Ashen Dragon

Chapter 486 -406 Empire Age (Part 2)

Chapter 486 -406 Empire Age (Part 2)

“The wings are broader than the sky; the back is mightier than the earth; the tail is longer than the mountains…”

“All people worship together, the great Red Dragon from the heavens!”

“Flame is Your Majesty’s robe, the sky is Your Majesty’s curtain. The dark storm and rain follow Your Majesty’s path. The earth suspends in space, filled with treasures and wonders…”

“How can we repay such grace? Your Majesty makes the mountain springs flow down and level the plains, and the timely rains nourish all places…”

The bard sat on a wooden bench, deftly plucking the lute. He opened his mouth slightly, and the melodious music and singing reverberated.

People surrounded the bard, their hands clasped together, eyes closed, singing with devout expressions.

—They sang the highly circulated “Cassius’s Hymn” within the empire, said to be composed by a fervent Dragonborn bard, the melody extraordinarily sacred.

And the once-popular “Song of Embers” had now become a banned song, even forbidden to be mentioned by the empire.

This place was the busiest, most thriving area of Isdalia—Emperor’s Square.

Centered around a vast plaza paved with cobblestones, the most iconic landmarks of Isdalia surrounded it—the Grand Colosseum, the Imperial Senate Hall, the Imperial Mansion…

All buildings around the square stood with imposing grandeur.

Fountains, gilded iron gates, and various splendid structures.

And in the center of the square, an enormous Red Dragon statue towered solemnly. Its pale golden eyes gazed deeply and majestically, as if surveying everything around it.

A few gilded fountains spouted clear water, producing a crisp splashing sound, melding with the melodious music.

In this Emperor’s Square, a bustling throng of diverse people gathered: Starfallen searching for quests, merchants hawking their goods, bards performing in the streets, and drunken citizens.

The choir was merely one corner of this bustling square; their singing could not even drown out the hawking of merchants—nor the clamor of drunkards in the taverns.

“Drink the strongest wine! Be the strongest man!”

“The best rye bread!”

A tall, drunken man raised his cup, “Red Scale Conquerors are the empire’s mightiest legion! Once mounted on the wyverns, no one can defeat them! I will go to the guardhouse to participate in the selection!”

“Nonsense!”

Another drunkard slumped over the wooden table, mumbling indistinctly:

“The Dragon, Dragon Pact Holy Knights are the strongest! Lord Anthony of the Dragon Oath Sanctuary once defeated three opponents alone, and he defeated the Lion Knight of the Boske House!”

“Bang!”

Another person slapped the table and stood up, looking disdainfully at the two drunkards, splashing wine on their faces.

“Shut the hell up, both of you!”

“With your pathetic state, you think you can become His Majesty’s kin? You probably won’t even pass the new recruit selection!”

This was the empire’s atmosphere.

Confident, admiring strength, full of high talk, and with utmost reverence for His Majesty.

Unlike the former Northern Kingdom’s despairing hierarchy and lifeless social ambiance, the empire provided a pathway for upward mobility, igniting the vitality of its populace.

Almost every imperial citizen had some dreams of becoming “important figures.”

A tall man in a gray cloak sat in the corner, laying aside the great sword behind him, sipping a bit of wine.

“Has Anzeta really turned out like this?”

“Truly…incredible.”

The man looked quite young, only in his twenties, but his eyes showed a weariness that did not match his age. Even the hood could not hide his golden hair and light purple eyes.

Golden hair and purple eyes, once a sign of noble bloodline in the North, representing the offspring of the “Northern Lion” Boske Family.

But now, with the times changed, this had become a symbol of sin and disgrace, even making people report them as Northern remnants.

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Yes, he was Andrei Boske, the second son of Duke Leo, the first noble to voluntarily betray the North.

After the North was unified, Andrei did not stay in the army but chose to become an ordinary adventurer, taking on tasks to make a living.

Andrei turned his head and looked at the increasingly fierce quarrel among the drunkards.

“What did you say?”

“I said—you lot, think you deserve to be His Majesty’s kin, bah!”

“Bastard, you’re no better than those cowardly Northern Nobles!”

The verbal conflict quickly escalated into physical skirmishes, becoming more intense under the influence of alcohol—the drunkards were about to start a fight.

“No fighting in the city!”

But before they could do anything, a sheriff riding a wyvern descended from the sky, happily accepting this easy contribution.

The bipedal wyvern clawing one person with its left claw and two with its right, flying off to the nearby guardhouse.

The serpentfolk attendant in the tavern skillfully cleaned up the overturned tables, chairs, and bottles, seemingly unsurprised by it all.

Andrei was quite amazed by their efficiency, thinking about how it would have been in the former North…

A hoarse male voice rang out, interrupting his thoughts.

“Little Andrei, long time no see.”

Andrei looked up, seeing the familiar, wrinkled face, immediately stood up with pleasant surprise to greet him.

“You are—Mr. Guges?”

The old man smoothed his tattered long robe, laughing heartily, “Hahaha, little Andrei, the North has long since perished. We need not be so formal.”