After the assassins had been apprehended, their strength sealed and their bodies bound, they were dragged into heavy, rune-marked cages that had been pre-prepared for such a day.
The cages themselves hummed faintly with power, the work of court mages and blacksmiths who had forged steel and sorcery together. The three assassins, once deadly shadows, now sat like broken dolls, eyes burning with hate but powerless to act. First of them had been killed when he tried to defy the order to surrender.
While that was happening, the governor of Region Four, Raphael MacNelly, approached with his assistant, the sharp-eyed Suleiman Eize. Behind them came a cluster of nobles in ceremonial robes, each bowing low, their faces lit with nervous smiles. Inspector Granero stood to one side, rigid and stern, a pillar of discipline amidst the pomp.
Behind them all stood the Twelve Generals, the living thunder of the empire's war machine, their armour gleaming like a wall of iron and fire. And yet, towering over even their presence was one figure — Naze, the blind swordsman. He moved like a drifting shadow, his face unreadable, his blade invisible but felt. To onlookers, he was a ghost tethered to the emperor's side, a storm poised on the brink of release, ready to cut down anyone foolish enough to provoke.
"You're welcome, Your Majesty…" Governor Raphael MacNelly's voice quivered with both respect and pride as he bowed deeply. One by one, the nobles and attendants behind him followed, their heads lowering until their foreheads nearly touched the dust.
Josh Aratat, the Black Dragon Emperor, smiled faintly and stepped forward, his presence both terrifying and comforting at once. He laid a firm hand on Raphael's shoulder and patted him on the back.
"You've done well, Raphael," Josh said warmly. "You've truly transformed Region Four. Well done. Shall we begin the inspection? Inspector Granero is here and ready."
He gestured toward Inspector Granero, whose face remained like carved granite. Around the inspector, a cadre of robed scriptors stood, clutching scrolls and tablets glowing with faint glyphs, their eyes never straying far from him. Soldiers mingled in their midst, ready to enforce his every command.
Granero was a man shaped by fire and betrayal. Over the past year, he had exposed conspiracies woven in whispers and shadows, dismantled embezzlement networks built by cunning nobles, and crushed schemes that might have crippled the empire from within.
He had seen too many smiles that hid knives, too many gifts that dripped with poison. And so, he had learned: trust no one until the truth is laid bare. His no-nonsense gaze reflected that philosophy, and though he wielded his power in the name of the king, the emperor's presence beside him today made his authority feel boundless, almost intoxicating.
Before Josh could speak further, Governor Raphael raised his head.
"Your Majesty," he said with a hopeful brightness, "before the inspection, we have prepared a little entertainment. A display of our children — their learning, their arts, their voices. We wish to show you how far they have come under your reign, and, humbly, to thank Your Majesty for your faith in us."
Josh blinked, momentarily surprised. He turned his gaze to Inspector Granero, whose expression did not soften in the slightest.
"What do you think, Inspector?" Josh asked, one brow arched, weighing his words carefully.
The crowd held its breath.
Inspector Granero paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, calculating the balance between duty and sentiment. At last, he inclined his head.
"Your Majesty, whatever you decide," he said evenly, his voice clipped yet respectful.
Josh nodded, his gaze sweeping over the waiting faces. "Alright then," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "let's have it."
---
An hour later, the entire court and populace were seated in a grand open-air arena, a circular coliseum newly built in Region Four. Banners fluttered on the walls, and the royal emblem of the Nazare Blade Empire gleamed in the sunlight. Excitement hummed through the crowd like a living thing.
This was no ordinary gathering — it was a demonstration of progress, a showcase of the empire's future. Children from every major institution had been selected to represent their schools in a mini-competition: the martial arts academy, the mage school of the Oradonian Order, the vocational education school, and the Kingly School — the crown jewel of the emperor's reforms, personally established by His Majesty himself.
The first to step forward were the children of the vocational school, ages six to twelve. They entered in unison, robed in pristine white garments that shimmered faintly under the sun, their steps perfectly coordinated. For a moment, the arena hushed in awe. Their discipline was so precise, their bearing so refined, it was almost eerie for ones so young. It was clear they had practiced countless times, every movement drilled until it became second nature.
At the head of the formation, a little girl carried a great white flag, its silk catching the breeze. Upon it was a single green leaf, yet not a simple leaf — it bore the veins and lines of the entire empire's map, each of the sixty-eight regions etched into its form. It was the flag of the Nazare Blade Empire, a symbol of unity, strength, and rebirth.
She raised her voice, and though small, it rang across the arena, amplified by a whisper of magic.
"We are children," she declared, her tone solemn, "here to present a poem in honour of our father, the Emperor. To the great Black Dragon of the Northern Continent, ruler of the Nazare Blade Empire, the giant of the North!"
The crowd erupted in cheers. Proud fathers and doting mothers leapt to their feet, waving and clapping, tears shining in their eyes as they spotted their sons and daughters in the lineup. Nobles murmured in approval, and even the hardened soldiers along the arena's edge stood straighter, their faces softening.
Then the children lifted their chins as one, their small voices rising together like a single mighty choir.
---
"A Poem for His Majesty, Josh Aratat, the Black Dragon"
We stand before you, Majesty, so tall,
The Black Dragon, the greatest of all.
With swords and shields, your armies shine,
Your strength, your courage, forever divine.
The old throne was broken, the empire was weak,
Under Groa the Wastrel, selfish and bleak.
But you, O Josh, brought light to the land,
With wisdom, with might, with a guiding hand.
No hunger now, no broken street,
Our homes are strong, our harvests sweet.
Trade flows like rivers, wide and free,
Because you built a grand economy.
You crushed the Scorpion Empire's sting,
And humbled the Manticore Beast King.
Even the Trickster God could not prevail,
For your fire and will did never fail.
We children cheer, with voices bright,
For you have given us hope and light.
Long live the Black Dragon, brave and true,
Our emperor forever — we honour you!
---
The last line thundered through the arena as though the very stones echoed it back. Parents cried openly, generals nodded with grim approval, and nobles applauded with polite fervour.
But above them all, Josh Aratat, the Black Dragon Emperor, sat with a faint smile, his eyes reflecting something deeper than pride — a quiet resolve, as though the innocent words of the children were both a crown upon his head and a weight upon his shoulders.
Even Naze, the blind swordsman, turned his head slightly toward the sound, as though listening to a vision only he could see.
Josh rose slowly from his seat, the golden embroidery of his robe glinting in the torchlight. His hands came together in a steady, deliberate clap, and at once the entire arena followed suit. A thunderous applause erupted, echoing across the stone walls, rolling like a wave of loyalty and admiration. The sound was so intense that some swore the ground itself trembled.
He lifted a hand, and silence fell almost instantly—such was the weight of his presence.
"Bring forth the leading girl," Josh commanded.