Chapter 677: Campaigning Toward Unity

Dragoska was a land that looked like it had been carved by the gods themselves and then abandoned, because even the gods had decided it was too beautiful to touch.

The mountains rose from the earth in jagged, majestic waves. Valleys spilled between them like emerald ribbons. Wildflowers carpeted the meadows in riots of color.

It was the kind of place that made you believe in dragons.

Which was appropriate, because the sky was full of them.

Across that sky, massive beasts with wings that blotted out the stars and tails that could level a fortress flew around.

One by one they peeled off from the great flock, descending toward the peaks where palaces and keeps had been carved into the mountainsides since before the mortal races had learned to shape stone.

On a modest peak near the southern ridge, a colossal black dragon folded its wings and touched down with surprising gentleness.

The moment its claws met the stone, the form rippled, shrank, and rearranged itself until a teenage boy stood in its place, shaking out his dark hair and stretching his arms like a cat after a long sleep.

"I’m back home, Mom!"

"Stand up straight, you lazy lizard!"

A woman’s voice answered from within, warm and exasperated.

"And wipe those feet before you come inside!"

Similar scenes played out across a dozen peaks.

This was the rhythm of Dragoska, the clan territory of the black dragon race, the most powerful of all demi-human bloodlines.

They ruled no one, and no one ruled them, but every other demi-human race had long ago agreed, by unspoken consensus, that the Black Dragons spoke for them all.

Their word was law. Their wrath was extinction.

And at the head of them all stood their king.

Vorathar the Unbroken. The name itself was a warning.

Three hundred years of life, three centuries of battles, and not once had his kingdom taken.

He was old enough to remember wars that had faded into legend, strong enough that even the Battle Angels, should they ever come to blows with the demi-human races would find him a obstacle.

Not a victor, perhaps. But a minor obstacle. And that alone was more than any other living creature could claim.

His palace crowned the highest peak, the mountain called Vaelkros, the World’s Spine. It was the largest mountain in the range, and its summit had been flattened by ancient hands into a perfect plateau.

Upon that plateau sat the royal castle, built entirely of black obsidian and volcanic glass. It didn’t gleam so much as it drank the light, pulling the dying rays of the sun into its depths until the whole structure seemed to smolder from within.

Dark. Elegant. Utterly terrifying. And somehow, despite all that, beautiful.

And inside that castle, in a living room warmed by a crackling fireplace, a strange gathering had convened.

—

The room was a museum of conquest—ancient weapons mounted on the walls, paintings of long-dead dragon lords staring down with painted eyes and smothering fireplace.

And arranged around that fire, on sofas that had probably cost more than small kingdoms, sat four of the most powerful young beings...

...and none of them looked remotely majestic.

Charlotte had claimed an entire sofa for herself, lying flat on her back with one arm flung over her eyes, groaning like a woman at the end of her tether.

"My legs." She moaned. "My legs. How do my legs hurt? I have a SSS-Class blessing! I can punch mountains into gravel! Why do my legs hurt?!"

Astrid, perched on a chair nearby, was running a brush through one of her seven great tails with mournful, methodical strokes.

"My fur is ruined. Completely ruined. Look at this! It used to be luminous. Now it’s just...damp. And it smells like swamp."

Anya, who normally carried herself like a diplomat carved from ice, had abandoned all pretense. She lay draped over the back of an armchair, staring at the ceiling.

"I negotiated a trade treaty between three warring realms when I was fourteen." She said flatly. "I thought that was the hardest thing I’d ever do. I was wrong. This was harder."

And then there was Nuri.

The dragon princess was sitting in the lap of the only normal human in the room, her tiny frame slumped against Maria’s chest like a sack of exhausted potatoes.

"Massage me, Maria~" She whined. "Massage me~ Everything hurts. My wings. My legs. My everything! Mika made us go everywhere and worked us like dogs. I deserve massages!"

"Yes, Nuri." Maria’s voice was indulgent, as she began working her fingers into the small of Nuri’s back. "You deserve massages."

Nuri melted. "Mm. Harder. Right there. Yes. You’re the best, Maria. The absolute best."

Maria said nothing, but her hands continued their work, and there was something almost tender in the way she held the little dragon.

This was the state of the future leaders of the world—reduced to a pile of groaning, complaining exhaustion.

And all of it was Mika’s fault.

For three days, Mika had been running a campaign.

Not one campaign—several, all at once, all using the same tired, beautiful pawns.

The first campaign was about unity. Human and demi-human unity, specifically.

The logic was simple: Astrid and Nuri, the daughter of a Battle Angel and the princess of the Black Dragon race, had always been the symbolic bridge between their two peoples.

When they were friends, the worlds grew closer. Trade flourished. Prejudice faded. People looked at the two princesses laughing together and thought,

’If they can be friends, why can’t we?’

But when Astrid and Nuri had split apart, that bridge had crumbled.

Old tensions had resurfaced. Scuffles broke out between humans and demi-humans in border towns. Distrust spread like rot.

So Mika had decided, very simply, to fix it.

He had made Astrid and Nuri spend three days in each other’s company. But not organic, natural companionship, oh no.

He had scripted it down to the minute.

Picnics in parks where they fed each other pastries at the exact angle that photographed best.

Visits to aquariums, timed so the light hit the tanks perfectly.

Flights across the sky, wings and tails trailing.

Nail salons where Nuri’s scales were polished.

Tea houses where they laughed at exactly the right moment.

Mika had created a propaganda machine with nothing but goodwill, good timing, and two very tired young women.

And it worked!

The internet had exploded. Billions of views. Hashtags in a dozen languages.

The demi-human rights movement, which had been flagging for years, surged with new life overnight.

Children of every race wanted to be like Princess Nuri and Lady Astrid.

Trade negotiations softened. Border tensions eased.

In coffee shops across the realms, conversations that used to start with suspicion now started with.

"Did you see the photo of them feeding each other berries in the meadow?"

The world had become a slightly better place in seventy-two hours.

The second campaign had been quieter but no less important.

For years, rumors had circulated that the Battle Angels’ family was fracturing.

The daughters were never seen together. The sisters never appeared in public. Forum pages existed solely to monitor their movements, searching for signs of an impending civil war.

The fear was real—if the Battle Angels split apart, the entire world order would crumble.

So Mika had dragged Charlotte and Anya into the mix too.

Sisterly dates. Public appearances. Carefully staged moments of affection that would make the world believe the family was stronger than ever.

Sometimes Astrid and Nuri joined them.

Sometimes it was just the two of them.

But always, always, there were cameras.

The world had bought it. The rumors had died. The forums had gone quiet.

And the sisters had never been so tired in their lives.

"I had to eat raw meat!" Charlotte announced, still flat on her back. "From the lizard-kin realm! Have you seen what they eat there? It’s not even food! They serve live prey on platters, and I had to pretend to enjoy it for the cameras, and I threw up twice— twice!— in my own mouth."

"I had to go into a swamp." Astrid countered, hugging her tail protectively. "An actual swamp. To fish. With my bare hands. I told Mika my tails would stink for days, but he said it would make a great photo—the princesses embracing the local culture—and now look at me!"

"My tail smells like a bog!"

She sniffed it again and made a face. "I’ve used an entire bottle of perfume. It’s still there."

Anya removed her glasses and polished them slowly.

"I’ve always thought I was a decent politician. Not to brag, but I know how to smile, how to deliver a speech, how to read a room and turn it to my advantage."

She put the glasses back on and looked at the ceiling.

"But Mika...Mika is a thousand times better than me."

"He orchestrated a global shift in public sentiment with three days of carefully scheduled photos. He watched the comment sections and adjusted the campaign in real time. I don’t even do that for actual elections."

"If he ever wants to start a business, he should become a political consultant." Charlotte muttered. "He’d be richer than all our mothers combined."

"He’s already richer than all our mothers combined." Astrid pointed out.

"Then he’d be richer than everyone. Point stands."

Nuri, meanwhile, was having none of it. She pushed herself upright on Maria’s lap, her tiny wings flaring with righteous indignation.

"Stop praising him! He’s a bad guy! A very, very bad guy! Like do you know how long I can fly with these little things?"

She gestured at said wings.

"Not as long as he made us fly! I told him my wings were hurting, and you know what he said? He said, ’Here’s a revitalizing potion, now get back in the sky, the lighting is perfect.’ The lighting! He doesn’t care about me at all!"

She crossed her arms and huffed.

"Damn the humans! Damn the demi-human racen Let them go to war. I don’t care!"

"Nuri." Maria’s voice sharpened. "You can’t say things like that. You’re the princess of the Black Dragon race. If someone recorded that and spread it around, the whole world would panic."

Nuri scoffed. "Who’s going to record it? There’s literally no one here but us."

Maria’s eyes glinted. Slowly, she pulled out her phone.

"What about me, Nuri?"

The room went quiet.

"I could be the one who spreads it." Maria continued, swinging the phone lazily. "One little video, sent to the right people, and boom—pandemonium. Wars. Trade falls. The exciting stuff. I also get rich."

Nuri’s face drained of color.

"You...You wouldn’t do that, Maria. You’re a good girl. You’re my best friend!"

"Hmm." Maria tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "Sometimes, you know, money is more valuable than friendship."

"Maria!" Nuri’s eyes wobbled, genuinely on the verge of tears. "I’ll cry! I’ll really cry! Don’t do it! Please!"

Maria held the pose for exactly one more second.

Then, seeing the genuine distress on Nuri’s face, she threw her phone across the room and pulled the little dragon into a tight hug.

"Of course I wouldn’t, you idiot." She said, softer now. "I was joking. I didn’t record anything."

Nuri sniffled against her, then buried her face in Maria’s shoulder with a pout.

"I hate when you do that. You always prank me."

"Somebody has to build your immunity." Maria said, patting her hair. "One day, I won’t be there to protect you from people with actual evil intentions. Better you learn now how to spot a trick."

Nuri considered this before saying,

"Actually...that makes sense. Okay. You can keep pranking me. For training purposes."

Astrid rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in her head.

"She’s not building your immunity, Nuri. She’s just messing with you."

Then she turned her gaze on Maria, and her voice dropped.

"And don’t worry. She wouldn’t dare leak anything anyway. If she did, she’d be blown to pieces before she could even think about spending the money."

She let her aura flare, just enough to make the air in the room grow heavy.

But Maria didn’t even blink.

"Is that a threat?" She asked, her tone mild. "Because if so, you should know it’s completely useless. Even if I did send that video, none of you would touch a single hair on my head."

"Oh? And why not, you little vixen?"

Charlotte shot upright, her exhaustion forgotten.

"We could end your tiny, insignificant life right now, and no one would say a word. Who’s going to complain? Who’s going to object to the daughters of the Battle Angels doing whatever they want?"

Anya said nothing, but she let out a thin, dangerous smile and leaned forward to watch.

Maria met their collective hostility with perfect calm.

"You’re right. The world wouldn’t say anything. They’d stay silent. They’d look away. But there’s one person who wouldn’t like it..."

She paused, letting the words land.

"...Mika."