Chapter 390: A Return Visit
One month later, Isthalia.
Under the labor of tens of thousands of struggling players, ogres, and frost giant slaves, the framework of this central city had already emerged, though it was still quite rudimentary.
The designs for the Isthalia Grand Coliseum, Imperial Bank, Imperial Parliament Hall, and Imperial City Hall were already completed. Foundations had been laid, and some buildings' exteriors were even finished.
This was the Empire's largest "construction site."
It bustled with activity, with many red-bucket-carrying, hard-hat-wearing civil engineering players moving about.
"Move aside! Move aside!"
"Imperial Guards performing official duties!"
"Clear the way! Offenders will be executed!"
The sharp command of the Guard Captain rang out from afar, and the people on the road quickly made way, not daring to delay for even a moment.
It wasn't just the native inhabitants of the Empire; even the usually arrogant and erratic Starlings hurried to avoid them.
"These NPCs are so overbearing—"
"I really want to see what's inside the carriage."
"Can we rob it?"
"That's the Imperial Guard! If you mess with them, you're dead. Don't say I didn't warn you—if you lose all the experience you worked so hard for, you'll have nowhere to cry!"
"Just focus on grinding, don't bring bad luck on yourself, and stop dreaming of impossible things."
"Your master here rose to the rank of Viscount in the Empire step by step through superb grinding skills."
A veteran player with the ID [Bucket Runner], wearing a white hard hat, whispered to a newcomer holding a bucket beside him.
At the start, some new players did try to provoke the guards, but those troublemakers were quickly turned into sieves by precision semi-automatic rifles.
On the wide road, a grand envoy procession of dozens of carriages passed by, escorted by over a thousand Imperial soldiers. This was the envoy delegation from the Kingdom of Thrace.
The contents of these carriages would make anyone salivate—chests full of gold containing the promised two million gold coins from the Kingdom of Thrace as a "gift."
Dayev sat in one of the carriages, gazing at the rapidly passing scenery outside the window. He looked astonished and said to the person beside him:
"One month ago."
"Just one month ago, this place was a flat wasteland. Now, the framework of a city has appeared."
"Sir, you should understand what this signifies."
Beside Dayev sat a man dressed in luxurious robes and holding a staff. He appeared to be in his fifties and was deep in thought.
He was Saxe Barry, the Foreign Minister of the Kingdom of Thrace, who had personally come to negotiate the peace treaty.
"Extremely high administrative efficiency, terrifying war potential."
Saxe offered a brief assessment.
He frowned slightly and asked Dayev, "Does this invitation to meet in Isthalia mean the Emperor will not attend in person?"
"Not necessarily."
Dayev replied.
"From what I know, the Red Emperor generally only grants audiences at the Steel Dragonwing Palace and rarely appears elsewhere."
"But recently, there have been some anomalies. The Red Emperor seems to be inspecting his territories and has already visited many areas within the Ember Empire. It's unclear where he might be now."
"Tsk, that's two million gold coins."
"I thought any dragon would be drooling over the chance to meet us and watch every coin like a hawk."
Saxe spoke calmly.
Dayev immediately grew nervous, putting a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture.
"It's said that the Emperor's spies are everywhere. He knows everything happening within the Empire. Let's not make casual remarks."
"Hmph."
"You seem like you've been scared out of your wits by that red dragon."
Saxe glanced at Dayev, then closed his eyes to rest, saying no more.
Though he looked down on Dayev's timidity, avoiding risks was essential for a competent diplomat.
Isthalia's roads were broad and smooth, and with the Imperial Guard escort, the envoy procession moved swiftly, arriving at the designated location—the Isthalia Grand Altar—in no time.
"Everyone, please disembark."
Here, the envoy members were required to step out and proceed on foot, leaving the gold-laden carriages behind.
"This is..."
"Please proceed along the other path."
The road where the Red Dragon's coronation had taken place was now protected, its claw marks still clearly visible. Guards holding rifles stood stationed every few meters along both sides.
This path to the altar was officially named the "Path of the Dragon's Glory" by the Empire, symbolizing the Emperor's glorious coronation. No one was allowed to tread it again.
Dayev took a step forward and immediately felt a familiar power descend, making him tremble instinctively.
"This oppressive presence..."
"It's His Majesty. He's here."
He whispered a warning.
Saxe finally put aside the last vestiges of disdain in his heart, his expression becoming extremely solemn.
As a former minister of Holy Fadlan and the current Chief Diplomat of Thrace, he was well-acquainted with magical creatures and even dragons.
Yet he had never encountered such overwhelming dragon might in his life.
Inside the venue, the envoys finally beheld the majestic figure of the "Red Emperor."
At that moment, he lay lazily on his side, his enormous thirty-meter-long, mountain-like dragon body rising and falling with each breath.
But none of the envoy members dared to relax, holding their breath and lowering their heads.
Even Saxe inhaled sharply.
At this moment, he finally understood—Thrace's peace treaty with the Ember Empire was not only urgent but absolutely necessary.
Dragons have always been the darlings of the battlefield.
Red dragons, in particular, are often referred to as war machines.
And such a red dragon appearing on the southern battlefield would drastically alter the course of the war, equivalent to at least a dozen legendary godspawn warriors.
A Tiefling Guard Captain knelt on one knee and reported loudly, "Your Majesty, the envoy delegation from the Kingdom of Thrace has arrived."
Cassius slowly lifted his head, his pale golden pupils gazing at the envoy members.
Instantly, the immense pressure made everyone tremble, barely able to stand.
After a long moment, Dayev nervously stepped forward, bowed deeply, and said, "Your Majesty Cassius, we come this time bearing the Kingdom of Thrace's sincerity."
"This—this is Lord Saxe, Thrace's Chief Diplomat."
Prompted by the reminder, Saxe finally emerged from his overwhelming tension and instinctive fear. Quickly realizing his oversight, he stepped forward, respectfully bowed, and barely maintained his composure to avoid losing face.