Authority and Celebration

"Swish—" The shards imbued with the power of law surged toward the altar, merging into the bodies of the imperial kin. In an instant, heaven and earth trembled. Clouds churned and the wind howled as scorching gales raged across the wasteland. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, with thunder roaring and crashing incessantly. Centered on the Grand Altar of Isdalia, a tremendous aura of pressure expanded rapidly, blanketing the space within a radius of a hundred li in the blink of an eye. Birds wheeled high above in panicked circles; forest deer let out frantic cries; even the drakes raised by the empire let loose muffled growls before bowing their heads toward Isdalia. "What is that?" "Why do my legs feel so weak?" "Cassius above, what on earth is...?" The watching imperial citizens cried out in astonishment, an irrepressible impulse to kneel and worship blooming in their hearts. —And it was not a submission driven merely by the coercion of raw power or bloodline, but an instinctual reverence for the rules of the world. "Hum—" Accompanied by the roaring detonation of air, sand and stones took flight across the wasteland as a swirling hurricane blasted with fury. Above Isdalia, a pillar of light hundreds of meters thick descended slowly from the heavens, ultimately engulfing all the dragonblood nobles upon the altar. Within the bodies of the dragonblood nobility, the shards of authority dissolved and unfurled, generating majestic vortexes of power. "This feeling... is truly..." Bathed in the radiant light, the ogre mage Trump lifted his hand with effort. Looking down at his palm, his pupils abruptly dilated. "Exquisite beyond words." As a Grand Duke of the Cinder Empire, Trump naturally possessed the highest tier of authority. And as a spellcaster, Trump could feel the power of law twining around his body; elements, conjurations, and the Weave itself seemed to obey his every whim. The surrounding world felt as though it were entirely his to command. This sensation was intoxicatingly novel and exhilarating, leaving the ogre archmage utterly astounded—this was practically power on the level of a deity! Trump knew that within the borders of the empire, he could now effortlessly slaughter the version of himself from just a few days ago, and even contend with "Silver Wings" himself. Toward his master, the Cinder Emperor, who had so generously bestowed such authority, Trump's heart overflowed with profound gratitude. He could not help but raise his head toward the colossal figure blotting out the sky, cloaked in a shimmering halo. "Master..." Yet now that he wielded authority, the red dragon did not appear any weaker in Trump's eyes; instead, he seemed all the more supreme, resembling a true deity. To his enhanced perception, the Cinder Emperor was wrapped in powers of law far superior to his own—the sheer weight of his rank and station alone was enough to make Trump tremble. High suspended in the heavens, beating his wings, the world revolved around the red dragon, everything under his dominion. At this moment, Cassius was the core and nexus of the entire world, holding every scrap of imperial authority in his grasp—this was absolute sovereign rule! Mezrolash, who had been half-kneeling on the ground, stood tall with sword in hand. Feeling the power of law coursing through his frame, even his habitually cold face showed a trace of rapturous intoxication. Mezrolash looked up at the red dragon radiating brilliant beams of light like a sun god in the high sky, murmuring under his breath: "Your Majesty..." He gave a gentle sweep of his blood-stained longsword. The space around him rippled instantly, the blade charged with a terrifying might that seemed capable of cleaving all things asunder. The tiefling's hand gripped the hilt tightly, trembling slightly. His eyes flickered, the fiery light of dragon blood surging deep within his dark pupils. "May the empire endure forever." Mezrolash's voice rang out firm and sonorous, resonant with conviction. Having lived through bitter lessons and tragic exile, he knew just how heavy this power in his hand was. And now, having received the authority bestowed by the Cinder Emperor, he finally possessed the confidence to shield his tiefling kin from disaster. Mezrolash knew that from this day forward, the tieflings were bound completely to the Emperor's war chariot. They would follow the empire to the very end—until their race was no more. "Hahahaha! I feel it!" "This is—true power!" A brazen, boisterous laugh echoed over the altar. Duoluo, the hobgoblin who had only just sprouted dragon wings, circled midair, laughing without the slightest restraint. Feeling the boundless might flooding his body, he raised a claw, and a crackling bolt of lightning materialized in his grip. With a thunderous roar, Duoluo hurled it forcefully toward the distant sky. "Boom!" Dark clouds roiled, thunder crashed, and several dazzling lightning bolts flashed in unison across the horizon. As gales howled, the hobgoblin unfurled the broad dragon wings at his back, stretched his claws, and roared to the heavens, utterly drunk on his own strength. "Smack!" A sharp pain exploded at the back of Duoluo's head, and his vision went black. He whirled around in fury. Trump stood with a calm countenance, lightly swinging his scepter, having just struck the midair hobgoblin squarely on the head. Moreover, as the imperial prime minister, the authority Trump possessed was half a tier higher than Duoluo's, and that slight elevation in rank was enough to grant him an overwhelming advantage. The dark clouds in the sky dissipated into nothingness, the lightning ceased, and the hobgoblin felt squeezed by the surrounding space, plummeting uncontrollably back to his original spot. Pressed flat against the ground, Duoluo raised his head with angry exertion, hissing in a low voice: "Trump, do you wish to make an enemy of me?!" Trump regarded the hobgoblin with a chilling gaze, his voice deep and stern. "Duke Duoluo, I thought you would have grown wiser. Do you truly believe... "...this is your own power?" The ogre tapped his scepter lightly against the stone. Drawing upon the highest authority beneath the Emperor, he instantly dispersed the powers of law swirling around Duoluo. Then, pointing his scepter toward the sky, he gave a cold snort. "I see your head has been turned by power, forgetting who the true protagonist of this ceremony is!" The pinned hobgoblin's face instantly went pale with dread. Large beads of sweat broke out across his forehead as he looked up in the direction of the scepter. The Cinder Emperor remained aloft in the heavens, wrapped in the world's laws. Compared to the red dragon, the power Duoluo had just acquired was as insignificant as a speck of dust. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty... "Forgive me. I was blinded by power... I actually forgot that this is all His Majesty's grace..." Only then did Duoluo feel the weight lift from his body. He slowly scrambled up from the ground, his heart gripped by terror. He had nearly committed the grave transgression of overstepping before the Emperor! "Watch yourself... Duke Duoluo. Cast aside your arrogant notions." Trump raised a hand, and the surrounding space shattered like glass—it turned out he had shrouded both of them in an illusion, preventing onlookers from witnessing their brief clash. After all, a confrontation between two Grand Dukes was a momentous matter capable of shaking the empire's foundations. With his head bowed low and his face dark, Duoluo had completely sobered from the euphoria of obtaining power. He had lost miserably this time, and had made a grave blunder under His Majesty's very eyes. From now on, he would likely remain a step beneath Trump forever. Yet this brief scuffle was merely an insignificant interlude in the grand ceremony. Bathed in that radiant light, all the dragonblood nobles upon the altar received, to varying degrees, a portion of the "Imperial Domain" authority. For instance, the dragonblood baron Grace felt the faint power of law within his grasp, his expression trembling with excitement. "This is..." After surviving that brutal war against the Abyss, his only wish had been to remain within the empire's borders. With this power, he would no longer have to fear foreign invasions and could fully indulge in the lavish life of an imperial dragonblood noble. On the terrace above, Mantou, who was already a dragonblood viscount, stared at his interface in stunned disbelief. "Holy shit, this conferment is cracked!" [Under the effect of Sovereign-Conferred Divine Right, you have acquired the faction trait: Emperor's Proxy - Viscount] Emperor's Proxy - Viscount Special Abilities: Dragonblood Viscount - Severance: Within the empire's borders, as a dragonblood viscount personally appointed by the Cinder Emperor, you can seal the Weave, generating an effect similar to an antimagic field around you. Dragonblood Viscount - Dominion: Within the empire's borders, you possess a degree of control over the fundamental elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—to catalyze spell effects. Dragonblood Viscount - Protection: Within the empire's borders, you can generate a protective barrier upon the surface of your body... ... Reading through ability after ability, Mantou pondered for a long time before managing to squeeze out a single sentence: "All I can say is... this is officially broken." The only minor drawback was that these abilities could only be used within imperial territory, and were strictly limited to the core regions—they could not be carried down south. Mantou understood this well enough. If something so overpowered could be taken anywhere, players from other factions wouldn't even be able to play. Game balance still had to be considered, after all. Yet a sudden spark flashed in Mantou's mind—if the Cinder Empire conquered the entire world, wouldn't that mean he could run rampant everywhere? "Back then, I thought being locked into this faction was a disadvantage, but looking at it now... it's pure blessing!" Mantou gazed up at the giant dragon high in the sky, sighing in heartfelt awe. As the bestowment concluded, the pillar of light gradually faded, and the intense fluctuations settled into calm. The dragonblood nobles appeared before the multitude in their transformed states, exuding an aura of noble majesty. Trump, the dragon-blooded ogre standing nearly ten meters tall, fell to his knees and spoke with devout reverence: "We thank Your Majesty for your boundless grace." Before his voice had even died away, nearly all the dragonblood nobles knelt in unison across the altar, chiming in after Trump's words of gratitude. "Long live the Cinder Empire!" "Long live His Majesty Cassius!" In an instant, ceremonial cannons boomed in unison, wyverns wheeled and roared, and satyrs struck up anthems of praise. The watching imperial citizens looked upon the gifts received by the dragonblood nobility with boundless envy, desperately yearning to stand upon that altar themselves. They raised their arms and shouted, their voices rising in a roaring tsunami of sound. Hundreds of meters above, the piercing brilliance at the red dragon's chest subsided, and the fiery wings spanning thousands of meters slowly dissolved. Flapping his wings gently, Cassius hovered high in the sky, looking down at the earth and observing the dragonblood nobles upon the altar with a satisfied smile. "Not bad... it seems." Detailed dossiers on his vassals appeared on the red dragon's interface, allowing him to browse through them in detail. Gargantuan Savant - Trump (Challenge Rating: 21) Daughter of Dragonfire - Misha (Challenge Rating: 20) Dragon-Wrath Warmonger - Duoluo (Challenge Rating: 18) Sword of the Empire - Mezrolash (Challenge Rating: 17) ... Trump, Misha, Duoluo, Mezrolash, Alger... a full five vassals had acquired legendary prefixes. One could say that only after this bestowment did Cassius truly possess legendary-tier vassals capable of holding their own. Moreover, within the empire's borders, a dragonblood duke like Trump who wielded the highest tier of authority could display combat power rivaling peak legends and god-favored scions. Even against "Silver Wings" Oszedro in his prime, Trump could now go toe-to-toe with him. This signified one crucial fact: even across the vast Feanso Continent, the strength of the imperial vassals was no longer something to be taken lightly. In the past, the Cinder Empire had always suffered from a recurring problem: Compared to their invincible, supreme Emperor, the imperial vassals appeared somewhat feeble. The enemies provoked by the red dragon were almost always of an exceedingly high caliber, while the empire's upper-echelon strength was severely lacking. As a result, his vassals were fundamentally incapable of offering effective support, and could even become Cassius's liabilities. Now, however, this situation had finally seen marked improvement. At the very least, the Cinder Empire would not be dead weight. With that thought, under the watchful gaze of hundreds of thousands of eyes, Cassius slowly beat his wings and descended toward the pinnacle of the Grand Altar of Isdalia. With his landing, the altar and the ground beneath it trembled faintly, kicking up plumes of dust into the air. His powerful hind legs struck the ground, and the red dragon reared upright before the throne, spreading his immense wings and letting loose a voice like rolling thunder: "Citizens of the empire—" "As you have witnessed: be loyal to the empire, dedicate yourselves to the Cinder Empire, and whether it be wealth, power, or strength—you shall receive all that you desire!" "Long live His Majesty Cassius!" "Long live the empire!" "Immortality to the Great Red Dragon!" In an instant, the emotions of the imperial citizens erupted like ignited powder, their cheers threatening to pierce the heavens. Sunlight poured across the broad, pristine white altar. At the foot of the raised highland, an ocean of people surged, their shouts and cheers rising one after another, rolling like waves upon waves. Excitement, fanaticism, and wild joy brimmed on every face as they waved the flags of the empire, singing that familiar hymn to Cassius: "How can such grace ever be repaid?" "Let all people unite in worship, to the great red dragon in the heavens!" Mingled in the crowd, the players also broke into an assortment of songs; some even turned on magical speakers to blast their favorite heavy metal rock. Meanwhile, the players from the Dragon Lovers Club stared fixedly up at the top of the altar, their eyes locked onto the red dragon's magnificent physique, drool practically dripping from their mouths. "His Majesty Cassius..." "Hehehe..." "That tail... forget touching it, just catching a whiff would add years to your life!" Such blasphemous words poured unreservedly from the mouths of these degenerate players, drawing side-eyed glances from the native imperial citizens, who couldn't help backing away to keep their distance. Meanwhile, in a shadowy corner of Isdalia, down a dark alley, a figure wrapped in a gray cloak emerged. Richard looked up, staring dazedly at the graceful figure on the altar that already displayed draconic traits, his lips slightly pressed together. "Abir, wait for me. I'll find a way. I will definitely save you from this place. "But for now... I want to see you first." The half-elf ranger pulled down his hood and slipped silently into the shadows, leaving behind on the ground only the faint wet stains of fallen tears.