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Chapter 553: The Afternoon of Empire
Inside Isdalia City, banners fluttered in the breeze, and the streets teemed with people. Tens of thousands of Imperial Nationals had gathered along the wide road, packed shoulder to shoulder, waving banners and flags, their voices rising in a roaring tide of cheers, welcoming back the returning Imperial Army.
“To Empire! To King Kai Xiusu!”
“Welcome home, National Defense War Hero!”
“Under King Kai Xiusu’s wise leadership, Empire has once again achieved a glorious victory!”
“Hail the return of our Empire Heroes!”
Amid this electric atmosphere, the Imperial soldiers marched in perfect formation, heads high, boots striking the ground in crisp, thunderous unison. One by one, steam tanks rumbled into view—massive iron beasts whose engines growled low and deep, emitting a heavy, rumbling boom. Each of these tanks had fought in the National Defense War, their treads stained purple-black with blood, splattered with battle-scarred evidence of countless demon kills.
“Kai Xiusu above!”
“It’s a steam tank! This is Empire’s ultimate assassin’s blade!”
“What kind of monsters could possibly damage these war machines?”
“Look! That’s Emperor’s Wrath! It’s said to have slaughtered tens of thousands of demons on the battlefield!”
The tank known as Emperor’s Wrath bore deep scars—its left armor plate gouged by a long, terrifying scratch that ran several meters. Yet this wasn’t mere damage; it was a testament to its heroic deeds, a record of combat against colossal horrors like the Demon Spider and the Butcher Demon.
From within the tank’s hatch, a dragon-vein gnome wearing the Hero of the Nation medal poked his head out, ecstatic, waving wildly at the crowd, shouting at the top of his lungs:
“Long live the Empire!”
“Long live Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
The people responded with wild enthusiasm, utterly unbothered by the gnome’s Goblin heritage. They joined him in roaring the same chant, arms raised high. This gnome, named Bill, had earned his medal by slaying several Hunter Spiders. His name had been featured in the Imperial Daily, and he was hailed as a “Loyal Imperial Tank Commander,” “Three-Foot Giant”—a living symbol of pride for Goblin, Goblinoid, and other races long considered weak and despised.
A sharp whistle pierced the air, spewing thick white smoke from the engine. The iron beasts seemed to roar in unison, and the sheer spectacle left the onlookers breathless.
“This is Empire’s steam tank army!”
“So powerful!”
“Even a Goblin can become a battlefield hero. I want to drive one too!”
Among the infantry, George stood at the front, clad in his standard Imperial military uniform, his chest adorned with multiple medals. He gazed at the jubilant crowd, emotions swirling within him.
He could feel the pulsing heat of the dragon blood in his chest—his heart, still burning with the fire of battle.
Another victory of glory, just like always. No matter the enemy, His Majesty always leads us to triumph—even against beings that walk like deities.
On the battlefield, George had survived only because of the Red Dragon’s blessing, enduring the siege of dozens of Bazut Demons until the relief forces arrived. Only days ago, he had witnessed with his own eyes the cataclysmic battle that had reduced Anstica to ruins. The abyssal dragon—so massive, so divine—had finally fallen beneath the Emperor’s might.
“Kai Xiusu above…” George whispered, lifting his gaze toward the distant, towering Isdalia Grand Altar. For a fleeting moment, the image of the Red Dragon’s mighty form seemed to rise once more before his eyes.
The triumphant procession continued. The Ogre Heavy Artillery Corps, the Giant Ogre Infantry Corps, the Crimson Scale Conqueror, and the Oath of the Dragon Holy Knight—each warband that had fought on the front lines against the demon invasion now marched before the people. They displayed the Empire’s overwhelming military might, igniting pride and belonging deep within every citizen’s soul.
“Long live the Empire!”
“Long live Emperor Kai Xiusu!”
The cheers echoed without end, filling Isdalia City for an entire day. Even as night fell, beneath the dim glow of street lamps, drunken revelers still staggered into taverns, raising wine bottles and shouting the same slogans.
The Empire of Ashen, reborn from war, was always the most vibrant, the most alive. In every city square, celebrations raged for days, wild and unrelenting. Soldiers returning home needed alcohol and tobacco to numb the pain of war, to release the long-suppressed emotions, and to revel in the spoils they had earned.
Thus, returning soldiers were always the most generous—especially those who had just returned from the frontlines, their lives hanging by a thread. They spent gold like water.
Because of this, keen-eyed Imperial merchants hung banners outside their shops: Soldiers First, Welcome Home Heroes, Imperial Soldiers Enjoy Discounts. They displayed dazzling arrays of “special offer” goods, knowing full well that the soldiers would spend freely in their moment of joy. In just a few days, these merchants could make fortunes.
Even more enterprising players in the Advance Commerce Realm devised endless promotional schemes, riding the wave of public excitement, dominating the markets and amassing countless Golden Nael. Some even ran brothels and entertainment halls, plastering signs that read Reward the Empire’s Heroes, Serve the Warriors of the National Defense War—a sight that made even the most stoic laugh.
Meanwhile, the war had brought a flood of orders to every Imperial military factory. Workers labored day and night, earning generous bonuses—proud, yet weary.
Victory brought unprecedented prosperity. The Empire’s economy surged to life, and the lives of its people became richer, more vibrant than ever.
After the demons’ relentless suicide attacks, the people’s hatred for the Abyss had reached its peak—nearly unanimous, united in fury. This war had given them a long-awaited release. Millions of Deep Abyss Demons had been reduced to ash by the Empire’s relentless artillery. Even the mountain-like Abyssal Dragon had fallen beneath the mighty, glorious, and majestic King Kai Xiusu.
Whenever the glorious victory was mentioned, every Imperial National would puff out their chest with pride, their hearts swelling with excitement and honor.
Three days had passed since the Imperial Army’s return—but the celebration was still in full swing. The Hymn to Kai Xiusu echoed through the Imperial Square, its melody stirring and eternal.
“How can we forget this gratitude? His Majesty made mountain springs flow down, and blessed every land with gentle rain.”
In addition, euphoric “Conquest Parties” marched in groups through the streets, singing crude, raucous ballads of their southern conquests. Humans, Great Goblins, Ogres, Tieflings—soldiers from every corner of the battlefield gathered in the square, forgetting their racial divisions, raising their cups in drunken camaraderie.
“To Empire! Cheers!”
“To Victory! Cheers!”
“Come on, drink up! We barely survived—let’s live it up!”
An Ogre bellowed at the tavern owner:
“Bring two more barrels! The biggest ones! I’m drinking them all in one go!”
“Which sector were you holding?”
“Third defense zone. The fighting there was brutal—barely crawled out of a pile of corpses.”
“Coincidence? I was in the third zone’s artillery!”
“Ha! What a twist! Maybe the shell that saved me was fired by you!”
Amid this wild celebration, George and Graes—two unassuming humans—stepped through the tavern’s door.
The servant, initially indifferent, froze when he saw George’s Hero’s Medal and the Representative Dragon Blood Baron insignia on his uniform. His eyes lit up instantly, and he rushed forward with exaggerated warmth.
In the Empire, Military Nobles were the most esteemed. Taverns and shops welcomed them with open arms—because such men spent freely, often dropping dozens of Golden Nael at a time.
With flushed cheeks and a face full of fawning smiles, the servant gestured with a bow:
“Please, Your Excellencies, right this way! I’ll take you to the VIP seats!”
George, accustomed to such treatment, waved it off casually:
“No need. Just find us a quiet corner.”
The servant nodded eagerly:
“Of course, Your Excellencies. If you need anything, just say the word!”
They settled into a quieter spot, ordering a few bottles of fine, strong alcohol—among them, the latest sensation: Song of Triumph, a bottle costing a staggering three Golden Nael, and still selling out within hours.
The servant brought the bottles with care, swirling them gently before pouring into their cups.
Legend said this drink was crafted by a renowned Stellarfallen brewer specifically for returning heroes. It could evoke the thrill of battle, flooding the mind with the joy of victory and the fire of triumph. But at such a price—equivalent to a common worker’s entire monthly wage—it was a luxury few could afford.
Having once known hunger, George wasn’t a man of extravagance. But in this moment of triumph, he allowed himself a treat.
“Ha, Graes,” George said, gazing out the window at the lively streets, “I told you—so long as King Kai Xiusu sits on that throne, Empire will always win. Your worries? Completely unnecessary.”
He drained his cup in one go. A warm surge of magical energy flowed through his veins—intense, electric, like the thrill of cutting down enemies on the battlefield.
Graes chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re right. How could I ever doubt His Majesty’s strength? I was truly foolish.”
He took a sip, and immediately his face flushed crimson. Sweat broke out across his brow, his eyes glowing with euphoria.
George nodded slowly. “Still… those demons were no joke. Nothing like the weaklings in the Northern Regions. I heard the casualties ran into the tens of thousands.”
Graes burst into laughter, staggering to his feet. “But we’re alive, aren’t we? That’s what matters!”
He raised his cup to George, then to the surrounding soldiers:
“To victory! To surviving!”
George smiled, poured himself a full cup, and raised his glass:
“To victory.”
He drank it down in one smooth motion—his face remained perfectly composed, no hint of intoxication.
“BANG!”
Graes, unsteady on his feet, collapsed onto the table, drenched in sweat. One sip, and he was already spent.
It was said Song of Triumph contained powdered bone from a Flame Wyvern—its effect so powerful that even a Dragon-blooded creature couldn’t endure two cups.
Graes lifted his head weakly, staring at George with envious eyes:
“George… you’ve really outdone yourself this time!”
He leaned on his arms, examining George’s hand. The back of his hand bore faint, visible red scales.
“Your Dragon Blood level must be around five percent, right?”
“About that,” George replied, taking another sip.
Graes sighed. “Leading a ragtag unit alone on the frontline, holding off the Abyss’s elite infantry—dozens of Bazut Demons, killing several… No wonder you earned the Hero’s Medal. Pure luck, I suppose.”
George looked down at his scaled hand. “If I hadn’t awakened my Dragon blood mid-battle, I’d have died there.”
“Haha!” Graes laughed, slurring his words. “Prime Minister Lanpu says luck is part of strength. Without that reckless Wizard Apprentice, that man might’ve still been just a common Ogre!”
George’s face paled. He shot Graes a warning look. The Prime Minister’s memory was infamous—even a whisper could cost you dearly.
Graes, finally realizing his mistake, nodded quickly, muttering, “Right… sorry.”
He lay back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling carved with dragon talons, his eyes unfocused.
“…You know, George… life is better now. Back when I served as a peasant under Northern nobles, I never dreamed of gold, fine wine, or delicacies. But… I’m afraid.”
His voice trembled. His body shook. He pointed at his chest, pounding his heart with a trembling hand.
“Do you know, George? I was so close. That demon’s claw almost pierced my heart. It was my most trusted subordinate who stepped in front of me—taking the blow, dying for me. And I… I could only watch.”
George frowned. “You mean…”
Graes lowered his eyelids, offering a wry smile. “I enjoy victory. But I don’t want to go to war again. I’m terrified—terrified of losing everything I’ve gained. Terrified that all this wealth, all this prosperity… will vanish like smoke.”
He looked at George. “You know, right? Empire’s next target is the South. The vast Feiansuo Continent. But I’m done with this day-to-day life. I want to be stationed in Anzeta. I’ve heard His Majesty will grant us strength to guard the homeland—ensuring the Empire’s heart remains safe.”
He paused. “And you? What’s your choice?”
George didn’t hesitate. His gaze drifted southward, fierce and unwavering.
“South. I’m going to the South. To claim the sunlit lands for Empire. To reach my true peak.”
Even after drinking deeply, his voice remained firm, resolute.
Graes chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course. You’re still the same, Baron George. I always knew you’d rise to Duke one day. When that day comes, I’ll stand beneath your statue and salute you.”
He raised his cup again, softly:
“To Empire.”
“To Empire,” George replied, clinking his cup and draining the last of the Song of Triumph. A faint golden light flickered in his eyes—like embers of Dragon Flame, slowly awakening.
Around them, Ogres, Great Goblins, Tieflings, Lizardfolk, and countless other soldiers raised their glasses, chanting in unison:
“To Empire!”
Even the dragon-vein gnome Bill, a fellow Hero of the Nation, let out a high-pitched, joyous cry.
(End of Chapter)
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