Three Years

Each year, the howling snowstorms of Anzeta swept in, blanketing the earth in white. The resilient people dwelling in this "springless land" had long grown accustomed to the bitter cold. Though they had migrated from the warm south, they did so merely to survive. Likewise, for the sake of basic survival, they would gradually grow used to the rule of the Kingdom of Cinders and adapt to this new order. Snow and ice blanketed the earth time and again, melting away only to return. In the blink of an eye, three years had passed. To a dragon, this was hardly long at all—it was nothing more than an ordinary deep slumber. After all, dragons that slept for decades or even centuries were commonplace. Yet this dormancy held immense significance for Cassius; he was poised to undergo the greatest leap of his existence. With faint snores, the red dragon's massive frame rose and fell. The energy overflowing from his surface had already been greedily reabsorbed, while the progenitor dragon bloodline within him continued to unleash an even more turbulent, primal power through his fundus vessels—the primordial might bestowed upon the first dragons by Io, the Nine-Fold Dragon of antiquity. Over these three years, enveloped within that colossal egg, the red dragon's physical form was being reshaped by this power at a visible pace. Once he fully awakened, he would resemble the progenitor dragons of the primordial age—beings that existed only in myths and epics—far more than the ordinary chromatic dragons of this era, who had suffered multiple weakenings and shackles over the ages. The red dragon's draconic aura also grew with each passing day. A mere murmur or low growl from him was enough to send birds and beasts miles away fleeing in terror. Even battle-hardened tiefling guards were often suffocated by this pressure leaking out unintentionally. Some even suffered mental distress, making frequent guard rotations necessary. Even the wyverns roosting upon the stone pillars trembled constantly, cowering flat against the rock like pitiful chicks, showing none of the majestic ferocity they displayed before outsiders. After all, these scions carrying thin dragon bloodlines felt the most primal suppression welling from the depths of their veins. While locked in slumber, Cassius often dreamed—visions that were actually the ancestral inheritance of the progenitor dragon bloodline. Spectacular scenes of progenitor dragons battling abominations and primeval behemoths frequently flashed across his mind. Whenever this occurred, he would thrash, snarl, and roar as though thrown onto the battlefield himself, involuntarily releasing bursts of wanton power. The true dragon's environmental influence continued to take effect as well. And unlike before, as the progenitor dragon bloodline remodeled him, its radius and destructive potency grew day by day. At first, scalding magma frequently welled up from the palace floor, easily melting solid iron into glowing, boiling liquid. The entire main hall resembled a stifling furnace; even the heavy iron doors glowed cherry-red with blistering heat, subjecting the guards stationed outside to immense misery. Yet that was only the red dragon's first year of slumber. In the second year, the sleeping Lord of Cinders's impact on the environment expanded further. Extreme heat gradually enveloped the entire palace. Then, during a winter that should have brought biting gales, scalding magma erupted from the ground outside the main hall like a volcanic explosion. The ground turned into pitch-black lava, and swirling ash nearly smothered the entire royal complex. This accident claimed the lives of twelve tieflings—some burned to death, others suffocated in the choking ash. And this was merely the result of power leaking unintentionally from the red dragon. Following that disaster, Mezrolash abandoned guard posts around the main hall, relocating the tieflings to the palace's outermost perimeter. He also dispatched spellcasters regularly to monitor the Weave around the palace, preventing further incidents and unnecessary casualties. Fortunately, no such tragedy occurred again. Starting in the third year, the red dragon's environmental effects ceased manifesting as catastrophic disasters, shifting instead into a deeper influence over the broader climate system. Under Cassius's influence, not only the area surrounding the palace but even Northwind Keep, several miles away, became noticeably warmer. It gradually grew into a sanctuary against Anzeta's harsh winters, even being dubbed "Neverwinter" by ignorant Northlanders. Desperate paupers flocked to Northwind Keep in droves when winter arrived. Even when the guards turned them away, they would huddle together outside the walls, reveling in the hard-won warmth. Whether in life tier or personal strength, having undergone this slumber, Cassius had thoroughly surpassed that mature adult red dragon from back then. Yet only ten years had passed—a mere blink of a nap to an ordinary dragon. And what changes had occurred across the vast territory of the Kingdom of Cinders over these years? On the surface, there was little to see. After all, during the years of the red dragon's slumber, the Kingdom of Cinders had abandoned its former aggression. Though occasional friction and skirmishes were inevitable, the kingdom had engaged in no wars with neighboring lands, developing steadily for years. Some northern nobles had even begun penning political essays. They believed the red dragon was satisfied with the status quo and would sleep for decades, perhaps centuries, allowing the Northlands to return to enduring order and peace, and that the various realms had nothing to fear. Yet Grand Duke Leo scoffed at such claims. He refused to believe the greedy dragon would ever stop here. Over these past few years, though he had avoided provoking the Kingdom of Cinders directly, he had been secretly contacting the Northland states in hopes of forging a close "Anti-Red Dragon Coalition." However, cautious as he was, his petty maneuvers were inevitably uncovered by the kingdom's intelligence apparatus. Mezrolash swiftly dispatched Nocturne to counter, sabotage, and disrupt these efforts, ensuring that this so-called alliance never materialized in any practical sense, lingering solely as verbal agreements. In truth, the Kingdom of Cinders's dormancy had lulled many duchies into complacency. Until a dire crisis arrived, their short-sighted rulers had no desire to be tied to Bosque's war chariot and provoke such a terrifying behemoth. Within the kingdom itself, however, the lives of the common folk had undergone earth-shaking transformations. The promulgation of the Kingdom Code brought every aspect of life under the rule of law. The loopholes of power shrank ever narrower, leaving no shelter for factions lurking in the shadows between black and white. The people did not know whether this was for better or worse, but they had to adapt to this regulated existence. The reform of the land tenure system abolished the serfdom of old once and for all. Former Northland nobles and wealthy landowners colluded, hoping to seize the opportunity of the red dragon's slumber to rise in revolt—perhaps their final chance. Yet they received no compromise from the kingdom—only a long-prepared, ruthless suppression. Under Duoluo's command, the lead balls of the hobgoblin line infantry tore through the nobles' seasoned retainers without mercy. Noble heads rolled across the dirt until only a single voice remained throughout the realm. This so-called "rebellion" ended without a whisper. Though it drew fierce condemnation from Northland aristocrats and stirred up a storm of public outrage—with scholars even branding it a "bloody tragedy" and a "cruel massacre"—in reality, the uprising barely caused a ripple within the kingdom. The so-called resistance had been a farce, snuffed out the instant the first spark flared.