On the morning of March 1, 1786 of the Third Age, the coronation ceremony proceeded as scheduled.
The newly built Isdalia grounds were vast enough to hold hundreds of thousands of people, offering spectators countless vantage points to watch the ceremony. Yet the main thoroughfares and the central altar were heavily guarded by tiefling soldiers, strictly barring unauthorized personnel from entering.
Even on the eve of the ceremony, the venue had already been boiling with noise.
More than a hundred thousand souls carrying dry rations, water, and even makeshift bedding had poured in from across Anzeta and every corner of Feanso, staking out suitable spots along the perimeter of Isdalia in advance and sleeping where they stood once night fell.
Among them were kingdom citizens eager for the spectacle, merchants and bards arriving from the south, and Harper spies mingling within the crowds.
Naturally, the players had no intention of missing such a "major event," hauling folding stools and rushing over through the night. Aside from those sentenced to hard labor for defecting to the Northlands earlier, virtually every player congregated in Isdalia to witness this rare grand spectacle.
Many summoned monster vassals, assigned spots by kingdom officials, occupied parts of the inner grounds.
Envoys from across the Feanso Continent, having announced themselves, exchanged greetings, and presented congratulatory gifts, were ushered to various designated sectors.
Not only did representatives of the three great kingdoms—Cassander, Thrace, and Seleucia—attend, but so did special factions like the Tower of Time, the Putrid Swamp, and the Starmoon Hills.
Humans, elves, dwarves, dragonborn, halflings...
Envoys of every race filled the venue, their diverse assembly buzzing with lively chatter.
"Awooogh—!"
A succession of draconic roars soon echoed through the air.
The blue dragons of the Faria clan had dispatched Christina once more, alongside an elder blue dragon held in high esteem among their kin: Isami.
Even the Melvold clan had sent a special envoy—the adult silver dragon Cruzelay Melvold, Olivia's maternal uncle.
"Why is there a silver-skinned half-breed here? Has that old fossil still not learned his lesson?"
"Blue dragon, that war is already over! We have come in the name of a peaceful future among dragonkind!"
"Peace? Hypocrites like you are unfit to speak of peace!"
The blue and silver dragons had sensed each other's scent immediately, squaring off in bristling tension. Only when Trump arrived in person and an invisible draconic aura washed over the grounds did they call a temporary truce, though their glares remained venomous.
Such confrontations were far from isolated. Given the strategic weight of the Kingdom of Cinders, factions from both good and evil alignments treated it with the utmost gravity.
"Distinguished guests, please compose yourselves."
"This is the coronation ceremony of His Majesty Cassius. He would not wish for any unpleasant incidents to occur."
Standing before the altar, Trump gave a slight bow. Amplified by magic, his voice resounded across the entire venue.
What had once been an empty expanse was now packed to the brim.
The various dragon-blooded vassals, emissaries from many lands, and eager onlookers took their places. Beings of disparate factions, races, and alignments gathered together, waiting for the coronation to begin.
Across the wasteland where barely a breeze had stirred, a sudden gale whipped up. People hastened to look outside.
"Look!"
"What are those? Wyverns!"
"Ye gods... why are there so many?"
Over a thousand wyverns surged into the air from all sides of the venue, darkening the sky in a dense swarm as they unleashed a cacophony of shrieks and hisses.
Their wings beat in tight, chaotic succession, casting a colossal shadow across the plain like a looming, circular storm cloud encircling the entire venue.
Under the influence of Cassius's domain, the fertility of these wyverns had grown astonishingly robust. In a mere decade of explosive breeding, their numbers had reached four digits.
—To bridge the enormous deficit in feed, four dedicated factories churned out animal fodder around the clock, supported by free-range aurochs pastures spanning half of Storm Heights.
And now, for this grand coronation ceremony, the wyverns nestled deep within Wyvern Valley took flight en masse for the first time, baring their ferocity to the world.
"Wyverns?"
"A wyvern legion of this scale..."
Dayev Marshall, envoy of the Kingdom of Thrace, stared at the dark silhouettes in the sky and adjusted his silver-rimmed spectacles, deep anxiety etching his face.
To the Kingdom of Thrace, wyverns were hardly troublesome foes; their arcane corps alone possessed the firepower to shoot them down with ease.
Yet a thousand wyverns were an entirely different matter.
Moreover, even a legion of over a thousand wyverns was mere surface spectacle. Far more terrifying was what lurked behind it: the peerless logistical supply system and military mobilization capability of the Kingdom of Cinders.
"Is this a warning to us?"
"Or... an olive branch extended to our enemies?"
Dayev clenched his fists and lowered his head slightly, his expression grave.
Before he could recover from his reverie, thunderous detonations erupted across the wasteland, shaking the very earth.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Salvoes of ceremonial cannon fire roared in unison, blossoming into massive plumes of flame across the sky.
Further in the distance, successive blasts detonated as concentrated artillery fire obliterated a hill obstructing the planned path of urban expansion, completely leveling it with the ground.
From afar marched the ogre artillery corps, the hulking brutes hauling massive, heavy cannons. Their heavy panting mingled with the rumbling crunch of iron-rimmed wheels grinding into the road.
In the end, the ogres deployed their great cannons around the perimeter of the venue, standing in silent vigil.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers, though not quite utter shock—the people of Anzeta had already weathered several baptisms of gunfire and were well accustomed to it.
And the south, after all, was no magical backwater like Anzeta; grand, long-range bombardments were a familiar concept. They merely marveled at the tremendous destructive power—and the reckless extravagance with which the Kingdom of Cinders hurled expensive munitions as if they cost nothing.
Little did they know these were engineering shells specially developed by the Cinder Technology Department, manufactured specifically for moving mountains and leveling ground.
Next, a satyr military brass band struck up an impassioned, magnificent symphony.
Composed from a blend of classical pieces contributed by players and the indigenous musical heritage of the Northlands, the magically imbued cadence washed over the listeners' ears, leaving nearly everyone struck with awe.
To the rhythm of the music and the crisp cadence of drumbeats, an infantry phalanx tens of thousands strong—composed of medium-sized humanoids such as humans, tieflings, and hobgoblins—marched forward from the far end of the avenue.
They stepped in locked unison, forming immaculate ranks, the bayonets affixed to their spears glinting with a cold, piercing luster.
"It's the Cinder Infantry!"
"How majestic!"
The colossal formation halted outside the venue, while several elite thousand-man contingents peeled off to enter. Marching in brisk order, they stationed themselves along both sides of the broad avenue like living walls.
Was that all?
Far from it.
Thud— Thud—
To a series of dull, heavy thuds, the earth trembled once more.
Along the distant horizon appeared mountain-like land drakes clad in thick barding, blanketing nearly half the terrain.
Hobgoblin cavalrymen stood atop their drakes' backs, brandishing lances and great hammers as they unleashed fanatical war cries. Even Duoluo stood atop the largest beast—a gold-scaled behemoth—raising the Bloodfire Battleaxe with one arm.
The blood-stained blade gleamed brilliantly under the sun.
"For the red dragon's grand design!"
"For the Lord of Cinders!"
Someone shouted in fervent excitement.
Gazing upon that variegated tide of iron and beast, the bards, merchants, emissaries, and spies from across Feanso felt the staggering military might of the Kingdom of Cinders in visceral detail for the very first time.
The delegates from hostile factions looked particularly grim.
A dark shadow fell over Dayev's face.
"How can this be...?"
"According to our kingdom's secret agents, this realm has existed for a mere ten years..."
"Could it be... they unearthed the heritage of an ancient empire? Or perhaps received the favor of some greater deity?"
He muttered in disbelief, a chilling suspicion taking root in his mind. Having once served the Holy Fadlan Empire, Dayev could not fathom how a fledgling empire could possess such a formidable military and logistical apparatus without the intervention of higher powers.
"Ah, Her Majesty Tiamat was indeed not mistaken. This newborn empire will serve as a vital pillar in the renaissance of chromatic dragons."
The old blue dragon Isami looked flushed with excitement, his deep indigo scales flaring as his frilled ears quivered.
"And in all the future wealth of this empire, there shall be an empress's share."
Christina was already lost in her daydream of reigning as empress, dead set on claiming the title, her eyes glittering with greed.
"Such a realm, such an army..."
"Alas, I only hope they do not bring another calamity upon the continent."
Cruzelay the silver dragon let out a heavy sigh.
Envoys from other factions wore varying expressions, yet all were shaken by the military might of the Kingdom of Cinders, which completely upended their prior assumptions.
In their minds, the Kingdom of Cinders was supposed to be a barbaric, primitive tribal realm—mindless monstrous vassals leaning on the brute strength of a red dragon, running rampant across this remote wasteland and ruthlessly oppressing the people of Anzeta.
Yet after witnessing this parade-like opening ceremony, they were stunned to realize:
They had been wrong—utterly and completely wrong.
This was truly a nascent empire brimming with vigorous vitality, where disparate races and factions were forged under the single rule of a dragon into a terrifying force.
It possessed a mighty army, vast territory, diverse peoples, and a supreme, singular sovereign.
"Roar—!"
Eardrums throbbed under the pressure as an overpowering aura made the crowds shudder.
To the north of Isdalia, the azure sky suddenly flushed crimson. A colossal red dragon appeared on the horizon, slowly beating his expansive wings and driving scorching gusts before him.
Whether an illusion or not, the entire wasteland seemed to bake in sultry heat, the air warping and boiling.
"H-He's here!"
"It's His Majesty Cassius!"
"Look at His Majesty's magnificent form!"
"For the Lord of Cinders! No, for the Cinder Emperor!"
After their instinctive panic and dread passed, the crowds quickly burst into resounding cheers, rolling across the plains in wave after fervent wave—whether out of heartfelt sincerity or self-preserving flattery.
"I wanna lick Boss Cassius's claws!"
"Nobody stop me, I'm touching that tail!"
"Dragon!"
"You freaks need to tone down your scalie fetishes! But seriously, when is Lord Cassius gonna take humanoid form... hehehe..."
The players were far more brazen. Even under the stern glares of the guards, they shouted unhinged nonsense without filter.
"Heavens above! What an enormous frame—truly worthy of the dragon who conquered Silver Wings!"
"By the gods..."
"H-He's grown even more powerful!"
"As expected of my destined mate, Prince Cassius..."
Cries of astonishment broke out among the various envoys as well. Dragons of this caliber could scarcely be found across the entire Feanso Continent, let alone witnessed with their own eyes.
Over the past several months, Cassius had passively digested his progenitor dragon bloodline, swelling his frame even further—the red dragon's body length had reached a terrifying thirty-six meters.
This was a size barely attained even by great wyrm red dragons, completely shattering the ceiling of ordinary red dragons, yet Cassius was still only in the nascent stages of his growth.
Deep within the throngs, tucked into an inconspicuous corner, a gaunt, weathered man looked up toward the sky, his expression etched with deep despair.
"That fellow has grown even stronger."
"Abir... how will I ever save you?"
This was Richard, once a high-spirited Fey Wanderer ranger and now a double agent in service to the Kingdom of Cinders. He happened to have been assigned by the Harpers to investigate the coronation.
Whoosh— Whoosh—
Scorching wind whistled past, singeing the bare skin of the spectators.
Beating his wings, Cassius descended slowly toward Isdalia, finally landing at the head of the avenue with a tremendous crash.
The venue's clamor vanished in an instant. Under that nearly tangible pressure, a suffocating silence fell over the gathered thousands.
The guards flanking the avenue snapped to attention, chins high and eyes fixed straight ahead, though the beads of sweat dripping from their jaws betrayed their nervous excitement.
"Rumble..."
The red dragon gave a low snarl and folded his wings tight against his flanks.
Dropping onto all fours, he marched toward the altar step by step down the wide avenue, leaving heavy indentations in the ground.
Towering over the crowd, Cassius swept his pale-golden eyes across the onlookers on either side, taking in faces of excitement, panic, and dread.
Thrace, Cassander...
Therenia, Silverymoon, the Free Trade Federation...
Nearly all the major factions of the Feanso Continent have turned up. Quite the turnout.
The corners of Cassius's maw curved upward slightly. An almost imperceptible smirk appeared on his ferocious draconic face as the thought drifted through his mind.
Chapter 372