Chapter 375: Coronation (I)
"Extra! The Coronation Ceremony will begin in thirty-seven days!"
"The King is set to be crowned Emperor!"
"Chief Minister issues statement: The Kingdom of Ashen now meets all criteria for elevation to Empire!"
"Marshal Dolo offers unconditional support to King Kai Xiusu!"
These proclamations echoed across Anzeta—through cities long under the Kingdom of Ashen’s control, and even in the newly conquered territories.
And far beyond, across the vast expanse of the Feiansuo Continent, where war and strife raged, people heard the news:
In the remote north, deep within the Anzeta Great Wasteland, a new nation had risen—born from the ashes of the Red Dragon’s dominion, which had shattered the thousand-year legacy of the Northern Union Kingdom.
And the Red Dragon who led this rebirth? His name was Kai Xiusu—known as the King of the Burnt, the Purgatory Cataclysm, the Dragon Prince. Legends whispered he was a trueborn heir of Tiamat herself, born with strength rivaling that of the Legendary.
Though astonishing, this news stirred little true astonishment.
Anzeta Great Wasteland remained a distant, forgotten land—cut off by the endless Anstica Mountain Range, a land sealed away, with almost no contact to the rest of the continent.
Most people knew only vaguely: beyond the mountains, in that frozen wasteland, there were perhaps a few scattered kingdoms.
That was all. It felt distant, irrelevant.
But then, another rumor spread—faster than wind.
The Ancient Silver Dragon, Oszedro, known as the "Silver Wings," who had endured countless world-shattering disasters, had journeyed to the Anzeta Great Wasteland.
He had come to battle the so-called "King of the Burnt."
It was said that in the legendary Battle of the Two Dragons, the two mighty beasts clashed for days on end—fighting from dawn until dusk, until the entire Okgaral Wasteland was reduced to scorched earth.
The battle ended with Oszedro falling from the sky.
Reports claimed he fled, wounded and broken, hiding in the depths of his lair, possibly needing nearly a century to recover.
And the Mervold Clan’s Silver Dragons remained silent.
They barred all visitors, refusing to speak, refusing to confirm or deny anything.
Their silence, in itself, was proof.
Oszedro had truly been defeated.
Only then did the continent tremble.
The Silver Wings—Oszedro, revered as the Divine Chosen of Bahamut, the Keeper of World Balance—had been bested.
Now, every major power turned their gaze northward, toward the mysterious Red Dragon Kingdom, assessing it as either a potential ally… or a dire enemy.
In the midst of the bloody struggle for the legacy of the Holy Faedran Empire, the three great kingdoms of Cassander, Thrace, and Seleucus watched with growing intensity.
A Red Dragon capable of defeating Oszedro could tip the balance of war—no matter which side he supported.
He could change the course of history.
Among them, Thrace held the sharpest hostility toward this "King of the Burnt."
It was inevitable—geographical and historical.
Thrace had long held the northern territories of the Holy Faedran Empire, and the Anzeta Great Wasteland had been their secure rear.
But now, the entire northern frontier was lost.
If the Kingdom of Ashen advanced unchecked, Thrace would face annihilation—flanked on both sides, trapped between two enemies.
Yet, while they prepared defenses against the north, they also had to keep the Kingdom of Ashen from turning hostile—because they were not yet ready to fight.
Any sudden move could bring ruin.
And just as the powers were beginning to react, another rumor erupted from the north—spreading like wildfire across the continent.
—The King of the Burnt will be crowned.
This Red Dragon would no longer be merely a king.
He would become the Emperor of Anzeta—supreme ruler over all.
An Empire was the title of a monarch who ruled over vast, powerful realms.
And Anzeta Great Wasteland, clearly, was no longer enough.
The Red Dragon’s ambition was now undeniable.
The Coronation Ceremony became the focal point of the entire continent.
As the Kingdom of Ashen sent out snowflake-like invitations, envoys from every kingdom and power hurried north—racing by horse, flying through the skies, teleporting, or driving wagons.
The once-quiet Anzeta Corridor suddenly teemed with life.
Even hostile envoys clashed in midair, their animosities flaring despite the sacred occasion.
For the first time in history, the remote Anzeta Great Wasteland drew the attention of the entire Feiansuo Continent.
All because of one Red Dragon.
Anzeta’s cities were no longer sufficient.
The Kingdom needed space—vast, open land—to host a ritual that would shock the world.
Why not use the Iron Dragon Wing Palace?
Too many secrets lay buried there.
The Coronation Ceremony would take place on the Doil Great Plain—the heart of the Anzeta Great Wasteland, where several great rivers converged.
Known as the Gift of the Ice Goddess, the plain was dotted with large cities—nearly encompassing all the core regions of the former Bosk Duchy.
Work crews labored day and night, constructing the massive altar and all its ceremonial necessities.
Rivers of stone and timber flowed endlessly, carried by the towering Frost Giant slaves—muscular, stoic, their backs bent beneath the weight of logs, yet forced onward by the Overseers’ whips.
Mages and Druids cast spells—Stone Wall, Wood Formation, and others—to accelerate the work.
Within a single month, the colossal altar rose from the plain like a monument to destiny.
Roads were paved, and even the first stretches of Rail Track began to be laid.
In truth, this was not just preparation for a ceremony.
It was the foundation of a new city.
Lanpu knew well: Northwind Keep, Stravburg, and the others were too small, too isolated.
The future Empire needed a capital that was flat, expansive, capable of housing vast industry and populations, strategically positioned—something that would become the undisputed political, economic, and cultural heart of the Anzeta Great Wasteland.
This city—the one being built now—was the beginning.
It would grow, swallowing nearby settlements, transforming into a sprawling industrial metropolis.
The altar, the city—both were named Isdalia.
In Dragon Tongue, the name meant "Eternal Dominion"… or "City of Immortality."
On the Doil Great Plain, the followers of the Kingdom continued their labor.
Tall Frost Giant slaves, their necks bound by collars, bent under the weight of massive timber, yet still trudged forward under the lash of Overseers.
Lanpu stood atop the hill, staff in hand, gazing toward the horizon—where the new altar would soon stand.
"Your Majesty…"
His voice trembled.
"The grand design… is becoming real."
The Ogre’s lips quivered. Tears welled in his eyes.
"Huh…"
The biting northern wind howled past, drowning out the Ogre’s heavy breaths—and the distant, agonized cries of the Frost Giant slaves.
(End of Chapter)
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