Chapter 30: XXX. Emperor
Ox frowned, his hand on his chin, deep in thought. Like Wolman, he too had once led troops into battle.
"Right now, it's fantasy time."
Archer said this completely oblivious to the mood. Lord's job wasn't even finished yet, damn it, Aran was destroyed. Theory was theory, but the Emperor was no embroidered pillow, Emperor of Zhou.
No one dared to mention his real name. In the Western Continent, there was a superstition: if one's destiny was mighty, one must never call them by name, lest they be harmed by the invisible forces of fate, and be stricken with misfortune and ailments.
The Emperor was such a domineering man, calling him the mightiest man in the Western Continent wasn't an overstatement.
His tales were famous throughout the Western Continent, known to every household, purely because he was so overpowering.
Minstrels, driven by their wild adoration, would embellish the tales. They were the main spreaders of these stories, turning them into fantasies as they told and retold them.
The Monarch of Old Aran was incompetent, obsessed with Astrology and arcane mysticism, yearning for the Secret Power of bodily immortality.
Originally, the Emperor was an ordinary man, rumored to possess Qi strong enough to rival that of a Mountain Giant, but without ambition, content to be the mayor of his hometown's small town, not looking for trouble unless provoked.
That was when the Court Astrologer began to stir trouble: "Your Majesty, you're going to be slaughtered. This man, a descendant of the Overlord from two thousand years ago, would ride a Silver Dragon at the head of a million-strong army, marching towards the Royal Capital."
Dragons in the Western Continent weren't just giant flying lizards that everyone could ride; they were legendary creatures whose Dragon Breath could engulf all life in devastation.