"Your Majesty, I've successfully extracted the hormones from the body of the great knight and combined them with a variety of alchemical medicines for purification. The result is a new creation—I've named it Compound No. 1!"
The royal doctor proudly lifted a small test tube from his pocket. Inside the glass shimmered a liquid of deep azure blue, glowing faintly under the lamplight. His gloved hands trembled slightly, not from fear but from excitement.
Gavin Ward leaned forward from his seat, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile. "The name is acceptable—and your work is excellent."
He tapped a finger thoughtfully on the armrest before continuing, "How's the research on Emomycin progressing?"
The doctor's eyes gleamed. "Your Majesty, this part is child's play for us. The preliminary stages are already completed. We'll soon begin testing skin reactions on the first batch of subjects, followed by penicillin experiments."
Gavin nodded, visibly satisfied. "Good. I'll allocate another one million gold coins to your department. A shipment of new magical medicines from the Central Magic Empire has arrived in Ross City. You'll begin research on them immediately."
"As you command, Your Majesty!"
The doctor's voice quivered with enthusiasm. The thought of dissecting an entirely new set of magical compounds filled him with joy. He bowed deeply and hurried out of the hall, already lost in his own plans for experimentation.
Moments later, Stephens, the royal steward, entered with a bundle of scrolls in his arms.
"Your Majesty," he said with a slight bow, "the total number of refugees arriving from the Lot Kingdom and the Kiswell Kingdom has reached nearly six million. I've brought the reports from every city."
Gavin Ward rubbed his temples. "And where's Princess Caroline? I haven't seen her in days."
Stephens answered, "Her Highness has been tending personally to the refugees for the last half month. After all, many of them are from her former homeland, the Kiswell Kingdom."
"I see." Gavin exhaled slowly. "Tell her she's done well. As for the refugees, many towns remain empty. Settle them there—and expand our settlements."
Stephens quickly unrolled a map on the royal table. "Your Majesty, the kingdom's population has already exceeded ten million. We currently hold four major cities, and the rest are small towns. The Ministry suggests expanding at least six more to city scale."
Gavin's sharp eyes examined the map. "Approved. Begin expansion immediately."
He leaned back, voice growing firm again. "Also, banditry has increased near the borders. Many outlaws from neighboring kingdoms are looting our lands. Inform Commander Rotis to recruit new soldiers and launch another campaign to eliminate the bandits."
Stephens bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."
He paused for a moment, as though hesitant to continue. "There's one more matter. According to the laws of the Loriland Continent, once a nation's population surpasses ten million, its ruler is entitled to declare himself Emperor. Your Majesty, perhaps the time has come for you to consider…"
The implication was clear—Stephens was urging Gavin Ward to claim the imperial title.
The transformation of the Kingdom of Ross into the Ross Empire would not only sound grander but also proclaim their strength to all nations.
However, Gavin Ward merely gave a tired smile. "Let's wait until the refugees are settled and the kingdom stands firm. Only then will I think about the crown of an emperor."
He sank into his chair, exhaustion flickering in his eyes. Being king was no glory—it was endless work. Paperwork, councils, decisions, military reforms—it seemed never-ending. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.
---
Meanwhile, at the Border of the Kingdom of Ross…
A thin line of weary refugees trudged across the border, their faces sunken from hunger and fatigue. Among them was a man named Nit, once a wealthy merchant of Suno City, the capital of the Lot Kingdom.
When the orcs stormed Suno City, the noble districts were their first target. Nit's grand estate had been looted and burned to ash. He barely escaped with his life, clutching his wife's pendant—the only thing left of his family.
The journey to Ross was brutal. They were robbed countless times—by rebel militias, rogue bandits, even desperate refugees turned thieves. By now, Nit's once-rosy face was pale and drawn, his clothes little more than rags.
Ahead, a commotion broke out near the outpost. Soldiers stood by wagons, checking the incoming groups. The sight made Nit's blood run cold.
"Could they be bandits again?" someone whispered behind him.
Then a shout pierced the air. "You there! Come forward!"
The refugees froze in terror. Nit swallowed hard, ready to flee—but when he noticed the soldier's polished breastplate engraved with the Ross insignia, relief washed over him. At least these were soldiers of a kingdom—disciplined men, not raiders.
Still, no one dared to move first. In this world, even royal troops often acted like bandits with banners. The common saying was that armies were simply "robbers organized by kings."
The Ross soldier raised his rifle—a gleaming new Model 98K—and barked, "All vagrant groups entering the Kingdom of Ross must register! Those who refuse will be treated as enemies and executed."
His tone softened slightly. "After registration, food will be distributed. If you don't want it, you can starve for all I care!"
Then he turned and left, boots crunching on the gravel.
The word food spread through the group like lightning.
Nit's stomach clenched painfully. They hadn't eaten in two days—their last crumbs had been stolen by roadside thieves. Even the children behind him were too weak to cry.
Driven by hunger, Nit stepped forward. "Come on," he murmured to the others. "If they have food, I'll risk anything."
The refugees followed, their feet dragging through the dust until they reached the checkpoint. There, hundreds of others were already waiting, forming long lines in front of makeshift tents.
An officer with a sharp mustache was shouting, "Anyone here who's a craftsman, carpenter, or mason—step forward!"
A dozen people raised their trembling hands. Nit hesitated, then lifted his as well. He had learned carpentry in his youth, back before trade made him soft.
"Good! You lot, follow me!" the officer ordered briskly.
The group followed him past the checkpoint, where two military trucks stood loaded with supplies. Soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, unloading crates and bundles.
One soldier opened a large box wrapped in oilcloth. A sweet aroma spread instantly—it was food. Real food.
"These are for you," the officer said. "Eat first, then report for work."
The refugees stared at the warm white buns handed to them. For a moment, they were frozen, unable to believe their luck. Then Nit took one cautiously, half expecting a trick. But when he bit into it—soft, warm, and real tears welled in his eyes.
After months of terror and starvation, it was the first act of kindness he'd seen.
Another soldier handed them fresh clothes—brand new uniforms, still sealed in plastic from the factory. Nit could hardly remember the last time he had worn anything that clean.
"Once you've eaten," the officer continued, "you'll follow Bohui to the next camp. Craftsmen like you are needed to rebuild the towns. The Kingdom of Ross rewards hard work."
The refugees nodded eagerly. The fear that had haunted them since leaving Lot began to fade.
For the first time in weeks, Nit felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps here, under the rule of this new king, they could start again.
---
Back in the Capital—Ross City
Stephens returned to the throne room hours later, carrying reports from the border.
"Your Majesty," he began, "the settlement plan is proceeding smoothly. Food and shelter have been distributed to thousands of newcomers. Many have already volunteered for construction."
Gavin Ward read the parchment carefully, his fatigue easing for a moment. "Good. That's how a nation grows—from the ground up."
He looked out the tall window toward the horizon, where the sun dipped behind the city's towers. "Tell the army to protect those camps at all costs. We'll make builders out of beggars and citizens out of refugees."
Stephens bowed deeply. "At once, Your Majesty."
Gavin turned back toward the test tube that still shimmered faintly on his desk—Compound No. 1. Its blue light reflected in his eyes. "This... might just be the key to our future," he murmured.
The formula wasn't merely a medicine—it represented progress, innovation, and a future where the Kingdom of Ross could rival even the Tongsley Empire.
He clenched his fist slightly. "We'll build a nation that even King Ragnor IV would envy."
Outside, the bells of Ross City began to toll as the workers and soldiers continued their tasks through the twilight.
And so, amid exhaustion, science, and hope, the dawn of a new empire quietly began.
----------------------
Visit our Patreon for more:
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31
----------------------------------------------------- .