Grace (Part 2)

Name after name was proclaimed by the heralds until nearly fifty individuals stood atop the high platform reserved for the counts of the empire. Those whose names were called were ecstatic, and their families and the factions backing them erupted into celebration. Meanwhile, those whose names had not been read by the time the list ended beat their chests and stamped their feet, consumed by bitter regret. The half-dragon heralds cleared their throats and began to read the next list. "Charlotte is hereby invested as viscount." "Singo is hereby invested as viscount." "Ernie Baines is hereby invested as viscount." "..." At the rank of viscount, the number of players grew significantly. Many familiar names appeared among them, mostly members of major guilds or professional solo players. Unlike the others, Charlotte, the guild master of Magic Coin, stepped onto the platform wearing a strained smile. *My count title...* Charlotte wailed silently in his heart. The half-dragon heralds continued to recite the names on the register, calling imperial subjects onto the altar one after another until the number of viscounts expanded past a hundred. Ranks like count and viscount were still far too distant for ordinary commoners. Baron, however, was an enticing rank that allowed an ordinary person to cross class divides and step across the threshold into the dragonblood nobility. Consequently, countless people grew intensely nervous, holding their breath and praying in their hearts that they would hear their own names. George was one of them. Standing among the military ranks beneath the dais, his hand trembled slightly around his spear, and sweat had thoroughly soaked through his uniform. After months of combat, he had risen to become the squad leader of a unit, earning several medals of honor for slaying enemy commanders. Yet he still felt deeply unsettled. George muttered under his breath, "May His Majesty Cassius protect me..." "Please, you must let me become a dragonblood noble..." "Jockley Lehman is hereby invested as baron." "Brinton Landry is hereby invested as baron." Amidst continuous stirs from the crowd, name after name rang out as George listened with bated breath. The half-dragon herald's voice carried down from above once more. "George is hereby invested as baron." In an instant, an overwhelming rush of euphoria surged into George's heart, leaving him so dizzy with excitement that he nearly fainted. Only after several breaths did he come back to his senses. *Is this... is this really not a dream...?* *I... I'm actually becoming a dragonblood noble!* His legs shook violently as he made his way onto the high platform, guided and prodded along by the guards. By the time he knelt prostrate on the stone, tears were already welling in his eyes. A great commotion stirred through the watching crowd, and many cried out in astonishment. "Th-That's a serf's brand!" "It's him again—the guy favored by the God of Fate!" "He actually became a dragonblood noble? How enviable!" "That's Lord George! I used to do hard labor with him! Look at how magnificent he is now—he's already Lord Baron George!" George's journey had become something of a legend among the laborers. The Propaganda Department had molded him into the archetype of the "Kingdom Dream." Many saw him as a benchmark to strive toward, while others dismissed him with disdain as nothing more than a fellow who got lucky. Whatever the case, he was about to become a baron. George had crossed that threshold, truly poised to enter the empire's ruling class and become one of the so-called "big figures." *From now on...* *I am a dragonblood noble.* Under the gaze of hundreds of thousands of onlookers, tears streamed down George's face. Yet they were tears of joy and exhilaration—he had tasted the sweet fruit of leaping across social strata through his own efforts. "Praise His Majesty Cassius..." George prayed in a whisper. Yes, it was a prayer. Toward the exalted monarch above, George felt nothing but boundless gratitude, having come to revere him almost as a god. In the Northlands of the past, a serf like him would have had no hope at all, doomed to die in a daze amidst the biting, freezing winds. Yet Cassius's arrival and the founding of the empire had granted him precious freedom. It had even allowed him to become a dragonblood noble, an influential figure capable of mastering his own destiny. As an absolute beneficiary of the imperial system—how could he not be filled with overwhelming gratitude? After this investiture, even if Cassius ordered him to march directly to his death, George would not hesitate for an instant. Everything he had came from the empire. Status, honor, and even his very life. "May Your Majesty be immortal, and may the Empire endure forever." When the final name was read, more than three hundred barons stood upon the high platform. Most of them were soldiers who had fought fearlessly and distinguished themselves in battle—and they were the ones most envied by the empire's common folk. Because this rank was so close to them, practically within arm's reach. The grand investiture ceremony had finally reached its end. Or rather, it had only just begun. "It may begin." Cassius hovered high in the sky, slowly beating his wings as his pale gold eyes looked down upon the subjects kneeling on the altar. "Roar—!" A long, resounding roar echoed across the plains. The dragon crystal embedded in the red dragon's chest flared with blinding brilliance, illuminating the entire sky even further. The piercing light forced the hundreds of thousands of spectators to shut their eyes. In an instant, night across the Great Anzetta Waste turned as bright as day. Imperial Grace. Clusters of streaming fire descended from the heavens, falling like shooting stars and plunging into the bodies of the subjects kneeling on the altar. Hundreds of dazzling trails of flame streaked across the sky, painting a magnificent spectacle over the surrounding landscape. Those subjects who had previously received bloodline boons felt scalding blood surge through their veins, quietly waiting for their life forms to ascend once more. Trump, the ogre archmage, knelt motionless on the ground with his eyes tightly shut, feeling his body being remodeled toward ever-greater perfection. Before long, Trump raised his head. Flames erupted from his golden eyes, filled with profound excitement—he felt the soul bond. "Master..." Those recipients who had never before received dragon bloodline began to undergo metamorphosis, groaning and roaring in agony as they advanced toward a higher order of life. "Th-This is the boon..." "I've survived so many trials and hardships—hold on!" George's gaunt frame shuddered violently. Beneath the skin of his back, the outlines of scales began to emerge, and he could not help but throw his head back and roar. "Rraagh!" His bloodshot, congested eyes were forcibly remodeled into golden vertical slits—the most distinct hallmark of the dragonblood nobility, revered by mortals as the "Golden Pupils." *I... I'm a dragonblood noble now too...* George looked down at the scales sprouting across his hands, that single thought lingering in his mind before consciousness slipped away. Across the altar, hundreds of vassals were undergoing similar transformations, becoming true dragonblood creatures infused with the essence of magic. Atop the majestic altar, leaping flames danced everywhere, cloaking the structure in a mantle woven of fire, light, and heat, until the scene no longer belonged to the mortal realm. The red dragon beat his wings in the sky, reveling in the display of his boundless might as he bestowed the grace of the empire. "No..." "That really is an Ascension Ritual..." Dayev gazed up at the magnificent scene atop the altar, his face looking utterly grim.