"Extra! Extra! Kingdom forces led by Marshal Duoluo win a massive victory over the coalition army!"
"His Majesty Cassius defeats Oszedro, the 'Silver Wings', in a glorious triumph!"
"Kingdom troops advance along multiple fronts, poised to capture the entire Northlands!"
"Grand Duke Leo, supreme ruler of the Northlands, colludes with fiends and vanishes without a trace—a twisted soul or moral bankruptcy?"
The hawking shouts of paperboys rang through the streets of Northwind Keep.
News of the kingdom's victory had long spread through Northwind Keep, but none were taken by surprise. To them, victory had seemed a foregone conclusion—far more important now was staking claims on the spoils of war.
Factories everywhere rushed production at full tilt to meet the vast dumping grounds about to open to them and feed the wartime consumer boom.
The booming munitions industry spurred related sectors like steel, manufacturing, and machinery, bringing fresh jobs and economic growth in its wake.
Shrewd merchants were already setting off for northern cities, eager to secure land and build factories in the newly captured territories ahead of the rest.
War-related goods were selling briskly, lining vendors' pockets with gold, and some had even reaped fortunes from war bonds bought before the fighting started.
This was what the Northern nobility found so terrifying about the Kingdom of Cinders: war didn't exhaust its strength; instead, it brought a burst of prosperity and smoothed over existing social tensions.
Compared to the Northlands, left in ruins by grain requisitions, the kingdom was like a tireless war machine.
At that very moment, a grand triumphal ceremony was underway at the gates of Northwind Keep.
"They're back!"
"It's the kingdom's army!"
"Look how magnificent they are! I want to enlist too!"
"Is that Marshal Duoluo? The legendary Envious War—mph, what are you covering my mouth for?"
"Have you lost your mind? Daring to use that title? Watch out, or someone from the Military Department will come knocking!"
Phalanges of infantry composed mostly of humans, hobgoblins, and tieflings marched in lockstep to the beat of drums, steadily drawing closer to Northwind Keep.
Behind the formations rode Duoluo atop a massive, powerfully built land drake clad in heavy armor.
Suddenly, an even louder stir rippled through the crowd. Flanked by a retinue of wizards and guards, the ogre archmage, Trump, hovered in midair and glided slowly forward, a smile on his face as he waved to the cheering throng.
"Look! It's Lord Trump! Lord Trump came out to welcome them in person!"
"That's the kingdom's Chief Minister!"
"What an honor! Two dukes present at once!"
To the rousing triumphal melodies played by satyrs, under the eyes of tens of thousands, Duoluo and Trump met once more.
For reasons he couldn't name, Trump felt a tinge of wistful nostalgia.
When they first met, he had been nothing more than an ogre slightly brighter than the rest, while the other was a down-on-his-luck hobgoblin chief commanding only miserable goblins, and Trump had always held the upper hand over him.
Now, both stood at the pinnacle of power across the Great Anzetta Waste, capable of deciding countless fates with a word.
Still, his standing remained a notch higher. As the very first retainer to follow the red dragon, he would always be the victor.
So Trump reflected, though outward appearances showed only serene, polite congratulations.
"Congratulations on your triumphant return, Marshal Duoluo. Truly, this is a great blessing for the entire kingdom."
"You flatter me. For Lord Trump to come out in person to welcome me is my true honor."
Marshal Duoluo vaulted down from the land drake's back, strode up to Trump, and clamped both hands around the ogre's massive palm, an ugly smile spreading across his ferocious features.
Trump nodded slightly, an amused glint flashing across his eyes.
The ogre knew Duoluo had always harbored ambitions of supplanting him. The retainer factions under their commands clashed often, and open rivalry and covert intrigue were everyday occurrences.
Now, however, Duoluo had buried those thoughts deep within his heart.
Having held high office for so long, the hobgoblin marshal was no longer the creature who wore his emotions on his face ten years ago. He understood that projecting an image of jealousy and savagery before the populace did him no favors—and would be far worse if word reached Cassius's ears.
And so, though both harbored their own hidden agendas, on the surface all was genial harmony and mutual understanding.
"Marshal Duoluo, your deeds have spread throughout the kingdom, and His Majesty has spoken highly of you," Trump said. "Moving forward, the realm will still need your strength to stabilize the situation across the Northlands."
Marshal Duoluo gave a solemn nod, answering gravely, "I will do everything in my power to perform my duty faithfully for the kingdom."
With the army's return, the celebrations in Northwind Keep reached their fever pitch.
"For the Kingdom of Cinders!"
"Ever victorious! Ever victorious!"
"Triumph!"
People flooded into the streets, cheering and dancing to celebrate the victory, while Duoluo and Trump became the center of every conversation.
Yet beneath the jubilation lurked quiet undercurrents. As the months slipped by, news of Oszedro's flight and the coalition's collapse had spread to every corner of the Feanso Continent.
This kingdom tucked away in a corner now commanded the attention of powers across the land, drawing all manner of searching gazes one after another.
And amid the cheering crowd, a scrawny figure struggled to squeeze through the press of bodies, raising both hands high—it was Misha.
"Lord Trump! I want to see His Majesty!"
Misha cried out with all her might.
Yet her voice was drowned out by the thundering cheers, her tiny frame swallowed up in the sea of frenzied people.
Trump was the kingdom's Chief Minister; countless souls sought favors from him.
At a grand pageant like this, nobody paid any mind to an eight- or nine-year-old girl, much less listened to what she had to say.
"My lord!"
"Lord Trump! Look at me, Lord Trump!"
Surrounded by the crowd, Trump drifted slowly overhead holding his staff, smiling what he imagined to be a gentle smile as he waved continuously to the citizens below.
The taller, stouter citizens used their size to push to the front of the crowd, quickly shoving scrawny Misha to the back.
The people ahead formed a living wall, blocking her view and trapping her behind them.
"Don't... don't block me!"
"I need to see Lord Trump!"
Tears threatened to spill from Misha's eyes in her desperation.
For a commoner like her, this was a rare chance to get anywhere near Lord Trump. Once missed, there was no telling when another would come.
And by then, her vengeance would be entirely out of reach.
"What... what am I supposed to do?"
Misha lowered her gaze, biting her lip, her clenched fists trembling faintly.
At last, as if having made up her mind, Misha looked up with resolute determination, tears brimming in her reddened eyes.
Chapter 359