An Era

In larger settlements like Northwind Keep and Teluo City, people's lives had undergone earth-shattering changes. The several factories left behind by the Machine Cult continued to expand with state support, and magical steam machinery gradually became known to the public. Tall chimneys rose one after another, far surpassing the low buildings of the past and spewing thick black smoke—so much so that the kingdom's spellcasters frequently intervened with Gust of Wind spells to disperse the gloom hanging over the cities. Having been emancipated, many former serfs rushed from rural villages into the towns, becoming low-level laborers in massive factories. They bore the heaviest workloads and endured foul, polluted air, but at least they no longer had to worry about basic food and warmth, let alone dying in their homes on some snowy night for lack of coal. Cheap, filling concoctions produced in food processing plants from potatoes, wheat, and other staples became the top choice for many poor folk to fill their bellies. And the so-called "luncheon meat"—made from scraps, starch, and additives—allowed many of humble origins to taste meat for the very first time. During festivals and celebrations, families often gathered to open a precious tin of luncheon meat and savor the rare delicacy. Thanks to the unique nature of the Weave, the exhaust vented by these machines was far less lethal than during the "Industrial Revolution" of his past life, and it could be periodically cleared with magic. As a result, the workers' conditions were far better than those of the short-lived wretches from historical records of his former world. Exhausting though the work was, they were not reduced entirely to disposable fodder. Under the kingdom's rule, intellectual currents varied across different social strata. The former northern nobles pined for their past privileges and elegant lifestyles. They often huddled in dim taverns, talking grandly, critiquing current affairs, decrying the moral decay of present society, and venting their grievances against the kingdom. In their retellings, the former Principality of Lakeman was painted as an almost flawless utopia. They typically opened with "Back when Grand Duke Lakeman was on the throne..." or "Back when my family was flourishing...", carrying themselves much like loyalists longing for a fallen dynasty. Yet for all their bluster, the moment agents from the Royal Guard or Nocturne showed up, they scattered like startled birds. And after several nobles were thrown into prison on charges like "fabricating rumors and defamation," even gatherings like these became rare. Though the old nobles complained about the exhausting life of manual labor, they still had to work to eke out a living. The common townsfolk, on the other hand, quickly adapted to this new life. Under the kingdom's system, not only was it easier to secure basic sustenance, but there were also more avenues for upward mobility. Various posts that had once been the exclusive privileges of nobility were now goals ordinary people could strive for. In this new era, a citizen of Northwind Keep's greatest aspiration was to pass the examinations and become a scribe or tax collector, or failing that, to try their hand at becoming a factory manager. Others took a different path, relying on decent physical fitness to take the assessments for the Dragon Oath Hall or the Redscale Garrison. As for the emancipated serfs, they were filled with boundless gratitude. Bound by inertia of thought, they still did not understand the meaning of freedom and remained more accustomed to obeying the so-called "noble lords." Yet subtle, gradual changes were already taking root. They were progressively becoming staunch supporters of the kingdom's order—after all, they could finally keep their bellies full. Of course, having originated from the Cinder Nest, a significant portion of the kingdom's ruling class consisted of monstrous vassals. They held a special status within the kingdom and looked down upon the humans as "the conquered." These vassals often clung to the outdated notions of the old Storm Heights, believing the weak existed only to be humiliated by the strong. Despite the constraints of the Kingdom Domain, their cruel, brutal nature remained unalterable. Friction between humans and monsters—and even shocking, bloody atrocities—were by no means rare. Though such incidents were quelled by the city garrison, it often felt more like a cover-up. Many residents lived in uneasy apprehension, while the monsters resented having to sit as equals with such frail humans. The tieflings, caught between "monsters" and "humans," frequently acted as mediators. Trump often found himself overwhelmed trying to resolve these racial tensions. He had handled several sensational cases, executing plenty of monsters who oppressed and slaughtered humans, yet at times he deliberately concealed the truth, even silencing witnesses. For instance, in the "Bugbear Murder Case" that had claimed nearly ten lives, Trump strictly enforced the law, making an example of the culprit to deter others by sending that bugbear to the guillotine without hesitation. Yet in the "Suburban Beggar Disappearance Case," where a chimera was suspected, Trump used magic to mask the truth, handing the creature nothing more than a token sentence of confinement. To his mind, whether vassals or humans, both were merely tools to strengthen the kingdom, parts of the red dragon's grand blueprint. The sole standard for his compromises and decisions was the kingdom's supreme interest. To the ogre, so-called identity and empathy were beneath contempt, and as an archmage, he had long detached himself from his original species. Moreover, Trump's various policies and directives had mostly been drafted through discussions with the players during the closed beta, refined and perfected by the kingdom's think tank, and finally put into effect. Among the thousands of closed beta players, over a dozen had backgrounds in historical research or experience working in government institutions. Their thinking appeared remarkably progressive in the Northlands, where productivity was near-medieval, and Trump held those few players in high regard. Militarily, with the departure of the players, the upgrading and iteration of ordnance came to an abrupt halt. However, this also afforded the kingdom's army ample time to drill and devise tactics around their existing armaments. Tactics such as ground-air joint operations between hobgoblin forces and wyverns, as well as coordinated warfare among line infantry, artillery, and cavalry, all saw meaningful development through trial and error. Though much of it was still crude, it already conferred an overwhelming advantage over contemporary armies in the Northlands. *On War*, transcribed and presented by the players before their departure, was treasured like a sacred relic by the hobgoblin warlord Duoluo. In his spare time, he frequently had human scribes read it aloud to him and gathered his officers to dissect its principles together; he had even picked up quite a few Common words in the process. All in all, society maintained a baseline of stability. Over the past three years, regardless of how much hidden darkness lurked behind the kingdom's facade, and regardless of how much gruesome bloodshed lay buried beneath the founding of this new order, there was no denying that this burgeoning realm was flourishing. In its dormancy, it had grown into a colossus capable of shaking the entire Northlands single-handedly, even while the red dragon slumbered. It awaited only an opportunity to unleash this long-suppressed might in full. To borrow a quote from *A Tale of Two Cities*: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." The wheels of the era rolled forward, and anything that failed to align with the kingdom's order would be ruthlessly crushed, ground into ruin across the land.