Ember Dragon

"Your Majesty, please rest assured. We’ve already tightened defenses in the northern border cities of Leon, Karell, and Verinst. We will not let those imperials take advantage of us." The robed mage knelt on one knee, speaking nervously.

"Useless!"

A roar shook the great hall.

On the Golden Throne, Wilhelm’s handsome face twisted in fury, golden wings flared behind him, and his holy golden eyes blazed with uncontrollable rage.

"That wretched dragon dared project his blasphemous magical illusion over my territory! Now panic spreads like the plague. The fools are stampeding to the southern provinces like startled deer. Not even the palace bell can halt their flight!"

The golden scepter slammed the floor. Sparks exploded, reflected in the enraged eyes of the king. "And you lot, draped in your Sun Robes, have your illusion-banishing spells been burned away by dragonfire?!

Tell me—every year, the kingdom funds your arcane legions with hundreds of thousands of gold coins. What the hell is the point?!"

"Bang!"

He extended one hand. A blinding golden light blasted across the hall, flinging the mage backward to crash into a finely carved pillar. A mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips.

Had it not been for the protective Eucloric Sphere at his back, the mage would’ve died on the spot—or at the very least ended up with every bone crushed.

The mage barely opened his eyes, wiped the blood from his mouth, and gasped softly, "Y-Your Majesty, the Red Dragon’s projection wasn’t just an illusion—it carried the essence of terrifying fire elements.

Our illusionists approached recklessly and were blown apart. It took twelve evocation archmages combined just to barely erase it."

Several mages behind him stepped forward cautiously and explained in low voices, "Your Majesty, we really did do all we could."

They knew well—though Wilhelm now looked radiant, seemingly having regained the power of a "demigod’s son," his temperament had grown even more brutal and violent.

Ministers dying in court had become routine. The maids were even used to cleaning blood and brains off the palace walls.

So every mage summoned to court came armed with triggered spells and wards—to avoid dying in a royal rage. There had been far too many precedents.

Wilhelm cast a cold glance at them and said no more. His gaze shifted instead to the armored generals.

General Dares, standing front and center, stepped forward and knelt cautiously before the throne. "Your Majesty, your Holy Crusaders are displaying divine might on the southern front. Kassander’s forces are retreating in defeat and have fallen back south of the Carson Mountains.

Our Kingdom of Thrace reclaiming the Holy City and recovering the Supreme Crown of Holy Fadlan is within reach."

Wilhelm nodded slightly. The fury in his golden eyes finally subsided somewhat, and a smile returned to his flawless face. "Now that’s what I want to hear.

Remember this: our Kingdom of Thrace is the only rightful successor of Holy Fadlan. I am the legitimate, sole Emperor of Holy Fadlan.

As for my brother..." Wilhelm’s golden pupils welled with blood, glowing with a strange, cold light. "He’s merely a blasphemer driven mad by power. One day, I’ll personally sever his head and offer his blood to Father’s spirit."

"Do you all understand?" His cold gaze swept the hall, chilling every courtier to the bone as if clawed by an invisible beast.

"O-of course! You alone are the true Emperor of Fadlan!" The foremost general bowed deeply, his voice trembling.

As one of the king’s confidants, he knew full well: beneath the gleaming facade of a demigod lay a soul twisted and corrupted by hell itself.

This general had once glimpsed the king’s true, monstrous face beneath the illusion. Without those veil spells, the reality would be far more horrifying than imagined.

The officials behind him echoed loudly, "You are the true Emperor of Fadlan!"

"The Kingdom of Thrace is the rightful heir of Fadlan!"

"The blasphemers Kassander and Seleucia will fall! His Majesty Wilhelm will ascend the imperial throne!" Ministers scrambled to show loyalty, terrified of being too slow.

The king might overlook who showed loyalty—but never who didn’t. The former treasury minister had been executed for staying silent too often.

Wilhelm’s lips curled into a grotesque arc, a strange smile spreading across his face like one carved into a wooden mask.

He leaned down, clapped the terrified general’s shoulder, and ordered, "Dares, you’ve done well in the south. Now I command you to take full charge of the northern defenses. Do not let those imperials set foot on my soil. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Your Majesty! With your glorious Crusaders, those imperials are nothing!" Dares responded immediately.

Wilhelm laughed. "Hahaha, naturally! Only I, the rightful heir, could forge a godspawn legion rivaling my father’s!"

"Of course, Your Majesty. We all await the day you reclaim the imperial throne and restore Fadlan’s glory."

Though full of flattery, Dares knew exactly what the "Holy Crusaders" truly were—winged, awe-inspiring angels on the surface, but in truth, fallen half-fiends who’d made pacts with hell.

And now that he was entangled in it, Dares couldn’t escape. To show loyalty, even he—a paladin of Ammanata—had made a pact with a notorious devil.

"Holy Sun God, please forgive my sins..." Dares bowed his head, praying silently.

The gilded dome still refracted dazzling light. The crystal chandelier gleamed on the ministers’ embroidered sashes and the generals’ silver-scaled armor.

Atop the throne, the king wore the Crown of Holy Thorns, held a golden scepter, and had spotless wings behind him, bathed in eternal light.

But under True Sight, it was a hellscape—twisted symbols painted in blood everywhere.

"Dong—"

Suddenly, the bell tolled. Hundreds of white shadows burst through the stained-glass dome, their wings stretching wide, blocking half the sky. Hymns and swordsongs weaved a chilling symphony.

But oddly, with each wingbeat, bloodstained feathers fell, reeking of gore. When they touched the ground, they burst into flames.

"Those... are the Holy Crusaders?" The tavern keeper swallowed hard, bloodied feathers reflected in his cloudy pupils.

The bandaged blacksmith traced a circle on his chest. "May the Sun’s radiance shield Thrace."

Outside the hall, hundreds of "angels" soared skyward on the king’s orders, flying north in formation.

Citizens looked up in awe. Their eyes brimmed with reverence and admiration—but deep within, a strange fear lingered.

Were they...

Really angels?

Many doubts arose in people’s hearts—but no one dared speak them. The king’s guards could appear at any time to drag "slanderers" into lightless dungeons.

Over the past year, too many strange events had plagued Auguste. Twisted symbols on the walls, hundreds vanishing, and screams echoing through the night.

Missing women were found skinned and hanging in the sewers—bloody, horrifying sights that stunned the entire city.

Yet royal guards ignored it all. They forbade all discussion and jailed anyone spreading rumors.

The entire population lived in unspeakable fear, gripped by collective silence. Many couldn’t bear the pressure and chose suicide.

Once called the "City of Sunrise," Auguste now seemed a vast, grim prison.

Ember Empire, Anzeta Wasteland, Dragonblood Peak.

Sulfurous mist drifted up the mountain. A massive silhouette loomed in the haze, sparks dancing on its body like a living volcano.

—It was the Emperor of the Ember Empire, lord of the Anzeta Wasteland, Ugo Great Prairie, and Northern Ethel Plains—Cassius, nightmare of all powers.

In Cassius’s claw pulsed a trembling crimson glow—the divine power stolen from Gruumsh.

Before the Red Dragon lay a dozen charred humanoid corpses, their faces twisted in agony.

"Give it to me! I beg you!"

"Please, Your Majesty Cassius, grant it to me! Even one percent! I’ll be your most loyal servant!"

Screams echoed from Dragonblood Peak—like a maddened addict begging. It was the Chaos Evil Eye’s cry. Just hearing it could drive mortals mad.

"Heh. Give the Orc God’s divine power to a creature spawned from His corpse? Do you take me for a fool?"

Cassius clenched his claw. The chains below tightened with a crash. Dragonfire surged from all sides, scorching the Chaos Evil Eye.

Its wails echoed from below, but Cassius remained cold. "Ivennis, stop testing my patience. It’s not funny. Just annoying.

Ever heard the saying: never provoke an angry Red Dragon? Push me too far, and even I won’t know what I might do."

"Boom!"

The underground flames intensified. Fire tongues roared through rock cracks, incinerating all.

The sizzle of burning flesh followed. The Evil Eye whimpered, "Y-Your Majesty Cassius... I won’t dare again. The fact that you stole divine power from my true body proves your strength..."

Cassius narrowed his eyes and snapped his claws. The flames eased, keeping the creature barely alive—its will intact.

Under the Evil Eye’s ravenous gaze, Cassius seized the blood-red orb. "Tell me, Ivennis, how do I create a new orc subrace loyal to me?"

Cassius coveted the orcs’ rapid growth and terrifying fertility—he wanted his own army.

He’d experimented, merging dragonblood and ground dragonbeast blood, imbuing them with divine power from the Orc domain.

But every created orc turned on him, rushing him madly—only to be burned to cinders by his scales’ fire.

The Evil Eye cautiously said, "Your Majesty, my true form holds the [Orc] racial godhood, mastering the laws of bloodline. All orcs born in the multiverse are soul-branded by Him.

Now that you’re His enemy, any orc you create will instinctively hate you. That can’t be changed—unless my true body personally removes the brand."

"Damn green brute. Such tyranny," Cassius cursed inwardly—but also envied such divine racial authority.

Across the multiverse, all born orcs bore His brand—unchangeable and absolute. What terrifying power!

The Gruumsh avatar Cassius fought likely had less than one percent of His true power—yet still nearly killed the Red Dragon.

That’s the gap between gods and mortals—a chasm.

As the Third Age ends, the Material Plane’s barrier will fracture with each cataclysm. Then, as in ancient times, gods will walk the earth again.

Cassius felt the urgency. He must gain godlike power soon—or face certain doom.

Sensing his silence, the Evil Eye flattered, "If that divine power is of little use to you, why not grant it to me? As part of Gruumsh once, I can—"

"Boom!"

The cracked stone sealed again. The flames roared hotter. The ancient horror wailed, black hatred pouring from its eyes—then burning away.

More crimson chains wrapped around it, inside and out, binding it completely.

"Just to be safe, I’ll reinforce this seal every time I return. Can’t risk giving that thing a chance."

Staring at the now-sealed Dragonblood Mountain, Cassius summoned his [Empire Domain] and thought silently.

"Also... time to confront the Three Great Kingdoms head-on." The Red Dragon stood atop Dragonblood Peak, wings spread wide, eyes gleaming toward the south.

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