Joseph Salazar, a director of the Pearson Chamber of Commerce, had journeyed all the way from the Kingdom of Thrace. After purchasing a shipment of munitions valued at fifty thousand gold dinars, he departed in haste.
Yet for a metropolis like Isdalia, through whose gates tens of thousands flowed every day, this was a trivial affair, nowhere near enough to cause a stir.
At most, it padded Luwen's commission a bit and brought a few more orders to the Claubau Military Industry Group.
To the local inhabitants, what mattered far more was the approaching festival—the most paramount day in the entire Cinder Empire: Coronation Day.
At noon on the first day of the third month, in the year 1786 of the Third Age, Cassius had placed the crown upon his own head atop the altar, proclaiming the birth of the Empire to the entire world.
Over the past several years, fueled by vigorous official promotion, the Empire had developed a whole series of festive customs, which the populace held in great esteem.
Every first of March, people would gather at Emperor Square, encircling the colossal, majestic statue of the red dragon to sing the Hymn of Cassius in unison.
Beyond that, folks would exchange gifts, hold banquets, and drink freely in the taverns, raising their voices to shout praises like "Long live His Majesty!" and "All thanks to His Majesty!", sometimes even bursting into hymns.
The far-from-cheap "Dragon's Boon" was offered free of charge on this day, with all expenses covered by the imperial treasury.
Furthermore, all factories and offices were granted a holiday, allowing the people to immerse themselves fully in this revelry and demonstrate their devotion to His Majesty.
"Together all peoples revere the great red dragon on high!"
"Such grace, how could it ever be repaid?"
Melodious singing echoed across the square, more impassioned and stirring than during yesterday's rehearsal, every face radiant with fervent zeal.
"Long live the Empire!"
"Long live Emperor Cassius!"
"To celebrate Coronation Day, everything is forty percent off!"
Citizens of every description gathered here, sitting on chairs beside the taverns and raising tankards or even whole kegs, drinking and making merry together.
"Maintain order!"
"You, the ogre over there! Put down that satyr by your mouth!"
Even so, the tieflings of the city watch were keeping order. Gripping their spears, they patrolled back and forth to keep those massive, drunken brutes from giving in to their base instincts and doing anything out of line.
Humans, orcs, tieflings, hobgoblins, lizardfolk, ogres, satyrs, wyverns...
Regardless of race, identity, or station, as long as they were citizens of the Empire, all were savoring this rare day of carnival, releasing the accumulated stress of labor.
Yet there were exceptions—the Empire's enemies, for instance.
A "human" draped in a gray cloth robe stood silently in a corner, watching the celebrating throngs, boundless malice glimmering deep in his eyes.
His name had once been Asher Carley, a noble of the Northlands who boasted a lineage centuries old and had lived a life of luxury and privilege.
Yet the red dragon's arrival had utterly shattered it all. His kin had lost their heads in the Great Trial, while he had languished in a dungeon awaiting death.
It was then that the sheer, blinding hatred in Asher's heart drew the gaze of the Demon of Vengeance, and thus the Abyss flung open its hideous, terrifying portal for him.
Years later, he had returned to the Northlands. Beneath that husk of human skin lay the hideous, misshapen body of a demon.
"These wretched humans..."
"To forget their ancestors' benevolence so swiftly and swear fealty to an evil dragon... They ought to be torn to shreds."
Asher muttered through gritted teeth. To contend against the evil dragon, he had not hesitated to turn himself into a demon.
Yet these vile commoners of the Northlands had shifted their allegiance in merely a few short years, actually serving that wicked dragon!
This was utterly unforgivable!
Asher's mission was to incite hatred against the red dragon, disrupt the Empire's social order, and harvest more nourishment for demonic breeding.
Yet right now, among the tens of thousands filling this square, not a single soul radiated the red aura that signified hatred.
Most, in fact, emanated a golden light denoting loyalty and devotion, shining so brightly it nearly blinded him.
A raspy gasp broke from his throat. "This is impossible!"
It was simply beyond belief!
They clearly lived under the tyrannical rule of an evil dragon, so how could they harbor not an ounce of hatred toward him?
Even back during the reign of the Northern Kingdom, countless foolish rabble had harbored treasonous notions.
Why, then, under the dominion of an evil dragon, had the people become entirely free of malice?
It defied all common sense!
Asher hung his head, muttering under his breath, "These despicable humans! At this rate, how am I to accomplish the task Lord Jezralslak entrusted to me?"
"Fire is His Majesty's robe, the firmament His canopy; through dark tempests and driving rain, all yield to His Majesty's path..."
"Such grace, how could it ever be forgotten?"
The melodious strains of the hymn drifted from afar, grating on Asher's nerves all the more.
"Dammit..."
Were it not for the fact that he was within imperial borders, he might well have shed his guise, revealed his true demonic form, and ground those hymn-singing humans into mincemeat on the spot.
*No, I must not be hasty. There are hundreds of thousands of people in this city; someone who hates the evil dragon is bound to turn up...*
*As long as I find one, I can unravel an entire circle of dissenters.*
With that in mind, he decided to wander around the square and try his luck.
Asher drifted through the plaza, weaving among the various taverns and manipulating his human skin to adopt an expression of "merriment."
Amid the vast sea of loyal golden light, his eyes finally caught sight of a white figure in a corner of a tavern—a human.
White signified neutrality, neither hatred nor support.
Yet within this pervasive golden radiance, that neutral glow was exceedingly precious. To Asher, that human at least offered room to persuade.
*It seems the evil dragon hasn't bewitched everyone after all. Sensible humans still exist.*
Thinking this, Asher walked over to strike up a conversation.
"Friend, what troubles you? On a day of nationwide celebration, why are you so downcast?"
The man jumped, straightening his back as he stammered in fright, "Long live Emperor Cassius! I—I've just run into a few vexing troubles, that's all! I certainly harbor no ill will toward His Majesty!
Are you... from Nocturne?"
*There might be a chance here!*
Asher's eyes instantly lit up. He smiled and replied, "Of course not. Relax, I'm merely a traveler from afar."
Only then did the man breathe a long sigh of relief.
Asher promptly pressed on, "Friend, what is your name? What kind of trouble has befallen you?"
Looking miserable, the man raised his tankard, tilted his chin back, and downed the liquor in a single draught.
The alcohol spilled down the corners of his mouth, dampening his collar. He wiped his lips with his hand, entirely unbothered, before speaking.
"I... my name is Raj. I'm a worker at the Thirteenth Factory."
Chapter 492