The God-Forsaken Land.
Early morning.
As the first rays of the morning sun broke over the horizon and spilled across this wild, desolate land, it signaled that the freezing night had finally passed.
In its place, the land would face a grueling, day-long baking under the sun.
At that very moment, Cezar opened his eyes.
With practiced ease, he folded his blanket into a neat square, then wolfed down his breakfast as quickly as possible.
He put on his airtight suit of black armor, donned his full-face helmet,
and adjusted his gear in front of the mirror. Once he was certain he was completely covered from head to toe, he finally stepped out of his luxurious two-story house.
The moment he stepped outside, he was greeted by a clamor of horses, carriages, shouting merchants, and lively chatter.
As far as the eye could see, rows of orderly buildings lined the streets of this newly born town.
Half-beastkin and beastkin bustled to and fro along the thoroughfares.
Carriages rolled down the wide stone-paved streets from time to time.
These belonged to traveling merchants who had journeyed thousands of miles from various regions just to purchase wine.
Looking at the thriving scene before him, Cezar's face—usually as cold as ice beneath his helmet—softened into a rare smile.
For him, seven years ago, the idea of such a vibrant place existing in the wild, desolate God-Forsaken Land was something he wouldn't have dared to dream of.
Yet now, it was a living reality right before his eyes.
And this was exactly what he fought to protect.
Nearly every pedestrian on the street fell into a respectful silence upon seeing his pitch-black armor.
Even the human merchants proactively stepped aside when they saw him, terrified of blocking his path.
After so many years, he had long since grown accustomed to such looks.
Paying no mind to their reactions, he made his way toward the inner city.
Following the wide road all the way to a towering wall, Cezar stopped and looked up.
The wall was identical in color to his armor.
It was pitch-black.
Staring at the wall, he couldn't help but recall that night—the night of fire and blood.
He still believed it was the best decision he had ever made in his life.
“If Grandfather were still here to see this glory, he would definitely be so happy,”
Cezar couldn't help but think to himself.
“Now, we beastkin can finally live with our heads held high.”
With a silent sigh, he shook his head and stepped through the city gates.
The beastkin soldiers guarding both sides of the gate, clad in gray armor, saluted him with the highest military honors.
Cezar nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
Once inside the inner city, the most eye-catching sight was the towering statue standing right in the center.
It depicted a girl in mage robes with her eyes closed.
Her hands were raised high, cradling a pigeon painted black and a bottle.
They symbolized freedom and red wine.
She had sown the seeds of freedom across this ignorant land, saving one beastkin and half-beastkin tribe after another.
And she had used the beverage known as red wine to bring wealth to this barren land.
This was the figure who had become a household name throughout the God-Forsaken Land in recent years—
The Wine Queen, Irene.
Cezar looked up at the towering statue, raised his right fist, and struck his left breastplate firmly, the armor letting out a crisp metallic clank.
Bypassing the grand statue, he walked into the most luxurious building in the inner city.
From the outside, it looked like a black castle.
Rumor had it that the rising star mixologist who had invented the red wine lived inside.
Over the years, countless visitors drawn by this reputation had been turned away at the gates.
Not a single trespasser had ever made it out alive.
As a result, the outside world grew increasingly wary of this sudden, mysterious mixologist, and those with ulterior motives quickly abandoned their schemes.
In reality, however, this building was merely an empty shell with nothing inside.
Beneath the structure, however, lay a mysterious department known as the Imperial Guard.
And a giant dragon whom they guarded.
Expertly navigating past traps and sentries, Cezar arrived at a vast underground chamber.
Though there were no light sources installed in this space, it was far from dark.
For there were a hundred pairs of golden eyes illuminating the dim cavern.
These belonged to exactly one hundred shirtless dragonborn.
They hailed from all sorts of races—minotaurs, sheepkin, kobolds, gnolls, green-skinned beastkin...
Their only commonality was that every single one of them exuded the powerful aura of the Bronze Rank.
The moment Cezar stepped into the chamber, all one hundred dragonborn turned their heads in unison.
Their golden slit pupils swept over him, carrying waves of formidable pressure.
Faced with this pseudo-Dragon Fear generated by a hundred dragonborn, Cezar merely shrugged.
Acting as if he felt nothing at all, he waved his hand.
An aura far more powerful than that of the hundred dragonborn erupted from his body.
It was the aura of a Silver Rank dragonborn.
Overawed by this pressure, the dragonborn did not panic; instead, they lowered their heads.
Cezar nodded in return and walked toward the very front.
In front of all the dragonborn stood a stone platform.
Standing on the platform was a kobold also clad in black armor.
Unlike Cezar, however, he wore no helmet. Seeing Cezar arrive, his exposed canine head split into a smile.
“Your leave is over, kid. Get over here. We've been waiting for you.”
“Yes, Father!”
Cezar replied, quickly running over to stand beside Fido.
Scanning the crowd of dragonborn, Cezar retrieved a thick book titled the Revelations of the Imperial Guard from his storage ring.
He began to read aloud solemnly from the very first page.
Within its pages were recorded the rules the Imperial Guard had to follow,
the duties they were required to perform,
and a mountain of praise dedicated to Your Grace.
Watching Cezar read so earnestly and sensing the unhidden Silver Rank aura radiating from him, Fido nodded in deep satisfaction.
His gaze swept over the crowd of dragonborn once more, a profound sense of how much time had passed washing over him.
Seven years ago, after settling all affairs and ordering the creation of the Imperial Guard, Your Grace had fallen into a deep sleep.
Throughout these years, they had followed her orders, steadily expanding their influence in the open while secretly growing the ranks of the Black Knights.
After seven years of development, the once-tiny Iron Tooth Tribe had transformed into a medium-sized town named Black City.
They had also conquered over a hundred tribes, both large and small.
Supported by this massive population base, the number of Black Knights had exploded from just over a hundred to more than ten thousand.
The expansion showed no signs of stopping, with new tribes constantly seeking them out to pledge allegiance of their own accord.
Their numbers were still rising steadily!
Normally, these Black Knights remained hidden in the underground wine cellars of various oases, quietly brewing wine.
In their spare time, they constantly honed their combat and killing skills.
Only in the dead of night would they mobilize to expand their territory.
During the annual selection, they would follow Your Grace's instructions to choose the hundred strongest dragonborn from among all the Black Knights and remove them from the ranks.
These elites would be gathered in Black City to become honorable members of the Imperial Guard,
tasked with protecting Her Grace.
As Fido's mind wandered, Cezar's reading drew to a close.
According to the protocol, Cezar was now supposed to present the new recruits of the Imperial Guard with the black armor that symbolized their status.
And indeed, he was just about to do so.
But just as Fido reached for the storage ring containing the armor, a wave of mental fluctuations rippled through his mind.
It was a summons from his bloodline.
Though seven years had passed, he recognized the owner of this fluctuation instantly.
Without hesitation, Fido tossed the storage ring to Cezar, who had just finished reading, and bolted in the opposite direction.
“There's no mistake.”
An honest smile broke out on Fido's canine face.
“Her Grace must have awakened!”
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