Chapter 554: Reactions from All Sides
The news of the Empire’s victory over the Abyssal Legion—and the Emperor of the Ashen Flame slaying a Demon Lord—had spread across the world, sending shockwaves through the Feiansuo Continent. The tremor was even greater than that caused by the defeat of the "Silver Wings" Oszedro.
Even the Ancient Silver Dragon, though immensely powerful, was merely Melward’s Elder, a revered figure within the lawful good alignment. But the Abyssal Lord was a being capable of threatening the entire Prime Material Plane—and yet, he had been slain single-handedly by a Red Dragon.
Was this not proof that the Emperor of the Ashen Flame could effortlessly destroy a nation, or even threaten the very fabric of existence?
The magical images of the cataclysmic battle that destroyed Anstica had already reached the hands of high-ranking officials across the world, leaving them shaken and terrified.
—Two hundred-meter dragons locked in brutal combat, their savage struggle shaking the sky, toppling mountains, and disintegrating the earth.
In the Third Age, the Era Between Gods and Mortals, no one had ever witnessed such a colossal clash. Even now, people questioned whether their eyes deceived them.
Was it an illusion?
A projection from some forgotten ancient era?
But those who had witnessed the war firsthand—and had the scene of that apocalyptic devastation burned into their memories—gave a resolute, unified denial.
This was real.
It had truly happened in the Third Era, in the Anzeta Great Wasteland.
---
In the eastern reaches of the Feiansuo Continent, deep within the High Forest.
The air carried a delicate scent of blooming flowers and damp earth. Thick, emerald canopies shimmered under the sunlight, which pierced through cracks in the canopy, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor.
Hidden among the ancient, towering trees, a white and exquisite structure nestled in the dense wilderness—its intricate carvings and flowing reliefs exuding timeless beauty. This was the Serenian Royal Court, the ancestral capital of the Elven Kingdom, a realm that had stood for ten thousand years.
On a window ledge deep within the palace, a beautiful elven woman gazed into the distance.
Her pale golden hair cascaded down her back. A sheer, leaf-woven robe draped over her slender form, barely concealing her grace. Her eyes—clear and deep as water—betrayed a quiet anxiety.
The golden crown upon her head, studded with dewdrops, and the faint violet hue within her pupils, spoke of her status.
—The nominal monarch of Serrynia, the seventeenth queen since the founding of the Elven Kingdom: Catherine the Moonwalker.
She stared up at the azure sky above the High Forest, whispering to herself.
"War flames rage between the three kingdoms. The Deep Abyss demons stir. And now, in the North, a power beyond measure has risen in the form of a dragon. What a mad age this is."
She lowered her gaze, offering a self-deprecating smile.
"Yet... I am but a canary kept in a gilded cage. What right have I to concern myself with such matters?"
Decades ago, the Senate of Elders—backed by the Fadalan Empire—had stripped the young Elven Queen of power, seizing full control of Serrynia’s politics. They championed the "ancient and noble traditions" of the elves, isolating the kingdom from the outside world.
They forbade any interference in global conflicts. They denied the queen access to the arcane knowledge passed down through generations.
And worse—these elders, who consorted with humans, secretly gifted beautiful elven maidens to Fadalan nobles as their playthings.
—One such example was Ria, the famed Half-Elf Holy Knight, born from an illicit union between an elven woman and a Fadalan noble.
"Your Majesty," a calm, composed voice rang out from behind her, "you need not belittle yourself. This era is nearing its end. The Elven Kingdom shall return to your rightful leadership."
A Half-Elf Holy Knight stepped forward—clad in dark gold armor, a longsword in hand.
"Ria," Catherine turned swiftly, her face lighting up with genuine surprise. "You’re back?"
Ria took a few steps forward and dropped into a half-kneel before her.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The Fadalan Empire has crumbled. The old men of the Senate have lost their patron. Now is the time to overthrow their decayed rule."
"Please rise, Ria," Catherine reached out, helping the returning warrior to her feet.
She turned once more, her eyes fixed on the Luminous Moon Tree—the symbol of elven sovereignty, now seized by the Senate.
"You're right. Serrynia should not drown. And certainly not under the control of such filth. I will restore the Elven Kingdom to the glorious civilization it once was."
The queen, once seen as a fragile, docile figure—a "canary" easily controlled—now stood with a resolve in her eyes, sharp and unwavering, as if forged in fire.
"As you command, Your Majesty," Ria gripped her silver sword tightly, her voice firm and resolute.
"By the way, Ria," Catherine reached into her robe and withdrew a crystal ball.
Within its depths, a magical image played—two mountain-sized dragons locked in a brutal, life-or-death battle. The very image of Emperor of the Ashen Flame Kai Xiusu clashing with the Abyssal Dragon.
Catherine pointed a slender finger at the screen.
"Do you know this Emperor of the Ashen Flame?"
Ria nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty. I’ve seen the projection at the Lute Players’ Alliance headquarters. That Red Dragon… he’s beyond comprehension. His power is so extreme it defies belief. He is not a being anyone should confront directly."
Catherine tilted her head, curious. "Could we… collaborate with him?"
Ria hesitated, then spoke plainly. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but from my experience—trying to collaborate with a Red Dragon is like bargaining with a tiger. And remember, dragons have long harbored ill will toward our kind. Do you know what’s ranked highest on a Red Dragon’s menu?"
She blinked slowly.
Catherine froze.
Ria chuckled softly—a rare, warm sound. Compared to the rigid hierarchy of monarch and subject, their bond was more akin to close friends.
But for the world beyond the palace, for the mysterious North, the Elven Queen, confined for so long, had endless questions.
Catherine pressed Ria for updates on events across Feiansuo. The Half-Elf answered patiently, without impatience.
"By the way," Catherine added, "you once wandered the Anzeta Great Wasteland. Rumor has it you killed a Red Dragon—some even call you the 'Dragon Slayer Hero.'"
Ria laughed softly, shaking her head. "Your Majesty, if I had faced this Red Dragon back then, I wouldn’t be standing here today. This Emperor rose too fast—too unnaturally. Some scholars even suspect he’s not a dragon at all, but an Ancestral Dragon sealed beneath ancient ruins, lurking in concealment for tens of thousands of years… unlike the mother dragon I encountered."
Her voice trailed off.
Then—she stopped.
Her eyes snapped back to the crystal ball.
There, on the massive scales of the Red Dragon, faint metallic glimmers shimmered—like gold mixed into the armor. It was identical to the strange, metallic sheen of the Dragonling she’d met years ago.
Ria’s heart sank. A cold sweat broke across her forehead, dampening her silver hair.
She remembered the words she’d spoken to that Dragonling ten years ago:
"Perhaps mercy to a sworn enemy."
She had hoped the Lawful Neutral Red Dragonling would not bring ruin to the world. If he did, she vowed she would destroy him herself.
This can’t be. It’s impossible.
No. Absolutely impossible.
How could a dragonling grow in ten years into a Colossal Entity surpassing even the Primordial Dragons—becoming Emperor of Anzeta?
This wasn’t a legend. It was absurd—like a fairy tale from the oldest myths.
Yet, a resonance of fate echoed in Ria’s mind, freezing her to the bone, as if she stood in an ice cavern.
She recalled the Red Dragon’s activity timeline within the Lute Players’ Alliance—and the unmistakable, eerie similarities to the Dragonling she’d once spared.
Suddenly, a chilling realization struck her.
It makes sense now.
Ria’s brows furrowed. She whispered to herself, barely audible.
That’s it. So the scholars’ confusion, the Alliance’s unease—everything fits.
The dragon wasn’t an ancient, sealed Ancestral Dragon.
He wasn’t a spawn of Tiamat.
He had a clear growth trajectory.
He… might be the very Dragonling she had released a decade ago.
"Ria," Catherine asked, "did you think of something about that Red Dragon?"
"No, Your Majesty," Ria replied, her voice steady. "I was merely reflecting on our plan to reclaim the Luminous Moon Tree."
She stood tall, sword in hand, gazing into the distance. Her eyes shimmered with quiet fire.
Some choices are mine to bear. I made them. I will face the consequences.
This innocent, passionate queen—she must not be drawn into the storm I’ve stirred.
After helping Catherine overthrow the Senate, she might have to leave Serrynia… to face certain fated matters.
---
In the Thrace Kingdom, within the gilded Royal Palace of "City of Dawn", the atmosphere was thick with silence.
The ministers on the steps exchanged glances, heads bowed, their voices hushed. The air itself seemed frozen.
On a golden throne—crafted in imitation of the legendary "City of Solar Radiance"—a deep, resonant voice echoed.
"Speak, my lords. What are your thoughts?"
The man upon the throne wore a magnificent silver armor, his skin flawless, glowing faintly with a soft white aura that blurred his perfect features. Most striking of all were the three pairs of broad, radiant wings sprouting from his back—white as snow, like those of a divine being.
This was Wilhelm Aragon, third son of Aragon I, the Emperor of Fadalan’s most formidable rival, ruler of the Thrace Kingdom, and leader of the Angel Bloodline Legion.
Known as the "King of Angels", he stared coldly at the magical image displayed at the center of the hall.
Two hundred-meter dragons clashed, tearing the sky apart, shaking the world.
Have you all been struck dumb?
Is there not a single brave soul in my entire kingdom who dares face a dragon?
His voice carried a sharp edge. The ministers flinched. Their eyes darted in fear.
"…"
No one dared speak.
The dragon was too terrifying—too far beyond mortal comprehension.
And if anyone dared boast before the King… they’d be sent to face that beast in the North.
Even the Angel-blooded warriors—once fearless, proud of their divine heritage—were now locked in battle in the south, fighting against Cassander’s Titan-born divine offspring.
Seeing no response, Wilhelm turned to a man cowering in the corner.
"Duke Luton," he said, "you’re the one who fled from the Red Dragon. What do you have to say?"
The Duke, once ennobled as the Northern Regions’ ruler, trembled violently as he rose. With a choked sob, he dropped to his knees.
"Your Majesty! Please… no! That Red Dragon—he’s not a beast… he’s a demon! Worse than demons! He’ll kill us all!"
The image on the screen—of the dragon’s fury, the blood-soaked guillotine from years past—had haunted him for years. He’d relived it in nightmares again and again.
Now, with the memory fresh, his body gave out. His fine trousers soaked through with fear. The stench of terror filled the hall.
"Such a coward," Wilhelm muttered, turning away in disgust. "Guards—Duke Luton’s psychological disorder has flared again. Take him away."
Two silver-armored soldiers seized the quivering Duke and dragged him out. His cries echoed through the palace.
"Your Majesty! Don’t fight him!"
Wilhelm’s expression darkened further. He called out again.
"Duke Saxis. You’ve served as ambassador to the Ashen Empire. What is your opinion?"
A dignified diplomat in fine robes stepped forward, scepter in hand, bowing before the throne.
After a long silence, Saxis spoke.
"Your Majesty, that dragon is merely greedy and short-sighted. No matter how powerful, his ambitions are limited. I admit, the Emperor of the Ashen Flame is strong enough to shift the world’s balance. But what he truly desires—his vault’s treasure. The fact that he sold us their most advanced weapons proves it. He’s driven by profit. He doesn’t care about war or conquest."
He paused, then added, "So we need not fear him. We could even make him our ally—if we simply… feed his greed."
"Ah," Wilhelm nodded slowly, stroking his chin, considering.
The other ministers murmured in agreement. A solution without bloodshed? Perfect.
Saxis seized the moment.
"Your Majesty, if you grant me ten million gold coins, I can secure peace with the dragon in the North."
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the crowd.
"No! Your Majesty, that Emperor is not as simple as Duke Saxis claims!"
All eyes turned to the speaker.
A senior diplomat from Thrace—Saxis’s subordinate—stood up, his voice urgent.
(End of Chapter)
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