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Chapter 476: Imperial Era (II)
"Wings broader than the sky; back mightier than the earth; tail longer than the mountains."
"All people worship together, the great red dragon in the heavens!"
"Flames are the emperor's robe, the sky his curtain; dark storms and tempests obey his path; the earth hangs in space, filled with treasures and wonders."
"How can this grace be repaid? The emperor lets mountain springs flow down to plains, and gentle rains nourish every corner."
The minstrel sat on a wooden bench, fingers dancing lightly across the lute strings. His voice rose, soft and resonant, weaving through the air like a thread of gold. Around him, the people gathered—hands clasped, eyes closed—singing with solemn devotion.
They were chanting The Hymn to Kai Xiusu, a song now beloved across the Empire, said to have been composed by a fervent Dragonborn minstrel. Its melody carried a sacred weight, stirring the soul.
But the old ballad, Song of Ashen Embers, had long since been banned—erased from memory, forbidden even to speak of.
This was the heart of Isdalia: the grandest, most vibrant district in the realm—Imperial Square.
Centered on a vast plaza paved with stone slabs, the square pulsed with life, encircled by the most iconic landmarks of the Empire: the Great Arena, the Imperial Council Hall, and the Imperial Palace. These colossal structures stood tall and majestic, framed by fountains, gilded iron gates, and ornate edifices that glittered under the sun.
At the square’s heart, the colossal Statue of the Red Dragon loomed, its pale golden eyes deep and solemn—gazing down upon all below, as if judging the world.
Gilded fountains spouted crystal-clear water, their gentle chimes blending with the minstrel’s song.
The square teemed with life—Stellarfallen hunting quests, merchants hawking wares, street performers playing music, and drunken citizens stumbling through the crowds.
The choir was but a small part of the spectacle. Their voices were drowned by the merchants’ cries, lost beneath the raucous laughter and shouting of tavern drunks.
"Strongest brew in the realm! Become the mightiest man!"
"Best black rye bread in all the Empire!"
A towering drunkard raised his mug. "The Crimson Scale Conqueror is the Empire’s mightiest army! Ride a Two-Headed Dragon, and no foe can stand against you! I’m going to the Guard Post to join the ranks!"
"Speak for yourself!" Another man, sprawled across a table, slurred through half-chewed food. "The Dragon Oath Holy Knights are the true elite! Lord Anthony, sworn to the Dragon Sanctuary, once fought and defeated three Lion Knights of the Bosk Family single-handedly!"
Smack!
A third man slammed his fist on the table, spilling his drink. He glared at the two brawlers. "Shut up, you worthless sacks of filth!"
"Who do you think you are? You’re not even fit to be a footstool for the emperor’s shadow. You wouldn’t pass the new recruit test if your life depended on it!"
This was the Empire—bold, brash, obsessed with strength, and utterly devoted to its ruler.
No longer the despairing, stagnant society of the old Northern Kingdom, where rigid class hierarchies choked hope. The Empire offered a path upward. And with it, a spark of ambition burned in every citizen’s heart.
A tall man in a gray long robe sat in a quiet corner. He placed his massive sword beside him and sipped his wine.
"Anzeta… has changed so much."
He looked young—only in his twenties—but his eyes carried the weight of decades. Even beneath his hood, golden hair spilled forth, and his eyes, a rare violet hue, gleamed faintly.
Golden hair, violet eyes—once the mark of noble blood, the legacy of the Northland Lion Bosk Family.
Now, in the Empire, such features were seen as signs of corruption. A curse. A relic of the old North.
To be seen with such traits was to risk being reported as a remnant of the Northern Regions.
He was Andrea Bosk, second son of Duke Leo, the first noble to voluntarily betray the North.
After the war, he didn’t stay in the army. Instead, he became a common adventurer, taking quests to survive.
He turned to watch the escalating brawl between the drunks.
"What did you say?"
"I said—you? You’re not fit to polish the emperor’s boot!"
"Dog-breeding bastard! You’re worse than those Northern nobles who wet their pants at the sight of a dragon!"
The insults turned to shoves. The alcohol fueled the fire. Soon, fists were flying.
"Fighting is forbidden within the city!"
Before blows could land, a Peacekeeper descended from the sky—riding a Two-Headed Dragon. With a grin, the rider scooped up one drunk in his left claw and two in his right, then soared toward the nearby Peacekeeping Office, collecting Contribution Points as if it were a game.
The tavern’s Serpent Folk attendant calmly swept up the broken table and spilled wine, as if this were just another Tuesday.
Andrea stared, stunned by the speed of the response.
Then, a raspy voice broke his thoughts.
"Little Andrea… long time no see."
He looked up.
There stood the face he knew—wrinkled, weathered, familiar.
"Mr. Gugus?"
The old man adjusted his tattered robe, laughed heartily. "Ha! No need for formality now. The Northern Regions are dust. We can drop the titles."
He sat, poured himself a glass of wine, and raised it.
"Come on, sit. Drink."
Andrea clinked his glass against the old man’s and drained the wine in one go.
Gugus was a legendary scholar of the North—so knowledgeable, they called him the Walking Library of Strasbourg. He had memorized the entire history of the Northern Kingdom.
Once a noble himself, he had fled after the Great Taxation, disillusioned by the decay of the old regime. He had taken refuge in Northwind Keep—and had been instrumental in convincing Andrea to defect.
"Do what you believe is right," Gugus had told him. "The Northern Regions are beyond saving. They’re rotten to the bone—filled with filth and corruption."
Outside, the minstrel’s song drifted in again.
"All people worship together, the great red dragon in the heavens..."
Andrea stared at the bustling square, then turned to Gugus.
"You’ve lived in the Empire for years now… What do you make of it?"
Gugus took another sip, his beard nearly soaked. He lowered his voice.
"It’s like its leader—ravenous. A beast that never knows enough."
He paused, then added, "But compared to the maggots in the old Northern Kingdom, it’s like a thousand years of progress. Almost… ideal."
Andrea frowned, deep in thought.
He’d studied the Empire’s system. Freedom. Equality. These words were everywhere—etched into law, echoed in speeches.
Yet something felt off.
It wasn’t true equality.
The Empire seemed to treat every citizen as nourishment—feeding itself, growing at a pace no one could comprehend.
In plain terms—the Empire oppressed everyone equally.
"Gugus, I still don’t understand… why do they—?"
Before he could finish, Gugus had already emptied the bottle. His face flushed with wine.
"Not yet. It hasn’t reached its limit."
"One day, when the Empire stops being so advanced… when history begins to sweep it away… I’ll go all in."
Andrea glanced around, then leaned in, pressing a hand over Gugus’s mouth.
"Shh… keep your voice down."
No one else seemed to notice—just another drunk’s rambling.
Gugus grinned, leaning on the table.
"Little Andrea… I’ve found my path. The Stellarfallen… they’re untouched treasure vaults. Their minds hold the true essence of society. I’ve written it all down—my notes, my research."
---
One year passed.
Snow melted across the Northwasteland, only to be reclaimed by icy winds.
But life had changed.
The Matra Great Farmland expanded into a vast, industrialized network. Imperial Agricultural Officials led the Skeleton Legion in endless night labor—until even Combined Harvesters rolled across the fields.
Spells, machines, and workers combined—yielding a productivity never before seen.
After the record-breaking harvest in September, the Northern Wind brought no famine. Grain was affordable. Even if one couldn’t afford fresh food, Food Processing Plants offered cheap canned meals.
According to Empire Official records, it was the first winter in Anzeta’s history where no one died of hunger.
With the rise of light industry, affordable, warm cotton coats became standard. No more trembling by fire pits. No more fear of the cold.
It was the first winter in Anzeta where fewer than five hundred people froze to death.
Everything seemed perfect.
But beneath the surface, blood and tears ran deep.
The greatest change? The cities.
Factories rose like steel trees, forming cold, endless forests. New buildings sprouted across the urban landscape. Millions poured into cities, becoming workers—cogs in the machine, fuel for progress.
Even with basic worker protections, Empire Official estimates showed over ten thousand non-natural deaths—most from factory accidents. The records were buried. The truth hidden.
The Empire enforced strict control in key cities like Isdalia and Northwind Keep. But in the remote towns of the old Northern Kingdom? Weak oversight.
And at the time, laws were still crude, incomplete.
So darkness festered.
After the Empire’s conquest of the North, Dragon-Blooded Nobles and new Merchant elites followed the official call to industrialize. Factories sprouted across the land.
Before the Imperial Labor Law was enacted, rules were nonexistent.
With the rise of steam engines and textile machines, spinning became easy—even children could learn.
So factory owners hired women… and especially children.
Why? Children were soft, obedient. Adults resisted. And child labor was dirt cheap—less than a third of adult wages.
To maximize profit, machines ran 24/7. Workers worked in shifts, never stopping.
Accidents became routine.
Fingers crushed by belts. Limbs torn apart by gears.
When workers asked for justice, they faced Dragon-Blooded Nobles—powerful, ruthless. No one dared speak.
Mass-produced goods flooded the market. Most were sold through the Imperial Southern Continent Company to the Fadalan Region. Some stayed in the Empire.
But even that trickle crushed the old handicraft workshops of the North.
Generations-old Skilled Artisans went bankrupt. Their shops were seized and repurposed. They, too, became factory fodder.
Slavery was gone.
But a new chain had formed—invisible, yet unbreakable.
Where there is oppression, there is rebellion.
In the northeastern border town of Ross, workers revolted. They smashed machines and fled into the wilds.
More small uprisings followed—quickly crushed.
Only then did the Empire Officials wake up. Lanpu, the Chief Minister, was furious.
He issued the landmark declaration: "Beware of Barbaric Development."
Not out of compassion. Not for the workers.
But because the chaos threatened the Empire’s growth.
Worse—because it defied the Will of Kai Xiusu.
In response, the Legal Affairs Department worked around the clock.
The Empire Workers Law, the Apprentice Health and Morality Law, and other regulations were passed.
Imperial Judicial Inspection Teams toured cities, arresting the guilty. Some were imprisoned. Others—those who exploited workers to the point of revolt—were sent to the Guillotine.
This crackdown, combined with the earlier Execution of the Imperial Corporation Law, became known as the Great Purge.
It left a lasting impression: The Empire’s laws were not to be mocked.
They weren’t holy.
But the blood-stained, gleaming blade of the guillotine made it clear—they could not be broken.
Yet the most profitable industry wasn’t textiles or ceramics.
It was Military Industry.
The War of the Three Emperors in the south raged on. Millions died on battlefields. Divine Offspring, Legendary Mages, Construct Golems—destroying entire regions.
To the people of the south, it was hell.
But to the Empire?
A golden age.
The Imperial Southern Continent Company thrived. The Regiments behind it grew richer.
Soon, people began to anticipate war.
They hoped for greater violence.
They even sought to provoke conflict—because only war brought gold.
A monstrous beast, fed by blood and fire, grew stronger with every passing day.
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(End of Chapter)
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