Matna Kingdom, conference room.

A massive magical projection hovered above the round table, displaying the battle on the Rhen Plateau.

The image was relayed in real time by an orbital magical satellite, with extreme precision; energy ripples and space distortions were captured accurately, even resolving residual traces of magical energy scattered across the battlefield.

The goblin senior officials seated around the table looked nothing like ordinary goblins.

Their physiques were well-proportioned, their clothing tailored with care; the fabrics were not flashy but of fine quality.

Most striking were their eyes, lacking the trickery and impatience common among base goblins, instead showing a calm, deliberate sheen. A few faces were as cold and composed as alchemical plating, with no emotion leaking out.

They watched the projection in silence.

On the screen, the Red Emperor fell like a mountain and rose like a mountain, repeatedly.

His breath fluctuated wildly: at times as weak as a candle in the wind, at times surging like a reawakened mountain-destroying force, at times erupting into near-uncontrollable fury...

In the end, he stepped across the remains of Lothrian’s crowned warriors and stood beneath a sky stained red with blood and fire.

As time passed, the projection finally switched to live feed rather than replay.

The battle on the Rhen Plateau had only just settled, and the Red Emperor clearly had not fully recovered from the fight; his dragon might remained potent, yet hints of disorder showed through.

“He resurrected three times... but in essence it was one.”

A goblin’s eyes flickered with data-like light as he analyzed in an even tone, “The first and third resurrections both relied on the Wild Path skill Rage Without Fear of Death; the blood-red that flashed in his pupils is proof.”

He paused and brought up a few frames in close-up.

“Also, the reason Lothrian’s anti-resurrection spells failed likely relates to his own trait or talent.”

“That spell has extremely high priority and normal methods shouldn’t be able to bypass it.”

“Agreed.”

Another goblin interfaced, his voice equally placid: “The Red Emperor never displayed signs of total loss of reason or complete berserk rage during the entire engagement. It can be confirmed he has entered the Wild Path and is at a considerable rank. What remains unclear is how he maintained clear consciousness while under Rage Without Fear of Death.”

In essence, Rage Without Fear of Death is not an unsolvable technique.

Putting aside that it is typically suppressed by anti-resurrection spells, its side effect of utterly losing reason and indistinguishably attacking friend and foe is a fatal weakness on high-end battlefields.

Yet in the Red Emperor, this skill seemed to undergo an unknown mutation.

If not for the goblins’ top-tier information processing technology and their high-precision magical satellite, they would have trouble believing that this draconic emperor could be compatible with the Wild Path and retain terrifying rationality amid rage.

At the side of the round table, a goblin in a dark gray uniform spoke quietly:

“The Gun-Fortress has completed final calibration and locked onto the Rhen Plateau coordinates, target: the Red Emperor.”

“Authorize firing?”

The Gun-Fortress was Matna’s century-built strategic heavy construct, powered by a composite formation. It had spatial channels enabling ultra-long-range strikes and enormous destructive capability.

When Halden and the Aola legions first fought on the lowland, the Red Emperor had not yet secretly completed his deployments.

The firing array had always been aimed at the Rhen lowlands.

According to the original plan, once Gu Li and Aola were both badly wounded, or even if the victor was nearly exhausted, the Red Emperor would launch a thunderous strike to clear the most threatening targets, then withdraw to claim dominance of the plain.

But the current situation was not yet clear-cut.

Whether to fire became a decision that required careful weighing.

“He is in poor condition and paid a heavy price in this battle. This might be the only chance.”

A goblin leaned forward and said, “I recommend authorizing fire.”

“If we wait until he fully recovers, the whole Romanian Plains will be shadowed by dragon wings, and our operational space will be greatly compressed.”

A rebuttal followed, tone still steady but edged with caution.

“No, he has not reached his limit.”

“The Wild Dragon’s power rises as rage accumulates. Although the Red Emperor can suppress his feral nature, observation data shows his rage level continued rising through the battle, only being forcibly restrained by unknown means.”

“If the rage barrier breaks and his reason collapses, he will become a real disaster.”

“Also, his resurrection mechanism principle is unknown and too many variables remain hidden on him. Facing him without sufficient intelligence exceeds acceptable risk.”

The goblins gradually began debating.

More accurately, they analyzed.

Their emotions remained steady—no shouting, no excitement—only efficient dissection of possibilities based on existing data.

Short seven minutes later.

After multiple rounds of swift, effective discussion, opinions converged toward consensus.

“Historical behavior records show the Red Emperor lacks tendencies for meaningless slaughter; his rule is pragmatically orderly.”

“The current laws of the dragon realm treat all humanoid races equally and do not discriminate by race. Even goblin subjects within Aola enjoy the same legal status.”

“Compared with Lothrian’s latent human-first bias, the plain’s order led by Aola is more favorable to us.”

“In conclusion, terminate hostile contingency plans and shift to contact and cooperation.”

Goblins are classified among humanoid races, but even within humanoids a hierarchy of contempt exists.

For example, humans see orcs as crude and barbaric.

Elves think humans are complex and fickle.

Dwarves can never distinguish an elf’s gender.

But almost every mainstream race disdained goblins.

In most humanoid eyes, goblins were lumped with kobolds and gnolls; even though Matna’s alchemical craft dominated the plains, no one wanted to admit their intelligence.

When humans spoke of Matna, it carried a subtle scorn, as if the goblins’ achievements were an unseemly exception.

Dragons’ worldview was much simpler.

To dragons, all humanoid races were not all that different.

They neither favored humans nor deliberately belittled goblins. This equal indifference, for long-discriminated Matna, became an acceptable neutral environment.

Matna had once been allied with Lothrian.

But now, the goblins thought Aola was the better choice. As for Lothrian... it was already history.

Once the decision formed, the goblins began drafting contact plans.

Some suggested sending an envoy, others recommended direct high-level talks, and some advocated first congratulating the Red Emperor on his victory. Discussion continued, but the direction was basically set.

Almost at the same time.

Reebos Kingdom, the Council Hall deep inside the White Rock Palace.

A similar magical projection floated above the long table, though the footage source differed and the clarity was slightly inferior to the goblins’ satellite images.

Those gathered included the king, several important ministers, and legendary warriors.

Speculation about the Red Emperor’s resurrections reached a pause here, but the meeting continued.

“Beyond resurrection, the Red Emperor has another more important trait.”

The young king at the head of the table spoke.

He had gray eyes and a youthful face that nonetheless carried a kingly steadiness.

Clad in finery and crown, he was himself a newly risen legendary warrior. Though his rank was not high, he was a genuine legend in practice.

Daris Croan, seventh king of Reebos.

His father, the prior king, had limited talent and never reached legendary realm.

After the prior disastrous war, the old king’s spirit broke and he passed away soon after.

When Daris ascended, he felt no glory—only the weight upon his shoulders.

Reebos desperately wanted to rise, but every attempt upwards had led to setbacks and failures.

By now, the new king had come to terms with reality.

He no longer clung to unrealistic ambitions or to restoring ancestral glory. For him, maintaining the nation’s current foundation was the chief duty; if the kingdom could regain some vigor, so much the better, but he would not force it.

Yet before Lothrian formed the new Federation and before war with Aola, a diplomat from the Halden Empire had approached Daris and hinted that if Reebos would re-enter the contest for the plains, the empire could provide renewed support.

Daris neither accepted nor explicitly refused, only said he needed time to consider.

Now was the pivotal moment deciding Reebos’s future course.

The king raised his hand and the projection split into two side-by-side clips.

The first: the Crowned Time Warden Sodrian’s figure blurred for an instant, the Red Emperor’s body stiffened abruptly, then silently shattered into more than ten fragments.

The process happened faster than the human eye could track.

No matter how much the footage was slowed, it still appeared instantaneous.

The second: Sodrian flashed again, the Red Emperor stiffened likewise.

But this time, as the Red Emperor’s head fell, Sodrian was swallowed by suddenly manifest flames and turned to dust in an instant.

Both clips began and ended in a blink; the process in between remained a mystery.

A legend clad in silver armor observed sharply and mused:

“The first time stopped time; the Red Emperor had almost no ability to resist. The second time, Sodrian repeated the method and successfully decapitated the Red Emperor, but was counterattacked and killed in an instant.”

“Combined with the Red Emperor’s different bodily structure compared to other dragons...”

“I think he possesses some kind of evolution-like talent. That may be his most terrifying feature.”

Resurrecting multiple times, rapidly adapting in battle so that the same method fails a second time, and even defeating rare time-based skills... who would willingly face such a monster?

King Daris was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke.

“After this meeting, immediately send the highest-level royal felicitations to Aola. The wording must be sincere. Simultaneously, assemble the highest-level envoy, prepare full ceremonial gifts, and depart for Aola.”

“Sire, might that seem... overly eager? It could damage the kingdom’s dignity.”

A minister hesitated.

“Dignity?”

The king shook his head, expression serious: “Times have changed. If Reebos hopes to stand in the new tide, it must rely on friendship with Aola. This is not humiliation, but clarity.”

After a pause he stood, hands braced on the table.

“We cannot afford to lose.”

“The prior war has already drained the kingdom. This choice will determine Reebos’s future. I do not want the next king to inherit an even more decrepit nation.”

Half an hour later, the meeting concluded.

Reebos immediately issued an official statement across the realm, slightly later than Theo, congratulating Aola on its great victory on the Rhen Plateau. At the same time, the king severed all contact channels with the Halden envoy and destroyed related devices.

Matna and the dwarf kingdom Cambruk followed suit, congratulating Aola on its victory.

Not long after, Halden Empire, Sky City.

Glen, the official responsible for the Romanian Plains affair, set down his cracked communication crystal and smoothed his brow.

King Daris’s decision was more decisive than he anticipated: not only an explicit refusal but a complete severance of contact channels.

“Heh.”

Glen let out a faint snort, emotionless, and swept the fragments into the waste slot by the table.

He picked up a tablet-like communication device linked to the imperial headquarters and swiped quickly; runes lit in sequence.

Then he began drafting a report.

Titled: “Emergency Assessment Report on Potential Risk Sources in the Romanian Plains.”

He recorded major events since the Red Emperor’s appearance, focusing on the Rhen Plateau battle. He labeled the Red Emperor as a “potential risk source that may affect the empire’s long-term interests,” and summarized four major characteristics.

Two: adaptive evolution in combat (suspected talent; threat level rises with battle duration);

Three: multi-path compatibility and unknown talents (confirmed combat and Wild Path, possibly others);

Four: possesses ruling wisdom and strategic patience (not merely great force, but nation-building and governance ability).

Finally, he concluded the target had a significant probability of breaking the crowned-level bottleneck and touching the Mandate of Heaven layer; if his talent had no major constraints and continued to grow, achieving Immortal status was possible.

Given Reebos’s full tilt toward Aola and the collapse of Lothrian’s power, other nonhuman kingdoms were of little use.

Glen recommended two strategies for the empire.

First, attempt non-hostile contact—coax and observe; second, if determined the Red Emperor poses a major threat to imperial interests, eliminate him at any cost as soon as possible.

He completed the report and uploaded it.

Glen set down the device, leaned back in his high-backed chair, and rubbed his temples.

He personally attached great importance to the Red Emperor and repeatedly emphasized potential risks in the report.

But he also knew that most of the empire’s attention currently centered on the Abyss development project.

Power shifts in places like the Romanian Plains were unlikely to gain central notice.

If not for his duties, he probably would not care.

Glen could almost foresee the report’s fate.

Filed away, skimmed by some senior officials, perhaps sparking a few comments, but ultimately shelved and ignored.

It would not reach the empire’s central decision-makers.

Those major figures cared only about the Abyss project’s progress, strategic competition with other empires, and how to maintain Halden’s hegemony.

As for making him personally expend great favors and resources to promote this report... frankly, he had no intention of that.

Within Halden’s vast system, officials like him charged with specific regions were not unimportant, but neither were they core.

A generous salary, Sky City housing, servants, and alchemical rations—all predicated on properly completing assigned tasks.

Extra efforts?

He had fulfilled his duty by submitting a detailed report.

What happened next was not his concern, nor did he wish it to be. Besides, given the empire’s power, if the sky fell, the true bigwigs would be the ones to carry the burden; it was not his worry.

After finishing work, Glen poured himself a cup of warm citrus tea and walked to the window.

Outside, a sea of clouds churned, white to the horizon.

Rune arrays at the base of the Sky City shimmered, maintaining the city’s levitation.

At the heart of the great city, a giant dark-purple rhombus crystal hung in the sky, providing near-limitless energy that kept the city aloft.

This was Halden.

Perched in the heavens, looking down on all beings like gods upon ants.

They had the capital—and the mindset—to match.

Glen sipped his tea. From above the clouds, he imagined he could see the Romanian Plains and everything happening there. To the Sky City’s residents, it was merely a small ripple on the ground.

“...The Red Emperor, huh.”

He murmured, then shook his head and finished the tea’s dregs.

Today’s work was done.

Glen put down the cup, prepared to enjoy dinner, and then rest and relax.

He had another report due tomorrow, a proposal about tax adjustments in a subordinate kingdom that would affect his annual review and mattered more to him.

As for the new ruler of the Romanian Plains?

Let others worry about that.

Outside, the Sky City slowly turned, heading toward the setting sun.

Sunlight pierced the cloud layer and bathed the city in a warm hue, while below the clouds a new order was being born in blood and fire.

But here, in the heavens, everything remained calm as ever.