Chapter 638: Ingrid's Return
"Miss Ingrid, you've finally arrived. I've been waiting. I am Hans Hammond, a Count of the Empire and the official overseeing this operation."
The man extended a hand in a gesture of welcome, his half-dragon, half-human face curving into a slightly menacing smile. "Welcome to—no, more accurately, welcome back to Dragonhead City."
"Thank you, Count Hans."
Ingrid nodded. She stood at the city gate, gazing at the city that felt both familiar and strange, a sense of confusion rising within her.
The city had changed. The sun emblem on the gate had been replaced by the Empire's red dragon insignia, and a snarling dragon's head jutted from the wall.
The grand Temple of Ammanata had been converted into the Dragon-Oath Sanctuary. The lighthouse with its sun disk had become a Wyvern Spire. Statues of the Church's saints had been destroyed—replaced by effigies of the Ember Emperor, Cassius.
Above the streets, officers on bipedal wyverns patrolled, and every few dozen meters, tiefling guards with rifles stood watch. Strangely dressed Starfallers wandered about.
Yet remnants of the past remained: people still favored bright yellows, reds, and oranges in their clothing, sun emblems of Ammanata remained visible, and the distinct "Faderlan-style" buildings still lined the roads.
All of it gave Ingrid a bittersweet familiarity. She couldn't help but whisper the now-banned name.
"Collins City. I'm finally home." For some reason, tears shimmered in her eyes.
This was Dragonhead City—once known as Collins City under the Holy Faderlan Empire. The capital of North Aether, Ingrid's birthplace, and her childhood home.
Years ago, Ingrid had been the Honorary Bishop of the Collins Diocese, often leading priests and followers in summer solstice rites under the holy light of the sun.
Now, at last, she had returned to the home she had longed for.
But time had passed, the world had changed. The once-glorious Holy Faderlan Empire was gone. Ingrid was now a prisoner of the Ember Empire, having served the Emperor in the distant, desolate north for years.
She remembered what Cassius once told her years ago: "Soon, you'll return home—openly, not as a prisoner, but as a bishop of the Kingdom's church."
The Ember Kingdom had since become an Empire. The Emperor had kept his promise—albeit through conquest.
Looking down at her robe embroidered with the Empire's insignia, Ingrid felt a growing complexity in her heart.
She had returned to her beloved home—but as a traitor to the Ammanata Church, to the people who once trusted her, and to her past self.
Now, she couldn't even face the people of Aether, fearing they might recognize her and shout: "Shameful traitor," "Claw of the Evil Dragon," or "Despicable apostate."
"Miss Ingrid? Are you alright?" Hans asked with concern.
Ingrid snapped out of her thoughts and forced a smile. "Ah, I'm fine. It's just been so long. The memories hit me."
Hans said, "Good to hear. The Empire has only just taken North Aether. The city is in turmoil. Forces from all across Feianso are watching. Just last month, there were twelve riots. You've arrived at the perfect time."
As he spoke, several tiefling guards approached, taking up formation nearby. Hans continued, "Miss Ingrid, please come with me."
"Alright." Ingrid brushed her golden hair behind her ear, pulled up her hood, and asked with some confusion, "Count Hans, why did you summon me here? Surely, you know I... probably can't offer much help."
With Ammanata fallen into slumber and Ingrid having submitted to the Ember Empire, her conscience tormented her. Her faith had weakened.
She was no longer the powerful legendary Light Priest she once was. Her divine power had all but vanished. Priests required years of faithful prayer to their god or creed. Ingrid no longer had that connection.
Though still holding the rank of a legendary priest and possessing great perception, she could now only force out low- to mid-tier divine spells.
But Hans shook his head and smiled. "Miss Ingrid, I think you misunderstand. The Empire doesn't need your power. It needs you."
"Me?"
Surprise flickered in Ingrid's beautiful eyes. Then her face darkened as realization dawned.
Of course. She had once been the Honorary Bishop of Collins City—a revered figure. The Empire intended to use her name to trample people's faith beneath its heel.
As a citizen in service to the Emperor, she couldn't refuse. She had no right to resist.
Hans either didn't notice Ingrid's expression—or didn't care. He continued leading the way, chatting idly.
Locals shrank back at the sight of Hans and his tiefling escort, terrified of being mistaken for rebels and gunned down on the spot.
Suddenly, Hans turned and asked, "By the way, Miss Ingrid—do you know which faction is the most restless in the city?"
A sense of unease rose in Ingrid's heart, but she only shook her head.
"The Dawnlight Holy Crusade."
Hans pulled a fresh parchment scroll from his coat.
His voice turned cold. "They're the largest rebel force in Dragonhead. Since the Empire's takeover, they've launched eleven uprisings, severely disrupting order and stability.
Our intel shows they aim to overthrow the Empire and restore divine rule. They're dangerously persuasive, and many of their leaders are former Ammanata clergy.
Oh—and we've gathered a list. We've identified the wretches." He unrolled the scroll, revealing rows upon rows of names.
"This is..."
Ingrid's heart sank. Even a brief glance revealed many familiar names.
Hans grinned again—but to Ingrid, it was the grin of a devil. "Miss Ingrid, I loathe rebellion. I was originally going to have them all..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He merely made a throat-slitting gesture.
Ingrid's hair stood on end. She hurriedly raised her hand. "No—Count Hans, please don't—"
Hans patted her shoulder, gently "reassuring" her: "Relax. I brought you here so that won't happen. These clergy still hold sway over the people. If we kill them all, it'll tarnish the Empire's name—and His Majesty Cassius's image."
He pushed the list into Ingrid's hands. "Miss Ingrid, I'm giving you a chance to save them. How many you save... depends on you."
Ingrid stood silent for a long time. Her face showed hesitation, inner conflict, and shame. Finally, she nodded blankly, tears welling in her eyes. "Alright."
By now, they had reached the Ritual Square—once the site of Ingrid's sermons and ceremonies. Now it was a stage for Empire officials to deliver speeches and spread propaganda.
The grand sun emblem on the ground was gone, replaced by the vertical-eye insignia of the Empire. Under guard coercion, Aether citizens were herded into the square, forming a noisy, packed crowd.
Hans clapped with a smile and encouraged her, "Go, Miss Ingrid. Show them who you are. Soften the rebels hidden among them."
Ingrid lowered her head and wrapped herself tighter in her robe, her body trembling.
But under Hans's mildly threatening gaze, she stepped slowly onto the stage—watched by tens of thousands.
"Who is that?"
"Can't see her face. Why is she on stage?"
After a moment of hesitation, Ingrid pulled back her hood, revealing a stunning, radiant face. Her golden hair gleamed in the sun, like it was wrapped in divine light.
"By Ammanata! It's Bishop Ingrid! I thought she died!"
"Gods, she's alive!"
"She healed me once!"
The crowd erupted. She was once their bishop—and thought dead. Ingrid's return caused an uproar.
"Sometimes, cowardice... is its own sin."
Hans watched from afar, a subtle smile playing on his lips. His face slowly morphed—into the "Merciful Lord" visage of the Ember Emperor.
In a dark, damp basement of a house in Collins City, candlelight flickered. On the walls flashed the holy symbol of Ammanata.
Several robed figures whispered around a round table, voices low, plotting.
"Comrades, I suspect we have a traitor among us."
The speaker was a man in his fifties—Yarn Strauss, former priest of Ammanata and now leader of the Dawnlight Holy Crusade.
"Otherwise the dragon's dogs wouldn't have found out so quickly. That was our most secret plan. I even suspect... the traitor is one of us." Yarn tapped the table rhythmically, his sharp eyes sweeping the group.
"Do we proceed with the next move?" another man asked anxiously.
Yarn sighed. "Let's hold off. We lost too many in the last failure. Their deaths must not be in vain."
"But those damn dragon lackeys... they're making speeches in the Ritual Square! That was Bishop Ingrid's sacred ground—it's unforgivable!" said the same man.
He appeared to be in his thirties, unkempt with scruffy beard and hair—but his face burned with fury.
His name was Fell Burres—a former Ammanata cleric and now key member of the Crusade.
Fell despised the Ember Empire and had plotted many assassinations. He would gladly feast on dragon flesh.
He once revered Bishop Ingrid Garses—rumored to have died by the red dragon's claws.
Fell had been a blind boy. Ingrid entered his world like sunlight, healing his eyes and bringing light to his life.
He remembered her as gentle and radiant—leading them in hymns beneath the sun.
To him, she had shone like a goddess.
Even from afar, simply watching her brought him joy. He wished he could stay in that moment forever.
He didn't just believe in Ammanata—he believed in her.
Fell had thought life would go on that way—serving, singing, worshipping beside Ingrid.
But joy was fleeting. Ingrid had gone on a pilgrimage—only to die, it was said, by the Ember Emperor's claws. The memory shattered.
Now the red dragon haunted Collins City. The temple of his memories lay in ruins. Hatred filled Fell's heart.
Yarn sighed again. "Fell, don't be rash. I know you want revenge, but your actions have been reckless. You risk exposing us."
Another woman added, "They're in the light, we're in the shadows. We'll have our chance."
None suspected Fell of treason—his hatred was too deep. He always led from the front, fearless.
Silently, Fell stood. His voice was firm. "You needn't say more. My mind's made up.
I'll kill that dragon's lackey on stage before the people—to shame the dragon and prove the Crusade's courage."
"Sigh..."
Yarn said no more.
He knew—Fell would soon give his life in a final act of vengeance for the light he once worshipped.
It would be a suicide mission.