One month later, in Isdalia.
Under the grueling labor of tens of thousands of beleaguered players, alongside ogre and frost giant slaves, the embryonic form of this central city had already taken shape, though it remained quite rudimentary.
Blueprints had long been drafted for several major structures—the Grand Coliseum of Isdalia, the Imperial Bank, the Imperial Parliament Hall, and the Imperial City Hall—and workers had begun laying foundations, with some buildings already having their exteriors erected.
This was the empire's largest "construction site."
People bustled to and fro amid the clamor and commotion, with plenty of civil engineering players carrying red plastic buckets and wearing hard hats among the crowd.
"Out of the way! Make way!"
"Imperial Guard on official duty!"
"Clear the path! Defiers will be executed on the spot!"
Barking shouts from the guard captain drifted from down the road, and the people scattered compliantly, not daring to dawdle for an instant.
To say nothing of the empire's native inhabitants, even the Starfallen—ordinarily an arrogant, reckless bunch—hurriedly scrambled aside.
"Man, these NPCs sure are full of themselves..."
"I really wonder what's inside those carriages."
"Think we can raid it?"
"That's the Imperial Guard, dumbass! Cross them and you're dead! Don't say I didn't warn you—when you lose all the hard-earned EXP you scraped together, you won't even have anywhere to cry!"
"Just keep pouring your concrete and behave yourselves. Don't go inviting bad luck, and stop dreaming up crazy ideas."
"Your master right here rose all the way to an imperial viscount purely on the back of my peerless concrete-pouring skills."
A civil engineering bro wearing a white hard hat—bearing the player ID Run with the Bucket—murmured to the novice carrying a bucket beside him.
In the beginning, some newcomer players really had dared to rush the guard, but those troublemakers were promptly riddled with holes by an array of pinpoint semi-automatic rifles.
Along the wide thoroughfare rolled a grand diplomatic convoy of dozens of carriages, flanked by an escort of over a thousand imperial soldiers. This was the delegation from the Kingdom of Thrace.
The cargo inside those carriages was enough to make anyone salivate: every chest was filled to the brim with gold, the very "gift" of two million gold coins promised by the Kingdom of Thrace.
Sitting in a carriage, Dayev gazed at the scenery rushing past the window, looking thoroughly astonished. He turned to the man beside him and said:
"A month ago."
"A mere month ago, this place was nothing more than flat, barren wilderness. And now, the foundations of a city have already emerged."
"My lord, you must understand what this signifies."
Beside Dayev sat a man clad in opulent robes and holding a scepter. He appeared to be in his fifties, currently deep in thought.
He was Sahiset Bari, Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Kingdom of Thrace. He had come in person this time to oversee the conclusion of the peace treaty.
"Phenomenal administrative efficiency, and terrifying potential for war," Sahiset remarked succinctly.
Frowning slightly, he asked Dayev, "Since they invited us to meet here in Isdalia, does that mean the Emperor will not be attending in person?"
"Not necessarily," Dayev replied.
"To my understanding, the Red Emperor usually grants audiences only at the Steel Dragonwing Palace. Aside from that, he rarely appears elsewhere."
"Recently, however, there has been an anomaly. The Red Emperor seems to have set out on an inspection tour of his realm, having already visited quite a few regions within the Cinder Empire. Who knows where he might be right now?"
"Tsk. Two million gold coins..."
"I assumed any dragon would come drooling to receive us, keeping watchful eyes on us the entire time so that not a single gold coin could slip away," Sahiset said evenly.
Dayev instantly grew nervous, raising a finger to his lips in a hushed gesture.
"It is said that this Emperor's eyes and ears are everywhere, and that he knows of every affair throughout the empire. It would be best if we refrained from making reckless remarks."
"Hah."
"From where I sit, it looks more like that red dragon has scared the wits out of you."
Sahiset cast a sideways glance at Dayev, then closed his eyes to rest his mind, speaking no further.
Though he looked down upon Dayev's timid hesitation, avoiding unnecessary risks was indeed an indispensable trait for a competent diplomat.
The roads of Isdalia were wide and level, and with the Imperial Guard escorting them, the delegation traveled at great speed. Before long, they arrived at the designated meeting place—the Grand Altar of Isdalia.
"Everyone, please step down from your carriages."
Here, the members of the delegation were instructed to dismount and proceed on foot, leaving their dozens of carriages filled with gold coins where they stood.
"This is..."
"Please take the other side."
The stretch of road where the red dragon had walked during his coronation had been cordoned off, the massive claw prints pressed into the surface still plainly visible. Every few paces along both sides, guards stood sentry, rifles in hand.
This road leading up to the altar was officially dubbed by the empire the "Path of Draconic Glory"—a sacred symbol of the Emperor's glorious coronation, upon which no one else was permitted to tread.
The moment Dayev took a step forward, he felt that familiar power descending upon him, causing him to tremble instinctively.
"This oppressive weight..."
"It's His Majesty. He's here," he warned in a low voice.
Sahiset finally shed the last trace of disdain lingering in his heart, his expression turning extraordinarily solemn.
After all, as a former minister of Holy Fadlan and currently Thrace's chief diplomat, he was also an archmage, well acquainted with all manner of magical beasts, including dragons.
Yet never in his life had he encountered Frightful Presence of this magnitude.
Stepping inside the venue, the envoys finally caught sight of the Red Emperor's towering form.
At that moment, he lay sprawled somewhat lazily inside the hall, his mountain-like draconic body, over thirty meters long, rising and falling with his breath.
Even so, none among the delegation dared to let their guard down. Involuntarily, they held their breath and bowed their heads.
Sahiset inhaled a sharp breath of cold air.
Now, he was thoroughly convinced—the peace treaty between the Kingdom of Thrace and the Cinder Empire had to be forged, without a moment's delay and out of absolute necessity.
Dragons had always been the darlings of the battlefield.
And red dragons were routinely hailed as living war engines.
Were such a red dragon to take the field in the south, it would overturn the entire theater of war. He alone was likely worth more than a dozen god-blooded legendary fighters.
The tiefling guard captain dropped to one knee and announced in a clear, resonant voice: "Your Majesty, the delegation from the Kingdom of Thrace has arrived."
Only then did Cassius slowly raise his head, fixing his pale-golden pupils upon the members of the delegation.
Instantly, that overwhelming aura rattled everyone to their core, leaving them barely able to stand on their feet.
After what felt like an eternity, Dayev shakily stepped forward, bowed low, and said, "Your Majesty Cassius, we come bearing the sincere goodwill of the Kingdom of Thrace."
"Th-this is Lord Sahiset, Thrace's chief diplomat."
Brought back to his senses by the reminder, Sahiset snapped out of his intense tension and instinctive dread, immediately realizing his own lapse.
He stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and struggled to maintain his composure so as not to lose face.
"Sahiset Bari pays his respects to Your Majesty."
Chapter 386