The Vicars

"Rise." Under the gaze of the crowd, the remarkably young female noble slowly stood, folded the dragon wings at her back, and stepped toward her seat. Misha exchanged glances from across the space with Trump, who stood likewise at the pinnacle of the altar. They shared a smile and nodded in greeting. "Lord Trump." The imperial prime minister had once brought her before His Majesty and taught her a great deal of magical lore; it was no exaggeration to say she owed him a debt of gratitude for recognizing and guiding her talents. In Misha's heart, this hideous, ferocious-looking ogre was like a mentor and elder. Beside him, Hobgoblin Duke Duoluo seemed to realize something. His murky little eyes flicked knowingly toward Misha, and his expression soured somewhat. "Damn it..." The hobgoblin squeezed a low, hoarse curse through his teeth, though the sound was faint enough that only he could hear it. Yet another half-dragon herald stepped forward. Holding a scroll in his hands, his back straight as a spear, he proclaimed in an immensely resonant voice: "For overarching planning, coordinating across all fronts, and rendering outstanding service to the empire's logistics... Marquis Delenna is elevated to Duke of the Empire." "It's Lady Delenna!" "Isn't she the 'Flower of Northwind Keep'?" Amid the gasps and marveling of the crowd, Delenna, dressed in a flowing gown, was lifted to the high platform by an invisible force. She did not forget to wave to the gathered throngs below as she rose. "Your Majesty." Delenna knelt smiling before Cassius. She appeared relaxed, but her faintly trembling, fair legs betrayed her true feelings. Who could avoid being nervous? To finally become an exalted duke, standing at the pinnacle of imperial power and achieving the goal she had set all those years ago—even Delenna felt as though she were living in a dream. Yet the herald's resounding voice carried on, echoing across the packed venue. "For valor and martial prowess, fearing no formidable foe, and demonstrating the majestic might of imperial dragonkin... Marquis Smaug is elevated to Duke of the Empire." A rasping roar went up as flickering sparks drifted through the air. Surrounded by several wyverns, the wyvern leader—nearly twenty meters in length and resembling a true red dragon—beat his wings and soared into the sky. In the end, Smaug landed upon the altar. Facing the red dragon, he bowed his neck, pressed his head tightly against the ground, folded the wings at his back, and let out an obedient rumble. Upon receiving the Emperor's assent, the wyvern also moved to his assigned place, propping himself up on his tail and standing upright on his hind legs. And now, every eye present converged upon that final marble seat. Of the nine ducal seats, only one remained. Which lucky soul would become the empire's final duke? "Cassius above..." "I think Marquis Bro, who commands the infantry legions, has earned great merit and deserves to be made an imperial duke." "Bullshit! Do you have any idea how many demons Lord Datou's artillery legions obliterated?" "Marquis Gilmour has poured his heart and soul into assisting Duke Trump with the empire's sprawling affairs for years; why shouldn't it be him...?" The common folk below—humans, ogres, tieflings, lizardfolk, and many other races—were filled with fervent anticipation. Though they knew they had no chance of being selected themselves, they still hoped a representative of their own kind would become a duke. Within the Cinder Empire, a realm of diverse races, the state had always preached equality among peoples and priority based on competence. Yet who wouldn't want one of their "own" standing at the imperial apex? The imperial marquises, meanwhile, were far more agitated and expectant. Those few lords upon whom everyone pinned high hopes held their breath, their eyes fixed unwaveringly on the scroll in the half-dragon's hands, burning with desire. Yet the herald proceeded without pause to pronounce the next candidate's name, disappointing many eager marquises—who nevertheless dared not utter a single objection. For this newly elevated duke possessed an identity so extraordinary that no one would dare question the choice. "For freezing thousands of demons into solid ice and confronting a balor face to face... Tinia is invested as Duke of the Empire." Another direct investiture—and one leaping directly from an untitled commoner straight to duke. Yet the subject of this elevation was none other than the Emperor's famous kin, revered as the "Wing of the Imperial Northwind," the white dragon herself. "Awoo—" A biting gale swept past as a dragon roar resounded through the sky. Surrounded by a disorderly flock of dragons, the white dragon, over twenty meters in length, spread her wings and cast a sprawling shadow over the throngs below. Twenty-five meters—for white dragons, which were typically lean and slight, this was already the size of a great wyrm. Yet Tinia had not even reached adulthood, a testament to the immense potency of progenitor dragon blood. Striding forward in the air with head held high, Tinia raised her ferocious white head and beat her broad, spine-tipped wings, whipping up gusts of freezing wind as she flew toward the peak of the altar. Excitement filled the white dragon, her pale-blue slitted pupils shimmering. She thought to herself: *Master finally remembered her!* *In that war against the demonic invasion, fighting with all her might and showing off her prowess had truly been the right choice!* *Boom...* With a faint tremor in the ground, the white dragon touched down atop the altar. She bent the knees of her forelegs, tucked her wings, and pressed her head nearly flush with the ground, assuming a posture of total submission toward Cassius. "Master... I watched your battle with my own eyes. You are so big, so strong... simply..." Tinia murmured softly, scouring her meager brain for suitable words. Fanaticism covered her face, and her thick tail swayed involuntarily. Her massive white dragon body edged closer toward the red dragon, claws scraping as she crept along the ground. Indeed—a nearly mature female dragon, right at the peak of her mating season. Before hundreds of thousands of eyes, Tinia squirmed across the floor without the slightest regard for decorum, trying to rub herself up against the red dragon. For the dignity of an imperial duke and the solemnity of the ceremony, Cassius finally could watch no longer. Wearing a cold expression, he casually lifted a single sharp-clawed finger, and a potent surge of force burst forth at once. "Awoo—!" With a startled shriek, the twenty-odd-meter-long white dragon was wrapped in a violent gale. No matter how she thrashed, she could not break free. Then her colossal frame slammed hard before her seat. *Crash!* Sprawled on the stone, feeling the throb of pain all over her body, an intoxicated expression drifted onto Tinia's draconic face. Drops of drool hung from the corners of her mouth and dripped onto the ground. "Master... Hehehe, still so strong... impossible to resist..." Looking at Tinia's infatuated face, the corners of Cassius's mouth twitched. He could not help but sigh inwardly: it seemed a white dragon's brain simply couldn't handle the power of progenitor dragon blood. How else could a white dragon like Tinia exist, her head stuffed with such perverse fixations? Following this little interlude, the ceremony continued. Under the fervent gaze of the crowd, familiar names were read out by the heralds one after another. "Count Datou is elevated to Marquis of the Empire." "Count Hoan Wilkerson is elevated to Marquis of the Empire." ... "Count Serkan is elevated to—Marquis of the Empire." "Who is that?" "How did he become a marquis?" The onlookers buzzed with curiosity at this sudden unfamiliar name, yet well-informed imperial citizens soon recognized him. "I read about Count Serkan in the colonization section of the *Imperial Daily*. He oversees operations in the Elemental Plane of Fire." "I saw him when I was doing business at the Brass Fortress. He's a lord with tremendous ambition." A portal radiating scorching heat swung open, and an armored half-red dragon strode forth—Count Serkan, Governor of the Elemental Plane of Fire. Compared to the half-red dragons who remained in the imperial heartland, the count's appearance was distinct: flames flickered within his eyes, and tiny fire wisps burned at his ears and nostrils. Having lived for years in the Elemental Plane of Fire, Count Serkan's body had already developed numerous elemental traits. A host of flame drakes, salamanders, fire dwarves, and half-red dragons followed behind him, letting out cheers like crackling bursts of fire. "Count... Gangtie Kuangchao is elevated to Marquis of the Empire." Even after all this time around them, the half-red dragon herald remained unaccustomed to the Starfallen's bizarre, incantation-like names. Among the Starfallen, a tumultuous roar of cheering erupted instantly, players' clamorous voices surging like a tide. "Holy crap! Brother Kuangchao made marquis!" "From the weakness of flesh, to mechanical ascension!" "Praise the Machine God! Hahaha! Our Machine Cult is riding high today!" "Watch it, don't chant slogans right now! Someone from the Imperial Office of Religious Affairs called me in for a chat just the other day..." "Toll the Great Bell thrice, sing in unison, praise the Mach—er, His Majesty Cassius!" "Doesn't matter, Brother Kuangchao is the GOAT!" Some Machine Cult players even produced miniature mechanical bells, ringing them relentlessly. *Clang! Clang! Clang!* Amid the tolling and the crowd's cheers, flanked by members of the Machine Cult, Gangtie Kuangchao stepped forth brimming with vigor, waving to everyone. "Hahahaha! What a glorious day! How did you all know I got made a marquis?" Gangtie Kuangchao pressed a button on his gear. Two steel tubes immediately extended from his augmented back, followed by an explosion of brilliant flame and thick white smoke. *Whoosh—!* A small mushroom cloud puffed up from the ground, and Gangtie Kuangchao rocketed upward, reaching the hundred-meter-tall altar in the blink of an eye before touching down slowly. The newer players who had only recently joined the game and struggled to kill even a chicken looked up at the contrail trailing across the sky, utterly dumbfounded. Someone couldn't help muttering, "Are we... playing the same game?" After bowing to the Emperor, Gangtie Kuangchao stood at his designated marquis seat with arms akimbo and a smug grin, soaking in all the limelight. Deep inside, however, tears were streaming down his face—the experimental single-soldier jetpack was completely trashed, and who knew how much money he'd just burned through... "Maikon Watts, for holding key strongholds at the head of infantry legions and achieving distinguished service, is elevated to Marquis." "Gilmour, for researching weaponry for the empire and rendering monumental service on the battlefield, is elevated to Marquis." "Fried Olb, as Guide of the Dragon Oath Sanctuary... is elevated to Marquis." ... "George, for leading legions to reinforce the main front, holding the high ground against ferocious demonic assaults, single-handedly slaying several bulezau demons, and seizing precious tactical opportunities for the empire... Is elevated to... Count." "It's Baron George! The former Northlands serf!" "Cassius above, he skipped two ranks and was promoted straight to count!" "How enviable... rising all the way from a mere serf to a count..." "I used to work in the same workshop as Lord George! We were tight as brothers back then! Let me tell you, even back then I could see he harbored grand ambitions..." Amid the buzz of chatter and under the convergence of countless envious and jealous gazes, George strode forward with purposeful steps, halting at the foot of the Grand Altar of Isdalia. Head held high and chest squared, George took a deep breath. He could feel the heart pumping with dragon blood thumping hard inside his chest. *A count at last.* *So close. It's so close now... to becoming a truly great figure.* An invisible force lifted him upward. He watched as the ground receded further and further below him and he rose higher and higher, the dense crowds shrinking until they resembled ants. He could not help sighing with emotion. *Once, I too was just one of those ordinary mortals...* *But now, everything is different.* With that thought, George lifted his head with resolute eyes and strode briskly onto the Grand Altar of Isdalia. Under the crushing weight of the Emperor's boundless draconic majesty, he forced down the trembling in his limbs, though he could not quiet the frantic pounding of his heart or the boiling rush in his veins. Even so, he maintained his composure and dropped to one knee before the red dragon. "Your Majesty, I thank you... for your grace." George gritted his teeth, sweat beading across his forehead and dripping onto the stone. The red dragon slowly lowered his head, studied him for a moment, and surprisingly spoke in a gentle voice: "George... you have done well. To think you could awaken the bloodline seed I bestowed on your own initiative." His Majesty—His Majesty actually regarded him so highly! Basking in the Emperor's personal praise, George felt an overwhelming surge of joy engulf him from all sides. The swell of emotion almost clouded his mind and made him dizzy. Fortunately, he managed to steady himself. After thanking His Majesty once more, he returned to his place, though Cassius's words kept replaying in his head. *"George... you have done well."* *His Majesty values me. Perhaps... I truly can climb to the very peak of imperial power.* George turned his head toward the seats of the marquises and dukes positioned above him, fire seemingly igniting in his eyes. ... "For service as a Redscale Conqueror, fighting valiantly, and repeatedly plunging into the demon hordes... Wo Qu Chi Mantou is invested as Viscount of the Empire." "For braving death, engaging demons in brutal close-quarters combat, and fighting with ferocious grit... Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang is invested as Viscount of the Empire." ... "Russell is invested as Baron." "Hulme is invested as Baron." Under the mixed gazes of disappointment and envy among the crowd, the half-red dragons concluded the reading of the final name. In unison, they rolled up their scrolls and stepped back. Following this investiture ceremony, the empire gained a total of nine dukes, twenty-six marquises, over fifty counts, more than a hundred viscounts, and upwards of four hundred barons. At last, beneath the eyes of hundreds of thousands—perhaps even a million people—the red dragon slowly rose from his throne. "A tedious ceremony indeed..." Exhaling white smoke heavy with sulfur, he unfurled his immense wings and looked down with pale-gold pupils upon his imperial subjects, whose faces were flushed with excitement and anticipation. Cassius knew that the true boon was about to descend.