Cassius lay coiled within the cavern, his mountain-sized form rising and falling with each breath as scalding white plumes of smoke billowed continuously from his snout.
At this moment, the red dragon resembled a roaming, living volcano, harboring terrifying heat within him. Yet that was merely the strength granted by his progenitor dragon bloodline; Cassius's true power reached far beyond that.
The divine power of the Sun God, the authority of order, the flames of chaos, the origins of the elemental planes... even the origin of Heaven itself mingled within that colossal frame.
Had any mortal harbored such a chaotic, motley assortment of energies, their body would have ruptured long ago. Yet within the progenitor dragon's flesh, these forces vied against one another, ultimately settling into a delicate equilibrium—resembling a self-contained, self-sustaining miniature world.
"Roar—"
With a low growl, the red dragon exhaled a blast of scorching wind that warped the air. Slowly opening his eyes, he once again stirred from slumber.
In the months since the Cinder Empire seized North Aethel, Cassius's true body had remained asleep in regions where magical energy was at its fullest and most vibrant. Feanso was Feanso, after all; the activity of the surrounding Weave far surpassed that of a remote wasteland like Anzeta.
Over the past several days, however, Cassius had hardly remained idle. Not only had he operated his gold dragon avatar, wandering far and wide to recruit allies to stand against the tyrannical evil dragon emperor—who was none other than himself—but he had also deployed a half-dragon avatar, styling himself Count Hans, to play at cracking cases and keeping the peace within Dragonhead City.
Yes, a game.
Standing at the pinnacle of the Material Plane, Cassius was simply too powerful now; every move he made rippled across the world, and fewer and fewer matters demanded his direct intervention.
Cassius had no desire to sleep away the centuries like ordinary dragons, losing all sense of time and life.
Thus, he needed to occupy himself with outside pursuits to anchor his identity, preventing the overpowering "draconic nature" of a progenitor dragon from swallowing him whole and reducing him to a mindless beast.
"This sleep wasn't particularly long—a mere three months. And the Empire has already brought North Aethel under complete control."
Through the avatar of "Count Hans," Cassius had kept an intimate pulse on the Empire's governance of Aethel. Only Chief Minister Trump knew his true identity.
Though the people of North Aethel were not yet wholly won over and remained somewhat resistant to imperial rule, most of their defiance had dissolved, and the new society under the Empire's governance was steadily kicking into gear.
For now, North Aethel had yet to see radical changes. The Empire's governance primarily focused on maintaining social stability, leaving the entrenched interests of old factions largely untouched.
Soon, imperial merchants and factory owners would swarm into this untapped "virgin territory," bringing towering smokestacks, colossal machinery, ever-burning electric lights, and—a new way of life to the people of North Aethel.
"My true body seems to have grown quite a bit stronger again, and this cavern feels rather cramped..."
Cassius rolled his neck and looked down over his body, noticing his size had increased noticeably, now spanning nearly sixty meters from snout to tail tip.
Furthermore, as he gradually digested the Sun God's divine power, a faint golden sheen coated the red dragon's scales. Tongues of gold-crimson flame even flickered from the corners of his mouth and within his pupils, lending him an aura that was almost sacred.
"This power has remarkably high compatibility with my true body..." Cassius licked his lips, an unmistakable gleam of draconic greed flashing in his eyes.
"The divine power from just a dozen or so angel godbloods brought me this much improvement. If I were to truly ascend to the supreme throne of the Sun God..."
Feeling the power coursing within him that seemed capable of incinerating everything, and lifting his head to gaze at the sun suspended high above, radiating boundless brilliant light, Cassius instantly understood Aragorn I's choice all those years ago.
Before a seat so supreme and glorious, who could possibly keep their sanity?
Cassius glanced toward the magical communicator in the corner of the cavern and noticed several messages had piled up, all sent by Trump.
—Evidently, the ogre had brought the task Cassius assigned him to a successful conclusion.
Having worked together for years, Cassius had grown accustomed to dumping troublesome tasks entirely onto the ogre mage, then immediately going to sleep, only to wake up and comfortably claim the fruits of his labor—exploiting Trump's usefulness as a glorified tool to the absolute limit.
Yet Trump was equally enthusiastic about sharing his master's burdens and striving toward the "Great Blueprint," pouring everything into making each assignment flawless.
*Beep—*
The communicator shimmered with a faint light, projecting a magical image of Trump's hideous, ferocious visage. At the moment, however, the ogre looked utterly drained; not even dragon scales could hide the dark circles around his eyes.
"My noble master, if you are viewing this recording, you must have awakened. Congratulations on growing even mightier once more..."
After only a few flattering words, Trump cut straight to the chase and began reporting on the task Cassius had assigned: "The orc bodies you entrusted to me are exceedingly dangerous, harboring something that poses a genuine threat to the Material Plane.
"Our researchers placed these fungal orc remains into cultivation gardens across various environments. Within a matter of days, these remnants multiplied drastically through mycelial fragmentation and spore germination... Our researchers have dubbed them 'orc spores.'
"The reproduction speed of these orc spores is extraordinary. In dark, damp environments, their numbers can multiply dozens or even hundreds of times in a single day.
"And once the orc spores reach a certain critical mass, they form mushroom-like structures. Beneath those mushrooms... eggs grow, and inside those eggs are newborn orcs."
The ogre raised his hand, and images of the imperial cultivation facilities appeared before Cassius. Fields and wetlands were overrun with massive green mushrooms, packed so densely they made one's scalp tingle and skin crawl.
Trump continued, "Within one month, using the orc remains you provided, our researchers cultivated one thousand two hundred green-skinned orcs. Physiologically speaking, they are a symbiotic fusion of animal and fungus, similar to the myconids of the Underdark, yet far more formidable."
Trump waved his staff again, and a video clip appeared within his presentation slides.
"WAAAAAGH!"
Hundreds of green-skinned orcs were trapped in cages, roaring chaotically and slamming relentlessly against the fences, desperate to break through and brawl in the outside world.
Outside the cages, imperial researchers in hazmat suits were gingerly cleaning up the mangled remains of orcs torn apart by wyverns, taking care to prevent the orc spores from spreading beyond the perimeter.
In the adjacent glass containment rooms, bloodied orcs snarled and struggled on surgical tables.
Some had their arms and legs amputated; others had their chests pried open; some were even sliced straight down the middle to be preserved as biological specimens.
Meanwhile, the imperial researchers studied these excised tissues intently under microscopes, completely indifferent to the green blood splattered across them. Faces flushed with exhilaration, they marveled aloud at this miraculous life form.
Watching this gory, gruesome R-rated display, Cassius's mouth twitched slightly. Compared to the bellowing green-skinned orcs, these imperial researchers looked far more like genuine villains.
*Players, through and through...*
—Biology was hardly a flourishing field in native Elezerg; most of these imperial biological researchers were experts from Earth.
Utterly fascinated by an ecosystem that rivaled reality itself, they remained immersed in their gaming pods day and night, some even going so far as to author an Elezerg Encyclopedia of Biology.
In the recording, Trump continued his report: "These green-skinned orcs possess exceptionally sturdy physiques, with physical strength far surpassing ordinary humans and approaching that of common ogres.
"While fiercely aggressive, they are remarkably simpleminded, possess virtually no sense of pain, and emit a field that disrupts spellcasting. They are practically born tools of war—and undeniably unnatural creations."
"Just as I suspected..."
Cassius rubbed his chin with a massive claw, his eyes narrowing in thought. *A modus operandi this familiar has to be the work of the will of the Abyss.*
Sure enough, just as the thought crossed his mind, Trump spoke: "According to our investigations and research, the source of these green-skinned orcs' power is very likely a demon lord."
With that, Trump flipped to the next slide.
A filthy being resembling an unfinished human sculpture materialized before Cassius.
Her torso consisted of flattened and curled fungal growths that happened to resemble a shapely female figure, with four fibrous horns jutting from her brow.
Her lower body was a cluster of thick, coiled, whip-like pseudopods covered in fungi. Sickening, swirling patches of gray, blue, purple, and black lichen coated her skin.
Her pitch-black eyes squirmed endlessly, as if something were about to burst forth, radiating an aura of utter chaos and defilement.
"What the hell..."
Cassius cursed under his breath, covering his eyes with a dragon claw.
A creature like this went beyond merely ugly—it was downright grotesque.
Even for a dragon, whose aesthetic tolerance was notoriously broad, this was impossible to appreciate. Cassius even felt an urge to march straight down into the Abyss just to burn the monstrosity to cinders.
Trump adopted a solemn expression and a heavy tone as he introduced her: "This is the ruler of the 222nd layer of the Abyss, and the entity we suspect of influencing the orcs—Zuggtmoy, the Lady of Fungi.
"From what we have gathered, Zuggtmoy is a demon lord who commands fungi. She typically establishes cults under false pretenses, with the sects covertly run by her true devotees.
"Thousands of years ago, she founded the Temple of the Elements, ostensibly worshiping the essences nurtured within the four elements, yet the cultists inside were all fungal creatures wearing human skin."
Though loath to subject his eyes to the sight, Cassius endured the revulsion and studied the Lady of Fungi in the projection, his pale gold pupils gleaming with undisguised disgust.
*Damned Abyss, spawning such a... repulsive monstrosity.*
Still, this could brook no further delay. In his memories of his past life, these orcs had developed covertly for years, eventually spawning a horde that swept across the land and unleashed cataclysmic disasters.
Now that the Cinder Empire understood the true nature of these orcs, they had to strike first and curb their numbers.
At this thought, Cassius's expression turned frigid. "Now that North Aethel has stabilized, we shall advance northeast into the Ugo Steppes and wipe out the Red Blood Tribe... entirely. As for seizing the Highland Dwarf Kingdom? For the Empire today, that is merely a matter of convenience."
Soon, the communicator was activated again. Before long, Trump's ugly face appeared in the magical projection, looking even more exhausted than he had in the recorded message.
Yet after setting eyes upon the Lady of Fungi's countenance, Cassius looked at Trump and found, for the first time in his life, that the ogre looked rather charming by comparison.
A rare look of excitement and joy crossed Trump's weary face. "Master, you've finally awakened!"
Cassius nodded and issued his order without preamble: "Trump, instruct the Imperial Senate to launch an offensive to the northeast. The Empire... has rested for far too long."
"Yes, Master."
Trump hurriedly bowed his head, solemnly accepting the command.
Cassius's orders required no drafting by the Senate, let alone approval from an Imperial Parliament—for the Cinder Emperor's will was the Empire's absolute will, beyond question.
...
Blackstone Mountains, capital of the Highland Dwarf Kingdom—Evindeldan.
Within the magnificent dwarven palace built against the mountainside, a secretive conversation was underway.
"...Remember, you must obey Lord Titus's commands and strive to live well beneath the shelter of his dragon wings," King Ed said earnestly.
Before him stood an equally stout and muscular dwarf, though his beard was not nearly as dense as Ed's, covering only half his cheeks.
This was Zayn Klein, Ed's son—a prince who inherited the bloodline of the Highland royal house, as well as a mighty, courageous warrior.
Zayn was only in his fifties; by the lifespan of dwarves, he was still just a fiery, hot-blooded youth.
Zayn looked up at Ed, indignation and confusion written across his face. "Father, why are you making me leave? I am your son, but I am also a warrior of the Highland Kingdom! I lack neither courage nor conviction! I want to live and die with Evindeldan, to let those invaders—be they orcs or evil dragons—taste the heavy hammers of our dwarves!"
Bitterness showed on Ed's face as he let out a soft sigh. "Zayn, I do not have much time left to live. I can no longer protect you."
"Father, th-that's impossible! You're lying to me, aren't you? You still look so strong, even more energetic than I am..."
Zayn's expression turned to sheer shock, his voice trembling.
Ed offered no further explanation, only shaking his head before gently patting the dwarf prince on the shoulder. "Zayn, go follow the Wings of Dawn. Only then... will there be any hope of preserving our Highland Kingdom's civilization."
Chapter 637