A Journey That Changed The World.

Chapter 1633: By The Gods

ʼʼWhy would they head here?ʼʼ Aisha asked after taking a mouthful of the Dragon Ale.

Archer watched her shiver, making him smile as he explained. ʼʼThe Terravians disturbed a stronger monster that invaded the swarmʼs home. Forcing them to flee from the Primordial creature.ʼʼ

Following that, the couple continued talking about the empire, and the redhead revealed that the tax income had increased twentyfold, surprising him even more. ʼʼIs that from Avidia, Pluoria, and Orientia? What about Draconia?ʼʼ

ʼʼWell, if we take in the homeland, then the taxes have tripled,ʼʼ she revealed. ʼʼThanks to selling our stocked resources, itʼs earning us so much gold, we donʼt know what to do with it, but the government did suggest something?ʼʼ

ʼʼWhatʼs that?ʼʼ

ʼʼThey want to allocate us funds to use whenever we travel across the empire,ʼʼ Aisha said. ʼʼThe people want to pay you back, and this is the only thing that all the senators agreed on.ʼʼ

ʼʼWe already have a family account at the Draconian Bank,ʼʼ he commented, nodding in agreement. ʼʼHave them send it there, we can save it and only use it to please the people. Like a new palace or something.ʼʼ

ʼʼThatʼs the idea.ʼʼ

Archer was surprised but wouldnʼt say no to free gold. The Company had been bringing in a fortune thanks to the unlocked resources the Mining Platforms brought in. He was even more shocked when Novgorodian traders landed at Eastwatch wanting to trade, bringing in thousands of goods the Draconians hadnʼt seen. From fancy rugs to unique clothing.

Thanks to how the Draconian Empire was run, the people thrived to know end. Growing wealthier than any of their ancestors. This allowed the citizens to go crazy and go on a spending spree once the ceasefire took effect. New companies popped up all over the growing realm.

All paid low tax, which brought in even more funds, thanks to rich Novgorodians and Nightshadians to invest all across the island. Embassies, shops, and all kinds of businesses opened up in the wake of peace. Aisha couldnʼt get a grip on how fast things were changing, forcing the government to hire hundreds more people.

Once the Dragonkin woman teleported back to her office in the government section of Dragonheart City, Archer decided to explore the new markets to see if he could buy anything for the women or children. Moments later, he vanished from the palace and appeared in a back alley.

As a biting chill swept through the air, Archer pulled up his hood, shielding his pointed ears from the frostʼs sharp sting. With a steadying breath, he stepped onto the snow-dusted cobblestone streets of the capital, the heart of a vast, world-spanning empire. The city thrummed with life, its towering spires looming against the grey sky.

Archerʼs boots crunched softly in the fresh snow as he ventured into the biggest city in the empire. After a few minutes, the main market appeared at the end of the road. It was a vibrant chaos of colors, scents, and sounds that filled the frosty air regardless of the horrible weather battering the world.

Stalls lined the winding streets, their wooden frames draped in furs to ward off the winter. Merchants called, voices mingling with the sizzle of roasting meats, the clink of coins, and the laughter of children darting through the crowd. The aroma of spiced bread, smoked fish, and exotic fruits from distant lands hung heavy in the air.

Following that, Archer wove through the throng, his hooded cloak blending seamlessly with the sea of fur-lined coats and scarves. A lute player strumming a tune, and the clatter of a blacksmithʼs hammer from a nearby alley. The market was a world unto itself, proof of the empireʼs vast reach.

Where traders from far-flung deserts and coastal cities bartered alongside local farmers hawking root vegetables. His gaze drifted to a stall nestled between a bakerʼs stand piled high with golden loaves. A small brazier glowed at the stallʼs center, casting a warm halo over a portly, rosy-cheeked woman stirring a steaming pot.

The rich scent of cocoa hit him, cutting through the crisp air and drawing him closer like a moth to a flame. A hand-painted sign above the stall read. ʼʼHot Chocolate: Warm Your Soul, 2 silver.ʼʼ

Archer approached the stallʼs owner, her eyes crinkling with a welcoming smile didnʼt glance twice at him. ʼʼCold day for wandering, sweety,ʼʼ she said in her Draconian accent. ʼʼA cup of my chocolateʼll set you right. Made with cinnamon and a touch of chili, just like they do in the southern provinces.ʼʼ

He nodded. ʼʼOne, please.ʼʼ

Seconds later, he slid a silver coin across the counter, its edges smoothed from years of trade. The woman scooped the dark liquid into a clay mug, its warmth seeping through the ceramic, and handed it to him. ʼʼCareful now, itʼs hot,ʼʼ she warned, already turning to stir the pot again, oblivious to the significance of the figure before her.

To her, he was just another customer, another face in the endless stream of marketgoers. Archer cradled the mug, its heat a comforting weight against his chilled fingers, and stepped back into the crowd. The first sip was smooth and rich, with a subtle kick of spice that warmed him from the inside out.

For a moment, he allowed himself to savor the obscurity, the simple pleasure of being just another soul in the empireʼs bustling heart, his true identity cloaked as surely as his ears beneath the hood. As he sipped, his eyes scanned the market, noting a spice merchant, the hurried steps of a cloaked figure slipping into an alley.

The gleam of a Homeguardʼs armor in the distance. The cityʼs pulse thrummed beneath its snowy veneer, and Archer knew that in this market was just the start. With a faint smile, he took another sip and continued his exploration, the hot chocolate warming his body through the chill.

The marketʼs hum enveloped him as he lingered near the hot chocolate stall, the mug still warm in his hands. The drink had steadied his senses amidst the whirlwind of the capital. But his thoughts turned to his family, his thirteen children, and his harem. He couldnʼt return empty-handed, not when the market brimmed with treasures.

Archer glanced back at the stall, where the rosy-cheeked woman was now serving a pair of fur-clad traders. Her brazier glowed invitingly, and Archer made a decision. ʼʼAnother round,ʼʼ he said, stepping forward. ʼʼEnough for thirteen children and twelve others.ʼʼ

The womanʼs hands froze mid-stir, her eyes narrowing as she studied him more closely. The hood still shadowed his face, but something in his posture, the subtle dignity of his race, sparked recognition. Her breath caught, and she dropped her ladle with a clatter, not catching anyoneʼs attention thanks to the noise.

ʼʼBy the gods, Your Majesty?ʼʼ she whispered, her voice trembling with awe.

The Emperor, cloaked and unassuming, bought her hot chocolate. Archer offered a faint, disarming smile, neither confirming nor denying her suspicion. ʼʼJust a man buying drinks for his family,ʼʼ he said, but the glint in his eyes betrayed the truth.

The womanʼs face flushed deeper, and she scrambled to pour the hot chocolate into a large, insulated jug she kept for bulk orders, her hands shaking slightly. ʼʼTwenty-five servings, then! No charge, Your Majesty, not for you. Itʼs an honor, truly.ʼʼ

He shook his head gently, reaching into his Item Box. ʼʼYouʼll take payment,” he insisted, his tone firm yet kind. He counted out ten gold coins, far more than sheʼd asked for, and pressed them into her palm. ”For your craft, and for your discretion.ʼʼ

The womanʼs eyes widened at the weight of the coins, enough to stock her stall for weeks, but she nodded, struck speechless by his generosity. With all the hot chocolate, Archer turned to a nearby stall, its display of scarves fluttering in the winter breeze like banners of woven fire.

The merchant, a wiry man with a keen eye, was already watching him, no doubt alerted by the hot chocolate vendorʼs hushed excitement. Word traveled fast in the market, and the man bowed low as he approached, his hands clasped in respect. ʼʼYour Majesty, welcome! My wares are yours.ʼʼ

Archer waved off the formality, his focus on the scarves. ʼʼThirteen, for my children,ʼʼ he said. ʼʼEleven for girls, two for boys. Winter colors, warm and sturdy.ʼʼ

The merchant nodded eagerly, pulling out a selection of finely woven scarves, deep blues, rich burgundies, and soft greens, each thick enough to fend off the biting cold. For the girls, Archer chose patterns embroidered with silver threads, roses, and starbursts, each scarf tailored to their personalities he knew so well.

For his two boys, he selected simpler designs in charcoal and forest green, durable yet striking. The merchant began bundling the scarves, his fingers swift despite his nervous glances. ʼʼA gift from my stall to the imperial family,ʼʼ he said, bowing again. ʼʼNo payment needed, sire.ʼʼ