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Chapter 557: Investiture
"The ceremony begins—"
As Cassius's voice fell, over a hundred half-red dragon heralds in scarlet-gold ceremonial robes, each holding a beast-hide scroll, appeared at the foot of the altar.
Gazing at the scrolls filled with names, the crowded imperial citizens held their breath, closed their eyes, and whispered prayers.
Whether human, tiefling, ogre, or hobgoblin, all were particularly tense. Expectation flickered in every colored pupil, and hearts of all sizes pounded.
"Cassius above."
"Please let my name be there."
"Great Emperor, I beg of you, grant me the honor of becoming dragon-blooded nobility."
"I personally killed twenty-one demons. The officials in the Ministry of Surveillance surely saw my efforts. At the very least, I deserve First-Class Citizenship..."
"That's nothing. I slew seventy-five! If a guy like you can be made a baron, then I should be an earl!"
"Hmph, just another guy padding his count with lesser demons."
Today, the Empire's population had reached nearly ten million. After multiple reforms, its system had become tightly structured, no longer the crude monster-tribe coalition it once was.
The early-stage development benefits had long passed. Gone were the days when catching a spy or inventing something minor could earn a title. Every position now required fierce competition.
Even the lowest title of Dragonblood Baron was eyed hungrily by over a hundred thousand war-decorated imperial citizens.
The Empire always valued capability first—almost to an exaggerated degree. Nearly every position was merit-based, and rewards were strictly distributed according to wartime contributions.
Under this system, becoming dragon-blooded nobility without risking life and limb for the Empire was nearly impossible.
Especially after the brutal Abyss War, every person who made the list had likely staked their life and dreams on it.
Only the most loyal, courageous, and powerful citizens were worthy of standing atop Istaria's Grand Altar, becoming existences envied by millions.
Suddenly, the grand altar slowly rotated, and one by one, new seats emerged from the white marble.
"Boom—"
"That is..."
"Look! The altar is changing!"
"It's dukes! The number of ducal seats increased! No—all ranks have increased!"
At the top of the majestic altar, the ducal seats had increased from three to nine—meaning six new dukes would be born from this honors ceremony.
Instantly, hundreds of thousands of eyes locked on the nine ornate seats carved with dragon reliefs. Many swallowed hard, eyes burning with endless desire.
They knew they had no chance of sitting there, but those were imperial dukes!
Within the Ember Empire, dukes were the most exalted beings beneath the Emperor, each wielding power comparable to dragons, enjoying longevity, and commanding immense influence.
Take the current three dukes for example: each could shape the fate of millions and influence the entire Empire's landscape.
Langpu managed the entire administrative system, Dolo commanded the vast military, and Medrolash oversaw special forces like the Nocturne and the Imperial Guard.
Duke Dolo once said, a soldier who doesn't wish to be a general isn't a good soldier. Such power and status were irresistibly desirable.
The lead half-dragon herald stepped forward again. He wore a formal crown resembling dragon horns—a symbol of his authority to declare the Emperor's rewards.
"Duke Langpu."
"Duke Dolo."
"Duke Medrolash."
"These three oversaw logistics, military, and intelligence respectively during the Abyss War and were chief strategists in the war's victory. They are hereby promoted to Grand Dukes."
"As expected."
"So enviable."
"Yes, they were the Emperor's first followers, founding elders—not like us northerners."
"No wonder they are the Empire's three pillars. Even with new dukes added, their status remains highest."
"Sigh, if only I'd joined the Ember Nest earlier, maybe there'd be four Grand Dukes now."
Under the envious, admiring, and reverent gazes of the crowd, the three dukes stepped forward and half-knelt before the Red Dragon, heads bowed.
"Thank you for the grace, Your Majesty."
Then, they calmly took their places on the altar's highest tier.
"If I could stand in that seat one day, even death would be worth it!"
"Yes, that is supreme glory."
Langpu looked down at the eager, packed crowd and listened to the noisy bustle. He suddenly felt emotional, as if lifetimes had passed.
"Unbelievable. The Empire has become like this without me realizing it."
Though long used to such scenes, he couldn't help but remember the crude fortress of decades ago, once just a primitive monster nest.
Over the years, his status had changed dramatically. Many former Ember Nest comrades had died in the ceaseless wars or fallen far behind.
Take that chimera, for instance. It still lived like a beast in a Storm Highlands cave, though it now had over a dozen mates, birthing little chimeras for the Empire.
Perhaps, for that beast, this too was a kind of happiness?
As for Gold-Fang, the former kobold chieftain, he had died a few days ago on the battlefield against demons. Surrounded in midair by hundreds of cunning Vroll demons, he was torn to shreds.
Now, after a bloody power struggle, the kobold army was led by Gold-Fang's thirty-third child, Silver-Fang, who had inherited dragon blood.
But to Prime Minister Langpu, this wasn't even worth his attention anymore. In his eyes, the kobold race held low priority.
The Empire's growth was simply too fast, and the Ember Emperor—his master—had grown even more terrifying.
Langpu had watched Cassius rise from a five-to-six-meter young dragon to a being whose wings blotted out the sky and even awed primordial dragons.
Though now left far behind, the ogre mage was content simply to aid His Majesty where he could.
Beside Langpu, the always-quiet Medrolash suddenly let out a light laugh. The tiefling looked at the multitudes below the altar and said with casual ease:
"Ambition, desire, craving..."
"Such a vibrant and dynamic scene. This is the Ember Empire, is it not?"
Dolo turned his head too, baring jagged fangs in a ferocious grin and exhaling streams of scorching white smoke.
"Only such a nation could help His Majesty fulfill the grand conquest of the world. Feanso is within reach."
Though they often clashed, the three dukes kept surface-level peace on this thrilling day.
Even Langpu's ugly face bore a smile as he murmured, "I wonder who the new dukes will be."
As the Empire's uppermost elite, Langpu already knew the likely names—he had even drafted some of the proclamations himself.
He just didn't know what revisions His Majesty would make.
The second half-red dragon herald stepped forward with a scroll and, to the stirring music of the satyr band, read aloud.
"Marquis Alger, leader of the Crimson Scaled Conquerors and the imperial dragonflight, fought valiantly and shattered the Abyssal Dragonkin Legion. His merits are great..."
"He is hereby promoted to Duke."
"As expected—Marquis Alger! He leads the Crimson Scaled Conquerors and is a founding elder from the Ember Nest days!"
"But I heard he used to be that old vampire's confidant."
"So what? Count Freed once served Leo, who became a demon avatar. The Empire only values strength, not origins."
"Screech—"
With a piercing eagle cry, Alger wielded the Ever-Burning Greatsword and circled the air atop a draconic giant eagle before descending to kneel before the Red Dragon.
"Thank you for the grace, Your Majesty."
The herald's voice continued, clear amid the noisy venue.
This wasn't merely magic but the work of the Technology Ministry's magical amplifiers, now widely used across the Empire for locomotive announcements, square broadcasts, and bounty missions.
"Count Anthony, leader of the Dragon-Oath Paladins, held back demon onslaughts and halted a Balor Flame Demon. With heroic feats...
He is hereby promoted to Duke."
The crowd erupted. This young Dragon-Oath Paladin had leapt multiple ranks—from Count to Duke!
He had done the same before, rising from commoner to Count. After all, Dragon-Oath Paladins were the Emperor's scales and claws, his loyal longswords.
"Great Red Dragon! This new Duke is only twenty-one! That's so young!"
"Haven't you read the "Empire Daily"? Anthony was rescued by the imperial army from a northern noble's basement. In just a few years, he became a noble Duke!"
"That's nothing strange. Lord Anthony is the leader of the Dragon-Oath Sanctuary, with hundreds of paladins under his command."
"Cassius above! If only my child could be that promising. I'll have him join the sanctuary trials when we return!"
Anthony's rise was planned by Cassius himself. The Empire had long shaped him into the model of commoners rising to nobility—a beacon for the imperial dream.
His promotion conveyed a message: risk your life for the Empire, and even a former noble squire can become a high Duke.
Why not you?
The answer, obviously, was no.
In the fortress-like phalanx of Dragon-Oath Paladins, two rows parted to reveal a path.
Anthony, sword and shield in hand, strode out down the middle, flanked by paladins, and knelt at the altar's foot.
Ignoring the gossip, his eyes were firm. His heavy armor was bloodied and scarred—badges of battlefield glory.
Cassius gave a look. Langpu, standing atop the altar, instantly understood and raised his staff.
An invisible field lifted Anthony effortlessly. In moments, he ascended nearly a hundred meters to the top of Istaria's Grand Altar.
"Dragonlord."
Anthony stepped forward, knelt before the Red Dragon, and bowed low, eyes full of devotion.
Only after receiving Cassius's personal affirmation did he rise and silently take his seat—though his sweaty brow, pounding heart, and trembling legs betrayed his excitement and nerves.
Despite many trials, managing the Dragon-Oath Sanctuary with Freed's help, and firsthand battle experience, Anthony was still a young man.
In such a setting, his excitement and nervousness were understandable.
"Misha, who slew several high-ranking demons attempting to cause city chaos and defeated a Balor Flame Demon on the battlefield...
Is to be conferred the title of Duke."
The crowd erupted even louder. The venue was suddenly in uproar.
"She—she's directly made a Duke!"
"Cassius above!"
"I've heard of her. That's the Dragonflame Girl!"
This was a Dragonblood Duke! The highest status a mortal could attain within the Ember Empire—and it had been granted just like that!
Though many had read about the "Dragonflame Girl" in the Empire Daily's war section, she was still just a rumor.
Misha's rise was a recent one. Compared to legendary heroes, she was far behind.
But soldiers soon stepped forward, visibly moved and awed.
"You wouldn't understand. I witnessed Lady Misha's power with my own eyes!"
"Without her, our whole legion would've been wiped out by that Balor! She's a true Duke of the Empire!"
"Fsssh—"
With a burst of searing wind and fiery sparks, the air ripped open with a blazing rift.
A tall girl stepped out from the spatial tear.
Misha wore a dragon-emblazoned ornate robe. Her red hair flew behind her, surrounded by dazzling dragonfire and intangible pressure.
She glanced around, golden eyes shimmering with pride befitting the Emperor's kin.
"That's her? The Dragonflame Girl..."
"No doubt about it. She truly is His Majesty's kin."
Faced with her presence, skeptics fell silent and shut their mouths.
With a graceful leap, dragon wings unfolded behind Misha. With a flap, a gale lifted her a hundred meters to the altar.
"Master."
Folding her wings, she knelt and spoke softly.