The son of the God-Emperor in Warhammer Fantasy

"Why?" Ryan, always interested in the history of the high elves because of their formidable power, listened intently. High elves were among the strongest in the forces of order, surpassed only by the inscrutable ancient servants. This race's heritage was unparalleled, as demonstrated by Targarys's contingent of Horus sword saints—less than a hundred in number, yet all were legendary warriors.

According to the Lady of the Lake, there were nearly a thousand Horus sword saints.

Furthermore, the Eternal Queen's handmaidens in Avalon Court and the Dragon Princes of Caledor each had about a thousand in their ranks, and the Phoenix Guard in Asuryan's temple counted several hundreds.

These armies were composed entirely of legendary warriors, with many reaching the sanctum level.

Britannia, relying on the Grail Knight Order, already shook the Old World—about three hundred organized, all-legendary Grail Knights had even the neighboring Empire drooling with envy. The power of the high elves was indeed formidable.

Ryan was intrigued. What could have changed Phoenix King Fennubar from a world-traveling navigator into a homebound ruler? Normally, it was the Phoenix King who often led battles personally, whereas the Eternal Queen usually remained secluded.

This time, it seemed roles were reversed; "Brilliant Light" Elarali sometimes even took to the field alongside Tyrion.

"Because... I mentioned earlier, Fennubar was an excellent diplomat and politician, but he was neither a great warrior nor a mage, nor a qualified commander," the Lady of the Lake lifted her head, looking at Ryan's profile and spoke softly, "Fennubar's strength wasn't even on par with Sulia's."

"Not powerful?" Ryan was surprised. "Wasn't he protected?"

"It's the dark elves—the Witch King Malekith and the Witch Queen Morathi are constantly scheming how to assassinate the Phoenix King," the Lady of the Lake caressed Ryan's chest and spoke gently, "Fennubar's lack of strength meant he couldn't ensure his safety against the relentless assassination attempts by the dark elves. Thus, he always hid within the Phoenix Court, where the great mages of the White Tower of Hoeth created powerful protective spells, and the White Lions guarded him, making it impossible for dark elf assassins and summoned creatures to infiltrate while the spells were active."

"No wonder Fennubar delegated military power entirely to Tyrion and Targarys," Ryan understood Fennubar's predicament.

Lacking military prowess and personal valor, becoming the Phoenix King left him with little choice but to rely on others.

Otherwise, his rule would have been unstable.

"Ryan, grow stronger. Your personal strength is crucial. Be prepared before the final crisis arrives," the Lady of the Lake leaned on Ryan's shoulder and spoke solemnly, "What becomes of you and me, our ending, depends on our strength. If we cannot withstand the final crisis, all grand plans are but empty talk."

Ryan nodded, acknowledging that strength was the foundation of everything.

"Do you feel uncomfortable? My staying here, meddling with your honeymoon with Sulia?" After discussing this, the Lady of the Lake subtly shifted the conversation to what she wanted to know.

"I am a man, after all. Personally, I don't mind, and it seems Sulia doesn't either," Ryan replied with a wry smile, as the goddess was clearly probing.

If Sulia accepted and relished these days, what could Ryan do to oppose it?

"Then it looks like these days will continue—your honeymoon with Sulia still has two weeks left," the Lady of the Lake, satisfied with the response, smiled delightfully, "Tonight's moonlight is beautiful. I had arranged for us three to enjoy moon-viewing together. I have Elven fruit tea from Asuryan here, beneficial for newlyweds."

"We can do that tomorrow."

"Then it's settled," the Lady of the Lake whispered into Ryan's ear, "Really, you should just say if you like to watch. I'll wear it for you during this time."

"Uh—okay."

The Lady of the Lake gently kissed Ryan's cheek, "This is our happiness, the three of us."

...

Aisolorn, The Kingswood

After some travel, Targarys finally managed to reach the Kingswood before Olien and Alaril walked into the fire to turn to ashes.

This land was magical; here, the roots of the Era Oak spread densely, wrapping around every inch of soil. Springs, plants, and animals in the forest sang, and towering ancient trees completely obscured the sky, nearly hiding the path. The ground was covered in slick moss, causing many high elves to squelch up juices with their steps, inducing nausea in several.

The view was filled with endless forest, layer upon layer of giant branches and deep green that covered all of Targarys's sight. Here, eight

-person-thick trees were everywhere, profound and seemingly endless. Wood elf tribes flitted through the trees, frolicking,

The light was dim, only the guiding stones and faint luminescence of forest spirits prevented total darkness. The group lit torches, moving along a giant root towards the heart of the Kingswood.

Drawing a deep breath, the cold damp air penetrated to the marrow, the high elves enjoyed the rich magic winds while sensing their kin's way of life.

Targarys remained silent, his mind pondering, his kin so stubborn that not even the Phoenix King's orders could compel them back to Asur. The Kingswood was indeed special; due to the Era Oak, the entire forest bathed in the winds of magic for long periods, every plant possessed magical power and its own consciousness.

After the Longbeard War, the dark elves split from the high elves, plunging into a desperate civil war. At that time, Phoenix King Caladriel commanded all high elf colonizers from the Old and New Worlds to return to Asur to combat the dark elf counterattack, but the Esleyans outright refused Caladriel's orders. From that time until Fennubar's visit thousands of years later, the wood elves not only broke off relations with the high elves but treated all outsiders as enemies. For a time, wood elves existed only in human myths and plays.

The wood elves abandoned agriculture and donned simple garb, immersing themselves in a life of hunting and gathering, coexisting peacefully with the forest in a self-sufficient lifestyle.

Only after the founding of Britannia, when the kingdom of knights hoped to expand their territories, did they begin interacting with the wood elves. Under the second knight king "Reckless" Louis, Britannia signed a treaty with the wood elves for mutual assistance and non-aggression, and only the Britons knew of the wood elves' existence and could communicate with them.

"Who are Esley's current trade partners?" Targarys asked Alaralos, who was leading the way.

"Only Count Ryan," Alaralos shook his head, "Esley only needs one trade partner; Count Ryan meets our needs, and that is sufficient. We always find a major noble of Britannia for trade."

"Hmm, Ryan is a trustworthy man," Targarys continued, "and he will live a long life..."

"Count Ryan will live a long life? Is this a premonition, Lord Targarys?" the female prophet Lifer quickly chimed in, uncomfortable with the high elves' rare speech along the journey, which was hard for the Esleyans who preferred chatting and conversing while on the move.

"He will outlive many elves," Targarys added, then closed his mouth, leaving the wood elves to ponder on their own.

Normal lifespans for high elves and dark elves ranged from eight hundred to a thousand years, with particularly powerful beings extending their lives by additional millennia. But even they had their day of death, while wood elves, emphasizing coexistence with nature and a symbiotic life with the forest, often lived two to three thousand years.

"If that's the case, then we're fortunate to have a long-lived trade partner," Lifer took over the conversation, "Our last one only lived one hundred sixty years before dying, quite the unlucky fellow. Right, Alaralos?"

"Ah? Yes, right. Count Ryan is reliable, offers fair prices, and respects our privacy—a good trade partner," Alaralos, preoccupied with how to gain Lilith's attention, was startled by Lifer's comment but quickly added, "The mines in the forest were exhausted thousands of years ago, and we also need more wood and food."

"Wood..." Horus magus swordsman Zoltan looked at the countless towering trees within the forest, his face showing disbelief.

"This is our agreement with the tree spirits; the Esleyans communicate with the forest spirits through song," Lifer explained, "In Aisolorn, every tree has its own independent soul. The Tree King Durthu once taught us how to shape trees and collect small amounts of wood without harming them. However, our archery requires a lot of wood, and from Count Ryan we can import large quantities of dwarf weapons and equipment, hardwood timber, ore, and food. We need each other."

"Mutual need is good. Your goods are incomparably popular in the Old World. I worry about some greedy intruders, like some monkeys, who come under the guise of trade for profit," Zoltan added.

The high elves could feel a very comfortable aura emanating from Ryan, especially the Horus sword saints and magus swordsmen skilled in the winds of magic, who automatically categorized Ryan as an equal, no longer just another human.

"We've eliminated five waves of traders coming under the guise of trade. Each time, we let one go back alive, warning them not to approach Esley

," Alaralos said with deep contempt, "Esley does not trust human promises. We only engage in trade when Esley initiates; we never passively accept."

"Asur will also trade with Ryan-Makado. We've signed trade contracts with Duke Bodrick, Duke Francois, and Ryan. In the future, Asur's oceanic merchant fleet will dock at Manann's dry docks in Bordelo, selling goods. If you want high elf goods, you can go through Ryan's territory as an intermediary," Targarys remembered something and continued.

"We will do that."

The conversation died again, but fortunately, the Kingswood was already in sight.

The Forest King Olien and the Forest Queen Alaril, leading a large group of wild riders, the Sisters of Thorns, and swarms of wood elf troops, were already waiting in the Kingswood's royal courtyard for Targarys and the high elf kin to arrive.

Forest King Olien was a giant of over three meters tall, with two huge antlers on his head, a rugged appearance, his upper body bare, and his lower body only covered with simple cloth. He wore the "Wild Hunt Horn" at his waist, held the "Spear of Kurnous" in his hand, was draped with the "Cloak of Isha," and carried the "Hawk's Talon" great bow on his back, standing proudly amidst hundreds of wild riders and eternal guards.

The soul of the Godhunter Kurnous filled Olien's body; he was Kurnous's avatar walking in the mortal realm.

Forest Queen Alaril, slender and sharp-featured in the classic beautiful wood elf style, was twice the height of a normal wood elf. Her eyebrows were moth's antennae, extending several centimeters. Alaril wore a wood elf satin gown and had a pair of huge butterfly wings on her back, fluttering in the air. As one of the most powerful mages in the world, wielding the "Bald Elm Staff" to harness the power of Mother Goddess Isha, Alaril could command immense natural forces to bend to her will. She could command the forest's trees to grow and vegetation to spring from the ground. In this magical forest, Alaril used her abilities to slow and mislead invaders, or to lure them to their doom.

Targarys's knowledge of Alaril was limited to centuries ago, when Olien had once embarked on an expedition through the World Tree's roots to Naggaroth under Alaril's command, beating the Witch King Malekith severely, but ultimately, the Witch Queen Morathi negotiated a withdrawal of the wood elves by offering to teach Alaril dark magic.

Morathi's dark magic amplified the evil within Alaril's soul, driving her into extreme madness. It was only the appearance of one of the three ancient treemen, Adanhu, who sacrificed himself to heal Alaril, that restored her calm.

With Kodile corrupted and Adanhu sacrificed, only Durthu remained of the three ancient treemen—a profoundly sad affair.

Now, the Forest King and Queen before Targarys appeared weakened in both spirit and strength because their existence was intertwined with Aisolorn. In summer, their powers were as formidable as true gods, but in winter, their powers waned like withering, decaying trees.

"Targarys, High Elf Safarui, Archmage of the White Tower of Hoeth, on behalf of the Phoenix Court and all elves of Asur, I bring greetings from King Fennubar to His Majesty the Forest King Olien and Queen Alaril," Targarys, leaning on his staff, bowed his head in respect to the Forest King and Queen.

Targarys did not receive the response he hoped for.

"No, welcome!"

"What does Asur want by coming to Esley's territory?!"

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