Chapter 25. The Kingdom of Emor.
Russian Federation. Moscow. Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
After conducting a thorough analysis of the global political landscape and reassessing its relations with the most influential powers, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation reached the conclusion that, in order to secure national interests and maintain influence in the New World, it was essential to strengthen ties with two major global powers. These nations were recognized as key players in the Central World, and their support was deemed crucial for Russia. The focus was placed on the Holy Mirishial Empire and the Kingdom of Emor, both of which wielded significant influence over the political map of the region.
A separate and noteworthy development was the intelligence report regarding the Gra-Valkas Empire, which, much like Russia itself, had also been transported into this world. Despite having a smaller territorial expanse, Gra-Valkas was a formidable nation that controlled an island. However, from a technological standpoint, this island nation vastly outstripped the other superpowers of the region. The level of technological advancement possessed by Gra Valkas was a cause for concern, particularly due to fears that they might possess nuclear weapons. However, due to the insurmountable distance separating them, establishing contact with this empire was currently unfeasible, making intelligence-gathering a top priority.
Given the complexities of the political situation, the Russian Foreign Ministry determined that the best course of action was to expand its influence through intermediaries. The ideal candidate for this role was Mu, the second most powerful superpower in this new world. Mu was the first nation to formally acknowledge Russia's political and military strength and had expressed a willingness to assist in establishing diplomatic ties with other powerful states.
In light of these developments, the Russian Foreign Ministry also moved to establish diplomatic relations with Emor's neighboring states—the Kingdom of Meerky and the Sultanate of Buhur-Adi. Both nations demonstrated a friendly disposition and granted Russian diplomats permission to cross their borders. This allowed Russia to dispatch a delegation to Emor with the goal of initiating negotiations and fostering closer diplomatic relations.
Through these carefully planned diplomatic maneuvers, Russia set out to not only strengthen its ties with the region's key powers but also to preemptively address potential threats posed by technologically superior empires
The Central World. The Kingdom of Meerky. The Panma Desert.
Fourteen Russian diplomats, accompanied by several guards, traveled across the scorching and unforgiving expanse of the Panma Desert. They were aboard a peculiar mode of transportation that the locals called a "sand boat." It was a massive platform mounted on twenty wooden wheels, ten on each side. However, this contraption wasn't driven by mechanical force, but rather by the power of a magical artifact—"The Tears of the Wind God." This mysterious item could generate additional wind, channeling it through invisible currents. As a result, the enormous vessel moved across the sandy dunes with astonishing ease, gliding as if it were sailing across the smooth waters of the ocean.
The sandstorm was gradually subsiding, and the Russian delegation was drawing closer to the borders of the Kingdom of Emor. In the distance, shimmering on the horizon, they could already make out the silhouette of an oasis—the ancient city they were headed toward.
"Hey, esteemed traveler!" a loud voice suddenly called out. One of the diplomats, standing on the deck, turned to see a stout man dressed in loose, flowing robes approaching him. The man's face was hidden beneath a keffiyeh that matched his clothing, and his presence stood out sharply against the vast desert backdrop.
"So, you're headed to Emor?"
"Yes," the diplomat replied, instinctively adjusting his uniform. "And I take it you're traveling there as well?"
"Ha! That's right!" The man let out a hearty laugh, clearly enjoying the conversation.
"I'm hauling goods from Mu for trade." He unlatched a small wooden chest and revealed a neatly wrapped package inside.
"These are exclusive wind-up watches! Cost a fortune, but Emor's nobility is more than willing to splurge on them."
"I see," the diplomat nodded. "Do you visit Emor often?"
"Well, that depends, my friend," the merchant smirked. "Whenever I get my hands on high-quality goods, I head straight for Emor. But listen," his voice dropped to a hushed tone, "be careful when dealing with the Emorans. They tend to be rather arrogant, not just toward people, but even toward other races. Sometimes, I don't even understand what they're saying, but their nobility loves throwing money at extravagant trinkets. I tolerate their arrogance because, well... it makes me rich."
"Thanks for the warning," the diplomat remarked, mulling over the words.
"By the way, esteemed traveler," the merchant continued, "where are you coming from?"
"Russia," the diplomat answered with measured politeness.
"Oh-ho, that's quite a journey! Well then, safe travels to you on your way to Emor, my friend," the merchant said with genuine warmth.
"Thank you."
A brief pause followed as they exchanged slight bows of mutual respect. The merchant then returned to his group, while the diplomat rejoined his comrades.
After that, the conversation faded into the vast silence of the desert. With each passing hour, the Russian delegation drew closer to their destination, yet it was clear that their journey to Emor would be anything but simple. Beneath the kingdom's seemingly warm hospitality lay its own unspoken rules and a unique perception of outsiders.
The Central World. The Kingdom of Emor. The Capital, Dragusmagkira.
The Kingdom of Emor, one of the most powerful superpowers of the Central World, was located to the north of the Holy Mirishial Empire (HME). A landlocked nation spanning approximately eighteen thousand square kilometers, it was a formidable and impenetrable realm. At its heart lay the capital, Dragusmagkira, crowned by a great river that flowed through the entirety of the Central World. This river was considered the very lifeblood of the vast kingdom. The population numbered around a million Emorans—highly advanced, bipedal draconids possessing a unique magical prowess that set them apart from all other races.
Emorans were renowned for their immense mana reserves, which allowed them to cast formidable—and at times, perilous—spells. Unlike the High Elves, who wielded their own distinct brand of magical might, Emorans could unleash devastating incantations with reckless abandon, suffering neither exhaustion nor loss of strength. However, this extraordinary ability had fostered an intense pride and arrogance within their people. Their attitude toward other races was laced with thinly veiled disdain, as the magic of others seemed laughably weak compared to their own sheer power.
Despite its aggressive isolationism, the kingdom was highly developed and well aware that its unparalleled magic should not be squandered on trivial conflicts. The capital radiated an aura of tense grandeur, its palace walls adorned with emblems of ancient glory.
On this day, like every year, the Royal Palace hosted the Annual Prophecy Ceremony—a pivotal event for the entire nation. Within the grand hall, beneath its towering ceilings, the most formidable mages of the kingdom gathered, along with one other key figure: the Celestial Seer, a man gifted with the ability to peer into the very fabric of destiny, unveiling the crucial events that could shape the future of Emor. This ritual was far more than mere tradition—it was a cornerstone of governance, dictating the kingdom's course in the uncertain times ahead.
Thirty of the most powerful draconid sorcerers stood assembled, each a true master of their craft, wielding the immense magical strength necessary for the ceremony's success. Among them was Alesthre, the Celestial Seer, whose unparalleled gift of foresight had earned him both reverence and fear.
The chamber was silent—everyone knew this was no time for idle chatter. A hazy glow seeped through the high windows, casting an air of mystery over the ritual.
Seated upon his throne, Dragon King Wagdran observed the proceedings with a commanding presence. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, a silent testament to his wisdom and power. As the guardian of the mighty kingdom, he understood all too well how vital this prophecy was to the future of his people.
At last, the moment arrived. Alesthre stepped into the center of the hall, raising his hands as he prepared to channel his power. He spoke an ancient incantation, and at once, radiant energies erupted around him. His eyes darkened into a deep, ominous crimson, and the entire room grew charged with raw, unrelenting energy.
The mages surrounding him amplified the flow of mana, feeding their strength into the ritual. The combined force of their magic intertwined with the Seer's vision, guiding him as he reached into the uncharted depths of the future.
It lasted only a moment, yet it was so saturated with magic that the entire hall seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. In that instant, Alesthre collapsed to his knees, his eyes snapping open as beams of pale crimson light poured from them. These radiant streaks shot toward the ceiling, rapidly spreading outward to form a magnificent celestial map—a projection of the future, visible only to the royal elite and the gathered mages. Within this map lay glimpses of the trials that awaited Emor, the pivotal events that could alter the course of the great kingdom's history.
These prophecies were more than mere omens—they served as guidance and warnings, revealing the precise actions the kingdom must take to avoid catastrophe. The prophecy ritual marked the ceremony's climax, yet its revelations were too significant to be received with composure.
"God of Time and Space, reveal to me what is to come!" Alesthre's voice thundered through the chamber.
In the next instant, his body convulsed violently, crashing onto the stone floor in uncontrollable spasms.
"I refuse to believe this! No! No! It's impossible!"
Tension gripped the hall as the onlookers stiffened in alarm. No one dared intervene. Time stretched unbearably until, at last, Alesthre's body stilled. His ragged breathing slowly evened out, and the celestial map overhead flickered and faded, plunging the chamber back into dim twilight.
"What did you see, Alesthre?" King Wagdran's voice rumbled, laced with unease.
"The Archmage Emperor will return…" the seer whispered, his words frail with exhaustion.
"When and where will he appear, Alesthre?! How much time do we have?" Wagdran's voice sharpened, his gaze frantically searching for answers.
"I do not know, my king. Something… something was blocking and distorting space itself. Every attempt to break through was met with excruciating mental agony," Alesthre admitted, his voice strained.
A stunned silence swept through the hall. Gasps rippled through the gathered elite, and a cold grip of fear tightened around their hearts.
The memories of a long-ago war still haunted the Emorans. Their ancestors had once battled the Ravernal Empire, an ancient civilization that wielded incomprehensibly destructive weapons. That war had shaken the world, and in its final days, the Ravernal Empire had wiped the Draconic Empire's capital from existence using its ultimate weapon—Core Magic. The draconids had been forced to flee, abandoning their homeland and scattering across the world to survive.
When the Ancient Sorcery Empire vanished, the draconids began to rebuild, founding the Kingdom of Emor. Yet even in their newfound strength, they had always known that there was only one true enemy—the Ravernal Empire.
Some Time Later – Borders of the Kingdom of Emor
Magic is capable of true wonders. Where endless desert sands had stretched just moments ago, a lush, thriving forest now unfolded before their eyes.
The sandboat rocked slightly as the ship's captain raised a speaking horn and called out loudly:
— "We've arrived at the border gates of the Kingdom of Emor! Wishing you all a safe journey!"
The Russian delegation disembarked, stepping onto a well-paved stone road. Through the canopy of trees, they could see the massive azure-colored gates standing proudly in the distance. As they proceeded forward, they noticed a commotion near the entrance—someone was arguing with the gatekeeper.
— "I'll say it again: only dragonfolk and high elves are permitted to enter without waiting in line. What part of that don't you understand?" A towering draconid, nearly two meters tall, growled in a deep, rumbling voice. His dark scales, vertical slit pupils set in yellow sclera, and small horns were clear indicators of his draconic heritage. From afar, one might have mistaken him for a human—if they didn't look too closely.
— "We're not some lowly merchants! We represent the Kingdom of Riem from the Third Region and demand an audience with your leader! Let us through immediately!" one of the group snapped irritably, attempting to push past.
— "It doesn't matter whether you're merchants, envoys, or anything else. You're humans! Who you represent is none of my concern. Get in line and stop wasting my time," the gatekeeper retorted, not budging an inch.
Grumbling in frustration, the group begrudgingly stepped back and joined the queue.
— "That's what I thought," the draconid huffed with a smirk as he watched them comply.
— "Well, would you look at that," one of the Russian attachés chuckled.
— "I was hoping I'd see fewer lines in this world," he added with amusement.
— "Yeah, looks like we're in for a real fun time," his colleague replied dryly.
— "What's going on over there?" another member of the delegation inquired.
A draconid with larger, more imposing horns, clad in luxurious robes and flanked by four guards in gleaming armor, was striding purposefully toward the Russian diplomats.
The gatekeeper, who had just been bickering with the envoys from Riem, visibly tensed. Bowing his head nervously, he averted his gaze, not daring to meet the eyes of the high-ranking draconid approaching the scene.
— "Greetings, I am e, head of diplomacy," the approaching draconid said warmly as he stepped toward the Russian diplomats.
— "Where do you hail from, and what is your purpose here?"
— "We are from the Russian Federation, located far to the east, Your Excellency," the leader of the delegation replied, bowing in accordance with Emorian etiquette.
— "We have come to establish diplomatic relations with your kingdom."
Laughter erupted from the crowd behind the Russian mission. The gathered onlookers laughed loudly and openly, making no effort to hide their mockery.
— "By the gods! Barbarians from the Uncivilized Lands! If we, civilized people, struggle to gain access to the capital for negotiations, these savages will be standing here for centuries! Gods, what a joke!" one of the Riemian envoys sneered, laughing obnoxiously.
— "Apologies for the wait, esteemed envoys!" Moriaul suddenly declared, inclining his head slightly. "Please, follow me. However, before we begin negotiations, there is something we must discuss in private."
Upon seeing the nod of approval from the Russian delegation leader, the procession began moving toward the gates.
— "They have to wait in line too!" the head of the Riemian delegation suddenly barked in outrage.
— "We are from the Third Civilized Region! One of the members of the 'Elite Eleven Superpowers'! I demand that we be treated as equals!" His face burned with fury as he shouted at the top of his lungs.
— "How dare these barbarians be allowed through ahead of us?!"
— "Ugh." Moriaul wrinkled his nose in irritation.
— "The Kingdom of Riem—just another run-of-the-mill human nation. Shut up, stop fouling the air, and get back in line. Don't disgrace your king… or whoever it is you answer to."
— "Wh—!" The head of the Riemian delegation tried to respond, but he choked on his own words, sputtering into a coughing fit.
— "My apologies for the disturbance, honored guests of the Russian Federation," Moriaul said respectfully, nodding toward the diplomats. "Please, follow me. I will take you to your lodgings."
Moriaul turned and, with a slight nod of acknowledgment to the Russians, led them and their escort toward the gates.
Not long after this encounter, the superpower known as the Kingdom of Emor would establish a foundation of trust and diplomatic relations with the Russian Federation.