Chapter 476: The Imperial Era (Part II)
"The wings are wider than the sky; the back is mightier than the earth; the tail is longer than the mountains."
"All the people worship together, the great red dragon above the heavens!"
"Flames are His Majesty's robe, the heavens His Majesty's canopy. Dim storms and rains follow His Majesty's path, the earth hangs suspended in space, filled with treasures and wonders."
"How can such grace be repaid? His Majesty lets the mountain springs flow down the plains, and the timely rains and dew moisten every place."
The bard sat on a wooden bench, skillfully plucking at his lute. He opened his mouth softly, and the melodious music and singing echoed around.
People gathered around the bard, hands clasped, eyes closed, singing with devout expressions.
—They were singing the widely known "Cassius Hymn," said to have been composed by a fervent draconic bard, with a particularly sacred melody.
The once-famous "Song of Embers" had now become a forbidden tune, even prohibited from mention by the imperial authorities.
This was the busiest and most bustling area of Isthalia—Emperor's Plaza.
At its center was a huge slate-paved plaza, surrounded by some of Isthalia's most iconic landmarks—the Grand Arena, the Imperial Assembly Hall, and the Imperial Tower.
All the buildings surrounding the plaza exuded an imposing grandeur.
Fountains, gilded wrought-iron gates, and a variety of magnificent structures.
In the center of the plaza stood a towering red dragon statue, its pale golden eyes deep and majestic, seemingly surveying and inspecting everything around.
Several gilded fountains sprayed crystal-clear water, producing a crisp splashing sound that blended with the melodious music.
On this Emperor's Plaza, a bustling crowd of all sorts gathered: starlight seekers searching for quests, peddlers hawking their goods, street-performing bards, and drunken citizens.
The choir was just a small corner of this bustling plaza, their singing couldn't even drown out the hawkers' cries—nor the noise of drunkards in the taverns.
"Drink the strongest wine! Be the strongest man!"
"The best black rye bread!"
A tall, drunken man raised his glass: "The Scarlet Scale Conquerors are the empire's mightiest legion! Once they mount their wyverns, none can defeat them! I too shall join the garrison for selection!"
"You're full of crap!"
Another drunkard lay sprawled over a wooden table, mumbling indistinctly:
"Dragons, Dragonbound Paladins are the strongest! Lord Anthony of the Dragon Oath Sanctum once defeated the Bosk family's Lion Knight one against three!"
"Bang!"
Another man slammed the table and stood up, glaring disdainfully at the two drunkards, splashing his drink on their faces.
"Shut the hell up, all of you!"
"With the sorry state you're in, you think you can become His Majesty's close kin? You probably can't even pass the new recruit selection!"
Such was the empire's culture.
Confident, martial, boastful, and deeply reverent of His Majesty.
Unlike the despairing hierarchical order and stagnant societal atmosphere of the former Northern Kingdom, the empire provided upward mobility and thus invigorated the populace.
Almost every citizen of the empire held some aspiration of becoming a "big shot."
A tall man in a gray robe sat in a corner, placing the greatsword on his back beside him and sipping a glass of wine.
"It's unbelievable that Anzeta has turned into this."
"Truly…incredible."
Though he appeared to be in his twenties, the man's eyes revealed a weariness that belied his age. Even the hood couldn't conceal his golden hair and light purple eyes.
Golden hair and purple eyes had once been a mark of noble lineage in the Northern Kingdom, symbolizing the descendants of the "Northern Lion" Bosk family.
But now, this trait had become a symbol of sin and disgrace, and could even lead to being reported as remnants of the North.
Yes, he was André Bosk, the second son of Grand Duke Leo and the first nobleman to voluntarily betray the Northern Kingdom.
After the Northern Unification War, André didn't remain in the army. Instead, he chose to become an ordinary adventurer, taking on tasks to make a living.
André turned his head to the increasingly heated argument among the drunkards.
"What did you say?"
"I said—people like you, becoming His Majesty's close kin? Bah!"
"You bastard! You're even worse than those Northern nobles who wet themselves!"
The verbal clash quickly escalated into a physical altercation, fueled by alcohol—it looked like a fight was about to break out.
"No fighting in the city!"
But before they could throw a punch, a constable riding a wyvern descended from the sky, eagerly claiming the easy arrests.
The wyvern grabbed one man with its left claw and two more with its right, flying them off to the nearby security station.
The serpent-like tavern staff skillfully cleaned up the overturned tables and bottles, showing no surprise at the scene.
André was quite impressed by this efficiency. If it were in the old Northern Kingdom…
A hoarse male voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Little André, long time no see."
André looked up and saw a familiar, wrinkled face. He stood up in pleasant surprise.
"You're…Mr. Guggs?"
The old man smoothed out his tattered robes and laughed heartily: "Hahaha, little André, the Northern Kingdom is long gone. We don't need all that formality anymore."
He sat down on a wooden chair, poured himself some wine, and raised his cup.
"Come, sit, have a drink."
"Alright."
André clinked glasses with Guggs and downed the sweet wine in one gulp.
This Mr. Guggs was a renowned scholar of the North, well-read and knowledgeable. He was said to have memorized all the history of the North over the millennia, earning the nickname "The Walking Strasbourg Library."
He, too, was of noble birth, but after the "Great Tax Collection," he became utterly disillusioned with the Northern Kingdom's decaying rule and fled to Northwind Fortress with what little he had left.
André's defection was partly due to Guggs' persuasion.
"Little André, go and do what you think is right."
"The Northern Kingdom is beyond saving—it's rotten through and through, its filthy pus seeping to the very bones."
—That was exactly what Guggs had said.
"All the people worship together, the great red dragon above the heavens."
The bard's singing drifted in from outside the tavern.
André silently gazed at the bustling Emperor's Plaza, then turned his serious eyes to the old man. "Mr. Guggs, you've been living in the Empire of Embers for a few years now, haven't you?"
"What do you think of this nation?"
Guggs raised his glass again, his bushy beard almost dipping into the wine.
Upon hearing André's question, he shook his head with a smile, lowered his voice, and said: "It's just like its supreme ruler—a greedy, insatiable behemoth."
"But compared to the parasitic worms of the North, it's centuries ahead, practically a utopia."
Guggs made sure to add.
André frowned slightly, seemingly pondering something.
He had studied the empire's system carefully. Apart from the absolute supremacy of imperial power, the most frequently mentioned words were "freedom" and "equality." This philosophy permeated the entire empire.
But he always felt something was off—this wasn't true equality.
This country seemed to treat everyone as nourishment for its growth, enabling it to multiply and expand at an unimaginable rate.
In simple terms—the empire oppressed everyone equally.
"Mr. Guggs, I still don't understand why they would…"
In the midst of conversation, Guggs had already finished an entire bottle of wine, a hint of drunkenness showing on his wrinkled face.
"Right now, it hasn't reached its limit yet."
"If, one day, this empire is no longer as advanced as it is now, and is about to be swept away by the tides of history, I will also give my all to…"
"Mr. Guggs—"
André glanced around warily and covered Guggs' mouth.
Fortunately, those around them only dismissed it as a drunkard's rambling and paid no attention.
Guggs smiled, leaning on the wooden table as he continued: "Little André, I…I've found the direction, those starlight seekers! They're untapped treasures. In their minds lies the knowledge that reveals the essence of society."
"I…I've already put those ideas into my manuscript…"
A year passed in a blur. The snow on the northern wilderness melted for a few months before piling up again with the bitter wind.
Yet the lives of the people here had undergone dramatic changes.
The Matra grand farmlands scaled up, with imperial agricultural officials leading skeleton armies to toil nightly, eventually even introducing combine harvesters.
The combination of magic, machinery, and labor brought unprecedented progress in productivity.
As a result, after the unprecedented bumper harvest in September, the relentless northern wind didn't bring famine. People could buy grain at normal prices, and at worst, they had cheap canned food from the processing factories.
According to imperial records, this was the first winter in Anzeta's millennia-long history where almost no one starved to death.
Furthermore, with the development of the empire's light industry, affordable and warm cotton clothing became the standard, allowing people to venture outside to work rather than huddling by the stove.
This was also the first winter in Anzeta with fewer than five hundred deaths from freezing.
Everything seemed so wonderful, but beneath that beauty lay hidden tears and blood.
The cities underwent the most significant changes.
Factory after factory rose, forming cold, steel forests, while new buildings appeared within the cities, drawing large populations.
Most of them became diligent workers, integral cogs in the machinery of urban industry—or, in some cases, mere fuel and expendables.
Despite the empire's regulations providing basic worker protections, according to incomplete imperial statistics, over ten thousand people still died unnatural deaths—most of them in factories. But this information was hidden, unseen by the outside world.
The empire managed key cities like Isthalia and Northwind Fortress relatively strictly, but in the more remote towns of the former Northern Kingdom, enforcement was much weaker.
Moreover, the empire's various regulations were still incomplete at the time.
This allowed many dark and chaotic conditions to arise.
Right after the empire conquered the North, dragonblood nobles and newly wealthy merchants followed the official call to develop industry, investing in factory construction across various cities.
In the absence of complete regulations before the "Imperial Labor Law" was enacted, with the widespread use of steam engines and textile machinery, it was easy to learn textile mill work, requiring little physical effort. Factory owners began hiring large numbers of women, especially children.
Factory owners preferred children primarily because of their vulnerability and docility. Adults were less likely to comply so easily. Furthermore, child labor wages were exceedingly low, barely a third of adult wages.
To maximize profit, machines ran nonstop 24 hours a day, and workers worked continuously day and night. They took shifts to rest. Under these conditions, workplace accidents became routine—fingers crushed by belts, limbs mangled by gears, and so on.
But when workers sought compensation, they faced the combined power and authority of the dragonblood nobles, leaving them too afraid to even file complaints.
Mass-produced cheap goods, mostly sold by the Imperial South Continental Company to Fadlan, also saw some sold domestically.
But even that small fraction mercilessly crushed the original market. Handicraft workshops and artisan workshops in the North declared bankruptcy one after another.
Craftsmen who had inherited their skills for generations went out of business. Their shops were bought out by factory owners, and they, too, had no choice but to enter the factories, becoming the fuel for industrial development.
As slavery was abolished, people were indeed free, but invisible chains gradually bound them.
With oppression came resistance.
Amid the industrial boom, a small uprising broke out in Rostin, a city on the empire's northeastern border. Workers smashed the machines and fled the city.
Soon after, several sporadic rebellions followed, but all were ruthlessly suppressed.
At that point, the imperial authorities finally realized the gravity of the situation. The chancellor, Langpu, was furious and issued the far-reaching "Beware of Barbaric Development" declaration.
His outrage wasn't out of sympathy for the workers; it was because this jeopardized the empire's progress—and more importantly, it defied Cassius's will.
Thus, with the Ministry of Law working tirelessly, related legislation such as the "Imperial Workers' Law" and the "Apprentice Health and Morality Law" were enacted one after another.
The imperial judiciary patrols began inspections in various cities, sending many to prison, and even dragging overly oppressive "new nobility" who caused riots to the guillotine.
This incident, along with the enforcement of the "Imperial Corporation Law," became known as the "Great Purge," leaving a deep impression in people's hearts that imperial law was inviolable.
It may not have been sacred, but the gleaming, blood-dripping guillotine proved it was not to be taken lightly.
However, light industries such as spinning, ceramics, and leather processing were not the empire's fastest-growing sectors. The one industry that brought the most profit to the empire was—military industry!
The southern "Three Emperors War" grew increasingly intense, with millions torn apart by the brutal battlefield. Divine beings, legendary mages, and golem constructs from Fadlan ravaged the continent.
For the local populace, this was undoubtedly a catastrophe.
Yet the more devastating the war, the better the empire's arms sold, the better the Imperial South Continental Company's business became, and the more profits the groups behind it gained.
Over time, people began to look forward to war, hoping for even more destructive conflicts, and even actively instigating them—for only then could they earn more gold coins.
A terrible beast, nurtured by blood and fire, was steadily growing.