Chapter 238: Three Years
Anzeta’s winds howled every winter, blanketing the Earth in white. The people who lived in this land without spring—enduring and unyielding—had long grown accustomed to the cold. Though they had migrated from the warm South merely to survive, they had also gradually adapted to the rule of the Ashen Kingdom, embracing this new order born of fire and iron.
Year after year, snow covered the land, only to melt again. And now, three years had passed.
To a Dragon, such time was insignificant—no more than a brief, deep slumber. After all, Dragons who slept for decades, even centuries, were common enough. But this rest was different for Kai Xiusu. It marked the greatest leap in his existence.
With soft, rhythmic snores, the Red Dragon’s massive body rose and fell. The energy leaking from his form was greedily absorbed, while within his veins, the Ancient Dragon Bloodline surged through basal vessels, releasing an ever more violent, primal strength—raw power gifted by the Nine-Faced Dragon God Aio, a force born in the dawn of time.
During these three years, sealed within the giant egg, the Red Dragon’s form had transformed at a pace visible to the naked eye. When he finally awoke, he would be far closer to the ancestral beings of myth—the Ancestral Dragon of legend—than to the weakened, diminished Common Five-Colored Dragon of this age.
His Dragon presence grew with each passing day. Even a quiet murmur, a low, rumbling growl, sent birds and beasts fleeing for miles. Even the seasoned Tiefling Guards, hardened by battle, often staggered under the invisible pressure of his aura, gasping for breath, their minds rattled—so much so that they had to rotate shifts just to endure it.
Even the Wyverns perched upon the stone pillars trembled in fear, curling into tight, shivering heaps on the stone like chicks huddled against the storm, utterly devoid of the fierce dignity they displayed toward outsiders. These creatures, bearing only faint traces of Dragon blood, felt the instinctive, overwhelming dominance of the true bloodline deep within their bones.
In his deep slumber, Kai Xiusu often dreamed—not mere dreams, but visions from the ancestral memory locked within his Ancient Dragon Bloodline. Vast scenes unfolded in his mind: the Ancestral Dragon locked in battle with Divine Abominations and Ancient Titans, the sky split by thunder, the earth cracked by divine wrath. In those moments, he would thrash and roar as if fighting on a battlefield, instinctively unleashing his strength in wild, uncontrolled bursts.
The True Dragon’s influence on his surroundings continued to grow. And unlike before, with each transformation of his bloodline, the scope and power of that influence expanded.
At first, the palace floor would erupt with molten magma. Steel walls melted like wax, turning into rivers of red-hot, scorching iron. The main palace became a stifling, broiling oven—so hot that even the thick iron doors glowed red, making life unbearable for the guards stationed at the entrance.
But that was only the first year.
In the second year, the King of the Burnt’s slumber deepened, and his effect spread further. Extreme heat began to consume the entire palace complex. Then, in the middle of a winter storm, the ground outside the main palace erupted in a sudden, volcanic fury. Magma surged forth, black lava spreading across the land like a creeping tide, while ash filled the air, threatening to bury the entire fortress.
Twelve Tieflings died—some burned alive, others suffocated beneath the ash. And all of it was the result of mere accidental leakage of his strength.
After that disaster, Meizhuolashi abandoned the guard duties around the main palace. He moved the Tieflings to the outermost borders and dispatched Spellcasters regularly to monitor the magical weave surrounding the palace, preventing any further catastrophes.
Fortunately, no such tragedy occurred again.
From the third year onward, the Red Dragon’s influence no longer manifested as destruction—but as a profound, subtle shift in the climate system.
Under Kai Xiusu’s presence, the warmth spread far beyond the palace grounds. Even Northwind Keep, miles away, grew noticeably warmer. Over time, it became a sanctuary against Anzeta’s brutal winters—a sacred refuge. To those in the northern regions, ignorant of the truth, it was whispered of as the “City Without Winter.”
Thousands of desperate, destitute souls—driven by cold and hunger—flocked to Northwind Keep every winter. Even when guards tried to turn them back, they would gather in massive, desperate clusters outside the walls, basking in the rare warmth like survivors clinging to a dying ember.
In terms of life force and individual power, Kai Xiusu had long since surpassed the peak of his former self—his prime form as a Red Dragon. And all of this had happened in just ten years. To a normal Dragon, that was nothing more than a nap.
But what had changed across the vast expanse of the Ashen Kingdom during these years?
On the surface, little was apparent.
While the Red Dragon slept, the Ashen Kingdom had abandoned its former aggression. Though minor conflicts still flared, there had been no wars with neighboring nations. Peace had settled over the land, quiet and unbroken. Some Northern nobles even began writing political essays, convinced that the Red Dragon had grown content with his dominion—would sleep for decades, even centuries—and that the northern realms would finally return to long-desired order and peace.
Duke Leo scoffed at such notions. He had no faith in that greedy Dragon’s restraint. Though he had not provoked the kingdom directly, he had spent years secretly forging alliances among the Northern Kingdoms—seeking to form a unified “Anti-Red Dragon Alliance.”
Even so, his cautious maneuvers were discovered by the kingdom’s intelligence network. Meizhuolashi swiftly deployed “Nocturne” to counter, disrupt, and sabotage the growing coalition. In the end, the alliance remained nothing more than a series of empty promises—no real coordination, no joint strategy, no action.
Indeed, the Ashen Kingdom’s silence had lulled many duchies into complacency. Until the final crisis, their short-sighted rulers had no desire to bind themselves to the Bosk war machine—no wish to provoke such a terrifying, unstoppable force.
Yet within the Royal Realm, life had been transformed beyond recognition.
The issuance of the Kingdom Codex brought every aspect of daily life under the rule of law. Power vacuums vanished. Factions that once thrived in the gray between right and wrong found no place to hide. People didn’t know if this was better or worse—but they had no choice but to adapt to this new, tightly controlled existence.
The Land System Reform dismantled the old Serfdom system once and for all. Former Northern nobles and landlords, united in desperation, believed this was their final chance—while the Dragon slept, they would rise.
But they received no concessions. Only a merciless suppression.
Under Dolo’s command, Earth Gnome Line Infantry unleashed lead bullets upon their private armies—forces they had nurtured for years. Noble after noble fell, their kill credits piling up like refuse. The kingdom fell silent, save for the echoes of gunfire.
The so-called “Rebellion” ended without a sound.
Though Northern nobles denounced it in fury, sparking outrage and public outcry, even scholars branded it a “Bloody Massacre” and “Brutal Slaughter,” the truth was that it had caused no real damage to the royal realm. The resistance was laughably weak—just a flicker of fire, extinguished in an instant.
(End of Chapter)
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