Thrace's Vigilance

"Your Majesty, please rest assured. We have already redoubled our vigilance along the northern border cities—Leon City, Karel, Wellingst, and the rest. We will never give those Imperials an opening to exploit..." A robed wizard knelt on one knee, speaking with visible unease. "Useless trash!" A roar shook the grand hall. Upon the golden throne, Wilhelm's handsome face contorted into a hideous sneer. The wings behind his back flared, and uncontrollable fury blazed within his divine golden eyes. "That vile drake dared project a blasphemous magical phantom into my skies! Now panic spreads like a plague, and the ignorant rabble flee toward the southern provinces like a herd of frightened deer! Not even the great bells of the royal capital can arrest their flight!" The golden scepter struck the floor heavily, the scattering sparks mirrored in the monarch's enraged pupils. "And you sluggards clad in robes of the sun—have your dispelling incantations been burned away by dragonfire as well? Tell me, what is the point of the kingdom squandering hundreds of thousands of gold coins every year to maintain your Arcane Legion?!" *Bang!* He thrust out a hand. A burst of blinding golden light swept across the hall, sending the wizard flying backward to crash violently into a finely sculpted pillar behind him. A mist of blood sprayed from the wizard's mouth. Had it not been for the sturdy protection of an Otiluke's Resilient Sphere behind him, the wizard would likely have perished right there in the hall, or at the very least suffered shattered bones throughout his entire body. The wizard forced his eyes open, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and gasped softly, "Y-Your Majesty, what that evil dragon projected was no mere magical image; it was a creation steeped in the terrifying origin of fire elementals. When wizards of our Illusion school rashly drew near, they were blown to pieces on the spot. It took twelve Archmages of Evocation joining forces just to barely dispel it." Several wizards behind him stepped forward trembling and explained in low voices, "Your Majesty, we truly did everything in our power..." They knew that although His Majesty Wilhelm looked radiant and appeared to have regained his power as a "scion of a demigod," his temperament had grown ever more cruel and tyrannical. Ministers dying within the hall had become a routine occurrence; the maids had even grown accustomed to wiping blood and brains off the walls. Thus, any wizard coming for an audience prepared Contingency and abjuration spells in advance to avoid dying in a fit of royal rage—there had, after all, been far too many precedents. Wilhelm gave them a cold glance, said nothing more, and shifted his gaze to the armored generals. General Dares, standing at the forefront of the ranks, immediately stepped forward, knelt cautiously before the throne, and reported in a low voice: "Your Majesty, your Crusaders have displayed overwhelming might on the southern front, driving Cassander's forces into headlong retreat past the southern reaches of the Carson Mountains. The day our Kingdom of Thrace reclaims the Holy City and takes back the supreme crown of Holy Fadlan... is just around the corner." Wilhelm nodded slightly. The fury in his golden eyes subsided somewhat, and a smile reappeared on his flawless face. "Now that sounds more like it. Remember, our Kingdom of Thrace is the sole successor to Holy Fadlan, and I am the legitimate, only Emperor of Holy Fadlan. As for that brother of mine..." Fine beads of blood appeared in Wilhelm's golden eyes, welling with a bizarre, chilling light. "...he is nothing more than a blasphemer intoxicated by ambition. One day, I will personally sever his head and sacrifice the blasphemer's blood to Father. Do you all understand?" That frigid gaze swept across everyone in the hall, chilling their spines and making them shudder, as if an invisible claw had brushed past them. "O-Of course, you are the only Emperor of Fadlan!" The general kneeling at the front bowed his head low, his voice trembling. As the king's confidant, he knew all too well that beneath the monarch's radiant, demigod-like exterior lurked a soul thoroughly twisted and defiled by Hell. The general had once caught a glimpse of the king's savage face exposed by accident; stripped of that masterful illusory veil, the king's true visage would be far more horrifying than he could fathom. The courtiers behind him echoed in unison: "You are the true Emperor of Fadlan!" "The Kingdom of Thrace is the true heir of Fadlan!" "The blasphemers of Cassander and Seleucia shall surely perish! And His Majesty Wilhelm shall ascend the imperial throne!" The ministers vied with one another to profess their loyalty, terrified of falling behind. After all, the king might not notice who declared fealty, but he would certainly notice who did not—the former Minister of Finance had been executed merely for keeping quiet too often. Wilhelm's lips curled into an exaggerated arc, settling into a grotesque smile that looked stiff, as though chiseled into a wooden mask. He leaned down, patted the shoulder of the trembling general, and commanded, "Carlyle, you have done well in the south. Now I place you in full command of our northern border defenses. Do not allow those Imperials to set foot on my lands. Can you... accomplish this?" "Of course, Your Majesty! With your renowned Crusaders, those Imperials are not even worth mentioning!" Carlyle hurried to reply. Wilhelm laughed aloud. "Hahaha! Of course! Only a legitimate heir like me could forge an army rivaling Father's Godblood Legion!" "Naturally, Your Majesty. We all await the day you ascend the imperial throne and restore Fadlan's glory." Though his words were drenched in flattery, Carlyle understood only too well what those "Crusaders" truly were. Outwardly, they appeared to be majestic, divine angels with feathered wings; in truth, they were fallen half-fiends bound by infernal pacts. Yet, trapped in the midst of it all, Carlyle could find no way out. To demonstrate his loyalty to the king, he—a paladin devoted to Amaunator—had even entered into a pact with an infamous devil... *Holy Sun God, I pray you can forgive my sins...* Carlyle thought silently, head bowed. The gilded dome still reflected a dazzling glow. Crystal chandeliers shone brightly upon the ministers' embroidered sashes and the generals' silver-scaled armor. Upon the throne, the king wearing the Holy Crown of Thorns held his golden scepter, the wings behind his back immaculate and bathed in eternal sacred light. Yet beneath the Eye of True Seeing, this place was already an infernal scene of horrors, smeared everywhere with twisted sigils drawn in blood. *Clang—* Suddenly, bells tolled loudly. Hundreds of white figures burst through the painted glass dome, their outstretched wings blotting out half the sky as sacred hymns and ringing swords intertwined into a spine-chilling symphony. Yet for some reason, with the beating of their wings, blood-soaked feathers drifted down from above, exuding a pungent, metallic stench and bursting into flames the moment they struck the ground. "Are those... the Crusaders?" The tavern keeper's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, his murky pupils reflecting the bloodstained feathers. A blacksmith drew a circle over his chest with bandage-wrapped hands. "May the sun's radiance protect Thrace." Outside the palace, hundreds of "angels" took to the air at the king's command, soaring toward the north in vast flocks. Citizens across the city tilted their heads back to watch. Among the myriad eyes gazing upward, there was reverence and admiration, but deep in their pupils also lurked an inexplicable dread. Could those... Truly be angels? Many suspicions arose in people's hearts, but not a single person dared give voice to them. The king's royal guards could appear anywhere at any time to cast "slanderers" into sunless dungeons. Over the past year, far too many strange things had taken place in the City of Auguste. Twisted, grotesque sigils could be seen on walls everywhere, hundreds of people had vanished in succession, and agonizing wails frequently pierced the night. Missing women were found in the sewers, flayed and strung up in midair, their gory corpses a horrifying sight to behold. Yet the kingdom's guards turned a deaf ear to it all. Far from investigating, they forbade residents from discussing these strange occurrences and imprisoned anyone caught spreading news of them. Nearly all the citizens lived in indescribable terror and turmoil, but as if struck by collective muteness, they could only agonize in silence. Not a few had ended their own lives, unable to bear the overwhelming pressure. The once-celebrated "City of Sunrise," Auguste, seemed now to have become a colossal, gloomy prison. ... Cinder Empire, Great Anzetta Waste, summit of Dragonblood Mountain. Sulfurous vapors steamed lazily up the mountain slope. Within the mists, a gargantuan form rose and fell, sparks bursting from its scales like an active volcano. —This was the Emperor of the Cinder Empire, sovereign lord of the Great Anzetta Waste, the Ugo Steppe, and the North Aethel Plains: Cassius, a living nightmare in the eyes of all major powers. Clutched within Cassius's talons was a writhing sphere of blood-red radiance—the divine power plundered from Gruumsh. Before the red dragon lay over a dozen humanoid corpses, their faces twisted in agony and their bodies charred black from intense heat. "Give it to me! I beg of you!" "I beg you, Emperor Cassius, bestow it upon me! If only you give it to me—even a hundredth of it—I will become your most faithful servant!" Heart-wrenching howls echoed from deep within Dragonblood Mountain, like the desperate pleas of a mad addict—it was the Eye of Chaos shrieking. Hearing that sound alone was enough to drive mortal creatures utterly insane. "Heh. Bestowing the divine power of the orcs upon an evil creature birthed from Gruumsh's own flesh... Do you take me for a fool?" Cassius clenched his right talon. Deep underground, chains tightened with a violent clatter, and billows of dragonfire surged in from all directions, mercilessly searing the body of the Eye of Chaos. Miserable wails rose from beneath the earth, yet Cassius's tone remained frigid. "Ivenis, stop testing my patience with your feigned madness. It isn't amusing, and it only makes me more impatient. Have you ever heard the proverb: never provoke an angry red dragon? If you truly enrage me, even I don't know what I might do." *Boom!* The subterranean dragonfire burned even fiercer, tongues of flame raging and bursting forth through crevices in the rock as if to incinerate everything to ash. The crisp, crackling sound of burning flesh arose, followed by the Eye of Chaos weakly begging for mercy: "Your Majesty, Emperor Cassius, I won't dare again... The fact that you could wrest divine power from my progenitor has already proven your strength..." Cassius cast a chilling glance toward it, then snapped his claws. The flames roasting the evil eye underground diminished, keeping it in a half-dead state without extinguishing its consciousness. Under the ravenous, covetous gaze of the Eye of Chaos, he scooped up the blood-red orb of light. "Speak, Ivenis. How do I create a subspecies of orc loyal to me?" Cassius coveted the horrifying reproductive capacity and astounding growth rate of green-skinned orcs, intensely desiring to forge an orc legion of his own. To that end, Cassius had blended dragon blood and land drake blood to construct physical bodies, then infused them with souls using divine power from the "Orc" domain, conducting several experiments in succession. Yet every time an orc was created, it viewed Cassius as a mortal enemy and lunged at him in a frenzy, only to be reduced to cinders by the flames bursting from his scales. The Eye of Chaos spoke with utmost caution: "Emperor Cassius, my progenitor possesses the racial divine portfolio of the orcs and commands the laws of bloodline origin. From the moment they are born across the multiverse, the souls of all orcs bear His brand. Now that you have become His enemy, no matter what method you use, so long as what you create is an orc, it will harbor innate hatred toward you. This cannot be altered unless my progenitor revokes it personally..." *Damn old greenskin, how overbearing,* Cassius cursed inwardly, though he also felt a degree of envy toward Gruumsh's authority as a racial chief deity. Across the entire multiverse, every orc born was marked with His brand—unalterable and undeniable. What immense power that was! The avatar of Gruumsh that Cassius had fought earlier had probably possessed less than one percent of the true god's full power, yet it had easily inflicted severe wounds on the red dragon, threatening his life multiple times. Such was the chasm between deities and mortals—a sheer abyss. As the Third Age gradually drew to its close, the barrier of the Material Plane would fracture amidst successive cataclysms. When that time came, the gods would walk the earth in their true forms, just as they had in ancient times! The urgency in Cassius's heart grew sharper. He had to attain power rivaling that of a deity as early as possible, or his end would be miserable beyond belief! Seeing the red dragon lost in thought, the Eye of Chaos seized the chance to fawn: "Since this bundle of divine power is of little use to you, why not bestow it upon me? As a former part of Gruumsh, I can bring forth its—" *Boom!* The cleft rocks sealed shut once more, and the subterranean fire roared anew. The elder evil wailed within the raging flames, a black mist of coalesced hatred seeping from its pupil only to be burned away almost instantly. More crimson chains wound around it, wrapping the Eye of Chaos layer after layer until it was nearly entombed. *Hmm, to be safe, I must reinforce the seal every time I return. Can't give this creature the slightest chance.* Gazing down at the completely resealed Dragonblood Mountain, Cassius channeled the power of the Imperial Domain within him and reflected silently. *Besides... it's also time to face those three kingdoms head-on.* Perched atop Dragonblood Mountain, the red dragon spread his vast wings and gazed toward the south, faint gleams flickering within his molten, pale-gold pupils.