path is walked twice, and the first footprint is precisely covered under the second, with almost no flaws.

If the archer hadn't reached out and pulled the arrow, which was deeply embedded in the trunk, when he came to the tree for the second time, and thus inadvertently grounded with his foot as he twisted his body to exert force, he wouldn't have even noticed it, had he not been unfamiliar with Duruqi's standard military boots.

Master, absolute master.

What's even more terrifying is that these experts are not allies, but enemies they are about to face. They will use their very presence to gradually erode, dismantle, and even completely reverse the advantages that he and his troops are so proud of.

“Darkus…” he murmured, his voice a low growl squeezed from the depths of his chest, a sigh-like call. (End of Chapter)