Chapter 557: Bestowal
"Ritual begins—"
Kai Xiusu’s voice echoed across the vast expanse of Isdalia Grand Altar as over a hundred Half-Red Dragon Announcers in Crimson-Gold Robes stepped forward from beneath the stone platform, each cradling a leather scroll inscribed with names. Around them, the Imperial Citizens—Human, Tiefling, Ogre, Great Goblin—pressed tightly together, breaths held, eyes closed, whispering prayers in fervent hope.
From every eye, a flicker of anticipation glimmered. Hearts pounded in unison, each pulse a silent plea: Let it be me.
"Kai Xiusu above!"
"Please, let my name be called!"
"Great His Majesty, grant me your mercy—let me become a Dragon-Blooded Noble!"
"I slew twenty-one Demons on my own—surely the Inspection Department saw my record, even if just for a First-Class Citizen!"
"Ha! I killed seventy-five! If he gets ennobled as a Baron, I should be a Duke!"
"Hmph. Another one padding his count with wretched Demons."
The Empire now numbered nearly ten million souls. Its structure, refined through multiple reforms, was now a tightly woven machine—far removed from the crude, spirit-union tribes of old. The golden age of easy rewards had long passed. No longer could one catch a spy or invent a new device and instantly rise to Noble rank.
Every title was fiercely contested. Even the lowest rank—Dragon-Blooded Baron—was coveted by over a hundred thousand Imperial Citizens who had earned their place through battlefield merit. And the Empire operated on a strict meritocracy, so absolute that it bordered on obsession. Positions were held only by the capable. Rewards were distributed with ruthless precision.
In such a system, becoming a Dragon-Blooded Noble without bloodshed, without sacrifice, was nearly impossible.
Especially after the brutal Abyss War. Every name on that list had been forged in fire—each one a warrior who had staked their life on the edge of death, driven by ambition, loyalty, and sheer will.
Only the most loyal, the bravest, the most powerful citizens stood a chance to ascend to the Isdalia Grand Altar—the sacred stage where millions would gaze with envy upon the chosen few.
Suddenly, the Great Altar began to rotate slowly. From the pristine white marble, new seats emerged—gleaming, unmarked, pristine.
"Boom—"
"What… is that?"
"Look! The Altar is changing!"
"It’s the Duke positions—more have been added! No, all Noble ranks have expanded!"
Atop the towering, arrogant altar, the number of Duke seats had grown from three to nine. That meant six new Dukes would be born today.
Tens of thousands of eyes locked onto the nine newly revealed Dragon-Relief carvings, their gazes hungry, their throats dry. Saliva pooled in their mouths as they stared at the impossible—Imperial Dukes, the highest nobility beneath the Emperor.
In the Ashen Flame Empire, an Imperial Duke was a being of near-dragon power—long-lived, immensely influential, wielding authority that could shape nations. The current three Dukes alone held power that could decide the fate of hundreds of thousands, even shift the entire empire’s structure.
Lanpu oversaw the empire’s entire administrative system. Dolo commanded the massive army. Meizhuolashi controlled the Nocturne and the Imperial Guard—elite special units.
Duke Dolo once said: “A soldier who doesn’t dream of becoming a general is no true soldier.” What glory could surpass such power? What status could rival such prestige?
The foremost Half-Dragon Announcer stepped forward again. His crown—shaped like Dragon Horns—was the symbol of his authority: the Emperor’s representative, entrusted with the duty of proclaiming the Bestowal.
"Lanpu Duke."
"Dolo Duke."
"Meizhuolashi Duke."
"These three led the war effort during the Abyss War—Lanpu in logistics, Dolo in military command, Meizhuolashi in intelligence. Their combined merit in securing victory has earned them the honor of Special Grade Duke."
"Of course," someone murmured.
"Truly enviable."
"Right. They were the original three chieftains who followed His Majesty. Veterans. Unlike us Northern scum."
"No wonder they remain the pillars of the Empire. Even after ennoblement, their status remains unmatched."
"Ah… if only I’d joined Ashen Hollow back then. We’d have four Special Grade Dukes now."
Amidst the waves of envy, awe, and admiration, the three Dukes stepped forward, each half-kneeling before the Red Dragon, heads bowed in reverence.
"Thank you, His Majesty, for this Bestowal."
They moved with practiced ease to their designated seats atop the highest level of the altar—positions of ultimate power.
"If only I could one day stand there… even death would be worth it."
"Indeed. That is Supreme Glory."
Lanpu gazed down at the sea of eager, breathless faces, listening to the roar of hope and desperation. For a moment, he felt a strange, distant nostalgia—as if he were witnessing a dream from another life.
How far we’ve come, he thought.
Never thought the empire would become this…
Though he’d grown accustomed to the chaos, he still remembered the humble fortress of those days—the primitive monster nest that had once been the heart of the empire.
Decades had passed. His status had soared beyond imagining. But so many of his old comrades—those who had fought side by side in the early days—had fallen in endless wars, or drifted so far from him that they were now strangers.
Take the Chimera, for example. It still lived like a beast in its storm-ravaged cave on Storm Ridge. Yet it had sired dozens of mates, and their offspring—Baby Chimeras—flowed endlessly into the empire’s ranks.
Perhaps, to the beast, that was happiness.
And Jinya, the former Goblinoid Chieftain? He had died just days ago—surrounded in midair by hundreds of cunning Frothmaws, torn to shreds, left as meat scraps.
Now, the Goblinoid forces were led by Baya, the thirty-third child of Jinya, a Goblinoid who had inherited Dragon Blood.
But for Lanpu, the Prime Minister, it was mere noise in the background. To him, the Goblinoid people were of negligible priority.
The empire had grown too fast. And His Majesty, the Emperor of the Ashen Flame—his master—had grown even faster.
Lanpu had watched with his own eyes as Kai Xiusu, once a mere boy-dragon barely six meters long, had ascended into a being whose wings now shaded the sky, whose presence could make even the Primordial Dragon tremble.
Though he was now far behind, Lanpu was content—truly content—to serve His Majesty in any way he could. Even as a cannibal magician, he had found purpose.
Beside him, Meizhuolashi—usually silent, stoic—suddenly let out a soft chuckle. The Tiefling stared down at the altar’s base, at the sea of humanity, and spoke with casual ease.
"Ambition. Desire. Greed. What a vibrant, pulsing picture this is. This… is the Ashen Flame Empire, isn’t it?"
Dolo turned, grinning wildly, his jagged fangs bared, releasing a stream of scorching white smoke.
"Only a kingdom like this can help His Majesty conquer the world. Feanso is within reach."
Despite their usual rivalry, their constant power struggles, even they—today—shared a rare moment of unity. For once, the three Dukes stood side by side, their masks of peace intact.
Lanpu, his face twisted and ugly, cracked a smile.
"Who do you think will be the next Duke?" he whispered.
He knew the answer. He had helped draft the list himself. But he still couldn’t predict what changes His Majesty might make.
The second Half-Red Dragon Announcer stepped forward, scroll in hand, as the Satyr Military Band blared its energetic music.
"Alje Marquis—commander of the Crimson Scale Conquerors and the Imperial Dragon Flock—fought valiantly against the Abyssal Wyvern Legion, repeatedly breaking enemy lines on the battlefield. By merit, he is promoted to Duke."
"Of course it’s Alje! He’s the leader of the Crimson Scale Conquerors—original Ashen Hollow veteran!"
"But I heard he was once loyal to that old Vampire."
"So what? Fried Baron once served as attendant to the Avatar Demon Leo. The Empire doesn’t care about origins—only strength."
A loud eagle cry split the air.
Alje, sword blazing with eternal fire, soared on the back of a Dragonvein Eagle, circling the altar three times before landing with a thunderous impact. He knelt before the Red Dragon.
"Thank you, His Majesty, for this Bestowal."
The Announcer’s voice continued, echoing through the crowd—clear, sharp, unyielding. This wasn’t magic alone. It was the Empire’s Magical Amplifier, a technology now embedded in everything: steam locomotive announcements, public speeches in the square, bounty mission proclamations.
"Anthony Baron—commander of the Dragon-Bound Holy Knights—repelled Demon assaults, hindered the Balor Fire Demon. His battlefield merits are undeniable. Promoted to Duke."
The crowd erupted.
What? Anthony Baron—promoted directly to Duke?
The young Dragon-Bound Holy Knight had ascended rapidly once before—jumping from civilian to Baron overnight. After all, the Dragon-Bound Holy Knights were the Emperor’s scales and claws—His Majesty’s loyal sword.
"Great Red Dragon! He’s only twenty-one!"
"Can you believe it? He’s barely old enough to shave!"
"Didn’t you read the Imperial Daily? Anthony was rescued from a Northern Noble’s underground dungeon. Look at him now—Duke!"
"Not surprising. Lord Anthony commands the Oath of the Dragon Sanctuary Regiment—hundreds of Dragon-Bound Holy Knights under his banner."
"Kai Xiusu above! If only my child could be half as worthy!"
"I’ll have him take the Temple Trial right after dinner!"
Anthony’s rise had been part of Kai Xiusu’s grand design. The Imperial officials had carefully crafted him into the archetype of the commoner’s ascent—the living embodiment of the Imperial Dream.
His story sent a message: If you risk your life, serve the Empire faithfully, even a former Noble’s page can become a Duke of Arrogant Supremacy.
Can’t you do it?
The answer, of course, was no.
Within the fortress-like formation of the Dragon-Bound Holy Knights, two ranks of Paladins parted, creating a straight path through the phalanx.
Anthony stepped forward, sword and shield in hand, flanked by his elite knights. He approached the altar, half-kneeling without hesitation.
He ignored the whispers, the gossip, the stares. His gaze was unwavering, calm—his heavy armor stained with blood, scarred from battle. The marks were not flaws. They were symbols of glory.
Kai Xiusu gave a subtle nod.
Lanpu understood.
He raised his staff.
A ripple of invisible force erupted beneath Anthony’s feet. The air shimmered—then, effortlessly, Anthony was lifted, rising nearly a hundred meters in an instant, soaring to the summit of the Isdalia Grand Altar.
"Dragon Lord."
Anthony stepped forward, falling to his knees before the Red Dragon, pressing his forehead to the stone. Reverence filled his eyes.
Only after receiving Kai Xiusu’s silent approval did he rise. He walked to his seat—silent, composed. But the sweat on his brow, the racing heartbeat, the slight tremble in his legs betrayed the storm within.
Though he had endured hardship, survived Fried’s guidance, faced the trials of the Dragon Oath Temple, and walked through blood-soaked battlefields—Anthony was still, at heart, a youth.
And in such a moment, his excitement, his tension—was completely justified.
"Misha—slayer of multiple High-Rank Demons who sought to plunge the city into chaos. Defeated the Balor Fire Demon on the battlefield. Promoted to Duke."
The crowd exploded.
She’s being ennobled as a Duke? Directly?
"Kai Xiusu above!"
"I’ve heard of her—she’s the Dragonfire Maiden!"
A Dragon-Blooded Duke! The highest mortal status in the entire Ashen Flame Empire! And she was being granted it—now?
Many had read about her in the Imperial Daily—her victories over high-tier Demons. But it was only hearsay. Her rise had been swift—just a few years. She was still far from the legendary names etched in history.
But then, soldiers from the Military Faction surged forward, eyes blazing with devotion.
"You don’t understand. I witnessed her strength with my own eyes!"
"If not for her, our entire army would’ve been wiped out! She is a true Imperial Duke!"
A sharp crack split the air.
Heat surged. Flames burst into the sky. Sparks flew. Space itself tore open—a blazing rift split the atmosphere.
And from within the inferno, the tall, crimson-haired girl stepped forth.
She wore a finely crafted robe adorned with Dragon motifs. Her red hair streamed behind her like fire. Dragon flames danced around her, swirling in the air. An invisible pressure settled upon the crowd.
She surveyed the altar, her golden eyes glowing with the arrogance of one born of Emperor’s Affinity.
So this is the Dragonfire Maiden…
No wonder she follows His Majesty.
Even the boldest questioners fell silent. Their mouths snapped shut.
With a light step, her back split open—two vast Dragon wings unfurled. With a powerful beat, they sent a hurricane roaring through the air, lifting her high into the sky, then descending smoothly onto the altar.
"Master."
She folded her wings, knelt on the ground, and whispered—softly, reverently.
(End of Chapter)
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