The Kingdom of Cinders, Northwind Keep.
In the distance, thick plumes of smoke billowed from towering chimneys, casting a slight haze over the sky, though the locals had long grown accustomed to the sight. Renovated, paved streets bustled with carts and carriages amidst a steady stream of passersby. Some were laborers toiling in factories, others scribes handling paperwork for the palace, and still others merchants who had come to trade.
In the fast-paced rhythm of Northwind Keep, everyone had somewhere to be and something to do.
Yet today seemed out of the ordinary, and many slowed their steps, stopping to listen.
"Breaking news! Big news!"
"The investiture ceremony is about to begin!"
"His Majesty Cassius will arrive at the Central Plaza to bestow favors in person! Humans and thralls alike are welcome to attend!"
A newsboy waved the papers in his hands, jogging through the crowd as he cried out at the top of his lungs. He was shouting with uncommon vigor—after all, completing this assignment would earn him an official reward of three silver coins.
By the roadside notice boards, tiefling guards tore down weathered bounties and plastered up the newest flyers so the populace could read the vital announcement.
Citizens gathered before the boards, buzzing with discussion.
"An investiture ceremony?"
"Tch, probably another solo performance for those thralls. It has nothing to do with weak humans like us."
"I'd like to check it out, myself."
"Yeah, I've lived here two years now, and I've never once laid eyes on the legendary dragon king."
"Hah! With that kind of spare time, you'd be better off earning a few extra silvers."
"We can at least go join the excitement. What if His Majesty is in a good mood and a few gold coins slip through his claws to reward us? Word is he sits on millions of gold pieces."
Before long, the Central Plaza was a hive of clamor and bustle.
After years of development and incoming waves of migrants, Northwind Keep boasted a permanent population of sixty thousand. At this moment, nearly a third of them had gathered here; nearly twenty thousand people packed into the plaza, jamming the once-spacious grounds until not a drop of water could have trickled through.
Regardless of profession—merchants, laborers, or soldiers—and regardless of race—humans, ogres, or tieflings—the varied residents of Northwind Keep came together like vibrant clusters of flowers, eagerly waiting to witness this rare spectacle.
Gripping their spears shoulder-to-shoulder in orderly ranks, tiefling guards cordoned off an enormous open space in the middle of the plaza.
In times past, a stone statue of Duke Norman, heroic ancestor of House Lackman, had stood here. After the kingdom took over, the original effigy had been smashed to pieces, replaced by a majestic statue of the red dragon.
Now, the red dragon's statue had been moved before City Hall, and in its place rose a colossal altar carved with dragon-wing motifs, flanked by dozens of thick stone pillars.
Naturally, dragon-blooded thralls such as ogres and hobgoblins stood at the very front. Those holding high office, like Trump, were even provided seats so they could watch the grand event in comfort, while the vast majority of humans were held back behind them.
"Stop shoving in front of me! Move it!"
"Bastard, you looking for a fight?"
"When does this ceremony even start?"
"It's suffocating in here!"
With so many attending, shoving and bickering were inevitable, and complaints rose incessantly. Even the disciplined tiefling city guards could barely hold the line.
Suddenly, someone gasped.
"Look up there!"
People craned their necks to look. Wyverns approached from the horizon like a roiling storm cloud, dark and heavy, nearly blotting out the sun. Chimeras flew on both flanks of the formation, like an escort of honor guards.
Within the formation, the colossal red dragon, nearly thirty meters long, slowly beat his massive wings. Each downstroke sent scorching gusts rolling over onlookers thousands of meters away, turning even the air within the city stiflingly hot.
A white dragon trailed close behind the red dragon, following in his wake like the most loyal thrall, her stark color standing out amidst the flight of dragons.
As the magnificent contingent descended, the people who had just been clamoring held their breath in spite of themselves, plunging the plaza of over twenty thousand into dead silence.
As the dragons drew near, shadows stretching for miles fell across the plaza, enveloping the throngs below.
*Boom!*
Cassius landed heavily upon the summit of the altar with a resounding crash, whipping up fierce gusts of wind.
The atavistic wyverns and chimeras circled down to alight in unison atop the stone pillars, while the white dragon Tinia indisputably claimed the pillar closest to the red dragon.
*"Roar—!"*
They threw their heads back together, loosing a synchronized roar that reverberated through the air.
Cassius said nothing. He merely took a step forward, slowly spreading his immensely broad dragon wings. The dragon crystal embedded in his chest pulsed with blazing light, as though harboring boundless power.
In an instant, a potent shockwave radiated outward with him at its center.
An invisible pressure rolled across the plaza; every mortal creature present bowed their heads by sheer instinct, paying reverent homage.
"Lord of Cinders!"
"Our King!"
"Great Red Dragon!"
The dragon-blooded thralls thrust their weapons into the air, erupting in roaring waves of cheers.
With every crushing victory along his path, Cassius's dread majesty had grown ever more formidable, transforming him into an object of spiritual devotion for his thralls. Even a slumber spanning years did nothing to dampen their burning fervor.
The humans harbored far more complicated feelings, predominantly awe and terror. After all, they had once been "the conquered," or even mere "spoils of war." Though the red dragon had granted better lives to some, they still needed more time to adapt to this shift in status.
As for the rebels lurking in the shadows, their feelings were harder still to put into words.
Rumors in the outside world claimed the red dragon had fought a world-shattering battle with a black wizard and succumbed to slumber only after suffering grave injuries, but reality clearly proved otherwise. Those who had harbored a sliver of hope now found themselves struck speechless.
—Take, for instance, the former baron concealed within the crowd, Falo Trishid.
"How is this possible? How could he be this powerful...?"
"It's only been three years..."
Falo's voice trembled, and his knees went weak.
As a former member of the Northlands nobility, he pined bitterly for the life he once had, living in Northwind Keep under an assumed name for a long time. In secret, he had made contact with the south, acting as an insider for the Harpers.
If the Cassius of the past had merely possessed the proportions of an adult red dragon—an enemy who, within Falo's shallow understanding, could still be defeated—then this Cassius, stretching nearly thirty meters long and having evolved into an extraordinary form, was entirely beyond his comprehension, filling him with profound despair.
"He is simply... invincible."
Falo stared at the winged red dragon in the distance, muttering under his breath in spite of himself.
Chapter 250