Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

In 2174 IC, Alaros led the Asrai army across the Worldroot to Ulthuan to aid Morarion.

At this time, the Kingdom of Iris was being harassed by the Duruchi invaders.

At first, Morarion was confused by the arrival of Asrai, but soon turned to joy. Although he and Eltharion fought with Druch for a long time, most of the Ivresse army was transferred to support Finubar's battle on other fronts. The remaining army could not completely drive out the enemy. Alaros's troops made up for the lack of Ivresse's military strength.

The pressure on the Duruchi army increased and they were eventually defeated.

After the battle, Morarion asked Alaros why he came to his aid. Alaros replied that most of his ancestors and those of his kin came from Ethor Tamaha, and he could not sit idly by and watch the forest of his homeland be destroyed.

Morarion felt a little strange, but he still said goodbye to Alalos. Many years later, he learned that Alalos was not telling the truth, and he never understood why Asrai did this.

If you just watch this part...

All I can say is that he came too early. Alaros should have come later, when Gollum invaded the Kingdom of Yvresse. Then, perhaps Esor Tamaha would not have been destroyed? Eltharion, who was originally a dark figure, would not have completely turned evil and become a cold-blooded prison boss.

Perhaps... Lilith was cruel to Eltharion?

Not only that, the "Dark Omen" Malagor is also marching towards Sylvania.

For various reasons, Asrai also decided to send out an army, led by Alaros, the Lord of Tasain, the Champion of Ariel, and the Chosen of Lilith.

Before he left Athel Loren, Liv hugged him in farewell. For Asrai... nothing could be more ominous than the parting of a prophet. After the army entered Sylvania, it began to suffer losses, and eventually he discovered the banshee hiding in the tower.

This banshee was sent by Manfred. She is the mistress of dreams and nightmares, the mistress of terror that lurks at the edge of vision. She attacks the elves not with steel but with fear. She kills the elves in dreams and pulls their souls out of their bodies.

As the Asrai army continued to march north, the moonlight broke through the darkness, and a female elf blocked their way forward. Soon after, the army disappeared in Sylvania, as if it had never appeared.

On the other side, under the leadership of Mannfred, Malagor's beastman army collided with the dwarf army led by Algrim Ironfist, and the Battle of Redstone broke out.

The Battle of Red Cairn lasted two days and one night, and at the end of the second day, Malagor's host was shattered and the remnants retreated into the woods, leaving behind a shattered battlefield engulfed by death.

Argrim Ironfist was victorious on the battlefield, but due to heavy losses, Karak Kadrin's army would not advance further into Sylvania. Before retreating, the Butcher King sent a small group of volunteers to the west to try to contact Eltharion and inform him of the situation on the dwarves' side.

When this team of volunteers appeared at the agreed location covered in blood, the coalition of elves and humans had already given up on the dwarves who had not arrived for a long time and left early.

The elves and humans were out of sync during their march, and Manfred took advantage of this rare opportunity to attack the human army. When the elves arrived, only the body of the leader of the Knights of Sigmar's Blood could be identified. His body was hung on a tree, and the Knights' battle flag was draped over him like a cloak.

At this point, the Wind Raiders had no way to retreat, and finally...

Perhaps... Lilith was cruel to Eltharion?

Or maybe?

By the way, Morgiana le Fay was sacrificed in the process of resurrecting Nagash.

who is she?

The Bretonnian lake nymph, the spokesperson for the Lady of the Lake.

Everybody loves Lilith.

——

The conversation between Eltharion and Alaros was just a formality. The two of them just touched upon the subject without going into depth nor deliberately distancing themselves from each other. It was like two ships sailing on different routes that met briefly at a certain point, blew their horns to greet each other, and then sailed off to their respective destinations. After all, they were not really familiar with each other.

He did not ask Alaros about the present state of Athel Loren, nor did he try to get any new information from him. While in Naggaroth, he had been in the military system and knew nothing of what had happened to Elshin Arwen.

But Bel-Ahor knew. He usually stayed with Dacreus, and Dacreus's information network was pervasive. Before setting off, Renn had informed Elsin Alwyn of the situation. During the journey, he shared this information with Eltharion to avoid information asymmetry when they actually set foot in Ulthuan, which would lead to some unnecessary things.

As time passed, the ceremony gradually came to an end. The guests were either immersed in the afterglow of the celebration, or continued to have fun, or prepared to rest, or...

As Bel-Ahor stepped into the watchtower, he stopped suddenly, staring at Eltharion in front of him with a hint of astonishment in his eyes.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

Eltharion stood there, his posture was normal, but something had changed completely. His hair was unnaturally pale, his cheeks were thin, and his deep eye sockets made his face look sharper. What made Bel-Ehor's heart tighten the most was his eyes, cold and empty, with a piercing chill, as if he could peel off the surface of his soul and directly see into the deepest shadows.

Bel-Ahor felt an extreme coldness, which was not from the temperature, as he had experienced the winter of Naggaroth. He thought it was something deeper, lurking in Eltharion's eyes, heavy, like a rock pressing on his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

Is this... an illusion? Or...?

His mind was working rapidly, trying to find a reasonable explanation for the scene before his eyes. Perhaps it was the light? Perhaps it was an illusion of fatigue? But he quickly denied these conjectures, because this feeling was too real, so real that he couldn't help but wonder if he had transcended time.

"What's wrong? Is there something on my face?" Itharion's voice came, but the tone... was like the last breath squeezed out of the mouth of a dead person, so cold that it made people's backs numb.

Bel-Ahor did not answer immediately. He subconsciously closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down. When he opened his eyes again, Isharion in front of him had returned to normal, still the familiar look he had, without the suffocating coldness, without the sense of distance as if separated by thousands of miles of ice, as if nothing had happened.

But he knew in his heart that what he saw just now was definitely not an illusion. It was not the light that was playing tricks on him, nor was it a hallucination caused by his own fatigue, but something deeper, an existence that he could not understand... Perhaps, it was a fragment that did not belong to this timeline?

magic?

His first reaction was that the magic of the watchtower had taken effect. This tower was one of the most important spiritual nodes in the entire eastern part of Ulthuan. It had a complex structure and perhaps could penetrate time and space. Was the scene just now some kind of future illusion reflected by the tower?

"What are you daydreaming about? Is there something on my face?" Isharion frowned and raised his hand to touch his face as he spoke.

Bel-Ahor quickly gathered his thoughts. He knew that now was not the time to delve into these matters. Whatever had just happened, that was something that needed to be discussed later. He couldn't let Isharion notice that he was abnormal.

"Nothing...nothing." He deliberately relaxed his tone and even forced a smile. "Maybe I didn't get enough rest?"

"Would you like to... drink some bitter wine?" Eltharion frowned slightly, with a hint of worry in his eyes, "Or try some sarsaparilla root wine? I remember there is some in the box."

Eltharion was very familiar with these two kinds of wine. He drank a lot of bitter wine when he was in Naggaroth.

Bitter wine first appeared when Dacus went to Lustria for the second time, and was immediately sought after by warriors such as Flanais and Baigne. Sarsaparilla root juice wine was directly incorporated into the medicine system due to its special effects. It can be distributed by the army or exchanged with points, so that it can be used at critical moments.

However, Bel-Ahor did not respond to Issarion's proposal with words. Instead, he lifted up his robe and flipped his fingers slightly. Like a magic trick, a cigarette appeared between his fingers.

Eltharion looked at Bel-Ehor's movements, which were so skillful that they couldn't be more skillful, and shrugged helplessly, revealing an expression that I should have thought of long ago.

The two men walked side by side inside the watchtower, their footsteps echoing in the empty stone corridor, just like how they had walked in Malekith's Black Tower countless times before, steady and calm, yet with a hint of indescribable silence.

The magic lamp at the end of the corridor emitted a faint glow, which was reflected on the cold marble floor, casting a series of slender shadows. Eltharion's shadow did not change, but Bel-Ehor's shadow... in a short moment, it seemed to be distorted, swollen, bloated, and the outline was no longer clear, like a corpse soaked in sea water, swollen, twisted, and lifeless. However, in just a moment, the strange change disappeared without a trace, and everything returned to normal, as if it had never happened.

Isharion did not notice this scene, nor did Bel-Ahor, and even the magical fluctuations in the air left no trace.

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Compared with the courtyard, the walls inside the tower were bare and empty, surprisingly simple. There were no extra decorations, no gorgeous murals, no complicated carvings, everything was the most basic and practical structure, the furniture was so simple that it was almost crude, and there was not even the most common carpet.

This is inconsistent with Asur's usual aesthetics, and even seems a bit rigid and dull, as if this is not the residence of a kingdom's ruler, but a retreat for an ascetic.

But Eltharion knew very well that this was not a problem with their family's aesthetics, but was closely related to the unique political ecology of the Kingdom of Ivresse.

Unlike the two kingdoms in the north and south, the Kingdom of Iris has produced many strong men. The fifth and ninth Phoenix Kings came from the Kingdom of Iris. The rulers of the Kingdom of Iris are not hereditary nobles, but are elected by the majority of Iris nobles. Only after being elected can one officially enter the tower and inherit the title of "Iris", which symbolizes royal power.

This means that anyone who can sit on the throne of Yvresse is a real strong man, who has defeated all competitors with strength, wisdom and influence and finally reached the top. And such a political, military and magic center will naturally not waste money and energy to set up, which will only give people a reason to criticize. After all, after being selected, you are not here to enjoy, but to bear obligations and responsibilities.

On the contrary, the old house that truly belongs to the family will be meticulously crafted and more effort will be poured into it.

But... Eltharion's family doesn't have that much money.

No matter how rich Tal Yvresse was, it was impossible for all the taxes collected to go into the family's pockets. That was the system of Asur. Moreover, the taxes collected had to be used to support the standing army and family guards, otherwise he would not have been sent to Elsing Arwen by his father.

While Shengsi and his brother were walking inside the tower, on the other side, Italis was also walking through the dim corridor. His steps were filled with excitement, his heart was throbbing uncontrollably, his eyes were burning with anticipation, and his blood was surging in his body, bringing him a strange pleasure.

This was the atmosphere he loved. Under the darkness, shrouded in shadows, a group of people gathered secretly, and verbally exchanged words. Every word could affect the future, and every decision would set off a storm. For an elf who truly loved conspiracy and calculation, nothing could be more exciting than participating in such a meeting. Tonight's meeting was about Naggaroth and his hometown, which made him even more eager to try.

When the Shengsi brothers pushed open the door of the conference room, the light inside formed a sharp contrast with the night outside the tower. There were already three people sitting in the room, the most prominent of whom was Eltharion's father, Morarion, and sitting next to Morarion was Marin's father, Elardesi.

Eltharion's eyes fell on Elardesi, a very influential figure in Ulthuan. He was tall and thin, like a sword carved by wind and frost, lean and sharp. Under the light, he could clearly see the raised blue veins on the back of the old man's hand. Although his skin was a little withered due to the years, it still had the toughness of being eroded by the sea breeze.

The old man wore a small ornament on his wrist. It was a smoothly polished fish scale inlaid in a silver base. With the slight movement of his fingers, the fish scale reflected a faint blue light, like the rippling sea waves in the middle of the night.

Elardesi stood up and walked around the table. His steps were steady and precise, like an old captain measuring the deck, calm and powerful. His eyes were cold and deep, like the waves before a storm, turbulent but hidden under the vast sea. Finally, he stood in front of Eltharion, his drooping eyelids slightly raised, and his gray-blue eyes silently looked at Eltharion, as if measuring or calculating.

The old man was very tall, taller than Eltharion.

This gave Eltharion a subtle feeling, as if he was standing on a scale, being carefully weighed. However, the pressure was still pressure, and he was no longer a recruit who could be scared away by a glance. He had stood beside Malekith day after day. In the entire elven world, was there anyone more terrifying than Malekith? Whose aura could be more terrifying than Malekith?

So he took half a step forward, straightened his back, and met the old man's gaze without any retreat.

At that moment, Heraldsi's pupils shrank slightly, and shock flashed in his eyes.

After a moment of silence, the old man sighed softly, as if he had let go of some heavy thoughts. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the light in his eyes was no longer as sharp as before. He retracted his gaze, slowly turned around, and returned to his seat. When he sat down, his movements were steady, but with a sense of loss.

Eltharion turned his gaze to his father. He could see some shock, some astonishment, and even a hint of emotion that he himself could hardly distinguish. Was it recognition? Was it doubt? Or... some complex emotions intertwined?

He nodded to his father, and then, sweeping his eyes across the entire conference room, he noticed a slightly haggard figure in the room—Cerion Goldwing, the commander of the Eagle Gate.

Although Eaglegate is located in the mountains of Terenloc, west of Ulthuan, Serion is a native of Ivresse. He is tall, majestic and cold, and even under the haggard, he still can't hide his heroic spirit. There is an ugly scar under his left eye, which is the mark taken by the edge of Druki. The broken blade tore his flesh and left a hideous scar between his temple and nose.

This scar made his face look more resolute and silent.

He had a rich history in his youth, having galloped across the plains of Arion many times with the Arion Raiders, and he had spent time in the court of the Everqueen, enjoying the luxurious life in the forest kingdom.

He earned the respect of his men as a commander, even though he did not try to please them. His respect came from his bravery and strategic ability as a fighter, and his willingness to share the hardships with his men.

He knew when to enforce military law with an iron fist and when to be flexible like a reed in the wind, and he understood how competition within a garrison could boost morale and strengthen the bond between soldiers.

However, at this moment, Serion did not choose to look at Isharion. His eyes always stayed between the map and the scroll on the table, and he seemed not to want to have any eye contact with Isharion.

Eltharion did not delve further, but scanned the entire conference room. Everything familiar came into view. The weapon racks on the wall were filled with various war blades, and the map occupied most of the wall, covering not only Ulthuan, but also Naggaroth, and even the known world beyond. Next to it were gloomy trophies displayed on wooden signs and arranged around the circumference of the room, the heads of various ferocious monsters, all of which were trophies of his father.

On the large table in the middle of the room were plates, cold meats, bread, fruit, wine jugs and water pitchers. Books and scrolls were spread out at random beside them. There were even ink marks that had not completely dried on the papers in the corners. It looked as if someone was preparing for a long meeting.

It’s not like, it’s just!

Many participants came to Tal Yvresse for the purpose of participating in the Alagalon Ascension Ceremony. They could not stay for long. Their duties, positions and missions dictated that they must return quickly after the meeting and return to their posts to continue strategizing or charging into battle.

And here, many people, and even the future direction of Ulthuan, will be decided. (End of this chapter)