Chapter 305: The Kingdom's Response

Chapter 305: The Kingdom’s Response

Ember Kingdom, Northwind Fortress.

The streets were bustling with activity, humans and monsters alike hurrying about more urgently than usual. The cries of newsboys and the blare of loudspeakers echoed across the city, creating a cacophony that resonated throughout.

“Extra! Extra! Bosk Duchy ambushes the Free Trade Caravan on the Magul Trade Route! ”

“Extra! Extra! Bosk Duchy, Fano Duchy, and Carter Duchy have officially formed the so-called ‘Anti-Red Dragon Alliance’! ”

“The Alliance has officially declared war on the Kingdom! ”

“Marshal Dolo has issued a statement, declaring this to be a blatant humiliation of the Kingdom, and that the Northerners must pay an unforgettable price! ”

“Lord Langpu held a press conference, where he declared: The unprovoked actions of the Northern nations violate morality and trample on the peace and order of Anzeta. Their ability and character are insufficient to govern this vast land. Only His Majesty is qualified to serve as Anzeta’s supreme leader and rightful ruler. ”

In the aftermath of what the Kingdom officially referred to as the “Magul Incident,” the citizens of the Ember Kingdom did not react like those of other nations, becoming fearful or panicked. Instead, the entire nation was swept into a fervent, agitated state.

To most, the onset of war spelled disaster, death, and hunger. But to the Kingdom’s citizens, war was a symbol of honor, a path to wealth and status, and a rare opportunity to become Dragonblood Nobles—to obtain immense power and extended lifespans, a ladder that ascended to the heavens.

As for the possibility of losing the war?

That was a thought they never entertained.

Anyone who dared raise such doubts would only be met with roaring laughter and derision, dismissed as cowardly and weak.

Years of undefeated victories, overwhelming military strength, and the presence of the Red Dragon instilled absolute confidence in the citizens. Victory was seen as inevitable, and the real excitement lay in enjoying the process of triumph.

In their eyes, war was not merely a bloody slaughter or a test of strength; it was a sacrificial ceremony to please the King, a baptism of blood.

Yes, a sacrificial ceremony.

Over the years, across the vast territories of the Kingdom, the Ember King had replaced the Northern god of war, Tempus, becoming the embodiment of war, honor, and victory.

The Kingdom’s authorities did not suppress news of the “Magul Incident.” On the contrary, they broadcasted it widely.

With the powerful backing of official propaganda, the news spread across the Kingdom in just a few days. The entire nation entered a state of war readiness, with troops being urgently mobilized, and thousands of wyverns taking to the skies around cities.

Weapons factories across the Kingdom operated around the clock, while civilian factories were rapidly converted to produce military supplies. Driven by promises of wealth and status, workers toiled tirelessly to manufacture the latest, most advanced equipment.

Outside the military halls, a diverse crowd gathered, all seeking to enlist.

As a kingdom of many races, the Ember Kingdom’s recruitment pool was vast. Beyond the common humans, goblins, and tieflings, recruits included ogres, half-orcs, pure-blooded snakefolk, and even half-ogre hybrids—though no one knew who had made such sacrifices for the Kingdom’s racial integration.

For players, the large-scale war event was irresistible. The forums were filled with posts like “Recruiting teammates” and “Looking for war buddies. ”

Players could be seen flocking to every war-related department—factories, recruitment offices, and so on. The top guilds and professional players had already received official notifications, being incorporated into the Kingdom’s special Starfall Corps under Marshal Dolo’s direct command.

The entire Kingdom was in full motion, every individual functioning as a cog in the massive war machine, ready to reveal its terrifying strength to the world.

Factory No. 4, previously a food processing plant, had now been converted into the Fourth Reserve Armory.

The original canned food production lines had been urgently reconfigured to produce military rations, though the difference was minimal—only preservation and portioning had been adjusted.

As the acting supervisor here, George was busier than ever, having gone nearly three days without sleep.

Yes, acting supervisor.

With the onset of war, the factory’s original manager, Big Head—an ogre with artillery experience—had been urgently reassigned, likely to join the ogre heavy artillery corps. As such, George had naturally stepped up as the acting supervisor, with the potential to become the official manager in the future.

But his excitement didn’t last long before he was overwhelmed by work.

George’s face was haggard, dark circles under his eyes, yet he still held his pen, keeping records and shouting orders.

“We’ve only met seventy percent of the targets set by the higher-ups. This progress is far too slow. ”

“Eight thousand one hundred and forty ration cans, one thousand seven hundred and thirty-four luncheon meat tins—not one less! ”

“This is a death order from above, so stay sharp! ”

George stormed over to a dozing worker, Howard, and barked loudly.

The relentless workload had left George irritable. He could no longer afford to treat his old colleagues with kindness. Pressure was the only way to ensure the monumental task was completed.

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir! ”

Howard jolted awake, mumbling apologies.

He moved mechanically along the production line, sealing can after can, the repetitive labor having become second nature.

George paced the factory floor, his nerves on edge as he scrutinized the workers. Any sign of slacking off would not escape his notice, but this constant vigilance drained him as well.

“Will I… spend my entire life in this factory? ”

“I’ve had enough of these stinking cans and damn preservatives. ”

Slumping into a chair, George couldn’t help but think this.

He raised his head slightly, closing his eyes for a moment of rest, but was quickly roused by the grinding noise of the food mixer.

By chance, George’s gaze landed on a recruitment poster affixed to the factory wall.

“War, the true trial for men. ”

The image depicted a Dragonblood Noble clad in gleaming armor, sword in hand, staring heroically into the distance, surrounded by the corpses of his enemies.

George felt something stir within him. He muttered to himself:

“War…”

“It’s the quickest way to climb up the ranks.”

“But… it also means giving up everything I have now and gambling with my life.”

He stared at the recruitment poster, his eyes lingering on the noble’s faintly scaled face, before gritting his teeth, as though making a life-altering decision.

“I want to become someone who matters.”

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