Chapter 239 – Era
In larger towns like Northwind Keep and Telo City, life had undergone a transformation beyond recognition. Under government support, the factories left behind by the Mechanical Divinity continued to expand, and Magic Steam Machinery gradually became a familiar part of daily existence. Towering smokestacks rose from the ground, dwarfing the previously low-lying buildings, belching thick, dark smoke into the sky—so much so that the kingdom’s spellcasters often had to cast Wind Generation Spells to disperse the perpetual gloom hanging over the urban skies.
Former peasant laborers, now liberated from their feudal bonds, streamed from the countryside into the cities, taking up positions as low-level workers in massive factories. They endured grueling labor and the suffocating, polluted air—but at least they no longer faced the constant threat of starvation, nor the grim fate of freezing to death in their homes during a winter night without coal.
In food manufacturing plants, cheap, filling mixtures made from potatoes and wheat became the go-to meal for the poor. And the so-called “Processed Meat Sausages”—crafted from scraps, starch, and additives—offered many impoverished families their first taste of meat. During festivals and celebrations, entire households would gather to open precious cans of the sausage, savoring the rare, savory delight with wide-eyed gratitude.
Thanks to the innate properties of the Weave of Magic, the emissions from these machines were far less deadly than those of the Industrial Revolution in the old world. Moreover, spells could regularly purge the air of pollutants, ensuring that workers, though weary, were not reduced to mere disposable cogs in a machine. They lived shorter lives than in the past, but not by decades of suffering.
Under the kingdom’s leadership, thoughts and sentiments varied wildly across the social strata. Former Northern nobles longed for the refined luxuries and elegant lifestyles of yesteryear. They gathered in dim, smoky taverns, exchanging bitter critiques of the present, lamenting the moral decay of society, and venting their frustrations toward the new regime. The Duchy of Lakanman, in their nostalgic reveries, was painted as a flawless utopia—its past rulers, legendary in their wisdom and grace.
They would begin with phrases like, “Back when the Duke of Lakanman ruled…” or “In my family’s golden days…”—a clear echo of the old court’s lingering remnants. Yet, as soon as a guard or Nocturne agent appeared, they scattered like frightened birds. After several nobles were imprisoned on charges of slander and incitement, such gatherings became increasingly rare.
Though the old nobles grumbled about the hardships of their new lives, they too had to work to survive—no longer living off inherited privilege, but scraping by through labor.
Meanwhile, common citizens adapted swiftly. Under the new system, they found it easier than ever to meet their basic needs, and more importantly, they gained real opportunities for upward mobility. Former noble privileges—once reserved for the elite—were now coveted by commoners. In this new Era, the greatest aspiration of a Northwind Keep resident was to pass the examination and become a Scribe or Tax Official. At the very least, one might aim for a managerial role in a factory. Some even pursued alternative paths, leveraging their physical strength to apply for the Chamber of Dragon Oath or the Red Scales Garrison.
The freed peasant laborers, though still bound by ingrained habits, felt profound gratitude. Though many still didn’t fully grasp the meaning of freedom—still instinctively submissive to the idea of “noble masters”—they were quietly transforming. They were becoming loyal supporters of the Kingdom Order, simply because they could now eat, even if barely.
Of course, the kingdom, born from Ashen Hollow, had a leadership class composed in part of Monster subordinates. These beings held a privileged, almost sacred status within the realm, and openly scorned Humans, whom they regarded as conquered subjects.
Their worldview stemmed from the old traditions of Storm Ridge—where the weak existed only to be trampled by the strong. Though bound by the Kingdom Domain’s laws, their brutal, violent natures remained unyielding. Conflicts between Humans and Monsters, and even gruesome bloodshed, occurred with alarming frequency. Though city watchmen swiftly suppressed such incidents, it often felt more like suppression than justice.
Many citizens lived in quiet dread, while the Monsters themselves resented being forced to stand on equal footing with these fragile, weak creatures.
Between the two, the Tieflings often served as mediators. Lanpu, in particular, found himself constantly overwhelmed by the racial tensions. He had handled several high-profile cases, sentencing monstrous aggressors who had terrorized Humans to death—yet at other times, he deliberately obscured the truth, even covering up murders to maintain order.
For instance, in the case of the Bear Goblin Massacre, which claimed nearly ten lives, Lanpu had acted with ruthless clarity. He punished one to warn the rest, sending the monstrous goliath straight to the guillotine without hesitation.
But in another case—the disappearance of beggars in a suburban district, suspected to be the work of a Chimera—Lanpu used magic to conceal the truth. He gave the creature only a token punishment, a symbolic confinement. To him, whether a follower or a Human, each was merely a tool in the grand design of the Red Dragon’s Blueprint. His decisions were guided solely by what would best serve the kingdom’s ultimate benefit. Status, empathy, loyalty—all were meaningless to an Ogre like him. As a high-level mage, he had long since transcended such petty human concerns.
Lanpu’s policies and strategies were largely shaped through internal testing sessions with players. Ideas were discussed, refined by the Kingdom’s Think Tank, and then implemented. Among the thousands of internal testers, over a dozen had real-world experience in historical research and government administration. Their perspectives, far ahead of their time in a region still mired in medieval productivity, earned them special respect—even from Lanpu himself.
On the military front, the departure of the players had halted the rapid evolution of weapons and armor. But this pause allowed the kingdom’s forces time to train intensively and develop tactics suited to their current equipment. Coordinated operations between Great Goblin infantry and Wyvern aerial units, the synergy between line infantry, artillery, and cavalry—these were all being refined, even if still crude. Yet they already gave the kingdom a crushing advantage over other Northern Regions forces of the same era.
The players’ final gift—a copy of On War, meticulously transcribed before their departure—was treasured by Dolo, the Dwarf Goliath Warlord. He would often have a Human scribe read it aloud during his free time, and urge his generals to study it. Through it, he even picked up a few Common Tongue phrases.
In short, society remained fundamentally stable.
Over the past three years, no matter how much darkness lingered beneath the surface, no matter how much blood stained the foundation of this new order—there was no denying that the newborn nation was thriving. It had quietly grown into a colossal force, capable of shaking the entire Northern Regions, even while the Red Dragon slept.
It only waited for one moment—the spark to unleash the long-suppressed strength, the full force of its will.
As the famous line from A Tale of Two Cities says:
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
The wheels of Era turned forward. Anything that defied the Kingdom Order was crushed without mercy—reduced to dust and ruin across the land.
(End of Chapter)
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