<
Chapter 554: Reactions from All Sides
News of the Empire's victory over the Abyssal Legion and the Ember Emperor's slaying of a demon lord had spread across the world, causing an uproar throughout the Feanso Continent.
The shock caused by this news far surpassed that of defeating the "Silver Wing" Oszedro.
No matter how powerful an ancient silver dragon was, he was still just the Grand Elder of the Melward Clan—a respected figure in the lawful good camp. But a demon lord was a being capable of threatening the entire Material Plane, and was slain single-handedly by that red dragon.
Did this not mean that the Ember Emperor had the power to destroy a kingdom with ease—or even threaten the entire Material Plane?
The magical image of that devastating battle in Anstica was now in the hands of many powerful factions, shocking and terrifying their leaders.
—Two dragons the size of mountains clashed fiercely, their brawl shaking the heavens, collapsing mountains, and fracturing the land.
In this Third Age, when gods and mortals were separate, never had such a grand battle been seen. Many questioned their own eyes.
Was it an illusion?
Or perhaps a projection from some ancient age?
But those who had personally witnessed the battle and engraved the apocalyptic scene into their minds gave a firm denial.
—This was a real battle, one that took place in the Third Age, in the Anzeta Wasteland.
In the depths of the Supreme Forest in eastern Feanso.
The air carried faint floral scents and the earthy fragrance of damp soil. The dense canopy shimmered with emerald luster, sunlight filtering through in dappled patches.
Hidden deep within the forest were pristine, elegant buildings embraced by ancient trees, adorned with graceful carvings—this was the Court of Serenia, the ancient capital of the Elven Kingdom.
On a windowsill deep in the royal court, a beautiful elven woman gazed into the distance.
Her long light-golden hair flowed over her shoulders. A gown woven of grass leaves could barely conceal her graceful form, while her eyes, clear as water, showed concern.
The dewdrop-studded golden crown atop her head, and the hint of violet in her pupils, revealed her identity.
—Catherine Moonchaser, the nominal ruler of Serenia, seventeenth queen since the Elven Kingdom's founding.
The elven queen looked up at the blue skies over the Supreme Forest and murmured.
"The Three Kingdoms are locked in war, abyssal demons move constantly, and now a powerful dragon rises rapidly in the north... What a mad age."
She lowered her eyes and gave a self-deprecating smile.
"But... I'm just a canary raised in a cage. What right do I have to concern myself with any of this?"
Decades ago, the Elder Council—backed by the Fadlan Empire—seized power from the young queen, taking full control of Serenia's politics.
They upheld the "ancient and noble elven traditions," isolating Serenia from the outside world.
They forbade any involvement in world affairs and barred the elven queen from studying the ancestral magical knowledge.
These elders, aligned with humans, even gifted beautiful elven women to Fadlan nobles as playthings.
—The renowned half-elf paladin "Blade of Twilight" Rhea was a bastard born of such a union.
"Your Majesty, do not belittle yourself. This situation is about to end, and the Elven Kingdom will soon return under your rule."
A calm, steady female voice came from behind Catherine, as a half-elf paladin clad in dark-gold light armor and holding a longsword stepped forward.
"Rhea, you've returned?"
Catherine quickly turned, her gentle face lighting up with joy she could not conceal.
Rhea took a few steps forward and half-knelt before her, speaking in a firm voice, "Yes, Your Majesty Catherine.
The Fadlan Empire has crumbled, and the Elders have lost their backers. Now is the time to overthrow their rotten rule."
"Stand up, Rhea."
Catherine quickly moved forward and helped the returning half-elf up.
She turned to look at the Sacred Tree of Moonlight, symbol of ultimate elven authority, now occupied by the Elder Council.
"You're right. Serenia must not continue to fall."
"Nor should it... be ruled by those scoundrels. I will restore the Elven Kingdom to the civilized, glorious nation I remember."
This "canary"—seen as easily controlled by the Elders—now bore an unprecedented determination in her gentle, watery eyes.
"As you will."
Rhea gripped her silver sword tightly, voice resolute.
"By the way, Rhea."
"What is it?"
Catherine drew a crystal orb from her robe.
Within the orb was a magical image of two mountain-sized dragons clashing—the battle between the "Ember Emperor" Cassius and the Abyssal Dragon.
Pointing at the red dragon in the image, Catherine asked softly, "Do you know this Ember Emperor?"
Rhea nodded slightly. "Of course, Your Majesty. I saw this image at the Harpers' headquarters. I must admit, that red dragon is unimaginably powerful—not someone you can fight head-on."
Catherine was curious.
"Could we cooperate with him?"
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, in my experience, working with a red dragon is like asking a tiger for its skin. Besides, dragons and elves have a bloody history. Do you know what's at the top of a red dragon's diet? Elves—especially elven maidens."
Rhea winked, startling Catherine, then chuckled. Their bond was more of friendship than ruler and retainer.
Yet the outside world—the mysterious north—held too many questions for the elven queen long trapped in court.
Catherine asked repeatedly about Feanso's regions, and Rhea patiently answered without irritation.
"By the way, didn't you travel through the Anzeta Wasteland? They say... you slew a red dragon. People call you a 'dragon-slaying hero.'"
Rhea shook her head and laughed wryly. "Your Majesty, if it had been this red dragon, I wouldn't be standing here now.
The Ember Emperor's rise was far too fast—so fast it's unnatural. Many draconic scholars suspect he's an ancestral dragon sealed underground for tens of thousands of years. Compared to the matron I met and—"
Suddenly, Rhea's voice caught. She turned again, staring intently at the red dragon in the orb.
The dragon's scales shimmered faintly with a metallic sheen—like gold mixed in—just like the odd young dragon she encountered years ago.
Rhea's heart sank. Sweat beaded on her brow and soaked her silver-white hair.
She recalled what she said upon releasing that wyrmling ten years ago: "Perhaps a favor granted to a future enemy."
Back then, she hoped the uniquely lawful-neutral red dragon would not bring disaster—otherwise, she vowed to eliminate it herself.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
So Rhea told herself.
What a joke—how could a wyrmling become such a colossal being, surpassing even ancient dragons and ruling Anzeta, in just ten years?
It was beyond a legend—more like pure fantasy! Even myths weren't so absurd!
Yet fate's echo resonated in the half-elf's mind, sending chills down her spine.
Rhea considered the red dragon's emergence, the uncanny resemblance to that young wyrmling.
And realized—this seemingly childish tale... might just be true.
"That explains everything."
Rhea frowned, murmuring words only she could hear.
So that's it. The scholars' confusion, the Harpers' questions—all answered.
That titanic red dragon wasn't a sealed ancestral dragon or a child of Tiamat—but one that had clearly grown!
He may very well be the strange young dragon she released ten years ago.
"What's wrong, Rhea? Did you remember something about that red dragon?"
"No, Your Majesty. I was merely... thinking about our plan to reclaim the Sacred Tree of Moonlight."
The half-elf stood with her sword, gazing afar, her eyes gleaming mysteriously, lost in thought.
Rhea's lips pressed together.
Some choices must be faced alone. She would bear the consequences herself.
The innocent and determined queen before her should not be dragged into the trouble she unleashed. After helping Catherine overthrow the Council, Rhea might have to leave Serenia to confront something... fated.
In the golden palace of the "City of Sunrise," Kingdom of Thrace—
Ministers on both sides of the dais exchanged looks, then lowered their heads in silence. The hall grew tense.
A deep, magnetic male voice came from the throne—modeled after "Sunshine City's" golden throne.
"Well then, let's hear your thoughts."
The man wore luxurious silver armor, his skin flawless. A faint white aura blurred his perfect features.
Most striking were the three pairs of broad white wings on his back—like an angel incarnate.
This was Wilhelm Aragon, third son of Aragon I, contender for the Fadlan throne, ruler of Thrace, and commander of the Angelic Divineborn Legion.
—Honored as the "Angel King."
At that moment, the angelic-looking king rested his head on one hand, his face dark as he stared at the magical projection in the hall.
In it, two hundred-meter dragons fought fiercely, shaking the world.
"What? Are you all scared stiff by him?"
"Is my mighty Kingdom of Thrace filled with cowards who fear facing a dragon?"
Seeing his ministers panic, Wilhelm's voice turned cold.
"..."
Even after his second question, no one dared look up.
The dragon was too terrifying—no mortal could face it.
Anyone who spoke rashly might be sent north... to face a hundred-meter red dragon.
Meanwhile, their proud angelic Divineborn troops were still battling titanic Divineborn of Kassander in the southern front.
Seeing no one respond, Wilhelm turned to a man cowering in a corner.
"Duke Luton—you escaped that red dragon. What insights do you have?"
Called forth, Duke Luton of the Northern Region trembled forward, then collapsed to his knees with a slap.
He sobbed, "Your Majesty, we can't fight him! That red dragon—he's a devil! Worse than a devil! He'll kill us all!"
The image had already shattered Luton's mind. He recalled that hellish day years ago, the blood-soaked guillotine—all recurring nightmares.
He also thought of all the exposés he'd written against the red dragon over the years.
His legs shook. His ornate pants were soaked, filling the throne room with a foul stench.
"Coward."
Wilhelm sneered. "Guards, Duke Luton's mental illness is flaring up. Remove him."
Two silver-armored guards dragged the trembling duke away.
As he left, he wailed, "Your Majesty, don't fight him!"
Already furious, Wilhelm looked even worse after this ridiculous scene. He called on another.
"Duke Sahisay, you've been to the Ember Empire. What's your opinion?"
The foreign affairs minister, robed and scepter-bearing, stepped out and bowed his head in thought.
After a long pause, Sahisay respectfully said, "Your Majesty, he's just a greedy, shortsighted red dragon—powerful, yes, but still a dragon.
He only cares about treasure. That's clear from the weapons the Ember Empire sells us.
For money, he'll do anything.
We need not fear him. In fact, he can aid us—if we feed his greed."
"Oh?"
Wilhelm stroked his chin, pondering Sahisay's words.
The ministers quickly agreed—better to bribe the terrifying dragon than fight him.
Seeing the king thoughtful, Sahisay pressed on: "Your Majesty, give me ten million gold coins, and I guarantee I can pacify the northern dragon."
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the crowd: "No, Your Majesty! That emperor is far from simple!"
All turned to look at the speaker.
—It was another diplomat from the Kingdom of Thrace, Sahisay's subordinate: Dayev.