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Chapter 474: George's New Life
At the Summit of the Tower, the heart of the Black Wings, Shalena Jezled—the current clan leader of the Jezled Clan—stared intently at the Crystal Ball, her face etched with grim seriousness as she beheld the image of the White Torrent.
Around the Round Table sat a dozen female Drow, their expressions varied, each a senior elder and the true power behind this city. Drow Elves have always revered women above men; male Drow are typically nothing more than playthings, mere slaves for indulging desire.
For them, “love” is not a bond—it is a duty. They select their mates like one chooses a pet, often changing partners without hesitation.
But now, facing an imminent threat, none had the leisure for such pleasures.
“By Ross,” Shalena ground out, “what in the Abyss are those things?”
As she spoke, a thin veil of Black Mist began to seep through the tower’s halls.
A descendant of the Shadow Dragon, Shalena bore the pointed ears of the Drow, her face often marked with faint black scales, and she wielded the power of Shadow Magic.
“The scouts reported Undead Skeletons,” she said, voice low and steady. “They must come from Dragonshadow City.”
“Could it be Mortifer? No—his death was confirmed. Utterly complete.”
“Dragonshadow City was destroyed—by that Red Dragon, wasn’t it?”
The elders murmured in confusion.
But Shalena spoke again, her tone cutting through the chaos:
“It’s the Empire of Ashen—the one said to have a ‘Dragon of World-Burning’ as its Emperor.”
“The Empire on the Surface World?”
“Damned.”
“That Red Dragon… How could they—those greedy bastards—still be alive up there, and now meddling in the Underdark?”
Panic surged among the Drow. Fear, fury, and bitter resentment flared in equal measure.
“Blue-Footed Serpent Skeleton,” Shalena murmured, her slender fingers trembling as they traced the image in the Crystal Ball. “High-Level Revenant.”
“Every single one of them is high-tier Undead. This isn’t some haphazard force. This is an army—well-organized, purposeful.”
Her voice cracked on the final words.
“They’re after the Jezled Clan. No matter the reason—this is a full-scale extermination.”
Silence fell over the tower.
Thud… thud…
Suddenly, the city walls echoed with heavy, hollow knocks, accompanied by the grating scrape of bones. Drow soldiers screamed in terror.
Boom!
Dozens of massive Serpent Skeletons smashed through the wall, flooding into the city. Thousands of skeletal corpses poured in behind them.
Serpent Skeletons coiled around the Black Tower, wrapping its outer surface like living chains.
On the colossal skull of the serpent, the Zombie Lord stood, his twisted grin spreading wide as he surveyed the panicked Drow below.
“The Hunt Has Begun.”
---
In the capital of the Empire of Ashen—Isdalia—
Clang… clang…
The deep, resonant chime of a bell rang across the city, waking the sleeping and summoning the people to begin their day.
In the inner district, inside a beautiful, spacious mansion, George slowly opened his eyes and stretched with a yawn.
First, he washed at the mirror. Then, he donned his military uniform. Finally, he pinned the bronze insignia of a Representative “Imperial Baron” to his chest.
“Hmm. Feels like a dream. A real, bloodline noble born of Dragon-blood.”
George adjusted his collar, gazing into the mirror at the golden vertical pupils that marked his noble heritage. He nodded in satisfaction.
A human granted the Bestowal, George now carried the Essence of Magic—closer to a True Dragon than any of those half-breed dragon-beasts.
Yet unlike many of his more fanatical peers, he had not traded for the more flashy Half-Dragon Elixir. He preferred who he was now.
With practiced ease, George entered the living room and stood before the statue of the Red Dragon placed at the most sacred spot. He clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and bowed deeply.
“Good morning, King Kai Xiusu.”
“May Your Majesty bless me with victory in every battle, glory upon you.”
His prayer was sincere—pure, heartfelt devotion.
Placing the Emperor’s statue in the living room and paying daily homage had become a widespread custom throughout the Empire—especially among the military. Even the poorest reserve soldiers would hire the finest blacksmiths to craft a small bronze statue, placing it in their rented room.
“Honor the King, and He will grant you endless victory.”
“Praise the King, and He will grant you eternal glory.”
No one knew the origin of these words. Yet countless officers and soldiers believed them with unwavering faith.
After his prayer, George placed three “Golden Nael” coins before the statue—currency said to have been personally designed by the Emperor himself.
Only then did he don his Imperial Army coat, pull on his military hat, and step through the front door.
As he did, a warm greeting echoed from afar.
“Good morning, Baron George.”
“Good morning, Baron Graes.”
George turned. His neighbor—Graes Parid, another Human soldier honored in the Northern War—stood smiling.
They were similar in circumstance, of the same race, and had grown close as comrades.
Two Dragon-Blooded nobles in military uniform, they exchanged nods and walked side by side toward the station a hundred meters away.
“You’re early.”
“Ah, I heard Marshal Dolo’s enforcing discipline strictly lately. A few negligent officers were dismissed. Can’t afford to be late.”
“Tch. Those judges on the Military Tribunal—they don’t know how to fight. All they care about is showing power within.”
On either side of the road stood row upon row of identical townhouses with small gardens.
In Isdalia, where land was scarce, owning one of these homes was a mark of great honor.
This was the inner district—reserved for officers, officials, and high-ranking merchants. Many of its residents were Dragon-Blooded Nobles.
But George was only a minor Baron. His house sat at the very edge, just one wall away from the outer district.
Toot—
The steam locomotive glided in smoothly, stopping with a hiss of thick white smoke.
Unlike common trains, this one bore the emblems of rifles and cannons on its side, and its interior was richly appointed.
It was the official military train—only for transporting officers and soldiers. Civilians were strictly forbidden.
“Good morning, Lord Baron.”
“Thank you for your contribution points to the Empire.”
The inspector at the door glanced at their medals, nodded respectfully, then bowed slightly before welcoming them aboard.
Wheee—
The train roared to life, speeding forward with a piercing whistle that spewed bursts of smoke from its roof.
Outside the window, people moved in constant flow—hardworking laborers, crying newsboys, and roving Stellarfallers.
Along the road stood various buildings, and in the distance, massive factories loomed, their towering chimneys belching thick black smoke.
George sat quietly by the window, resting his chin in his hand, lost in thought.
Too fast. Everything was changing too rapidly—faster than the world outside the glass could even keep up.
Just a few years ago, this land had been a barren wasteland. And George? He had been a lowly soul, little better than livestock.
Now, time had turned. A magnificent, grand city had risen from the dust. And he—once forgotten—was now a respected figure, a man of consequence.
“Still feels like a dream,” George murmured again, shaking his head in awe.
As he watched the construction sites pass by, a surge of emotion welled up inside him—fierce, passionate, a burning desire to give everything for this shared future.
This, he thought, must be the “Imperial Dream” the Isdalia Times speaks of.
(End of Chapter)
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