In the Ryan Imperial Capital, on the vast palace plaza, a white-haired old man stood before the imperial palace gates.
He was William Garrison, known as the Empire's Strongest Shield.
For three days and three nights, William Garrison had not touched a single drop of water. He was waiting for an edict of self-reproach from the Ryan Emperor. If the emperor refused to acknowledge his faults, he would remain standing right here until he died.
In the recent Battle of Unholy Hymn, this centenarian had led his paladins to repel wave after wave of Githyanki attacks.
It was also William Garrison's desperate fight that had allowed the Ryan Emperor to return safely to Liuyan City.
William had originally been a staunch royalist who had clashed with the former Supreme Arbiter more than once in defense of the Ryan imperial house. To William's mind, the name Ryan represented Holy King Arthur Ryan, and Arthur's blood descendants deserved to inherit that glory and receive the respect of all.
That stern, antiquated fossil James Watson had reprimanded the emperor for improper conduct on multiple occasions.
The emperor back then had not been the current one, but he had been just as ignorant and young, prone to making a fool of himself during imperial court sessions.
Yet James Watson would make a massive issue out of the slightest trifle. Where was even a shred of respect for the name Ryan in that?
Several times, William Garrison had nearly slapped James Watson in the face with a white dueling glove. However, a paladin challenging a cleric of light to a duel bordered on bullying. William was, after all, a paladin of great renown throughout the empire—only the Silvermoon Knight commanded greater prestige—and he refused to stoop to bullying.
Thus, right up until William Garrison retired, the two had never actually come to blows.
Yet after the battle in Unholy Hymn, William Garrison knew he had been wrong. It was the Emperor of Ryan who truly disgraced the name Ryan. He had never imagined that the people of Ryan would die by their own emperor's hands.
The Githyanki and the red dragons had slain fewer than ten thousand men on the open battlefield. Of the remaining ten thousand, two thousand were trampled to death under the emperor's own retreat, while the rest scattered after their morale broke and met gruesome deaths.
They were not to blame. When even the emperor had fled, how could anyone expect those young men to summon their courage?
After returning to Liuyan City, William Garrison had spent a great deal of time consoling the soldiers and securing the city's defenses to prevent another Githyanki offensive.
Only after the Githyanki had withdrawn completely did William Garrison begin impeaching the emperor, throwing the young Ryan Emperor into a long panic. The young emperor chose avoidance, but a stubborn old man who dared pick fights with the Supreme Arbiter was not about to let him off so easily.
And so he had come to the imperial capital, staging a silent protest before the palace gates.
Had it been anyone else, the guards would have simply dragged him away.
But William Garrison's status forbade it. Ever since the Silvermoon Knight passed away, no paladin enjoyed greater veneration. Furthermore, once this old man planted that towering shield—taller than a grown man—into the ground, not a soul in all of Ryan could budge him an inch.
The Empire's Strongest Shield was no empty boast.
William Garrison was as solid as bedrock, unyielding and immovable.
Even if the Silvermoon Knight were resurrected, it would take more than a dozen strikes to have any chance of piercing his defense.
This put the Ryan Emperor in an agonizing spot. With every second the old man stood out there, the young emperor felt as though a slap had landed squarely across his face.
Yet there was nothing he could do. Since that defeat, he had lost the ability to wield the Dragon Tyrant Armament.
When the old mummies underground learned of the young emperor's rout, two of them had literally dropped dead from fury on the spot. The survivors decided to select a new emperor at once; the young emperor could forget about ever touching the Dragon Tyrant Armament again.
Thousands of royal scions were now undergoing secret screening, and a new emperor would likely be chosen within days.
When that time came, the current young emperor would have to pen an edict of self-reproach and surrender the throne to his successor amid the nation's jeers and curses.
He would then be executed as a disgrace to the imperial house—his very name erased from the annals of history.
He could not accept such a fate. Everything had been going so well! He had gained control of the Dragon Tyrant Armament; the world was supposed to bow beneath his feet, and Ryan was supposed to become the sole nation under heaven!
That was how the script was supposed to unfold! Why had it turned into this?
He refused to accept it. He could not die without leaving so much as a name behind.
Yet he was utterly powerless. Completely devoid of strength, his only asset had been the title of emperor, and now even that title carried no weight.
As an inept youth with neither martial prowess nor statecraft, he had no idea what to do.
After spending several days in paralyzing dread, the haggard young emperor seemed to hear a voice.
"Come here..."
The young emperor looked around in a panic, only to find the room empty. Not a soul was in sight.
Just as he began to think he was hallucinating from sheer anxiety, the deep voice spoke again.
"Come here, little one."
Trembling with fright, the young emperor did not dare answer. He was just about to shout for the guards outside when the voice said, "Do you wish to die in obscurity, just like the two emperors before you?"
The young emperor froze, his mouth open, unable to utter a sound.
Replacing three emperors in the span of a few years was common knowledge across Ryan.
The reason for replacing them was simple: bloodline.
Only those who could resonate with the Dragon Tyrant Armament could reign as Emperor of Ryan. And that resonance was never permanent; once the bond weakened, the emperor had to be replaced.
So it had gone for the previous two emperors. One day they abruptly ceased evoking any reaction from the Dragon Tyrant Armament, and they were promptly swapped out.
Their accessions had been treated like child's play, their removals even more so, until no one could even remember their names.
In a panic, the young emperor stammered toward the mysterious voice, "B-but... what can I do? I'm powerless!"
"Do not fret. Do not panic. Composure is the first requirement of a king."
The young emperor took several deep breaths and finally regained some calm.
"Tell me your name, boy."
"I... my name is Price Ryan," the young emperor replied.
"Very good, Price. You actually possess great potential; you have merely been held back. Come, and I will teach you how to become a true emperor."
Clutching at this like a drowning man grasping at straws, the young emperor hurriedly asked, "What must I do? In just a few days, they'll execute me in secret!"
The mysterious voice said, "It is quite simple. All you need is sufficient power. They can easily put down a pathetic insect, but how could they ever execute a dragon?"
"A dragon?"
"Indeed. Become a dragon. Become the mightiest entity in this mortal realm, and you shall be an emperor in truth."
Deeply tempted, the young emperor pressed, "B-but how do I become strong?"
"Simple enough. Come find me. I await you in the treasury, where I will teach you how to grow powerful."
Startled, the young emperor gasped, "The treasury? Y-you... are you the Dragon Tyrant Armament?"
"Heh heh. 'Dragon Tyrant Armament' is merely an insulting title coined by your kind. Remember this well, little one: my name is Artross—Artross the Eternal!"
Chapter 361