The shameless invaders are about to wage a blasphemous war against the great Her Grace.
They will bring disaster and hunger.
They will bring plague and pain.
They want to abduct our children; they want to destroy our homes.
They want to turn this thriving land back into a barren wasteland.
They are shameless thieves, the source of all evil, demons raising their swords against angels.
Such rumors had spread wildly and rapidly through the various tribes over the past few days, like a virus with legs.
From the elderly beastkin to the young kobolds who had only just begun to understand the world, almost everyone knew that war was imminent.
The source of this information was said to be a sheepkin who had accidentally overheard it from the Black Knights.
In truth, however, these rumors had been intentionally “leaked” by Fido under Irene's orders.
To play it safe, she planned to conscript a large number of ordinary vassals who had not yet been transformed into dragonborn to participate in this war.
The prerequisite for doing so was to rouse the fighting spirit of all her vassals, facilitating the subsequent large-scale conscription.
After all, no one liked war, except for the noble lords who sat in the rear and enjoyed the fruits of victory.
These beastkin and half-beastkin of various tribes, after all, had not undergone dragonborn transformation. Their mindset was different from those dragonborn, who were all fanatical believers with absolute loyalty who viewed Irene as a deity.
At the end of the day, they were just a group of poor souls who had been forced to submit.
Although they had lived a good life for a few years under the little dragon girl's arrangements and were deeply grateful to—and even worshipped—this benevolent Her Grace,
if she forced these poor souls, who had finally enjoyed a few years of comfort, onto the battlefield, their minds would likely be filled with thoughts of their families. They would feel resentful, cowardly, afraid of not returning alive, and might even flee under the impulse of self-preservation.
With all these worries weighing on them, it would be a miracle if they could exert even seventy to eighty percent of their original combat strength.
But what if they were told that they were enlisting now not to protect the black dragon's wealth, but to protect their own families?
After all, if the black dragon lost, she could just pat her butt and flee this place. But what about them, the native inhabitants?
Would they still be able to live such a wonderful life?
Would those humans bring them a beautiful life like their beloved Her Grace did?
No, they would not.
Those humans would only brutally reduce them to their original state, plundering everything they currently possessed and turning them once again into savages struggling to survive in the wilderness.
After seven years of development, if they were asked to return to that primitive life of eating raw meat and drinking blood, surely not a single beastkin would agree.
Under this emotional onslaught, these straightforward folks would unleash combat power far beyond their usual limits—whether for the sake of continuing to enjoy this life in the future, or for their wives and children waiting at home for their triumphant return.
This was the power of conviction.
And under the influence of this deliberately created sense of urgency, even though Irene had not yet issued a conscription order, a large number of vassals were already planning or had spontaneously begun to gather toward Black City.
Iron Bull was just one of the most ordinary among them.
On the eve of dawn, this sleepless minotaur sat on his roof, taking puff after puff of his pipe.
His gaze stared blankly into the distance.
That direction was toward Black City.
He had never been to that city, but that didn't stop him from dreaming of its beauty.
Their Wild Bull Tribe, being relatively remote, had only recently embraced Her Grace's rule.
Hmm... He would never forget that day when that black dragon, wearing black underpants on his head, charged into the tribe with fifty very strangely dressed big guys, choked the tribe leader by the neck, and forced him to call him a handsome fella.
At the time, they all thought they would be enslaved by this perverted black dragon for the rest of their lives, living a life worse than death.
But to their surprise, after making them swear an oath of fealty, the black dragon simply left.
Not long after, a group of dragon-blooded half-beastkin claiming to be Black Knights showed up, bringing them a vast amount of food and various materials needed to build up the tribe.
That day, Iron Bull learned for the first time what it felt like to be full.
Later, to show gratitude to the great Her Grace whom the Black Knights spoke of, the tribe leader gathered everyone in the tribe to harvest the most beautiful, rare, and sacred white gyroflowers nearby, wove them into wreaths, and, accompanied by the High Priest, traveled thousands of miles to deliver them.
Upon returning, the chief described to them how bustling and majestic that settlement called Black City was.
It was practically like heaven.
From then on, Iron Bull yearned deeply for that city, wanting to see with his own eyes if Black City was truly as wonderful as the chief had claimed.
Was Her Grace truly a sacred dragon with six wings and three heads, just as the rumors said?
The chief also said that Black City used to be just a very poor kobold tribe called the Iron Tooth Tribe, even worse off than their Wild Bull Tribe.
But under the leadership of that great Her Grace, it had developed into its current state in just a few short years.
Back then, Iron Bull had thought that under the leadership of such a great Her Grace, their Wild Bull Tribe would surely be able to live a good life like the Iron Tooth Tribe in the future.
His prediction was correct. The changes in their tribe grew greater by the day. The days of going hungry were gone forever, and sometimes he would even wake up laughing from his dreams.
However, just two days ago, the underground tunnel connecting Black City to their tribe was completed.
They no longer needed to risk crossing the yellow sands and gravel deserts to get to Black City. Now, they only needed to board the steam train replicated by the Equipment Department established by Her Grace, and they could arrive in the time it took to take a nap.
This was supposed to be a good thing, but arriving along with the train was the terrible news that war was imminent.
“Whew...”
The young minotaur took a deep drag of his homemade pipe and exhaled a somewhat distorted smoke ring, mirroring the worried frown on his face.
He planned to finish this smoke, then sneak away from his wife to catch the morning train, heading to that long-desired dream city alongside his minotaur brothers who had been fortunate enough to be chosen as dragonborn.
Only, this time, he might not return.
Even if he did return, it would likely be as a cold corpse.
Yes, he was preparing to join this war.
This war against the human duchy.
All just to ensure his family wouldn't be touched by the flames of war, and to let his wife continue to enjoy this hard-won... happy life.
But right then...
“Dear,” a sudden voice called out from behind him.
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