Chapter 483: The Parade Begins
Veyr wore a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, as he sat stiffly in a high-backed chair while half a circle of union leaders spoke excitedly around him.
His gaze flickered from one face to the next, but he said little, nodding when expected, smiling when necessary, offering the occasional hum of acknowledgement when someone leaned in with a particularly enthusiastic update.
“The Blacksmith Union is 100% ready to support the Dragon’s Army, Twelfth Elder. The moment they need us, my men are willing to work non-stop, day or night, to meet production quota!”
“We’ve already started expanding the arable land under our control,” another leader chimed in, straightening his tunic. “More and more hectares are being reclaimed from the wild forests. If the weather holds and the new irrigation channels go in on time, our production numbers should rise by ten to fifteen percent next year.”
Their voices blended together…. plans, promises, pledges, they were all spoken with unwavering pride and patriotic fire.
But to Veyr, it all felt strangely distant.
He sat like a polished statue at the center of it all. Not knowledgeable enough to contribute. Not lucky enough to be excused.
It wasn’t that he disliked them. Just that none of this was what he had trained for.
He was a warrior.
His job was supposed to be war.
But currently it was anything but war.
Numbers and hectares and supply chains meant little to him on a personal level. But still, he listened. Because the Dragon was supposed to listen.
Because that too was a part of the role.
“My Lord… it’s time. The Celebration Chariot is ready.”
A soft voice pulled his attention, as a servant bowed before the Twelfth Elder, who gave a silent nod from behind his masked helm, rising slowly to his feet.
He didn’t speak. Just gestured calmly for the rest of them to follow.
Veyr stood without a word, motion stiff beneath the weight of his robes, as Valterri fell into step behind him. The union leaders followed shortly after, adjusting their sashes and straightening their posture as if preparing to be seen by history.
Together, they exited the common hall and made their way to the towering platform that awaited them outside.
The Celebration Chariot.
A moving ceremonial stage, built like a grand transport vessel, open-roofed with golden railings and deep red banners billowing from all sides.
It looked like something pulled from myth and dressed in festival light.
Veyr ascended the platform, joined by the Twelfth Elder, Valterri, the Elder’s personal guards, and all nine union leaders, each of them finding their place on the upper deck.
The engine stirred.
And slowly, the Chariot began to move, its wheels rolling past the iron gates of the Twelfth Elder’s private quarters and emerging onto the main procession route where thousands had gathered.
And that was when the crowd spotted him.
The Dragon.
As the roar that followed was instant and deafening.
*Cheers*
*Screams*
Enthusiastic cheers erupted like thunder from the throats of every commoner gathered as the parade ignited in earnest, with Veyr standing tall at its heart.
Flower petals flew through the air in bursts of color as entire families surged toward the barricades, elbowing for a better view, some hoisting children up on shoulders while others simply wept with joy at the sight.
Old women clutched prayer beads and bowed with hands trembling, whispering blessings meant for a generation they never thought they’d live to see.
Young men shouted war chants with voices hoarse from pride, as they vowed to drink till they passed out every time the Dragon claimed a new planet for the Cult.
Shopkeepers abandoned their stalls just to catch a glimpse of the Dragon.
Artists sketched furiously from rooftops, trying to immortalize the moment.
As pretty much everywhere that the Chariot rolled, it felt like a dream colliding with reality.
To most here, this was a once-in-a-lifetime sight. A holy figure not seen through a broadcast or told through story, but breathing, waving, standing less than fifty feet away.
Veyr smiled. He waved. He nodded with the poise of a leader born into destiny.
But inside, his thoughts churned like stormwater beneath calm glass.
‘Was this how being the Dragon was supposed to feel?’
He saw their eyes, filled with awe. Their mouths, wide open with belief. Their cheers, deafening in their sincerity.
And yet, he couldn’t silence the thought that clung to the back of his throat like a stone.
‘They think I’m someone I’m not.’
‘They believe in me this much even though I have done nothing to earn it.’
His lips never stopped smiling, his hand never dropped, but behind every perfect gesture was a silent whisper to himself.
‘Fake it till you make it, Veyr.’
‘Just keep faking it.’
‘And maybe one day… it won’t feel fake anymore.’
Behind him, Valterri stood with one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, eyes sharp and scanning.
He didn’t share in the joy. He didn’t wave. He didn’t smile.
Every time someone leaned in too far. Every time a crowd member surged too fast. Every time a glint of metal flashed in the light, his grip would tighten and his muscles would coil, ready to strike.
But he didn’t.
Because none of those false alarms were actually enemies.
Just pious citizens who had gone a bit crazy upon seeing the Dragon.
“I don’t like this…. I don’t like this one bit, I told the local guards again and again that they must not allow double lines to form, but there is no order to this crowd.
This is a security nightmare through and through,” He muttered, as he grit his teeth in anger.
And yet, for all his frustration, he didn’t act on impulse. Couldn’t afford to.
Because in a setting like this, drawing his blade even once would cause chaos that could spiral far beyond control.
So he kept breathing. Kept watching.
Because whether he liked it or not, he was the final shield between the Dragon and anyone who wished to cause him harm.
And there was no room for mistakes.