The night before the coronation was a blur of celebration and spring-lit grandeur. Angelina finally succeeded in easing Gavin Ward's constant tension, and for the first time in months, peace filled the royal chambers of the soon-to-be Emperor.
Time moved swiftly. In the blink of an eye, the long-awaited day arrived — the day when Gavin Ward, King of the Ross Empire, would proclaim himself Emperor and formally establish his rule over a united continent.
From every neighboring realm came nobles, emissaries, and even kings. The Duke of the Golden Lion, delegations from the Kingdom of Wallace, the Gunther Kingdom, the Seven Beastman Tribes, and over a dozen human nations all converged on the capital. What began as an enthronement became a festival of nations — a demonstration of the Ross Empire's rising power and influence.
---
The streets before the Imperial Palace were flooded with cheering citizens.
> "Long live Your Majesty!"
"Long live the Emperor!"
Their shouts rolled like thunder through the grand avenue, waves of voices shaking the air. Men, women, and children waved banners dyed in crimson and black, the twin colors of Ross. The people were wild with pride — their King was becoming an Emperor, and they were witnessing history.
On either side of the main road, every ten meters stood a Ross soldier in immaculate formation. Their posture was straight as steel, their eyes cold and resolute. Each soldier rested his 98K rifle upright, the butt planted firmly beside his polished black boots. Their black-and-crimson dragon breastplates, dark uniforms, and M35 helmets gleamed beneath the sunlight, giving them an almost mechanical precision. The faces behind those helmets were emotionless — the faces of men who had bled, conquered, and now stood guard over a new era.
From the high viewing platform, King Wallace IV watched silently. His gaze swept over the endless lines of soldiers and the roaring sea of loyal citizens. His lips tightened into a bittersweet smile.
> "Look at them… the people of Ross," he murmured.
"With such devotion, how could this Empire ever fall?"
If only his own people could show such unity, he thought, he would die content.
---
But not every guest shared that admiration.
On the other side of the grandstand sat Sir Arden the Great Knight, envoy of the Tongsley Empire. His eyes, once filled with arrogant contempt, now burned with barely contained jealousy. He had spent weeks within Ross Empire's borders, and the longer he stayed, the more unbearable his envy grew. The Ross Empire's prosperity, discipline, and innovation had surpassed what he believed possible of "mere mortals."
Deep inside, he realized a bitter truth — the Ross Empire had already outshone the once-mighty Tongsley Empire. Yet his pride refused to accept it. To admit that a "lesser" nation had surpassed his homeland was to admit his own inferiority.
The thought clawed at him like a wound that would never heal.
---
Suddenly, the air split with a thunderous command:
> "Salute!"
Nine ceremonial cannons fired in sequence from the palace courtyard.
> BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Each blast echoed through the capital like the heartbeat of the new Empire.
Among the visiting orcish envoys, a tall general in beast-armor suddenly fell to his knees. Trembling, he clasped his hands over his ears and cried out in panic, "No! Please, don't shoot! I surrender! I'm already your vassal — spare me!"
The spectators turned in surprise. His companion, King Liva of the Beastmen, grimaced in embarrassment. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the general by the arm and yanked him up before the humans could laugh.
"Fool! This is not a battlefield," Liva hissed through clenched teeth. "Those are ceremonial salutes, not your nightmares!"
The orc general blinked, disoriented, before realizing where he was. The memories still haunted him. He had once fought in the disastrous Battle of Halma, where Emperor Londangor of the Beastmen led an assault against Ross Empire — and failed miserably. He had witnessed his comrades obliterated by Ross artillery, men reduced to blood and smoke in seconds. Since that day, every loud explosion dragged him back into that inferno.
As the salute continued, the poor general shivered uncontrollably. The booming echoes brought back flashes of fire, screaming soldiers, and limbs scattered across the mud.
Even now, Ross cannons symbolized terror and defeat for the Beastmen.
When the last of the nine cannons fired its fifth shot, the air filled with smoke and cheers. Forty-five booming salutes — each one representing an imperial blessing and the sacred "Honor of Ninety-Five" — marked the birth of a new sovereign.
---
Suddenly, a voice cried out from the crowd:
> "His Majesty has appeared!"
Screams erupted instantly, especially from the younger women.
> "Your Majesty, I love you!"
"Long live the Emperor!"
The sheer volume of the crowd was deafening. The foreign delegates winced and covered their ears; even trained warriors found the passion overwhelming.
Between two lines of elite guards carrying P40 submachine guns, a figure strode forward. His black long-tube boots struck the marble with rhythmic precision, each step echoing authority. Beneath his broad-brimmed officer's cap, his features were sharply cut, his expression calm and regal. Crimson dragon insignias shimmered on his shoulders, marking him as both commander and sovereign.
The crowd went silent for a moment, awed by the sight.
It was Gavin Ward, the Emperor of Ross — radiant in his formal military uniform.
---
Even Angel Zell, the elf prince standing nearest the platform, found himself momentarily stunned. Among elves, beauty was a given, yet this human emperor — this soldier-king — was somehow more striking.
He muttered to himself in disbelief, "How… how can a mortal outshine the elves in elegance?"
Gavin had considered wearing imperial robes for the ceremony, but ultimately he chose the uniform. It wasn't vanity — though the uniform accentuated his commanding figure — but symbolism. He wanted the world to see that the Ross Empire's Emperor was not a cloistered monarch, but a warrior. The Empire's might had been forged in discipline, technology, and courage — and he embodied all three.
The red-dragon emblem on his cap glimmered in the sunlight, casting a faint crimson glow across his face.
He ascended the grand platform built before the Empire State Building. The construction itself was a marvel — a blend of magic and machinery. Beneath the stage lay an advanced arcane power core, its energy pulsing through engraved channels of silver rune-metal. In his right hand, Gavin carried a small remote crystal — a personal control for the magical defense barrier surrounding the stage. With a single touch, he could summon a transparent dome strong enough to withstand artillery fire.
Even in ceremony, the Emperor never let his guard down.
---
The square fell into an almost reverent silence. Tens of thousands waited, breath held, as Gavin Ward stepped to the microphone. The white fabric of his gloves gleamed as he adjusted it, a quiet metallic hum following his touch — the sound of enchanted circuits aligning with his voice.
When he finally spoke, his tone was calm yet carried through the vast space, reaching even the furthest rooftops:
> "Citizens of Ross, and guests from across the world… today, the Empire stands at a new dawn.
We have endured suffering and chaos, yet we have emerged stronger.
We will not bow to the old empires nor repeat their corruption.
From this day forward, Ross shall rise as the true beacon of humanity."
The crowd roared again, drowning out everything else. Banners waved, petals rained down, and the thunder of thousands of boots stomped in unison. It was the sound of a nation reborn.
Even the skeptical ambassadors felt their hearts tremble. The energy in the air was contagious, an invisible force that made them believe — even if just for a moment — that they were witnessing destiny unfold.
From the royal balcony above, Angelina watched with tears of pride, her hands clasped before her chest. She had known Gavin Ward as the quiet strategist, the man who built his empire piece by piece, but today she saw something more — a leader who had united nations, who had transformed mortals into legends.
---
Behind the scenes, magical orbs floated in the sky, broadcasting the ceremony across the world. In taverns and marketplaces from the frozen north to the deserts of Kiswell Kingdom, citizens stopped what they were doing to watch. In the Tongsley Empire, courtiers shifted uneasily. In the distant Lothen Empire, scholars recorded every word, sensing that this moment would define the coming century.
Back on the platform, Gavin raised his right hand in salute. The soldiers below mirrored the gesture instantly, rifles raised across their chests in perfect synchronization.
> "For the Empire!" he shouted.
"For Humanity!" the crowd thundered back.
Drums rolled. Trumpets blared. The coronation banner of Ross Empire unfurled — a vast crimson sheet emblazoned with the black dragon of conquest, wings spread wide over a rising sun. The symbol of a new order.
---
In that instant, every person present understood that this was more than an enthronement.
It was the birth of an age — one forged by steel, will, and vision.
The ambassadors looked on, some with admiration, others with fear. But all knew one truth:
The world would remember the day Gavin Ward became Emperor of Ross.
---
--------------------------------------------------
200+ chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
----------------------------------------------------- .