A Place in the Sun

"Hoooot—!" With a booming blast of its whistle, the steam locomotive glided smoothly into the station. Beautifully appointed with luxurious private compartments, it served the upper district of Isdalia. Yet this special train had now arrived at a more central district—New Storm Heights, named after the former site of the Cinder Nest. Around the station stood a bizarre variety of buildings in wildly contrasting styles: crude, menacing cave-dwellings; rugged, expansive pavilions; and tall, imposing structures of reinforced concrete. Those who dwelt here were all prominent figures within the Cinder Empire. The bare minimum threshold for residency was the rank of Dragonblood Count. "Now arriving at New Storm Heights Station. Noble passengers, please disembark in an orderly manner. "Thank you for your contributions to the Empire. Long live Cassius!" To the conductor’s impassioned announcements, nobles bearing distinct draconic traits—humans, hobgoblins, tieflings, and ogres—stepped off the train one after another. In the distance, a human noble dressed in military uniform, leather briefcase in hand, strode briskly over and boarded the train. He, too, possessed dragon scales and slit golden pupils that bespoke an exalted bloodline. At the moment, however, this dragonblood noble looked somewhat exhausted. Dark circles hung beneath those golden vertical pupils, showing none of the vigorous vitality typical of a red dragon's kin. He was George. In the investiture ceremony several days prior, he had been promoted to Dragonblood Count. As an imperial special train, the private compartment was lavish in the extreme. Oil paintings of red dragons in gilded frames hung on both sides, the floor was covered in plush carpeting, and leather couches were arranged neatly. George sat down on the sofa, took a sip of the freshly prepared tea on the table, glanced down at the silver watch on his wrist, and knit his brows slightly. "Another emergency meeting. Is the Ministry of War really this busy lately?" It was hardly surprising that George felt perplexed. In just these past few days, the imperial Ministry of War had convened over a dozen meetings. Having only recently been promoted to commander of the Third Army Division, he had been consumed with reorganizing and taking over his forces, unable to spare any time. This time, however, Grand Marshal Duoluo had issued the order personally, requiring every senior officer to attend without exception. George had no choice but to tear himself away from his packed schedule to rush to the gathering. The imperial train ran exceptionally smoothly and fast. It was said to possess high-tier magical wards capable of withstanding even sixth-tier spells. Before long, the train rolled out of Isdalia's urban area, speeding across the vast wasteland on the city's outskirts. The scenery outside shifted rapidly, often veiled by the billows of steam vented by the engine. Even so, George turned his head to gaze quietly southward out the window. Far away stretched boundless farmland, where wheat rippled like waves across golden fields, and iron behemoths roared as they labored among the crops. Yet George's eyes were fixed intently upon the cloudless blue sky, as if he could already see the fertile, sweeping expanse of the Feanso Continent—the future battlefield where he would wage war. Suddenly, as if struck by a realization, George's eyes lit up. He murmured under his breath, "Right... no wonder the Ministry of War has held so many meetings... "Perhaps the Empire's grand expansion is about to begin, and our expeditionary forces will march south to conquer the boundless Feanso Continent." Expansion, conquest, military merit... Was this not precisely what he dreamed of? Countless times in his sleep, he had envisioned such a scene: sword raised high, horns blaring behind him amid the thunder of artillery, leading his army to storm one magnificent southern city after another. In the end, he would stand before His Majesty Cassius, standing atop the pinnacle of power in the Cinder Empire as a truly great figure. Now, he was already a Dragonblood Count. That seemingly unattainable goal was perhaps not so far away anymore—all he needed was the right opportunity. At the thought, George's expression grew increasingly excited, and his golden, reptilian pupils shimmered faintly. The weariness and impatience in his gaze vanished completely. The Dragonblood Count looked vibrant and revitalized once more, his face alight with burning ambition. "Pour me some more water." George drained his teacup in one gulp and waved over the attendant. He was even beginning to look forward to the upcoming meeting. *** "Hoooot—!" "Now arriving at Imperial First Military Training Base Station. Noble passengers, please disembark in an orderly manner, and keep His Majesty's grace in your hearts." Flanked by attendants, George stepped unhurriedly down from the special train. At a glance, he spotted Grace waving at him not far away. "Good day, Count George." "Count George, I have long admired your name. Your heroic deeds on the battlefield are truly inspiring." "Do you remember me? We were stationed in the same theater together!" "So you are Count George! I read about you in the Imperial Daily..." Seeing George disembark, lower-ranking dragonblood nobles swarmed forward to greet him, eager to leave a favorable impression on this rising star. Though somewhat annoyed, George forced a polite smile and made his way through them until he reached Baron Grace. Grace took off his hat, bowed respectfully, and said with a smile, "Good day, Lord George." George waved a hand and said helplessly, "Come on, Grace. We've known each other for so long—stop putting on an act." At once, the surrounding dragonblood nobles shot sideways glances at Baron Grace, whispering among themselves. A mere baron, speaking on equal footing with a count? It seemed Baron Grace was also someone well worth befriending. George knew the impact his actions would have, but for a familiar friend, lending a bit of social prestige was effortless. George had never been fond of socializing to begin with, and as his status rose, very few remained whom he could truly call friends. Grace put his military cap back on and said, "This isn't putting on an act; it's the military protocol required between ranks. After all... you're an esteemed Count now, qualified to ride the imperial special train, while I'm still just a negligible Dragonblood Baron." Looking toward the towering military base in the distance, George said casually, "Isn't that exactly what you wanted? A safe, steady post, living in bustling Isdalia, never having to march off to battle with your heart in your throat..." Grace nodded. "Fair point." George then asked, "You're better informed than I am. Is the Ministry of War planning some major move?" Grace looked slightly surprised. "As a count, you haven't even been following this? Troops are mobilizing across the Empire, even from every colony. "Word has it that the Empire plans to ride the momentum of our great victory against the Abyss to launch a full-scale war against the Kingdom of Thrace." George nodded slightly in agreement. "So that's how it is... Just as I suspected." *Rrrrip—!* A sound like tearing silk rang out, followed by the roar of bursting flames. The officers present—including George—turned toward the source. Space rippled, and a vortex of flame materialized in midair nearby, turning the surrounding atmosphere sweltering and distorted. Immediately after, a flame drake beat its blazing wings and flew out with a roar, carrying an armored, imposing half-dragon knight on its back. The dragonblood nobles burst into lively chatter, their eyes locked on the figure in the sky. "Who is that?" "Is that... an officer from the Elemental Plane of Fire expeditionary army?" "Wait, I recognize him! That's the governor of the colony on the Elemental Plane of Fire—the newly elevated Dragonblood Marquis, Lord Serkan!" "What? Even the governor of the Elemental Plane of Fire came to attend the meeting in person!" The watching officers were deeply astonished. They hurried to salute the marquis aloft. Even George removed his cap, placed a fist over his chest, and offered a standard imperial salute of loyalty. Yet that was not all. Spatial fluctuations rippled again in the distance, and a pitch-black portal slowly expanded. With the crisp clatter of bone, a skeletal wyrm crawled forth. Atop its back rode a pale-skinned man clad in black robes. "It's Lord Hart from the Underdark! He's here too..." All around the military base, more portals opened out of thin air. Officers from expeditionary forces stationed across every imperial colony appeared one by one. "The Elemental Plane of Fire, the Underdark, the Elemental Plane of Air, the Feywild..." Watching the base grow increasingly crowded, George turned to Grace. "It seems the Empire truly is preparing for a monumental move." Grace nodded earnestly. "You said it." Then he chuckled and added, "Though I doubt it has much to do with unaspiring garrison troops like me who stay behind in the Empire. Lord George, I wish you invincible victory in the south. I'll pray to His Majesty Cassius on your behalf back home." *** Soon, the crowd entered the interior of the military base. The immense hall had been transformed into an auditorium capable of holding over ten thousand people. Imperial soldiers from across the realm—and even across the multiverse—had assembled under one roof. Humans, tieflings, hobgoblins, ogres, and the Starfallen, who had long since been stripped of their human status... every race was represented, and many of the officers present were dragonblood nobility. As a Dragonblood Count, George naturally received a front-row seat. He gazed at the vast platform, his face filled with eager anticipation. Inside the hall, officers were murmuring in discussion. "The Abyssal War didn't end that long ago... Are we really going to war with the Kingdom of Thrace?" "Hmph, cowards! We Conquest Partisans have wanted to declare war on them for ages! Those Fadlanese don't deserve such fertile land!" "As imperial soldiers, are you actually afraid of war? We are vassals of His Majesty Cassius—" Suddenly, an authoritative, resonant voice echoed through the hall. "Gentlemen—" All eyes snapped toward the platform. A towering figure had appeared there—possessing a ferocious countenance, crimson skin, broad dragon wings sprouting from his back, and smoke swirling around his body. "What overwhelming presence... Can you feel that? It's the pressure of his bloodline!" "Is that..." "Great Red Dragon above, look at his stature! Truly worthy of being an imperial Dragonblood Duke!" "Cassius be praised, it's Grand Marshal Duoluo! He's addressing us in person!" This was none other than one of the Empire's three Special Dukes and the Grand Marshal of the Ministry of War—Duoluo, the dragonblood hobgoblin revered as the Dragon-Rage Warmonger! Duoluo parted his fanged jaws, folded his wings behind him, and blew a blast of gunsmoke from his nostrils. "Silence." Instantly, the officers fell dead silent. In a hall holding ten thousand people, one could hear a pin drop. The Empire's military discipline was far stricter than that of the old "noble armies" of the Northlands. What they valued most was not individual heroics, but absolute obedience. Pick any soldier at random, and he could recite every article of the imperial military drill manual by heart; upon hearing an order from a superior, they would react like a conditioned reflex. Now, the imperial officers stood ramrod-straight with heads held high, like rows of planted flagpoles. Only then did Duoluo nod in satisfaction. He continued, "I trust you all understand why I have summoned you here." The dragonblood hobgoblin clenched his fist abruptly. Behind him, a massive magical projection flared to life—a map of the Feanso Continent. Duoluo pointed a claw toward the colored region labeled "Kingdom of Thrace" at the top of the map and spoke in a deep voice: "Conquest." Duoluo turned and paced across the wide stage, his low voice reverberating through the hall in rolling echoes. The imagery behind him shifted accordingly, displaying the pockmarked, cratered lands of the south, where displaced refugees wept bitterly. "Gentlemen, look upon those Fadlanese. They are so insatiably greedy, yet they squander such rich, fertile lands. "Anzeta has been silent for far too long. This remote region has always been treated by southerners as a barbaric wasteland, until a little over a decade ago... "When the great and supreme His Majesty Cassius rose like the sun, changing everything forever!" Duoluo's voice grew increasingly impassioned and thunderous, crashing against the four walls of the hall. "Now, the days when other nations divided the land and the oceans while Anzetans were content with the barren wilderness are past—we, too, demand our place in the sun!" "Conquest!" He raised the Bloodfire Battleaxe in his grasp, unfurled the broad wings at his back, and threw his arms wide with a roar. "Conquest! Conquest!" "For His Majesty Cassius! For the Cinder Empire!" The hall erupted into a frenzy. The war-hungry officers threw up their arms and roared along with Duoluo. The Conquest Partisans, who had long grown impatient for war, broke into song and deafening cheers. Amidst the frenzied crowd, George raised his arm high as well, shouting until his voice grew hoarse, his dragonblood-infused heart thumping furiously. Indeed, conquest. What a glorious word. It was through the conquest of the Northlands that he had risen to become a dragonblood noble. He would lead his army in the Empire's name, in Cassius's name, to conquer the south, until he ascended to the pinnacle of imperial power. So thought this former Northlands serf, and current Dragonblood Count.