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The monsters’ protests gradually died down under Cassius’s scrutinizing gaze, ultimately fading into silence.

All seven marquises were finally in place, and twelve counts followed. Most of them were leaders of their respective follower clans, though their lesser experience or slightly weaker power prevented them from advancing further.

Another name was called out.

"Guillermo Hagen."

The human mage, dressed in long robes, was overwhelmed with surprise and quickly used a levitation spell to ascend to the platform.

He was the second human to receive a title during this conferment ceremony. As a member of the kingdom’s circle of mages and one of Langpu’s trusted assistants, Guillermo had made significant contributions to spell research and mastered new techniques, earning Cassius’s favor as another lucky one.

"Damn it, another human!"

"I’d love to crush them!"

"Filthy, hairless monkeys."

The monsters surrounding the altar stirred restlessly again, resentful that yet another position had been snatched by a human.

But this time, their discontent was limited to hushed whispers; there was no real commotion. With Cassius personally overseeing the ceremony, no one dared openly oppose these decisions—it would be a direct challenge to the red dragon’s authority.

This was what set the Ember Kingdom apart from ordinary nations.

In typical countries, the leader’s power stemmed from the military or the political system.

They needed to coordinate various interests to achieve an overall consensus among different groups to accomplish their goals.

But in a nation ruled by a dragon, the red dragon’s existence itself was power. He was the source of all authority and the foundation upon which this kingdom was built, thus elevating him to a near-divine status within his realm.

The conferment ceremony continued.

Tens of thousands of humans and monsters present held their breaths, eyes fixed forward, hoping for a chance to ascend that platform symbolizing power and authority.

Next came the viscounts—there were over forty of them, mostly commanders who had distinguished themselves in battle. Anthony from the Dragonkin Hall, now the nominal leader of the Draconic Paladins, was among those granted such a title.

Around a fifth of the viscounts were human, largely those who had made outstanding contributions in legislation, production, and other facets of state development.

They included renowned scholars who participated in drafting the Kingdom’s Codex, skilled craftsmen who refined machinery, and even writers from the propaganda department.

If the previous titles still seemed unattainable, this rank was something people could genuinely aspire to.

Take, for example, the "craftsman representative," Gilmo Sparrow—once an unremarkable blacksmith from the eastern district’s forge, he found a flaw in the rifle production line and improved it, becoming a "technician" and eventually an esteemed noble.

He was now standing with a flushed face, nervously rubbing his hands, touching his bulbous nose, eagerly awaiting the imminent honor.

People looked at those familiar faces with envy, muttering things like, "If only I had the chance back then," or "I could have done that too," setting such achievements as their new goals.

Then came the barons—more than a hundred in total.

Humans and monsters were almost equally represented here.

Many followers who had joined the Ember Nest early and had served dutifully, now leaders of small to mid-sized units, were given baronial titles.

On the human side, those chosen were the best in their fields, young talents who had contributed substantially to the kingdom’s progress—supervisors overseeing factories, leaders of merchant caravans, and commanders in the newly formed military ranks.

The monster followers erupted in cheers once more, while the humans celebrated jubilantly.

Even the most human-disdaining hobgoblins had to admit that humans often excelled in developing the kingdom, much more so than the followers. They wouldn’t make blunders like the "ogre food inspector" incident, so even with certain suppression from higher ranks, human talents still rose to the top.

Nearly two hundred noble titles had finally been distributed.

But Langpu’s address did not end there.

"You all have made tremendous contributions to the kingdom and deserve this reward."

"However, beyond that, there are other citizens who have stepped forward to protect the kingdom. Their deeds will not be forgotten, and they shall be granted the special honor of being named ’First Class Citizens.’"

A stir went through the crowd.

"What does this mean?"

"Are regular people now going to be ranked too?"

The concept of ’First Class Citizens’ was entirely foreign to the history of the Northlands. Nobles had always stood above commoners, with the two worlds entirely separate.

Under the protection of Tiefling guards, several plainly dressed humans slowly emerged.

These were the "lucky ones" who had successfully reported spies—most of them mere commoners who had stumbled upon good fortune and were chosen as examples by the red dragon. Among them was George, the man who had once reported the silver dragon, standing at the very front.

Seeing the restless crowd, George couldn’t help swallowing nervously, his heart pounding, his legs trembling from the overwhelming anxiety. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"No, I can’t be nervous."

"I... I’m important now! Look at their envious eyes."

George reminded himself of this, barely managing to make his shaking legs move and follow the Tiefling guards.

"Isn’t that George?"

A worker from the food processing plant recognized George, exclaiming in surprise.

"He... he used to be a serf!"

"Even someone like him can get a title?"

"Damn! Lucky bastard. Why didn’t I have such luck?"

The workers’ chatter soon turned to envy, even jealousy.

They had seen George rise from being the lowest of the low, an unnoticed "gray cattle," to becoming an important figure. Even Howard, who had been friendly with George, couldn’t help but mutter a few curses under his breath, struggling to reconcile the drastic change.

A monster follower grumbled, "This weak human, who wouldn’t have even been fit for dessert before, now stands here. He was only good for slaughter and amusement!"

Amidst all the muttering, George’s stiff body was helped up onto the lowest platform.

Gazing down at the varied faces—humans and monsters alike—hearing their words, and clutching the gilded medal in his hand, George felt as if he were dreaming, afraid he’d suddenly wake up back in that cramped, decrepit manor.

"Thank goodness... this isn’t a dream."

George took a deep breath, calming his overly excited nerves, and began to imagine the wonderful life ahead.

As for the kingdom and its king, all George felt now was loyalty.