Chapter 474: George's New Life
At the top of the high tower in the center of Black Wing City, the current matriarch of the Jezleid family—Sarayna Jezleid—stared intently at the white tide in the crystal ball, her expression extremely grave.
Around the round table sat more than a dozen drow women with varying expressions. They were the elders of the Jezleid family and the true rulers of the city.
Among drow elves, females always held dominance, while male drow were often nothing more than slaves to satisfy their desires.
"Courtship" was the duty of the women. They selected their mates as one would choose livestock, frequently changing partners.
However, at this moment, facing the imminent catastrophe, these drow elves had no time for indulgence.
"By Lolth, what are those things?"
Sarayna gritted her teeth and asked.
As she spoke, a faint black mist spread throughout the tower.
As a descendant of the Shadow Dragon, Sarayna not only possessed the pointed ears of a drow but also frequently had black scales appear on her face. She also had the ability to cast shadow magic.
"According to the scouts we sent out, they are undead skeletons. They should be from Dragonshadow City."
"Could it be Mortiferr? No, we confirmed long ago that he is truly dead."
"Wasn't Dragonshadow City destroyed by that red dragon?"
The drow elves murmured in discussion.
But Sarayna spoke in a heavy tone: "It's the Ember Empire—the empire said to be ruled by the 'World-Burning Dragon.'"
"That empire from the surface?"
"Damn it!"
"That—that red dragon…"
"These greedy surface dwellers! Why are they interfering in the affairs of the Darklands?!"
The drow elves erupted into chaos—some in terror, others in fury, and still others in deep resentment.
"Blue-legged dragon-serpent skeletons."
"High-tier liches."
Sarayna gazed at the images in the crystal ball, her slender fingers trembling.
"All of them are high-level undead creatures. Such an army could not have been assembled overnight. This can only mean one thing—"
Her voice trembled slightly toward the end.
"They've set their sights on the Jezleid family. No matter the reason—they want to annihilate us completely."
Silence fell over the tower.
"Dong, dong."
Suddenly, muffled thuds echoed from the city walls, accompanied by the grinding of bones and the anguished wails of drow soldiers.
"Boom!"
Dozens of massive dragon-serpent skeletons smashed through the walls and poured into the city, followed by tens of thousands of undead skeletons.
The dragon-serpent skeletons even coiled around the black tower, entangling it from the outside.
Standing atop the colossal skull of a dragon-serpent, the lich looked down at the panicked drow elves, his twisted smile reappearing.
"The hunt begins."
Ember Empire Capital, Isthalia.
"Dong—"
A loud, resonant bell chime rang through the city, waking the slumbering people and signaling the start of a new day.
In a grand mansion within the inner district, George slowly opened his eyes and let out a yawn.
He first washed up in front of the mirror, then dressed in his military uniform, and finally fastened the bronze medal that marked his status as an "Imperial Baron."
"Tsk, tsk, it's like a dream… a bona fide dragon-blooded noble."
George adjusted his collar and looked into the mirror at his golden, slit-pupiled eyes—symbols of "noble lineage"—nodding in satisfaction.
As a human who had received the emperor's blessing, he now possessed the essence of magic, bringing him closer to a true dragon than those mongrel drake-beasts.
However, unlike his more radical peers, George had refrained from exchanging for the more conspicuous half-dragon potions—he preferred his current self.
As was his habit, George walked to the living room, clasped his hands together before the red dragon statue on the most revered shrine, closed his eyes, and bowed deeply.
"Good morning, Your Majesty Cassius."
"May you grant me victory in battle and bestow me with glory."
George's prayer was heartfelt, spoken with sincere devotion.
Placing an emperor's statue in one's home and worshiping it daily had become a common practice within the empire—especially among the military.
Even the poorest reservists would commission the best local blacksmiths to craft a small brass statue and place it in their rented rooms.
"Revere His Majesty, and He shall grant you endless victories."
"Praise His Majesty, and He shall bestow upon you eternal glory."
The origin of these words was long forgotten, but many imperial officers and soldiers deeply believed in them.
After completing his routine, George placed three "Ginars" in front of the statue—said to be a currency personally designed by the emperor.
Only then did he drape on his imperial military coat, don his officer's cap, and open the front door.
As soon as he stepped outside, a cheerful greeting called from afar.
"Good morning, Baron George."
"Good morning, Baron Grace."
George turned his head—it was his neighbor, Baron Grace Paride, another human soldier who had earned his title in the Northern War.
Their similar backgrounds and shared race naturally made them close.
The two dragon-blooded nobles, both in military attire, exchanged greetings before walking together toward the station a hundred meters away.
"You're early."
"Heh, I heard Marshal Dolo has been cracking down on military discipline lately. Several lazy officers have already been dismissed. Better not take chances."
"Tsk, tsk, those guys in the military tribunal know nothing about real combat. All they do is throw their weight around internally."
Lining both sides of the road were similar-style townhouses, each with a small garden.
In Isthalia, where land was scarce and expensive, owning such a home was a great honor.
This was the inner district of Isthalia, where only officers, officials, and wealthy merchants could reside—many of whom were dragon-blooded nobles.
However, George was merely a minor baron, living on the outskirts of the inner district, separated from the outer district by just one wall.
"Toot—"
A steam locomotive slowly pulled into the station, releasing clouds of white smoke.
This train was different from ordinary ones—its sides were engraved with emblems of rifles and cannons, and its interior was far more luxurious.
It was an official military transport, designated exclusively for officers and soldiers, with no civilians allowed.
"Good morning, Baron."
"Thank you for your service to the empire."
The inspector at the door glanced at their medals, quickly nodded in respect, and bowed slightly to welcome them aboard.
"Woo woo—"
The train roared to life, its whistle releasing puffs of steam.
Outside the window, people bustled about—diligent workers, newspaper boys calling out headlines, and wandering Starfallers.
Various buildings lined the streets, and in the distance, massive factories loomed, their towering chimneys spewing thick black smoke.
George sat quietly by the window, watching the rapidly passing scenery, resting his chin on his hand in contemplation.
Too fast—everything had changed too fast, even faster than the scenery outside.
Just a few years ago, this place had been an untamed wilderness, rich with the essence of nature. Back then, George himself had been nothing but a lowly serf, treated like livestock.
But now, times had changed. A grand city had risen from the earth, and he had become a respected "man of status."
"It's like a dream…"
George couldn't help but sigh again.
Looking at the towering buildings, a wave of passion surged in his heart—along with an overwhelming impulse to dedicate everything to this great collective.
Perhaps this was what "The Isthalia Times" called the "Imperial Dream."
So George thought.