Ember Dragon

The Ember Empire.

In the southeastern part of the Anzeta Wasteland, stood Hektor City, known as the "Ironforge Capital."

At 4 a.m., the conveyor belts clattered rhythmically. The massive machines were like beasts devouring steel, chewing the women workers’ breathing into a synchronized rhythm.

"Two hundred twenty-seven, two hundred twenty-eight..."

The female worker Irene counted as the two hundred thirtieth shell slid through her palm. Brass dust embedded in her nails gleamed faintly under the gas lamps.

When she put her cracked thumb into her mouth, she tasted the rusty mix of bullet lubricant and blood. She knew her fingers were bleeding again, but she still couldn’t stop.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Amid the roar of the steam hammers, the factory supervisor shouted hoarsely, "We must complete the quota assigned from above before daybreak! Remember, we’re contributing to the Empire!

The more bullets we make, the more land the front-line soldiers can take, and the more the Ember Empire can advance His Majesty’s great blueprint!"

"For the Empire!"

A few young workers raised their hands and shouted hoarsely, their tired eyes gleaming with irrepressible excitement.

The supervisor nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Stay clean. The factory is the battlefield. You’re fighting for the Empire!"

Irene wanted to be like those young workers, eager to prove herself and win the supervisor’s approval.

But Irene was too tired. The assembly line work consumed her entire mind. She could barely hear anything, only repeating her motions numbly—like most of the workers there.

Overhead, the steam pipes wove a web-like cage. Condensed water mixed with cutting fluid dripped down her nape, soaking her collar with moldy blue-black stains.

Every five seconds, a 7.92mm rifle round slid into a pine box at the end of the conveyor, its lid stamped with bold black paint: [Southbound Special Supply].

The so-called Southbound referred to the vast region south of the Anzeta Wasteland. Almost every imperial citizen knew it was a fertile land flowing with milk and honey, full of boundless promise.

Merchants could exploit it for endless trade and gold. Soldiers could shed blood and earn honors there, becoming high and mighty Dragonblood Nobles.

But sadly, Irene was just a poor woman. She lacked the capital to do business and the strength to fight on the battlefield.

Years ago, Irene’s husband died in the Abyss War. Though he earned no merits, she still received generous compensation. Even without a job, she could raise their two children.

But good days didn’t last. The war in North Aether escalated. Massive resources, food, and troops were diverted south. Prices skyrocketed across the Empire, and Irene’s life became harder to maintain.

To keep supporting her two children, Irene answered the Empire’s call and joined the factory, becoming a proud female worker, earning five silvers a month.

"Three hundred seven, three hundred eight..." Irene counted silently, eyes fixed on the bullets passing down the line.

She knew the Empire was about to start another war.

As a factory worker, she could feel it clearer than most. Emergency ammo orders were always a harbinger of war.

In Hektor City, Irene always got updates from the front via newspapers and broadcasts—how the Empire had taken North Aether, the Shield Dwarves’ Plateau, and the Ugo Prairie.

As an imperial citizen, she often stood tall with pride and joy, but sometimes, she couldn’t help but wonder—when would the war end?

Ever since His Majesty Cassius led the army south to seek "land under the sun," wars had become like the northern wind of Anzeta—endless and unceasing.

"Irene! What are you doing?! You let a deformed bullet into the crate!"

The overseer’s sharp voice startled her, dragging her from her thoughts. Cold sweat broke out as she quickly replied,

"I’m sorry, sir."

The overseer picked out the deformed round and said coldly, "You shouldn’t be apologizing to me—you owe the whole factory an apology. Don’t you know there’s a military quality inspection coming?

If I hadn’t caught this in time, Factory 13 would’ve been penalized. Everyone’s reputation would’ve suffered!"

"I’m sorry..."

Irene’s fingers trembled as she sorted the bullets, flustered and nervous.

The overseer glanced at her and finally softened. "Enough. Focus on your work. No more distractions. I’m docking one silver Narl from your pay—don’t let it happen again."

"Yes, sir."

Irene bowed her head, replying blankly.

One silver Narl might not sound like much, but it would take days of labor to earn back.

Next month... would be another month of tightening their belts.

"Damn conveyor jammed again!" Worker No. 37, Martha, screamed. Irene watched as unfinished bullet tips piled up at the belt’s seam, brass avalanching into Martha’s rubber shoes.

When the overseer’s boots thundered on the iron stairs, every woman’s neck tensed, sweat beading on their skin.

"Useless fools!"

Amid the scolding, newcomer Sophia sat beside her. Half a forbidden book peeked out from her pocket. She whispered, "The machines can’t detect duds. But starving workers can."

Irene stared at the bruises on Sophia’s wrists but said nothing.

"Dong—"

Suddenly, a loud bell rang in the distance, jarring the workers from their trance. The workshop buzzed with confusion.

"What’s going on?"

"It’s the Bronze Bell in the square. They only ring it for major events—like coronations or Christmas!"

"But there’s no holiday today?"

"Then it must be big news! Don’t tell me—"

Hearing her coworkers talk, Irene had a guess. Sad memories surfaced.

The last time the bell rang off-season was two years ago, when His Majesty Cassius appeared in a magical projection above the city and declared war on the Abyssal Demons.

Not long after that speech, her husband vanished—until she learned he had died in a demon’s maw.

Irene felt sorrow over her husband’s death, but also pride. He died fighting demons, a hero who gave his life for the Empire.

Just then, crisp bootsteps echoed. The factory supervisor strode in, clapping. "Alright, stop working!

There’s a major announcement today. Everyone gets half a day off. Gather in the city square!"

"Awesome!"

"After eleven straight days, we finally get a break!"

The workers were overjoyed. Irene was no exception. Since the emergency orders came, she hadn’t had a break in days.

Even stepping outside and seeing the sun through smoke felt surreal—like leaving another world.

She boarded the train for Hektor City proper. Over a year ago, she bought a home there with her husband’s compensation and lived with her children.

Between work and exhaustion, Irene hadn’t gone out with the kids in a long time. This break was a rare opportunity.

Hektor City.

By the fountain at City Hall Square, Irene clutched the silver cross medal left by her husband, holding her eldest son, Little Daniel’s hand tightly.

Little Daniel looked at the crowd and asked curiously, "Mom, why is everyone here?"

"Because the Empire is about to announce something big."

"What is it?"

Irene smiled gently. "I don’t know either. But I think... maybe a war’s about to start."

Little Daniel looked down, mumbling softly, "Then... Dad can’t come home again? You said he’s a great hero, always fighting for the Empire."

Irene sighed and stroked his head. "Yes. Your dad’s probably still preparing for battle. Let’s not disturb him."

Daniel choked up. "Then... when can we see him?"

"Maybe after the war ends. When Dad becomes a world-famous general, he’ll come home to see you."

"When will the war end?"

Irene shook her head, unable to meet his expectant gaze. Her eyes drifted to the horizon. "I don’t know, child..."

Maybe the Empire’s wars would never end—and neither would her husband return.

"Look!"

"Steam tanks!"

"Move! Make way! Don’t block the road!"

The crowd grew noisy, then parted like waves as angry city guards shouted.

Steam whistles blared. Twelve steam tanks rumbled across the square, their treads grinding against the stone, producing a deafening hum.

These iron behemoths stood over four meters tall and nearly ten meters long, like mobile mountains. Their polished alloy armor gleamed in the sun.

"These are the heavy tanks made right here in Hektor!"

"Haha! Only the Ironforge Capital could build such colossal war beasts!"

The crowd marveled, filled with pride and awe at their might.

Meanwhile, two kilometers away in the slums, an eight-year-old boy named Thomas peered through his father’s old monocular from behind a window with a Misha icon.

"So cool! I want to be a tank soldier someday!"

"Let me see!"

"Hmph! You twig can’t be a soldier—I’m going to be a Wyvern Rider!"

The slum kids squabbled over the monocular, eager to see the parade.

"Look!"

"What’s that?!"

"Imperial Wyvern Riders! Wait—there’s something even bigger!"

The sky roared as it split open. Armored wyverns beat their wings, soaring high.

Then, an even more jaw-dropping sight appeared: massive creatures floated above the clouds like whales, casting vast shadows below.

Their undersides bristled with gun barrels. Above, enormous balloons bore the Empire’s flaming eye and vertical pupil insignia.

"By Cassius—those giants can fly?!"

"Airships! Those are Imperial airships! I saw them in the military pamphlets!"

Irene, too, was awestruck by the spectacle. She couldn’t help imagining the horror these behemoths would unleash with their bombs and artillery.

Little Daniel clung to her, trembling under the might of these engines of war.

Irene sensed his fear and gently reassured him, "Don’t worry, child. These are our Ember Empire’s weapons. They’re here to protect us. They’re Dad’s comrades."

Little Daniel pointed skyward and asked timidly, "Mom, you said you work in a munitions factory. Did you make those things?"

Irene smiled and shook her head. "Of course not. Everyone has a different job. Mommy makes bullets."

"I see." Daniel thought for a bit, then looked skyward again. "When I grow up, I want to be a glorious soldier like Dad—a hero like the ones in the papers!"

Irene’s smile froze. Remembering her husband’s death, she gently cautioned, "Child, that’s too dangerous. And you have to pass strict exams. Not everyone can be a soldier."

"Oh." Daniel pondered, then clapped his hands. "Then I’ll be like you! I’ll make amazing weapons so Dad can fight better at the front!"

"..."

Irene stood stunned by her child’s innocent smile, her emotions tangled.

She knew well what she built—things that kill, that blow heads apart in an instant, that churn brains to mush.

Her job wasn’t glorious. It meant endless repetitive work in a sunless factory, until she collapsed from exhaustion, with barely ten hours of rest per day.

Would her child walk the same path?

"Clang—"

At the square’s center, five hundred cadets unsheathed their swords in unison. General Hohenzollern, a half-dragon, struck the reviewing stand with his cane.

"Soldiers! Citizens of Hektor! Today, we witness a sacred and glorious moment—His Supreme Majesty Cassius will personally deliver a speech!"

"Long live the Empire!"

"Long live His Majesty Cassius!"

The crowd’s cheers roared skyward. In such fervor, anyone not shouting felt out of place. Irene joined in.

Even Little Daniel was caught up in the moment, pumping his tiny fists and chanting in a childish voice.

"Long live His Majesty Cassius—"

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