"Silence, everyone!"
The plaza fell dead silent once more.
Only then did Cassius begin his brief speech.
"Regardless of origin, regardless of race, and regardless of good or evil—as long as you can contribute to the kingdom's progress, you will all become part of this grand design. You will all be granted formidable power and long life."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a stir rippled through the crowd.
"Could humans truly have such an opportunity?"
"This isn't an exclusive privilege for dragon-blooded thralls?"
The murmurs made all too clear the growing rift in recent years between the two primary classes: the monster thralls and the humans.
As the kingdom's ruling class, the monster thralls enjoyed vastly disproportionate privileges. In the eyes of many thralls, refraining from slaughtering humanity to the last was already an act of immense mercy, let alone extending any notion of equality.
They naturally reaped every advantage across all aspects of the kingdom's operation, and humans being treated as inferiors seemed entirely natural to them.
Cassius's so-called "investiture ceremony" was held not only to bestow greater power upon his subordinates, but also to make a clear political statement. By leveraging his immense influence, he sought to bridge the divide between thralls and humans, steering the Kingdom of Cinders closer to a true, diverse empire.
Cassius pressed down firmly on the altar.
Accompanied by a deep rumbling, over a hundred stone platforms rose from its surface.
Most striking of all were the three platforms at the very top, carved with exquisite patterns and standing mere meters from the red dragon.
Those were the seats of the kingdom's dukes.
They symbolized longevity, immense power, and great authority.
Cassius began by calling out a familiar name.
"Trump."
The ogre mage flew briskly up to the platform and dropped to one knee.
As the kingdom's chief minister, Trump's position was entirely beyond dispute.
With the kingdom's flourishing growth, his standing had grown increasingly secure, practically unassailable. Rather than rashly making an enemy of him, it was far wiser to remain on peaceful terms.
Meanwhile, Duoluo, the hobgoblin commander, had somewhat resigned himself to his fate. After several setbacks, he had lost much of his prestige among the strength-worshiping thralls, making it hard to rival Trump any longer.
For now, he could only bide his time, keeping his burning ambition hidden deep within—though disdain still flashed involuntarily in his eyes, and plumes of smoke snorted from his nostrils.
"Mezrolash."
Sword in hand, the tiefling Oathbreaker stepped forward and vaulted lightly onto his platform.
This time, the clamor from below was considerably louder.
Apart from the tieflings themselves, almost all the other thrall clans harbored some resentment toward Mezrolash's privileged standing. After all, he commanded both the Tiefling Guard and the "Nocturne" unit, holding Northwind Keep's visible and covert defense forces alike in his grasp. In the course of carrying out his duties, crossing other clans had been inevitable.
Take Ali Skullcrusher, chieftain of the bugbears, for instance. Burly and covered in thick hair, the bugbear glared through gritted teeth at the tiefling on the platform, his vein-ridged hands gripping his spiked club so tightly they left indentations in the haft.
During that sensational "bugbear homicide case," it had been Mezrolash who led the hunt and rounded up over a dozen bugbears guilty of murder and robbery, earning him Ali's lasting enmity.
Yet Mezrolash, atop the platform, paid it no mind.
To him, it was merely his duty. So long as the red dragon still trusted him, no one could shake his position.
"Duoluo."
The hobgoblin commander scrambled eagerly onto the platform and dropped to one knee.
He cast intentional glances over his subordinates below, snorting hot white smoke from his nostrils as though proclaiming his unshakeable standing.
Despite the scattered murmurs, the three dukedoms were essentially set in stone and came as no surprise to anyone.
The allocation of the marquises, counts, viscounts, and even barons that followed was the true focus for the humans and thralls in attendance, as it directly affected their own interests.
The announcements for the ranks below duke were not made by Cassius personally; instead, Trump read from the list.
Under the expectant gazes of tens of thousands, the ogre solemnly read out the candidates for the seven marquises.
"Alger."
"Chimera."
"Jinya."
"Smaug."
The giant eagle rider spiraled downward to land; the chimera let out a chorus of exhilarating roars from all three heads; the dragon-blooded kobold flapped its wings with reckless abandon while the pack of kobolds below erupted in a raucous clamor of barks and cheers.
Most of them were veterans who had pledged their loyalty back during the days of the Cinder Nest, each representing a faction within the kingdom, so their appointments drew little dispute.
Yet when the ogre calmly uttered the name "Delenna," another uproar swept through the crowd below.
"Lady Delenna was chosen!"
"What wondrous news!"
"There's finally a human among the kingdom's marquises!"
"Heavens, humans can become marquises too!"
The people cheered and celebrated. Seeing Delenna become a marchioness felt like glimpsing the future, and many secretly harbored hopes that they, too, might one day claim such a seat.
As the official in charge of foreign diplomacy, Delenna had never once revealed her yuan-ti identity over the past three years. Instead, she had deliberately cultivated the persona of an "intelligent, refined, and gentle lady," winning the support and devotion of many humans, who lauded her as the "Flower of Northwind Keep."
She had even published an autobiography recounting how she rose from a humble maidservant to become the kingdom's diplomat, weaving together truth and fiction into many thrilling tales.
With Delenna's keen intellect, she had long since discerned the red dragon's intention to integrate humanity. Thus, she had made thorough preparations in advance, all to serve as a shining role model today—and she had indeed achieved her wish.
The gorgeous, elegant lady waved to the crowd below with a bright, gentle smile. Supported by her guards, she stepped onto the high platform symbolizing the rank of marquis, looking every bit the people's choice.
The monster thralls, however, had an entirely different reaction.
Hobgoblins, ogres, and half-orcs grew flushed with jealousy, panting raggedly like mad beasts and exhaling puffs of white smoke.
"Such a weak creature, worthy of being a marquis?!"
"I challenge her!"
"Only the strong may stand above me!"
"Weakling, get down from there!"
Even after several years, the law of the Storm Heights remained deeply etched into their minds: that the strong rule the weak was an unshakable truth.
These monsters, eager to seize high status, clamored and hurled challenges again and again. Yet Delenna atop the stone platform acted as if she saw nothing, keeping her smile unchanged.
*Fools. You still don't understand—the master's will is the only law in this realm.*
Looking down at the "furious" monster thralls, the corners of Delenna's mouth curved slightly, a faint, imperceptible gleam of disdain slipping into her gaze.
Chapter 251