"So this is the Kingdom of Ross? We've finally arrived."
Outside the city of Tino, a glittering column of knights and mages came to a halt before the gates. They were the envoys of the Tongsley Alliance Empire, dispatched by Duke Leonhart himself.
According to custom, all foreign guests would first rest in Tino City before being escorted to Ross City, where Gavin Ward's coronation was to be held.
Their armor was exquisite—lightweight plate etched with luminous runes. The metal shimmered faintly, proof of the thin layer of defensive magic woven through it. Each breastplate bore the crest of the Golden Lion, and every face beneath a crested helm was set in practiced arrogance.
One of the great knights tilted his chin proudly, surveying the civilians trudging along the road. His gaze crawled up the ten-meter-high wall of Tino and twisted in disdain.
"Pathetic," he muttered. "Only peasants would build such low walls. I could vault that with one hand."
He ignored, quite deliberately, the rows of mounted machine guns and the twin-barreled anti-air turrets that lined the parapet.
In the Tongsley Empire, every city wall rose over twenty meters, built tall enough to block a charging knight's leap. But these men considered themselves near-divine—half-mages, half-nobles, basking in the prestige of their empire's Central Domain mages. To them, ordinary humans were dust.
---
Scorn and Smugness
"I don't understand," one knight scoffed. "Why would the Duke send gifts to this — what is it — upstart kingdom? They barely meet the requirement to call themselves an empire."
Another magician, pale and perfumed, held a lace handkerchief to his nose. "The air is thick with mortals. I can hardly breathe. The magic here is so thin it's nauseating."
"If the Duke wanted war, he should simply send troops," said a third, laughing. "One regiment would suffice. Look at their soldiers — thin armor, no magic wards, half of them don't even carry full plate. How did such creatures defeat the Orc Empire?"
"The orcs are lowly beasts," another said coldly. "Hardly worth comparing to us."
Their words dripped with condescension as they rode toward the gate, their banners fluttering in self-importance.
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Arrival of the Earth Orcs
"Look— orcs."
A knight pointed his chin forward. From the opposite road marched a company of earth orc soldiers—one hundred strong, armor gleaming bronze in the sun.
"Finally!" cried Waum, their leader, wiping sweat from his brow. "His Majesty is proclaiming himself Emperor at last! We must serve with honor—perhaps we'll be called to guard the ceremony itself!"
At his barked order, the orc heavy infantry bellowed as one: "Clear!" Their voices shook the air.
They had polished their armor until it gleamed like molten gold. For them, this wasn't just a ceremony—it was a pilgrimage.
One orc, tapping his shoulder, spoke proudly to his comrade. "See this scar? I took an arrow meant for a Ross soldier. He bandaged me himself."
Another nodded eagerly. "Those rifles the Rossians carry—those are what broke into Halma, stormed the palace, and freed us from the beast-lords!"
Their kingdom had once been enslaved by the Orc Empire until Gavin Ward's forces liberated them. Ever since, their king had sworn a blood oath of loyalty. Ross merchants visited their towns, spreading tales of civilization and prosperity, and in every tavern the name "Ross" was spoken with reverence.
Though Gavin had yet to wear the imperial crown, to the orcs he was already their Emperor.
"Serve well," Waum told his men, "and one day we'll be part of the Empire itself."
The orcs roared their agreement. After generations among savages, they yearned for order and civilization, and Ross—with its machines and shining cities—was the very image of it.
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Contempt and Collision
"Hmph." One of the Golden Lion knights spat into the dust. "Disgusting. Lowborn orcs marching beside humans. What filth."
"Enough," snapped their commander, his tone sharp. "We're here as envoys, not conquerors. Remember: we represent the Duke. If we embarrass him, we disgrace ourselves."
He flicked his reins. "Form up. Enter the city."
The column clanked forward, hooves ringing on the cobbles as they passed beneath the outer gate.
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The Second Gate
They emerged into the outer district, only to find — another wall.
At first they sneered. Then they saw what hung above the gate.
Their sneers froze.
"Dragon—" someone whispered. "A dragon head?!"
Suspended above the archway, filling it from end to end, was the severed head of a great dragon, its eyes closed as if in sleep. The scales were blackened bronze, the teeth polished, the horns curving like spears. The city sunlight played across its features, making it seem almost alive.
For a heartbeat the envoys simply stared. Even those who had seen dragons before felt a shiver crawl down their spines.
It was real. A true dragon—slain, preserved, and mounted as a trophy above a mortal city gate.
Inside Tino, it was a source of pride. After a Ross anti-air battery had brought down a dragon that attacked their port, its head had been cleaned, treated, and hung here as a symbol of defiance and victory. Every traveler who entered saw it first—proof that Tino feared no one.
But to the knights of Tongsley Empire, the sight was sacrilege.
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Fury of the Dragon Knights
"Bastards! Hateful mortals!" A dragon knight's voice cracked with rage. Though his mount was not present, his soul was still linked to dragons—and he could feel the echo of this one's death, a phantom cry burning in his mind.
Another knight pointed, his eyes wide. "The crest! Look at the crest on the neck! That's Eren's dragon!**"
The others sucked in their breath.
"Eren— the missing Knight of Eren!"
"They killed him here! His dragon was slain by these mortals!"
"How dare they desecrate it like a trophy!"
Rage ignited like oil. Several dragon knights drew their swords, their magic flaring along the edges, ready to tear the gate apart. To them, this was an unforgivable insult — as if the Rossians had hung a noble's corpse for entertainment.
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The Laughter
Before anyone could strike, a booming laugh rolled down the street.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! A dragon! Now that's something worth seeing! Truly, the soldiers of the Empire are fearless!"
The sound was rich, confident, and utterly unafraid. It echoed off the walls and made the knights turn instinctively. Every eye swung toward the voice — toward the man walking down from the battlement stairs, smiling beneath the glare of the sun.
(—To be continued in Chapter 103.)
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