Chapter 496: Festival
Joseph Salacha, the head of Pelson Guild, had traveled all the way from the Thrace Kingdom. After purchasing weapons worth fifty thousand Golden Nael, he departed in a hurry. But for Isdalia City—where tens of thousands passed through daily—such an event was nothing more than a ripple in the ocean. Rooted in insignificance, it barely stirred the surface.
At most, it meant a little extra profit for Ruben, and another batch of orders for the Claudew Military Industry Group.
But to the local residents, far more important was the approaching festival—the most significant day of the entire Ashen Empire: Coronation Day.
On the 1st of March in the 1786th year of the Third Era, Kai Xiusu had crowned himself on the Altar, officially proclaiming the birth of the Empire.
Years of relentless official propaganda had forged a rich tradition of celebrations, and the citizens now deeply valued these customs.
Every year on the 1st of March, people gathered in the Imperial Square, surrounding the colossal, awe-inspiring Statue of the Red Dragon, and sang in unison the Hymn to Kai Xiusu.
Gifts were exchanged, banquets held, taverns filled with laughter and revelry, and citizens raised their voices in ecstatic cheers—“Long Live His Majesty!” “Thank You, His Majesty!”—chanting praises and singing hymns.
Even the once-prized "Gift of the Dragon" was handed out freely during this day, paid for by the Empire’s officials.
Moreover, on this single day, all factories and offices closed. Citizens were free to revel in this frenzied celebration, pouring out their loyalty to His Majesty in the most joyful way possible.
“All people worship together, the great red dragon in the heavens!”
“What gratitude could ever be repaid?”
The song drifted through the square, richer and more passionate than yesterday’s rehearsal. Every face glowed with wild ecstasy.
“Long Live the Empire!”
“Long Live Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
“For Coronation Day, everything is 60% off!”
People from all walks of life—Human, Beastfolk, Tiefling, Great Goblin, Lizardfolk, Ogre, Semi-Goatfolk, Wyvern—mingled freely, regardless of race, status, or origin. As long as they were citizens of the Empire, they were part of this rare, feverish celebration, letting go of work’s burdens and embracing joy.
Yet, there were exceptions—those who were not of the Empire’s favor.
A man wrapped in a gray robe stood silently in a shadowed corner, watching the jubilant crowd. His gaze burned with endless, vile hatred.
His name had once been Asher Kale, a noble of the North, heir to a lineage stretching back centuries, living a life of comfort and privilege.
But the arrival of the Red Dragon had brought complete destruction. His entire family had lost their heads in the Great Purge, and he had languished in prison, awaiting death.
Then, in that moment of unbearable hatred, his soul drew the attention of a certain Revenant Demon. The Bottomless Abyss opened a grotesque, terrifying doorway before him.
Years later, he returned to the Northern Regions—his human skin now a mask over a demon’s twisted, monstrous form.
“These damned Humans…”
“How quickly they’ve forgotten their ancestors’ gratitude! How they’ve pledged allegiance to the Evil Dragon! They deserve to be torn apart!”
Asher ground his teeth, consumed by fury. To fight the Red Dragon, he had transformed himself into a demon. Yet, these wretched people of the North had, within just a few short years, shifted their faith—now worshiping the very beast they once feared!
It was unforgivable.
His mission was to incite hatred toward the Red Dragon, to disrupt the Empire’s order, and to gather more nourishment for the demons’ growth.
But here, in this vast square filled with tens of thousands, not a single soul bore the Representative Red Light of Hatred.
Instead, most glowed with the Representative Golden Light of Loyalty and Faith, so intense it nearly blinded him.
From deep in his throat came a rasping exclamation:
“This… is impossible!”
It was unbelievable! They had lived under the Brutal Leadership of the Evil Dragon—how could they harbor no hatred?
Even under the rule of the old Northern Kingdom, there had been foolish mobs who dared to rebel.
Yet now, under the Dragon’s reign, the people were utterly loyal?
It defied all reason!
Asher lowered his head, muttering to himself:
“These vile Humans… If this continues, how can I fulfill the mission given by Lord Jezarslak?”
“Fire is His Majesty’s robe, the sky His Majesty’s curtain. The storm, the rain—obeying His Majesty’s path.”
“What gratitude could ever be forgotten?”
The distant melody of the hymn drifted toward him, growing louder, more insistent. It only deepened his irritation.
“Damn it.”
If not for the fact that he was within the Empire’s borders, he would have revealed his true demon form and crushed every singing human into bloody pulp.
“No, don’t panic. This city holds hundreds of thousands. There must be someone who still hates the Evil Dragon.”
“If I can find just one, I can draw out a whole network of hatred.”
With that thought, he began to wander the square, weaving through taverns, carefully controlling the human face he wore—forcing a smile, feigning joy.
Amidst the sea of golden light, he finally spotted a pale figure in the corner of a tavern—a Human, dressed in white.
White. A symbol of neutrality—neither hatred, nor loyalty.
But in a sea of golden radiance, that single white figure was invaluable. To Asher, this man was worth pursuing.
“Looks like the Evil Dragon hasn’t corrupted everyone yet. There are still wise Humans left.”
He stepped forward, approaching the man with a warm smile.
“Friend, you seem down. It’s a national celebration—why so gloomy?”
The man jumped in surprise, straightening up, trembling as he stammered:
“Long Live Emperor Kai Xiusu! I’m just dealing with some personal troubles—nothing against His Majesty! You… you’re from the Nocturne, aren’t you?”
A flicker of hope ignited in Asher’s eyes.
“Of course not,” he chuckled. “Relax. I’m just a traveler from afar.”
The man sighed in relief.
Asher pressed on:
“Friend, what’s your name? What’s troubling you?”
The man’s face twisted with sorrow. He raised his cup, lifted his chin, and drained it in one long gulp. Wine spilled down his chin, soaking his shirt. He wiped his mouth casually and said:
“My… my name is Raj. I’m a worker at the Thirteenth Factory.”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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