The atmosphere inside the council hall was extraordinarily gloomy. As soon as Cale entered, he saw pairs of reddened eyes glaring at him, making him feel like he had stumbled into an orc den.

"General, please briefly explain the current situation."

A robust, aged voice rang out. Cale then realized the one presiding over the council was Emperor Justin I of the Empire.

This elderly emperor had been in power for forty years. The imperial authority, originally shaken by the emerging new ruling classes, had been re-solidified after his reforms. During his tenure at the helm, the Empire had firmly established its present dominant position.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Cale slowly revealed the conclusion reached by the generals of the high command, causing an uproar among the council members below.

"How is that possible? Our Empire cannot even deal with a wild dragon, a mere minor power?"

Cale looked over to see it was the representatives of the major grain and foreign trade merchants complaining. The Morey Plains were an important trade route for them, with seventy percent of agricultural produce passing through their hands to be resold at high prices domestically or abroad.

"Gentlemen, it is not a matter of size. The dragon's minions have transformed Oakenburg into a fortress bristling with cannon towers at every step, with insidious traps buried underground. Conventional advances are barely effective."

"Why not expand the theater of war then, lord general?"

Cale knew without looking that it must be the representative of the military contractors, his de facto ally.

"No, this cannot be won by…racking up troops and weapons. The dragon has displayed power capable of dragging us into an abyss of quagmire."

Next came suggestions of assassinating the dragon, calls to slaughter every dragon within imperial borders to vent frustrations, and complaints that they should have struck preemptively, presenting Cale with a complex array of viewpoints.

"Step down." The emperor spoke, and Cale slowly withdrew as the council fell silent.

"We need to address this crisis rationally," the emperor said slowly. "First, we must stabilize. The Empire's scale is vast - neither dragons nor neighboring nations can possibly shake our foundations through this. At most, we lose a piece of goat cheese from our platter."

"But we must also treat it as a priority, for this may be the harbinger of a greater peril."

The emperor's words steadied the trepidation in everyone's heart like a anchor.

"Why not negotiate? This is the dragon's own request," some voiced.

"Indeed, this is a good chance to examine the nature of this rising power. If we can communicate, perhaps the Empire's interests will not be too compromised."

Alvis' arrangement had taken effect, and the humans were eager to seize the "gap" left by Raphael.

If he had not communicated with the humans but instead flown into imperial territory and began indiscriminate destruction, the terrified imperial elite would have retaliated with utmost haste, deepening the hatred and leaving both sides caught in internecine struggle.

Ultimately, Raphael would have been worn down by the humans - failure merely prolonged, not prevented.

Instead, they were now "mildly" contemplating compromise and trying to delve into his psyche.

…

In the city of Erl, all citizens fearfully discussed yesterday's war.

They had all expected the battle to drag on indefinitely, with the dragon gradually depleted of its war potential and forced into a step-by-step retreat, its defeat a matter of time. Their only worry was being sent to the front as cannon fodder.

But they never imagined it would end so swiftly, and could scarcely believe their eyes as wave after wave of prisoners was marched into the city.

Barbara had become an outstanding worker, adeptly maneuvering on the high scaffolding to lay bricks into walls.

She knew her life's trajectory might never change again, forever overshadowed by the dragon's shadow until the end of her days.

But a glimmer of hope remained - her younger brothers and sisters, who were returning home today from their cloistered school, though they would go back tomorrow.

She sat on her triple-decker bunk mending clothes, pondering what to use to celebrate the children's first day of school. Then her neighbor, old Rudolph, spoke up:

"Hey, Miss Barbara, did I go crazy again a few days ago?"

Barbara stopped her needlework, recalling how a few days prior this old man had fallen into some frenzy, nearly getting himself killed by the patrol investigators.

"I suppose so…"

"Sorry to have alarmed you."

"It's alright…"

"But it's not my fault, I have some recollections now."

"What recollections?"

"Of my state when I was raving."

Barbara put down her sewing, curious now as she raised her head.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Old Rudolph squinted one eye in recollection. "Back then it seemed like some 'thing' took over my body. An entity without rationality, only frenzy. It was like some part of me had been anchored, allowing It to always find me and then seize control of my body to vent itself."

Barbara stared unblinkingly, unsure if the old man was fantasizing or making it up on the spot. But the sudden cries of children pulled her attention back.

"Sister! Sister!"

Two children came rushing in hurriedly from outside.

Hearing their voices, Barbara swiftly got off the bunk and hugged the little ones, affectionately bumping noses with them.

"How was it? Did you like that school?"

"Yes! Lots of friends to play with!"

"What did you play?"

"I was a crimson dragon's warrior, and they were the evil human resistance forces. In the end, we slew them all with our brilliant combat! It was so much fun!"

Barbara and old Rudolph's faces abruptly darkened.

But patrols bearing armbands passed by the windows from time to time. Barbara did not dare directly address the insidious values being promoted, so she changed the subject:

"What did you study?"

"This…see for yourself."

The two kids took out a few slender books from their handmade cloth bags. Barbara read the titles:

"Fundamentals of Engineering Alchemy", "Bowgun Composition", "Beginner's Draconic"

Slightly relieved after reading them, it seemed the school was fairly reputable, not treating children as cannon fodder but actually teaching real subjects.

"Try to…play fewer games and study more."

Barbara could only gently urge her younger siblings, hoping their minds would not be occupied by misguided thoughts.

But it was futile - the overarching environment was taking shape. Soon even she would have to regularly worship crimson dragon, only able to secretly dissent in the depths of night, as someone adept at mind-reading could discern her true thoughts during the day.

"Hard to tell if it's a blessing or curse," Old Rudolph shook his head with a sigh, not outrightly condemning the phenomenon of children being subtly indoctrinated.

Suddenly, a well-dressed young man entered, trailed by over a dozen burly men hauling large sacks.

Barbara straightened up hurriedly, hiding her siblings behind her, while Rudolph took off his reading glasses and got off the bed.

"Hello."

As Barbara greeted him, she examined this obvious aristocratic figure, whose arm lacked the patrol's armband insignia - his origins unknown.

"I'm on work leave to rest. It's my turn today, as is Mr. Rudolph's."

She said carefully, indicating they were not slacking off.

"I'm not here about that," the young man waved his hand dismissively. Taking out a booklet, he read aloud, "Barbara Bourgeat, cumulative work hours 1,774, at wage 50 ryde iron per hour, so owed 88,700 ryde iron coins."

To Barbara's astonished gaze, the burly men counted out fourteen Morey gold coins, fifteen Morey silver coins, and two Floating Isles large copper coins, handing them to her.

"Count and see if it's enough," the young man said solicitously, before also giving Rudolph his earnings.

"Any other issues, miss?" Seeing Barbara staring wordlessly at the money in her hands, he asked.

"Sorry sir, I just don't know what to do with this money," Barbara stammered.

The young man shrugged. "In any case, keep it safe, don't throw it away. Your current situation is about to end - you'll have to actively earn food and housing…though unemployment needn't be a concern. But the military-style ration distribution will cease, and buying ingredients at the market to cook at home will become the norm."

With that, he left to disburse wages to the next person on work leave.

Being a country girl, Barbara could only look quizzically at Old Rudolph, hoping for some experienced guidance.

"They've loosened control…" Rudolph's expression was grim. "The dragon doesn't care if we move around now. Looks like we really will be dragon's subjects for life."

Such wage disbursement scenes were unfolding everywhere, orchestrated by Baron Moran in charge of the economy.

At that moment, he was in his manor estate calculating with a large financial staff.

"Your Grace, the money has largely been distributed," a returning clerk reported.

"Excellent, this will provide the populace seed capital to pry open the market," Moran said with satisfaction.

Most of these funds came from the twelve noble houses themselves, handed over as "taxes" to the Erl governing body before being "paid out" as wages to the people.

Baron Moran hoped to kickstart free trade from here, using alchemy products and construction as a base to gradually expand into food, housing, and eventually services and culture - unlocking Erl's economic potential step-by-step.

"Your Grace, we've identified an issue," his subordinate suddenly reported. "By our calculations, domestic product, food, and wage outputs will continually increase. Our current circulating and reserve coinage cannot withstand such pressures."

"You mean we need to mint more coins?"

"Precisely."

Moran fell silent. The Morey currency he currently used followed the old equivalency system because there was no time to change it, though he planned to rename and redesign the coinage in the future.

But fundamentally using the same metallic materials, if supplies were insufficient now, they would still lack in the future with new currency.

"We need iron, copper, silver, gold ores," Moran's first thought was to open mines.

However, crimson dragon controlled all of Erl's mineral resources. It might loosen its grip on iron, copper and silver slightly, but would never relinquish its gold.

"No good, I must speak to Dornier," he promptly instructed his butler to prepare a carriage for the Vattier estate.

"Dornier, can you persuade the Red Dragon?" Moran asked as soon as he entered, striding into the study where Shena was frowning over several ancient tomes, utterly oblivious to the new arrival.

"What are you doing?" Moran's sudden voice beside him nearly made Shena tumble over.

"It's you, Tulio. What's the matter?" Shena asked, subtly closing all the books.

"You seem preoccupied," Moran said inscrutably. "You didn't say a word this morning, quite unlike you. We're allied partners with closely linked interests, yet you're suddenly indifferent about your money."

"Is that so? Perhaps the stress has mounted, poor sleep quality. Plus that Garry girl keeps hanging around crimson dragon, and the other nobles keep mocking me."

Moran glanced at the ancient tomes bound in flax paper - valuable collectors' items, but hardly mainstream reference works to pore over so intensely.

"Well, I've run into an issue needing your assistance."

Shena pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go on, if I can help."

"Coinage is in short supply. I need ore extracted from Pillar Mountain, but he occupies it."

"Oh, that problem. Have you considered other solutions?" Shena dismissed it outright, well aware how difficult it was to wrest gold from Raphael's claws.

"My friend! This is a serious discussion!" Moran said indignantly.

But Shena remained evasive, behaving uncharacteristically insensitive and impatient, greatly vexing Moran.

"Dornier! You encouraged us to defect to the crimson Dragon's side at the critical juncture - now is the time to validate your foresight! Why have you become so apathetic?"

Moran scrutinized Shena with an odd look. His old friend's transformation - from initially gung-ho, to taking command midway, to now utterly disinterested - was far too abrupt, without any apparent inciting incidents altering his personality.

"My apologies, I'm in poor shape lately. Handle worldly affairs yourself. Butler, see the Baron out."

Shena remained intractable, dismissing him.

"I'll speak to crimson dragon myself!" Moran called out stubbornly as he left.

"Alas," Shena sighed, looking at the tomes - ancient, esoteric texts expounding the forbidden lore of bloodlines.

The rat dragon and blood wyvern re-emerged from the study's cabinet and window - Shena had been under constant surveillance until completing Raphael's assigned task.

"Fundamentally altering the dragon kin's appearance through innate, controllable metamorphosis…this is akin to Turin Forest's natural transformation magic," he reopened a book, a dull ache in his abdomen.

In truth, this "Dornier" body had exhibited abnormalities years prior - accelerated gastric acid corroding its outer walls, worsening indigestion, faint purple discolorations on the skin.

Clear signs that this stolen flesh was gradually putrefying.

Alchemical life-extension could delay the process, but termination was inevitable.

Hence his efforts to create conditions for further experimentation and progress his immortality project.