"Your Grace, this is today's edition of the Duchy's paper."
A Snakescale attendant bowed low and respectfully presented a folded newspaper to Duke Kashchey, who sat behind his desk.
Kashchey unfolded it.
The front page carried a striking image—himself, clad in protective gear, visiting the bedside of a gravely infected citizen the day before.
As ruler, he had to set an example for his people.
Even if he himself feared no infection, his subjects did not share his immunity.
---
The patient was a steelworker.
During an incident when an Originium-powered furnace teetered on the brink of explosion, he had stepped forward without hesitation, forcing the machine to shut down at great personal cost.
He had saved the lives of everyone in the factory.
But in doing so, he had become severely infected.
…Truly, a spirit of sacrifice, Kashchey thought, looking at the man whose body now radiated with unstable Originium energy.
He sensed the worker's lingering regret, his guilt—directed at his parents.
Through the transparent visor of Kashchey's protective suit, the man's pleading eyes met his.
Why didn't you run? Kashchey mused silently. Ah, that's right… if the furnace had exploded, no one in the factory would have survived.
Shoddy safety measures. I'll have my investigators look into that factory owner later.
Kashchey appreciated having such men within his domain.
Such courage meant minimizing his own losses. After all, what ruler would not want subjects willing to sacrifice themselves, willing to dedicate everything to the greater whole?
Even if he understood it but did not truly endorse it, there was no reason not to use this incident to his advantage—to add luster to his celebrations.
This is a perfect chance for propaganda. To show my people that not every Infected deserves condemnation—that among them, there are still those worthy of respect. Hellagur, Buldrokkas'tee… all rare talents in their own right.
Kashchey's lips curved into a benevolent smile.
He clasped the worker's trembling hand and gave a solemn nod.
Rest easy, child, his voice resonated directly into the man's mind.
Your parents will be well cared for. By my name as Duke Kashchey, I swear they shall be honored as the family of a hero, their status recorded in the citizen archives.
It was one of Kashchey's carefully crafted policies—designed to ease the fears of those who might hesitate to sacrifice for the "Duke."
The families of heroes received stipends proportional to the deeds of the fallen.
Within the Duchy, the title Hero's Family carried real social weight.
And of course, such recognition could only be granted by Duke Kashchey himself.
---
A medic in equally heavy protective gear bowed low.
"Respected Duke Kashchey, for your safety, you should depart. The patient's body is undergoing rapid radiative changes. In a few minutes, we expect an explosion."
Kashchey nodded, released the worker's hand, and turned to leave.
At the threshold, just as the heavy door began to close, he glanced back one last time.
May you dream well.
The door shut with a quiet thud.
The worker closed his eyes too.
And he dreamed.
In that dream, he emerged unharmed, miraculously whole.
Duke Kashchey himself placed a medal of honor upon his chest, while his parents stood beside him, beaming with pride.
The girl he had secretly loved for years was moved by his charm and married him.
His employer praised his heroic sacrifice, and within the company, he steadily climbed the ranks.
He had a gentle wife and dutiful children.
Together with his wife, he grew old, their hair turning silver side by side.
In the end, he passed away peacefully, surrounded by happiness.
---
In reality, however, the medical staff had long since evacuated the special ward.
His body was about to erupt.
And yet, on his face lingered only a serene, satisfied smile.
---
This new ability of mine seems rather useful, Kashchey mused.
That dying test subject was a fine chance to practice. The more I use it, the more natural it feels.
What name should I give it?
Yes… let's call it "A Dream of a Thousand Years."
Though it's not quite at the level of turning a single night into a millennium within a dream.
Perhaps I should add this ability to the list of "benefits."
Something to think about, at least.
---
One after another, Ursus nobles and officials arrived at Kashchey's duchy.
As the Eternal Duke of Ursus, Kashchey commanded both status and prestige.
"Busy man, aren't you, Kashchey?"
On a luxurious sofa lounged Emperor, the penguin, idly toying with one of the little serpents slithering across the cushions.
"Don't touch my pets!"
Still seated at his desk, Kashchey's voice rang with irritation. He was busy drafting replies to the nobles who had sent him gifts.
These days, his duties had multiplied without end. Even the other bodies he kept stationed across the duchy were preoccupied with preparations for the upcoming celebrations.
The golden-haired Phidia Knight was leading the Committee of Wellbeing and Reassurance, cracking down on foreign agitators.
Zhu Jiuyin was entertaining Dusk with his private collection, recommending films to placate that troublesome guest.
Mobius was still attempting to convince Kjeragandr that she truly wasn't plagued by the question of "Who am I?"
Satan spent entire days teleporting from place to place, personally overseeing countless operations.
Koshelna rehearsed her play, The Rebels, ensuring that their grievances against Duke Kashchey's rule sounded convincing—convincing enough for the public to empathize, but never so convincing as to sway them.
Yes, Kashchey had been exceedingly busy of late.
"Don't be so stingy, old friend," Emperor said carelessly.
"I came to discuss something important—about your former heir, Talulah."
"Smirnov," Kashchey called.
At once, a shadowed figure stepped forth—the ever-loyal secret guard, the Emperor's Blade.
"You summoned me, my Duke? What do you require?"
"Go tell the nobles that when the celebration begins tomorrow, I will host a banquet in the evening. Let them save their sycophancy for then."
"…As you command, my Duke."
He understood perfectly well that this was only a pretext to send him away.
But what could he do?
The Emperor hadn't dispatched the Emperor's Blade to spy, but rather to serve as a channel of communication.
Unlike certain lonely, rootless immortals, the Black Snake was a duke—a founding hero of Ursus, a figure of renown, one of the very symbols of the Empire itself.
Within Ursus, many even regarded him as the very personification of the nation—though Kashchey himself denied it.
---
"All right," Kashchey said, folding his hands atop his desk. "You can speak now."
"The Emperor of Ursus places great trust in you… I'm merely here to deliver a message on someone's behalf."
"Heh… Wei Yanwu, isn't it?"
"Correct."