"Miss Ingrid, you have finally arrived. I have been awaiting you for some time. I am Hans Hammond, Imperial Count and the overseer of this operation."
The man extended a hand in an inviting gesture, a somewhat ferocious smile spreading across his half-dragon, half-human face. "Welcome to—or more accurately, welcome back to Dragonhead City."
"Thank you, Count Hans."
Ingrid nodded. Standing before the city gates, she gazed upon this city that felt both familiar and alien, unable to keep from feeling a sense of bewilderment and loss.
The city had grown strange. The holy symbol of the sun above the city gates had been replaced by the Empire's red dragon crest, and menacing dragon heads jutted out from the defensive ramparts.
The magnificent Temple of Amaunator within the city had been remodeled into the Dragon Oath Sanctuary, the lighthouse bearing the solar disc had been replaced by a wyvern spire, and the statues of church saints had all been smashed to pieces—supplanted by statues of the Cinder Emperor, Cassius.
In the skies above the streets, wyvern-riding peace officers patrolled back and forth. Every few dozen paces stood a rifle-wielding tiefling guard, while eccentrically clad Starfallen wandered about.
Yet many traces of the past remained: the people's preference for bright garments of yellow, red, and orange; the holy symbols of Amaunator visible everywhere; the distinctive Fadlan-style architecture...
All of this stirred a deep warmth within Ingrid, prompting her to reminisce about that cherished past. She could not resist softly uttering that forbidden name:
"Corinth... I have finally returned." For some reason, tears glistened in her eyes.
This was Dragonhead City—once Corinth under the rule of the Holy Fadlan Empire, the central city of all North Aethel, and Ingrid's hometown, the place where she was born and raised.
Years ago, Ingrid had been the honorary bishop of the Corinth diocese, often leading priests and devotees in sacred rituals on the summer solstice, basking in the sun's divine radiance.
And now, she had finally returned to the homeland she had been away from for so long.
Yet times had changed, and everything was different. The once-glorious Holy Fadlan Empire had fallen, while Ingrid had become a captive of the Cinder Empire, serving the Emperor and spending years in the remote, desolate north.
Ingrid remembered what Cassius had told her all those years ago: "In the near future, you will be able to return openly and honorably to your homeland—not as a captive, but as a church bishop serving the Kingdom."
Now the Kingdom of Cinders had expanded into a vast empire, and the Emperor had indeed fulfilled his promise to let her return home—albeit through violent conquest.
Looking down at her sumptuous vestments embroidered with the imperial insignia, Ingrid felt an increasingly tangled knot of emotions.
She had indeed returned to the homeland she yearned for day and night, yet she had betrayed the Church of Amaunator, betrayed those who had once placed their trust in her, and betrayed her own past.
Now, she hardly dared face the Aethel populace, terrified that an old acquaintance might recognize her and denounce her as a "shameful traitor," a "lackey of the evil dragon," or a "despicable apostate."
Count Hans asked with concern, "Miss Ingrid? Are you all right?"
Jolted from her reverie, Ingrid hastily forced a smile. "Ah, I'm fine. It's just that I've been away for so long; the sights stirred up some memories."
Hans said, "That is well. The Empire has only recently taken North Aethel, and undercurrents are surging through the city. The situation is complicated; every faction in Feanso has their eyes on this place. Last month alone, twelve riots broke out. You have arrived at just the right time."
As he spoke, several tiefling guards fell into formation beside them, scanning the area on high alert. Hans continued, "Miss Ingrid, please follow me."
"Very well." Ingrid brushed her golden hair behind her ear and pulled up her hood to conceal her face. Then, with a hint of perplexity, she asked, "Count Hans, why did you summon me here? You should know that as I am now... I'm afraid I cannot offer you much support."
Because Amaunator had fallen into a deep slumber and Ingrid had surrendered to the Cinder Empire, her conscience suffered relentless torment, and her faith had steadily withered.
She was no longer the formidable legendary Light Cleric of the past; her power had waned to its absolute limit. Clerics relied on years of devoted prayer to their deity or creed to channel divine might, and Ingrid no longer met those conditions.
Now, she possessed only the status and heightened perception of a legendary cleric, yet could no longer cast devastating high-tier divine magic, able only to force out a few low-to-mid-circle divine spells through her sheer perceptive power.
Hans shook his head, looking at Ingrid with a smile. "Miss Ingrid, I believe you have misunderstood. What the Empire requires is not your strength, but your person."
"Me?"
Surprise flashed in Ingrid's beautiful eyes, but her expression soon darkened terribly. In that moment, she finally understood Hans's objective.
Indeed, she had once been the honorary bishop of Corinth, an idol revered by countless believers—and what the Empire wanted was to exploit her identity to crush the people's faith beneath their heels.
Yet as an imperial subject serving the Emperor, she could not refuse, nor did she have any grounds to resist.
Hans did not seem to notice Ingrid's expression, or perhaps he noticed and simply paid it no heed. He merely led the way, engaging in casual small talk.
The nearby Aethel civilians, catching sight of the tiefling guards beside Hans, nervously scrambled out of their path, terrified of offending them, being branded "insurgents," or being gunned down on the spot.
Hans turned back and asked out of nowhere, "By the way, Miss Ingrid, do you know which faction within the city is the most troublesome?"
A foreboding premonition seized Ingrid's heart, but she merely shook her head in silence.
"The Dawn Crusaders."
As Hans spoke, he drew a fresh parchment scroll from his uniform pocket.
He said in a detached voice, "The Dawn Crusaders are the largest insurgent faction in Dragonhead City. Since the Empire took rule, they have instigated eleven riots, inflicting severe disruption upon imperial order and social stability.
"According to our intelligence investigations, the organization's primary objective is overthrowing imperial rule and restoring the theocracy of the Church. They possess formidable persuasive and inciting power, and their ringleaders are mostly former members of the Church of Amaunator...
"Oh, right. We have compiled a list identifying these damned rioters." With that, Hans unrolled the parchment scroll, revealing dense rows of names inscribed across it.
"This is..."
Ingrid's heart plummeted straight to rock bottom. In just a fleeting glance, she recognized numerous familiar names.
Hans grinned once more, though to Ingrid, the smile seemed profoundly chilling, no different from that of a devil. "Miss Ingrid, I truly despise such acts of insurrection. Originally, I had planned to take them all and..."
He did not finish his sentence, merely drawing a finger across his throat in a slicing motion.
The gesture made Ingrid's hair stand on end. She quickly raised a hand to stop him. "No, Count Hans, please don't..."
Hans patted her shoulder, whispering in "consolation," "Do not worry. Since I summoned you here, I certainly will not let such a tragedy occur.
"After all, these clerics hold considerable influence over the Aethel populace. Executing them all would undoubtedly tarnish the Empire's reputation, as well as His Majesty Cassius's prestige."
He thrust the list into Ingrid's hands and said, "Miss Ingrid, I am granting you an opportunity to save their lives.
"As for how many you can spare... that will depend entirely on your performance."
Ingrid remained silent for a long while. Hesitation, inner conflict, and shame flickered across her lovely face. In the end, she nodded numbly, answering through glistening tears, "Very well."
As they spoke, they arrived at Ceremonial Square. This was once where Ingrid had led priests and worshippers in prayer and ritual sacrifices, but it had now become a venue for Cinder Empire officials to deliver speeches and promote policies.
The massive holy symbol of the sun on the ground was gone, replaced by the vertical-pupil crest of the Cinder Empire. Coerced and herded by the guards, Aethel civilians crowded together, packing the square with chaotic noise.
Hans clapped his hands with a smile, encouraging her: "Go on, Miss Ingrid. Reveal your identity to the populace and convert those rebels lurking in the shadows."
Ingrid kept her head lowered, wrapping her robe tightly around herself, her shapely body trembling uncontrollably.
Yet beneath Hans's subtly threatening gaze, she stepped slowly onto the platform before the watchful eyes of tens of thousands of citizens.
"Who is that?"
"I can't see her face. Why is she going up there?"
After hesitating repeatedly, Ingrid finally pushed back her hood, revealing a strikingly beautiful face. Her golden hair shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight, as though veiled in sacred radiance.
"Amaunator above, it's Bishop Ingrid! Didn't she pass away?"
"By the gods, she's alive!"
"She was the one who healed my illness back then!"
In an instant, an uproar rippled through the crowd. As a former bishop rumored to have died long ago, Ingrid's appearance caused an immense sensation.
"Sometimes, cowardice is its own original sin."
Hans watched Ingrid from afar, the corners of his mouth curling upward. His features subtly shifted, morphing into the "Merciful Lord" visage of the Cinder Emperor.
***
In the basement of a building somewhere in Corinth, the air was cold and damp. Candlelight flickered uncertainly, occasionally illuminating the holy symbol of Amaunator etched upon the wall.
Several robed figures sat gathered around a round table, whispering in hushed tones as they discussed their plans.
"Everyone, I suspect there is a traitor among us."
The speaker was a man in his fifties named Arn Strauss, a former priest of the Church of Amaunator and the leader of the Dawn Crusaders.
"Otherwise, those dragon lackeys would never have received word so quickly. That was our most confidential operation. I even suspect... the traitor sits right here among us." Arn tapped the table rhythmically, his gaze sweeping the room with sharp intensity.
"Then will our operation proceed?" another man asked anxiously.
Arn sighed and answered, "Let us suspend it for now. We lost many good people in the last failed operation; we cannot allow them to have died in vain."
"B-but those damned dragon thralls are holding a rally in the sacred Ceremonial Square! That was the place Bishop Ingrid visited most often. This is utterly unforgivable!" The speaker was the same man as before.
He appeared to be in his thirties, with scruffy stubble, disheveled hair, and an unkempt appearance, yet his face burned with fury.
His name was Phil Burrows, formerly of the Church of Amaunator, and now a core member of the Dawn Crusaders.
Phil harbored a bottomless hatred for the Cinder Empire, having orchestrated numerous assassinations and sabotage missions, wishing for nothing more than to feast upon the red dragon's flesh and blood.
For the woman he revered—the former honorary bishop, Ingrid Garcés—was said to have perished under the claws of that very red dragon.
Phil had once been a blind youth, but Ingrid had burst into his dark world like the sun, effortlessly healing his eyes and bringing light into his life.
In his memory, that young bishop was so gentle and exquisitely lovely. He still faintly remembered the sight of Ingrid leading them in hymns beneath the golden sunlight.
Back then, Ingrid had shone with blinding radiance, like an exquisite statue of a goddess whom he could only look up to in reverence.
Even gazing at her from afar was supreme bliss to Phil; he wished nothing more than to dwell in that beautiful moment forever.
Rather than believing in Amaunator, he had placed his faith in that young bishop.
Phil had believed such a life would go on forever, that he could continue admiring Ingrid, joining her in worship, prayer, and hymns.
Yet good times never lasted. Soon afterward, Ingrid had departed on her travels, only to reportedly perish at the hands of the Cinder Emperor in the north. The beautiful image in Phil's memory had been crushed beneath dragon talons descending from the sky, drenched in blood.
And now, that nightmarish colossal red dragon had descended upon Corinth, and the temple holding all his fondest memories had been smashed to rubble by dragon thralls. Phil's hatred had been etched into his very bones.
Arn sighed once more, counseling him, "Phil, do not be rash. I know you are eager for vengeance, but your recent conduct has been far too reckless. It is easy to make a fatal mistake."
Another woman comforted him as well: "The enemy is in the open, while we remain in the shadows. We will have many more opportunities..."
None among them would ever suspect Phil of being a traitor. His hatred for the Cinder Empire ran far too deep, bordering on madness; in every mission, he threw caution to the wind and charged at the very forefront.
Facing their dissuasion, Phil remained silent for a long time. At last, he rose to his feet and declared with resolute determination, "Say no more. My mind is made up.
"I will strike down that dragon lackey delivering the speech right before the eyes of the people. I will strip the evil dragon of its dignity and let everyone witness the courage of our Dawn Crusaders."
"Alas..."
Arn said nothing further.
He knew that Phil was about to lay down his life, enacting a final vengeance for the radiant figure that lived on in his heart.
This was an assassination undertaken with the resolve to die.
Chapter 634