The Torrent of War

Near Nemir Town in western Anzeta lay the empire's largest desolate desert, and hidden within it was a mysterious depot complex. In this area, hundreds of identical storehouses stood in neat rows, enclosed by tall concrete walls and ringed with barbed wire. Yet behind this seemingly tranquil scene far from the clamor of cities lay rigorous security measures. Wyverns and flame drakes wheeled in the sky above, while heavily armed imperial guards stood sentry and patrolled day and night without pause. Any unauthorized entry was met with severe force. *Hoooot—* To the shrill blast of steam whistles, dozens of military steam trains rumbled up and ground to a halt outside the depot complex's entrance. At the quartermaster's order, disciplined half-dragon soldiers formed neat ranks and briskly marched off the trains. "All soldiers, stand by on the spot!" "Yes, sir!" A dragonman officer clad in a dark green woolen overcoat stepped down from the train, scanning the manifest in his hands before gazing toward the distant warehouses. Only officials of the Imperial Military Ministry knew that this place was the "Dragon's Nest," the largest military reserve depot in the empire. Its scale was staggering, spanning a total area of forty-five square kilometers. The depot housed an immense variety of munitions, ranging from traditional cannon rounds to advanced enchanted shells, covering nearly every type of ammunition for every firearm and artillery piece in imperial history—an estimated hundreds of thousands of tons. Here too were rows of advanced mechanized weapons such as steam tanks and armored vehicles, along with guns and artillery of every design—virtually the very symbol of the empire's military might. Beside the officer walked a human who displayed little draconic transformation, clutching a thick stack of invoices to his chest, his face brimming with fawning deference. "My lord, I've already tallied the quantities requested by the military ministry. If you would take a look..." This was Raj, once an unemployed laborer. Following that demonic calamity, he had leaped in standing to become an exalted first-class citizen, and was now an honorable quartermaster in the Imperial Army. "Good." After checking it over, the officer nodded and stepped forward to negotiate with the tiefling guards at the gate, the entire process proceeding in methodical order. *Rumble—* In the distance, billows of dust rolled up as the towering wall's massive gates slowly swung open. Truck after truck laden with firearms and ammunition drove out, while steam tanks crushed the earth beneath their tracks, sending subtle tremors through the ground. Raj stared at the grand spectacle, his face flushed and overflowing with nervous excitement, his heart hammering against his ribs. Coming from impoverished roots, he had never imagined he could proudly become a member of the Imperial Army—let alone land a cushy post as a quartermaster, not to mention being allotted a house in Isdalia. At this moment, Raj was brimming with gratitude toward His Majesty Cassius. The empire's generous wartime subsidies for servicemen made him wish this war could go on until the end of time. Gazing at these colossal, awe-inspiring beasts of war, Raj could not help puffing out his chest. In his mind, he could already envision the enemy wailing amidst the roar of cannon fire and screaming beneath the tracks of the tanks. Raj's thoughts ran wild: *Once this war is won, I might even become an imperial baron...* Reflecting on the empire's military might, even the lowest rank-and-file soldiers would swell with pride, never doubting for an instant that victory was imminent. Thus, through the half-dragon soldiers' labor, countless arms and munitions from the Dragon's Nest depot were loaded onto the steam trains. Meanwhile, across rails spanning hundreds of li, countless similar trains raced across the land, ferrying soldiers, equipment, and munitions from all corners of the empire toward the south. —The empire was thoroughly prepared for this war. Though there was seemingly a tight window of just three days, behind it lay years of relentless infrastructure construction and meticulous strategic planning. *** Within the city of Isdalia, the streets had been cleared. Cordon lines were drawn along both sides of the avenues, with tiefling guards stationed every few meters. Citizens crowded shoulder-to-shoulder behind the lines, waving imperial banners emblazoned with a slitted pupil and flames as they fanatically chanted slogans. "Conquest! Conquest!" "Long live the empire! Long live His Majesty Cassius!" "Those damned southerners don't deserve such fertile lands! We want our place in the sun!" The satyrs of the military brass band beat war drums and blew bronze horns, playing stirring marches designed to bolster morale and lift the spirit. To the swelling melodies, imperial officers clad in crisp uniforms with rank epaulets marched in disciplined ranks into public view. Proud smiles beamed on every officer's face as they held their heads high and waved to the crowds lining the streets, who showered them with scattered petals and thunderous cheers in return. "Long live the empire! May you return in triumph!" "You are heroes of the Cinder Empire! Heroes who will save Feanso!" Nor were officers the only ones in this grand procession. Landwyrms gave low, rumbling growls; wyverns and chimeras wheeled overhead; and elite soldiers fired salutes into the air, creating a bustling, vibrant spectacle. Suddenly, an even more impassioned roar erupted from the crowd. "Look! It's Marshal Duoluo!" "Cassius above! What an imposing, mighty figure!" "As expected of an imperial duke! Truly a dragonblood noble standing at the very peak!" Standing atop the towering back of a landwyrm, Duoluo unfurled the broad dragon wings behind him, flapped them hard, and surged into the sky. "Soldiers! On this campaign, we will face enemies more formidable than any before! But remember—we are the retainers of the great Red Dragon! We represent the glory of the Cinder Empire!" Looking down upon the surging masses below, the dragonblood hobgoblin raised the Bloodfire Battleaxe high and released a booming war cry: "For the empire—!" Like the roar of a true dragon, the voice carried an intangible majesty that shook the heavens and the earth, igniting the passion of the imperial populace and driving the troops to a fever pitch. "For the empire!" "For His Majesty Cassius!" Within the marching parade, George—dressed in military uniform and bearing the chimera epaulets of a colonel—turned his head and waved to the crowd. "Look, it's Count George!" "Cassius above! Lord George! You're my idol!" "I want to become a hero like Lord George too!" Half-grown youths waved their caps, shouting with adoration. A small frenzy rippled through the crowd. George had gained quite a reputation throughout the empire, far outstripping other counts of comparable rank. George's rise from a mere serf to a dragonblood noble had once been publicized by the *Imperial Daily* as a prime embodiment of the "Imperial Dream," embraced as a life goal by countless commoners from humble backgrounds. His performance during the demonic war had also been stellar, likewise splashed across the newspapers to great public inspiration. George was long accustomed to the crowd's adulation—he even rather enjoyed it. He spotted his former comrade-in-arms, Baron Grace, among the send-off crowd, watching him depart. George was no longer the cowardly, base serf of the past; his life had undergone an earth-shattering transformation. Now, he was an Imperial Army colonel with a radiant future, a rising star and newly minted dragonblood count. Stepping beyond the city gates amidst flowers, music, and cheers, George looked back. With his golden, draconic slitted pupils, he gazed at the banners snapping in the wind along the battlements, and toward the majestic structures in the distance. He had lived in this miraculous city for several years, and it had borne witness as he grew and climbed step by step. Who knew when he would return next? "When I return... it will be in dazzling glory, laden with honors." George murmured to himself, ambition practically stamped across his lean face. As the parade drew to a close, the cheers of the citizens, the thundering of ceremonial cannons, the cracking rifle salutes, and the synchronized war cries of the soldiers merged into a roaring tide that flooded Isdalia, reaching every corner. Yet down in a deserted back alley, shrouded in shadow and draped in a gray robe, Olivia watched in silence. Ever since her conversation with Cassius, she had lingered here for a long time. Olivia desperately wanted to know: what did war truly mean to the Cinder Empire? She had lived here for several years, yet had never genuinely integrated into imperial society. Instead, she had drifted on the periphery of Cassius's "New Order," doing what she believed would make the empire a better place. During the previous war against the demons, the citizens had been incensed with fury to protect their homeland and avenge fallen kin and friends. That, Olivia could understand. But what about now? A place in the sun, the land promised by the emperor, a new order for the world... Such absurd, nebulous justifications, yet countless people went wild for them, willing to lay down their lives without hesitation. Olivia could not comprehend what drove them to this. Soldiers indeed gained honor, rank, and spoils of war. But what about the ordinary folk? Why were they so eager to take part in cruel warfare? Olivia let out a bitter smile, shaking her head. "I was too self-righteous. I always assumed the world would operate according to my ideals, according to an established order. "Perhaps... only by truly immersing myself in imperial society can I understand what the people genuinely think and comprehend what Cassius meant." She lowered her head, hesitating for a moment with clenched teeth, before tightening her fists and resolutely stepping out of the alley. *** At the top floor of the Imperial Council Hall, inside the Prime Minister's office. Trump looked at the silver-haired girl standing outside the door. Though a polite smile rested on his ugly face, a hint of surprise showed through. "Lady Olivia, what brings you..." "Lord Trump, I wish to join the Imperial General Staff." Her tone was unshakeable. Olivia lifted her head and met the gaze of the towering ogre mage, starlight seeming to shimmer in her bluish-gray eyes. She wanted to understand—completely—Cassius's New Order. *** The Elemental Plane of Fire, the Brass Fortress. Here, magma still surged and fiery clouds choked the sky. The reek of sulfur hung everywhere, and flames grew rampant as weeds. Mounted high upon the arched back of a pyrohydra, Serkan gazed toward the colossal portal that had just materialized nearby. He knew this was the handiwork of the Imperial Magic Ministry. "War... is starting once again..." The half-red dragon licked his horn-rimmed lips, parched from the heat, his expression brimming with eager anticipation and fierce excitement. To him, this was a rare opportunity. Serkan knew that the better they performed on the Material Plane's battlefields, the more likely they were to win His Majesty Cassius's favor, prompting the empire to pour more resources into the Elemental Plane of Fire colony. Behind him, countless imperial soldiers of the fire plane poured from the Brass Fortress like a scalding river. Among them were half-red dragons, salamanders, fire giants, fire element apostles, and... tens of thousands of identical fire dwarves. These fire dwarves had all rolled off the assembly lines of automated breeding factories, though owing to the players' twisted humor, some had grown into bizarre-looking anomalies. Between the efreet's predations and the dwarves' inherently slow reproduction, no city-state had ever possessed such vast numbers of fire dwarves. Yet the Cinder Empire had achieved it through these "tradition-defying" practices. These tens of thousands of fire dwarves mined ore day and night, endlessly swinging their hammers to forge the finest equipment for the empire, while imperial merchants needed only to trade cheap manufactured goods in exchange. Looking upon the heavily armed, high-spirited army of the Elemental Plane of Fire, Serkan raised his burning spear and bellowed in Imperial Common: "For the empire—!" "For the empire!" Though their Common was clumsy and laced with the crackling phonetics of Ignan, these fire-elemental creatures converted to the empire still raised their weapons and roared in unison. As for the half-red dragon soldiers who had followed Serkan here, there was no need to ask; they yelled at the top of their lungs, thoroughly exhilarated by the chance to return to their home plane. Their armor, along with the battleaxes, swords, and flails in their hands, gleamed brilliantly under the firelight, casting metallic glints. It had to be said that in terms of such "classical" equipment alone, the legions of the fire plane possessed perhaps the finest gear in the entire imperial military. *** The Underdark, Dragonshadow City. Under a pitch-black canopy, frigid gales howled relentlessly across a barren expanse crisscrossed with fissures, where the black city stood as imposing as ever. Hart stood atop the city gatehouse, looking down with pitch-black eyes upon everything beneath the walls— Skeletal dragon wyrms twisted their massive forms, while skeletons and undead crept forward like a grisly gray tide. High above, shadow wyverns wheeled, uttering hair-raising screeches. Races that had submitted to the Cinder Empire—duergar, bog bugbears, deep gnomes, and gray centaurs—also took their places within the massive battle formations. "It is His Majesty Cassius's decree. Mortals of the surface world, prepare... to face terror and death." Hart drew the pale bone sword from his waist, and across his gaunt face, where skin clung tightly to bone, a ferocious grin spread. *** At this moment, the torrent of war surged forward, roaring and howling with unstoppable might. Its influence reached across the multiverse. Not only mainland Anzeta, but the empire's colonies across various planes were summoned, poised at any moment to be teleported to the southern battlefields. In a mere three days, the Cinder Empire had fully awoken. The factions of the south had scarcely registered what was happening, far too slow to prepare. These arrogant Feansoans had yet to realize what earth-shattering shockwaves this empire from the desolate north was about to unleash upon the continent.