Investiture (3)

The monsters' protests gradually subsided under Cassius's scrutinizing gaze, finally settling into silence. At last, all seven marquises were in place, followed by the appearance of twelve counts. Most were leaders of various thrall races whose lack of seniority or slightly lesser strength had kept them from ascending further. Another name was called. "Guillermo Hagen." Flattered and overwhelmed, the robed human wizard hurriedly cast Fly and ascended to the altar. He was the second human to be granted a noble title in this investiture ceremony. As one of the kingdom's spellcasters and Trump's capable right-hand man, he had made substantial contributions to spell research and was proficient in utilizing various new technologies. This had earned him Cassius's selection as another fortunate soul. "Damn it, another human!" "I'd love to crush them flat!" "Damned hairless monkeys." The monsters surrounding the altar grew restless once more, boiling with resentment over the positions snatched away by humans. Yet this time it amounted only to low murmurs; no true disturbance broke out. After all, with Cassius personally presiding, none dared openly display dissatisfaction with these decrees—doing so would be a direct provocation to the red dragon's majesty. This was precisely how the Kingdom of Cinders differed from ordinary realms. In typical nations, a leader's power generally stemmed from the military or the political apparatus. They had to balance the demands of various factions and forge a consensus among vested interests to achieve their ends. Yet in this realm ruled by a dragon, the red dragon's very existence was strength itself. He was the font of all authority and the very foundation upon which the country was built—a reality that granted him a supreme, godlike status within the kingdom. The investiture ceremony continued. Tens of thousands of humans and monsters held their breath, craning their necks in anticipation, yearning for the chance to ascend that dais of power and authority. The rank of viscount followed, with far more recipients—over forty in total, most of whom were commanders who had distinguished themselves in various wars. Anthony of the Hall of the Dragon-Blessed, the nominal leader of the dragon-blessed paladins, was also awarded this title. Even so, nearly one-fifth of those chosen were humans. Most were civil officials who had made notable contributions to the kingdom's legislation or industrial production: renowned scholars involved in drafting the Kingdom Code, veteran artisans who had improved machinery, and scribes who penned articles for the propaganda bureau. If the earlier titles had felt hopelessly out of reach, these were now within sight and fiercely coveted. Take the "artisan representative," Gilmour Sparrow, for instance. Originally nothing more than an ordinary blacksmith in the eastern district's smithy, he had discovered and resolved a flaw in the rifle production line, leaping to the position of "technician" before finally joining the ranks of the exalted nobility. At that moment, his face flushed red as he rubbed his hands together and touched his bulbous nose, eagerly anticipating the impending boon. The onlookers gazed upon those familiar faces with envy, muttering things like "If only I'd done that back then..." and "Given the chance, I could've done that too!" Clearly, they had come to see these figures as goals to strive toward. Next came the barons, who numbered even more—well over a hundred. Between monsters and humans, the split was nearly half and half. Many who had joined the Cinder Nest early on and rendered meritorious service, now leading small- or medium-sized units, were granted baronies. On the human side, the recipients were standout figures from all walks of life—rising stars who had contributed substantially to the kingdom's growth. There were overseers managing factory operations, leaders of merchant caravans, and human commanders newly integrated into the military system... The observing monster thralls were in an uproar once more, while the humans cheered in exultation. Yet even the hobgoblins, who held humans in the utmost contempt, had to concede that humans were often sharper and more competent in advancing the kingdom's development. They certainly never caused debacles like an "ogre food quality inspector." Thus, despite deliberate suppression by certain higher-ups, numerous rising human talents had still managed to distinguish themselves, culminating in this very outcome. Nearly two hundred noble titles were finally fully distributed. Yet Trump's address did not end there. "Everyone, you have contributed immensely to the kingdom and rightfully deserve this reward. "However, beyond this, there are also citizens who stepped forward to protect the kingdom's security. The kingdom will likewise never forget their deeds. They will be granted the special honor of 'first-class citizen.'" At once, a clamor erupted through the crowd. "What does that mean?" "Can ordinary people be divided into ranks now too?" Such a concept as "first-class citizens" had never existed in the history of the Northlands. The nobility had always stood aloof above the masses, existing in an entirely different world from commoners. Escorted by tiefling guards, several plainly dressed humans slowly walked out. These were the "lucky ones" who had successfully reported spies. Most of them were merely ordinary, unremarkable folk who had stumbled into tremendous fortune, chosen by the red dragon as models to follow. Among them, right in the front row, was George—the one who had reported the silver dragon. Gazing out at the restless crowd, George swallowed hard. His heart hammered in his chest, his legs shook violently from sheer nerves, and bean-sized beads of sweat oozed from his forehead. *No, don't be nervous.* *I—I've become an important figure! Just look at the envious eyes of those people.* George reminded himself internally, and only then did his trembling legs begin to move, barely keeping pace with the tiefling guards. "Isn't that George?" A worker from the same food processing plant recognized him and gasped. "He—he was a serf before!" "Even someone like him can get a title?" "Damn it! What a lucky bastard! Why didn't I have that kind of luck?" Soon, the workers' chatter turned to envy, and then to jealousy. They had personally witnessed George rise from the lowliest, most inconspicuous "gray cattle" into an important figure today. Even Howard, who was on good terms with him, could not help but curse quietly under his breath; after all, the contrast between past and present was simply too vast. Meanwhile, some monsters grumbled resentfully, "A weak human like that wouldn't have even been fit to serve as a snack in the past! He'd only be around for us to slaughter for sport!" Amidst the murmurs of the crowd, George's stiff body was guided up onto the lowest tier of the stone platforms. Looking down upon the diverse crowd of humans and monsters, hearing their discussions, and clutching the gilded medal of honor in his hands, George felt as though he were in a dream. He dreaded that he might wake at any moment and find himself back in that dilapidated, crowded manor. "Thank goodness... this isn't a dream." George took a deep breath, steadying his overwhelmed emotions, and began to look forward to the bright life awaiting him. Toward the kingdom and His Majesty, his heart held nothing but absolute loyalty.