"The Aura Kingdom isn't as terrifying as the rumors say. This recruitment order... maybe I can give it a try."
Once this thought arose, it took root in his heart.
For the next three days, Caleb struggled internally.
He walked through familiar streets, seeing Aura soldiers maintaining order, shops reopening one after another, and the fear gradually fading from the faces of commoners queuing for food, replaced by anticipation.
He also saw those who tried to steal or cause trouble being swiftly subdued and taken away, reportedly to be judged according to the newly promulgated simplified laws.
Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, Caleb made up his mind.
He carefully tidied his few clothes, tuned his harp, and following the address on the recruitment order, arrived at a guesthouse in the east of the city that was originally used to receive traveling merchants but was now being temporarily requisitioned.
A room on the second floor of the guesthouse had been converted into an interview office.
The room was empty, containing only a thick wooden table and several chairs; the windows were open, letting in the morning light and the faint clamor from the streets.
Sitting behind the table was a male Werewolf.
His face was thin, with a protruding snout and fine, grey-black mane; a pair of amber eyes were very sharp, looking down at the documents in his hands.
When Caleb entered, he looked up, and that gaze made the poet's heart tighten, almost making him want to turn and leave.
"Sit," the Werewolf said in a flat voice without much inflection, pointing to the chair opposite him.
His Common Tongue was very standard, without any accent; if not for his appearance, Caleb would have thought he was facing a human bureaucrat.
Caleb sat down, carefully placing his harp by his feet.
"Bard, Caleb Lust."
The Werewolf looked down at a piece of paper in front of him, which seemed to have some simple records. "Four days ago in the afternoon, at the Central Square, you played and sang a song for the Aura ladies distributing food. My people nearby heard it."
Caleb's heart tightened.
So he had been noticed long ago.
What seemed like a peaceful place appeared to hide many eyes.
"No need to be nervous." The Werewolf looked up, his gaze meeting his directly. "We are recruiting exactly people like you, who know how to move hearts with voices and stories, who know what kind of words people remember and resonate with."
He interlaced his fingers on the tabletop in a relaxed posture, but those eyes remained sharp.
"Let's be direct: we need new ballads and new stories about His Majesty the Red Emperor, about the Aura Kingdom, and about the new order and future of this land. They need to be understandable to commoners, something they are willing to listen to, and even willing to sing."
Caleb licked his dry lips. "Specifically... what kind of content is needed?"
"Several directions."
The Werewolf's voice was unhurried, clearly having said this many times. "First, His Majesty's power and great achievements."
"The rise of the North, the establishment of the kingdom, breaking through natural barriers, sweeping through enemy armies... use the methods you Bards are skilled in to embellish and spread these facts, highlighting His Majesty's strength, wisdom, and inevitable victory."
"Second, the order and justice of the Aura Kingdom."
"Emphasize our attitude toward those who submit, just like distributing food in the square or maintaining street security. The chaos has ended; new rules will ensure everyone's safety and basic survival. For those who follow the rules, regardless of their former status, they will be protected and even have the chance for a better life."
"Third, the futility and stupidity of resistance."
"The greed and incompetence of the Old Theo Nobility led to failure and the suffering of the people. Continued resistance will only bring more destruction, while following the trend and accepting the new ruler is the only way to live, and perhaps even an opportunity to change one's class and elevate one's status. You can appropriately add examples of those who submitted and gained benefits—real or reasonably fabricated ones are both fine."
The Werewolf paused, observing Caleb's reaction, then continued, "We will provide the basic thread of events and key points, and there will be some former Xio officials or scholars who have submitted to provide background information."
"What you need to do is weave these Materials into catchy, easily spreadable ballads, heroic epics, or short and punchy stories, and then perform them in taverns, on street corners, in markets, at relief points—anywhere people still gather."
"We will have people observing and assessing the effectiveness of the dissemination."
Caleb remained silent.
He was no fool; he understood exactly what the Werewolf meant.
It meant he would become Aura's mouthpiece, singing praises for the conqueror he once feared, and persuading his fellow countrymen to accept the new ruler.
A strong sense of betrayal welled up in his heart, mixed with complex emotions for the old kingdom, making his stomach churn.
He suddenly stood up, the chair legs scraping harshly against the stone floor.
He glared at the Werewolf, wanting to say something to defend his dignity.
"Don't be in a hurry." The Werewolf's expression didn't change, as if he were accustomed to such reactions.
He took a small leather pouch from under the table, untied the string, and poured the contents onto the table with a 'clatter.'
Not silver coins, but gold coins!
Five finely minted gold coins with sharp edges glittered enticingly in the sunlight from the window, almost blinding Caleb.
He had never owned so many gold coins at once in his life.
"This is an advance payment to prove your worth. Accept this job, and they are yours."
The Werewolf said calmly, "Afterward, based on the quantity and quality of the works you submit, as well as the feedback on their dissemination, we will settle once a week. The basic remuneration can be paid weekly in silver coins, or converted into equivalent necessities like grain, cloth, or salt."
"Those with outstanding results will receive additional gold coin rewards."
Caleb opened his mouth, wanting to refuse righteously, wanting to say he would never betray his kingdom or sing the praises of invaders.
But then, he remembered the Ogre's indifferent gaze; he remembered the Centaur girl's gentle eyes and her words "we don't eat people"; he remembered the cold faces of the nobles when collecting taxes; he remembered his empty coin pouch and his frequently growling stomach, and he thought of what these gold coins could bring him.
Thus, the impassioned speech that had rushed to his lips got stuck in his throat.
He stood there, his body trembling slightly, his gaze moving back and forth between the gold coins and the Werewolf's calm face.
Finally, he silently sat back down.
A glint of understanding flashed in the Werewolf's eyes, but there was no mockery or triumph; he simply pushed the five gold coins forward.
"Write a hymn of praise for the great His Majesty Ignis as a test of your skill. No specific format is required, but it must have power and be memorable."
The Werewolf took a piece of paper and a quill from a drawer and pushed them over.
The Bard was silent for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and picked up the pen.
He didn't write immediately but closed his eyes. In his mind, he recalled the scene of the Red Emperor's arrival in Iris City.
A massive crimson dragon shadow swept across the sky, the shadow cast by its wings seeming to cover the entire city; that majesty and power were indeed trembling to behold.
He also thought of the various legends about the Red Emperor.
Rising from the northern wastes, unifying chaotic tribes, establishing a kingdom, personally plucking Satellites from space, crushing the mountain passes Xio took pride in... he was like a Legendary existence living in reality.
Countless inspirations surged in his mind.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze had become focused, even carrying a hint of a creator's fanaticism.
He dipped the pen in ink and began writing rapidly on the paper, occasionally pausing to weigh his words.
The Werewolf did not rush him, just waited quietly.
About fifteen minutes later, Caleb put down the pen and turned the paper around.
He cleared his throat and, in his best reciting tone, read out the verses he had written.
"Oh, Dweller of the Molten Iron Throne, whose wings cover the firmament of the North, we look up at the burning sunlight upon your scales.
You were born of flame and iron, marking the frontiers of night and day with Dragon Breath.
Beneath your shadow, the tides of chaos are stilled; where your gaze falls, the foundations of order are established.
"You said: All who obey my laws shall find refuge; all who are loyal to my banner shall enjoy peace; beneath my wings, there is no senseless famine; within my domain, no unjust plunder is allowed.
Those who heed this commandment: the craftsman shall find fulfillment of skill before the furnace; the farmer shall see waves of bountiful grain amidst the furrows; the scholar shall find the patterns of truth within the scrolls; families shall continue their lineage and warmth within sturdy stone houses."
"Oh, as raw iron is purified in the fire, the Soul is fortified in loyalty.
Our descendants shall sing your name, as they sing of the Reincarnation of the seasons;
Our swords shall defend your path, as they defend our own doors.
Only by following the trajectory of that red star can the Soul escape the frozen earth of confusion and reach the never-extinguishing dawn.
"Ah, no need to praise the sun in the sky, for the great Red Emperor, the great His Majesty Ignis, he is our true sun,
May your flames burn forever, may your kingdom endure eternally,
From this moment, until the end of ten thousand generations."
After the last syllable was recited, the room fell silent.
The Werewolf silently finished reading the text on the paper, savoring the recitation he had just heard.
A moment later, he nodded, an appreciative expression appearing on his face.
"Acceptable."
The Werewolf put away the paper. "This proves you have the ability we need."
He took out a piece of slightly better quality paper from under the table, which had a simple contract and several more specific creative points written in the Common Tongue, including certain events that must be mentioned, sensitive topics to avoid, and encouraged thematic directions.
"Sign it, or a thumbprint will do. This is your first official task list, with requirements for three poems and two short stories. Submit the first drafts within five days."
The Werewolf pushed the contract over. "You can take the advance payment with you."
"Remember, the breadth of dissemination and the level of acceptance will directly affect your subsequent remuneration and bonuses. We will have people in taverns recording the audience's reactions and collecting rumors from the streets."
"I... if the stories I write aren't exactly the points you provided, if I add some of my own... embellishments? To make the stories more vivid."
The Bard asked tentatively, trying to preserve a bit of creative freedom and professional dignity.
The Werewolf's pupils contracted slightly, but his tone remained steady: "The core content must not deviate from the main points."
"As for embellishments... we encourage those that make the story more engaging and easier to spread, provided they serve the message we want to convey rather than weakening or distorting it."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying a hint of unquestionable pressure.
"Mr. Bard, this is a job, a mission."
"We are buying your skill, not your faith. You only need to produce a product that meets the requirements. As for what you think in your heart, we don't care. We only care about what people hear, remember, and are influenced by."
After speaking, the Werewolf did not rush him, but simply leaned back against the chair, quietly watching him and waiting for a decision.
Finally, Caleb reached out, his fingers brushing over the five gold coins before pulling them toward himself.
"...I need to see those main points, as well as the specific details of the contract."
He said slowly.
The Werewolf grinned slightly, his face showing the first expression that could be called a smile.
"A wise choice." He nodded. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Caleb."
"From today on, you are one of the collaborators of the Aura Kingdom's Propaganda Department. Come here every Monday morning to report progress, receive new tasks, or adjust requirements. If you need any supporting Materials or information, you can also ask."
Similar scenes were taking place in various major towns throughout Aris Province.
Aura's newly formed Propaganda Department was systematically recruiting Bards, destitute scholars, and even literate beggars to build a propaganda network covering the newly occupied areas.
They provided money, food, and security in exchange for writing and performances that met their requirements.
Some who originally feared and loathed Aura began to waver and compromise under the pressure of survival and practical observation, eventually becoming one of the voices of the new order.
At dusk, on the top-floor terrace of the former Governor's Mansion in Iris City.
The Red Iron Dragon stood at the edge, overlooking this human city, whose style was vastly different from the wilderness.
Whoosh!
The sound of wings flapping against the air rang out, and a much smaller Iron Dragon folded its wings and landed on the terrace.
"The preliminary takeover of Aris Province is complete. Many stubborn resistance elements have been cleared, and the rest won't amount to much." Sorog's voice was deep as he continued, "The first batch of taxes and Materials collected from nobles and wealthy merchants has been tallied."
"A portion is being used for civilian relief as planned, while another portion has been allocated to the Propaganda Department as expenditure for our mouthpiece."
"How is the effect?" Galos did not turn around, still gazing at the city.
"Smoother than expected, though there are inevitably trivialities."
Sorog walked to a position slightly behind the Red Iron Dragon, also looking out at the city.
From this height, the crowds on the streets moved like ants, cooking smoke rose from some chimneys, and twilight was falling.
"Human commoners and wilderness tribes don't have many fundamental differences; they are all used to being ruled. As long as the rule provides basic security and survival guarantees, their fear fades faster than we expected after the ruler changes—especially when we demonstrate order and provide basic food security."
He paused and continued his report: "However, their thoughts are also more complex."
"Secret doubts, nostalgia for the old kingdom, and concepts like loyalty and integrity cannot be eradicated in a short time. It may take several generations to truly turn them around."
"To this end, many people have already been recruited in several major cities of Aris."
"The ballads and stories they write have already begun to spread in taverns, markets, and relief points. The first batch of feedback shows that content regarding food distribution and order maintenance is the most popular and easiest for people to accept."
"In addition, we have selected a group of well-behaved and relatively mild-tempered warriors—mainly Centaurs, Snake-men, and some werewolves. After simple training, they are having limited contact with local residents, helping distribute supplies, answering simple questions, and showing a friendly side."
"The effect... is alright. At least the human cubs aren't so afraid of us anymore."
Speaking of this, Iron Dragon Sorog tilted his head, the scales on his neck rubbing together with a slight rustling sound.
He looked at his blood brother and asked the doubt that had been in his heart for some time.
"Galos, what I don't quite understand is why you place such importance on the mouthpiece? The funds given to the Propaganda Department could be used to arm our warriors or to build fortifications and reinforce city walls."
Sorog flicked his tail and continued to express his thoughts.
"I believe that true rule relies on claws, fangs, and power."
"As long as the army is strong enough, the laws are strict enough, and rewards and punishments are clear enough, people will eventually get used to it and obey, just as the worgs in the wilderness eventually bow to a stronger alpha wolf."
"As for songs and stories, they are embellishments after a conquest, pastimes for leisure, and entertainment at banquets."
"Spending so many resources to actively manage such things? I feel it's not worth it. Our warriors need new armor and weapons more."
He shared his views frankly.
Galos was silent for a moment.
The evening breeze blew across the terrace, carrying the scent of distant cooking smoke and the city. He spoke slowly into the wind.
"Sorog, my brother, you are half right."
"Powerful force and strict order are indeed the cornerstones of rule, the unshakable bottom line. Without them, everything is empty talk, and any beautiful promise will turn to dust in chaos."
"We can stand here precisely because of our power and strength."
"But," the Red Iron Dragon turned his head and looked at Sorog, "relying solely on these is not enough to make rule stable in the long run."
"Especially given that our image as Evil Dragons, monsters, and savage races is deeply rooted in people's hearts."
"Fear can make people obey, but it also accumulates hatred and breeds secret resistance. When the main force of our army turns to other fronts, this hatred could explode."
"The mouthpiece—those Bards, those stories and ballads—their existence is very important and indispensable."
"Power tells them 'what they cannot do,' order tells them 'how they must do it,' and the mouthpiece and public opinion tell them 'how they should think,' and make them believe it comes from their own hearts."
"If we do not occupy this position, then others will."
Galos raised a front claw and lightly tapped the side of his head with a sharp hooked toe, his scales making a crisp clicking sound.
"Thought—the change here is what matters most."
Iron Dragon Sorog listened quietly, the confusion in his eyes gradually replaced by contemplation.
He was not dull; he had simply never thought about the problem of ruling from this perspective.
In the wilderness, power was everything, and those wilderness creatures were used to being ruled by power. But now they ruled not just the wilderness, but human cities with complex social structures.
In the future, there would be more such places.
"So, these expenditures are not for nurturing useless singers."
The Iron Dragon said thoughtfully, "This is forging another kind of weapon, a weapon of consciousness and thought."
"It fights on the battlefield of the mind. Its goal is to deprive resistance of its soil, let loyalty grow spontaneously, and make submission a natural choice. It will save us countless losses in our true rule. In the long run, this is the most cost-effective investment."
As Sorog spoke, his eyes grew brighter and brighter.
"When people accept us in their hearts, the cost of maintaining order will be greatly reduced. Recruiting soldiers and collecting supplies will be much smoother. Even... the next generation of humans might take pride in being Aura citizens and forget Xio."
"Exactly."
Galos nodded with satisfaction.
His brother was highly gifted in military affairs and was also quick to understand other levels. He was very reliable, truly worthy of having a similar Bloodline to himself.
Immediately after, the Red Iron Dragon turned his gaze back to the city in the twilight, changing the subject.
"Has the draft for the peace talk requirements been prepared?"
Sorog nodded, his expression becoming serious: "The basic framework has been drawn up."
"Reparation demands for gold coins, land, and mineral resources are easy to negotiate; the amounts can fluctuate. The focus is on the restrictive clauses for Xio's future armaments."
His tone turned cold: "I have two core requirements that must be written into the treaty."
"First, the Theo Kingdom is strictly forbidden from building, researching, or possessing any strategic-level weapons similar to Satellites in the future."
"Second, strictly limit their investment in resources for training Legendary-level experts, including but not limited to research funding for Casters, secret medicine supplies for warriors, and any rituals or experiments that could potentially give birth to Legendary creatures."
"We need to appoint Inspectors to conduct regular audits."
These two restrictions were equivalent to directly seizing the throat of Xio's future military development.
Without strategic weapons and top-tier experts, it would be difficult for Xio to pose a substantial threat to Aura again.
Galos listened quietly.
He knew very well in his heart that the ruling class of the Theo Kingdom would probably not easily agree to such terms. Even if they were forced to agree on the surface, they would never cooperate honestly in private. They would surely try every possible means to preserve the sparks of a counterattack, hoping to surpass Aura one day in the future.
Regarding this, Galos did not care much.
The future?
He grinned slightly, revealing a calm smile belonging to a Long-lived species.
One must know that those favored by time have always been Long-lived species like Great Dragons.
For a human kingdom to cultivate a Legendary, if they are lucky, it only takes decades or even a century. This is their advantage. However, a human Legendary's Peak period passes quickly, whereas once a Dragon achieves Legendary status, they can survive for a thousand years and remain at their Peak forever.
Xio can place its hopes on the future.
But Aura—especially him—the future will belong to him.