Asterion chose the site for his royal capital atop the towering cliffs that marked the border between the Ancient Forest and the Wildspire Waste, nestled right among the massive, blocky rock formations jutting from the earth.
The elevation here was high enough that when Asterion perched at the absolute peak of the cliffs, it felt as though he were constantly in flight, with clouds drifting lazily past his sides.
With a slight tilt of his head, he could look out over the lush, crystallized forest to his left and the dusty, golden-yellow wasteland to his right. The view was incredibly vast—and most importantly, the location was highly accessible.
It wasn't that he hadn't considered the Coral Highlands. To be fair, if it were purely a matter of scenery, Asterion quite liked its dreamlike vistas. The colossal land corals, growing like towering trees, refracted the sunlight into dazzling bursts of color, while coral eggs floated through the air like snowflakes, resembling life in its most primal form.
Unfortunately, over the past few years, the Coral Highlands had suffered a continuous series of earthquakes, both large and small. These tremors had completely torn the region apart, utterly destroying the breathtaking scenery that once filled monsters with wonder.
Today, the Coral Highlands had long lost its former vitality, resembling a wasteland in the wake of a cataclysm. Massive, fractured coral shelves lay strewn haphazardly across the valley floor, their once-vibrant colors buried beneath a shroud of grey dust.
Perhaps in a few decades, or even centuries, nature's self-healing capacity would allow new coral to sprout and restore that dreamlike landscape. But for now, it was completely gone.
There was no helping it; the geological structure of the Coral Highlands was built upon the fragile, accumulated remains of countless ancient coral polyps. Its underground was riddled with a complex network of vast caverns. While this sponge-like structure could maintain stability under normal circumstances, its fragile nature was laid bare before the relentless earthquakes, making it highly susceptible to large-scale collapses.
As for the Elder's Recess... cough, cough... how should he put it? That place had practically become a forbidden zone for life in the New World.
First, Asterion had violently pumped a massive surge of energy directly into the leylines from there. Then, it became the battleground for two Forbidden Monsters who unleashed their ultimate attacks against each other. The ecosystem had long since utterly collapsed. To put it bluntly, any monsters still lingering in the Elder's Recess today were exceptionally ambitious individuals, each harboring the grim determination to either evolve or die trying.
While nature could heal any wound given enough time, a mere five years was nowhere near enough to calm the chaotic energies raging within the Elder's Recess.
Thus, after weighing all his options, Asterion settled on these cliffs. The route from here to Astera was relatively flat, with few large monsters active along the way, and Astera itself was a fully developed port town established by the Research Commission.
This meant that all kinds of daily provisions, precision engineering equipment, and massive quantities of building materials sent by the human kingdoms of the Old World via oceanic trade routes could reach the capital's construction site via the fastest and most direct path.
To Asterion, this sheer, open cliff face was like a colossal blank sheet of paper. There was no redundant, complex terrain to clear, nor any intricate underground waterways to avoid. This made it immensely convenient for the human and Lynian builders to shape and carve it however they pleased.
Constructing the royal capital at such an open, elevated height would also allow the Flying Wyvern subjects under his future command to come and go freely. To resolve the transit issues for massive monsters that couldn't fly or weren't skilled at vertical climbing, Asterion had specifically asked Kulve Taroth to lend a hand—or rather, lend her breath.
In short, Kulve Taroth had forcefully melted a jaw-droppingly wide road directly into the cliff face. The cooled magma left the path a deep, dark black, creating a stark contrast against the surrounding yellow rock.
Patches of vitrified, glass-like rock could be seen along its sides. This highway seemed to ascend straight into the heavens, winding down from heights that forced humans to crane their necks all the way to the Wildspire Waste on one side, while branching off toward the Ancient Forest on the other.
It was wide enough to accommodate eight Old World carriages driving side-by-side. With this, even the most colossal, heavy, and completely flightless monsters could freely enter and leave the royal city.
Given the current productivity and technological level of human society, constructing a road like this on such complex and perilous terrain would have been virtually impossible—it would have cost countless human lives. For an Elder Dragon, however, building a road was nothing more than a straightforward bit of manual labor.
Kulve Taroth had simply walked the path once to create this magnificent highway, leaving the Research Commission's engineers practically drooling with envy.
Of course, everything has two sides. While Elder Dragons could easily pave roads in any environment, they struggled to build intricate, architecturally unified structures that met Asterion's aesthetic standards. This, conversely, was precisely the innate talent and strength of the human race.
Under Asterion's leadership, the raw power of monsters and the ingenuity of humans perfectly complemented each other during the first phase of the capital's construction. A city of miracles was rising.
Unlike those spendthrift emperors who rushed to build themselves grand palaces the moment their treasuries saw a bit of coin, Asterion was in no hurry to have the craftsmen build a luxurious palace matching his colossal size and status.
Rather than a residence meant purely for showing off, Asterion preferred to watch the foundational framework of the entire royal city come together piece by piece.
Standing at the highest peak of the cliff, letting the biting high-altitude winds sweep over his body, Asterion looked down at the bustling construction site stretching for miles below. He couldn't have been more satisfied.
How should he put it?
The joy he felt now was remarkably similar to—perhaps even greater than—the euphoria of surviving countless life-or-death battles to finally attain the rank of an Elder Dragon. It was the pure, unadulterated joy of a creator.
What had once been a bare, slick cliff face with nothing but stone was now carved with countless grooves. Human-built scaffolding and platforms, erected to facilitate their labor, spread across the rock walls on both sides like bamboo shoots after a spring rain. Looking down upon it was a truly spectacular sight.
Of course, from this vantage point, one could also clearly discern countless tiny black dots moving tirelessly back and forth below. Those were the busy humans, Grimalkynes, and various beasts of burden pulling heavy carts—well, not horses or oxen, but cart-pulling Aptonoth.
In addition, Wyverians and various other Lynian tribes bustled among them. The Lynians, in particular, always proved useful in the strangest ways, owing to their sheer variety of sub-species and bizarre traits.
To say that the New World was currently experiencing a glorious blooming would be an understatement—though what was blooming wasn't flowers, but an explosion of different races.
It was a literal nightmare for mono-species supremacists, and a paradise for multiculturalists. After all these years, the geopolitical landscape of the New World had undergone an earth-shattering transformation.
With the continuous outward expansion of the Glavenus Tribe and the Research Commission's persistent outreach driven by their spirit of exploration, the primitive Lynian tribes—who had once lived savage, isolated lives scattered across the corners of the continent—found their level of civilization inevitably thrust upward.
Their initial caution and hostility gradually gave way to passive acceptance. They began to learn and use the written script and language shared by the Research Commission and the Glavenus Tribe, abandoned primitive bartering, and embraced the Glavenus Tribe's monetary system.
Even their values shifted from the simple law of the jungle toward a brand-new philosophy based on cooperation and coexistence. Subtly, they even fully internalized the Glavenus Tribe's absolute devotion and faith in Asterion.
Moreover, they accepted all of this at an astonishing speed with almost zero resistance. The reason was quite simple: Asterion, a playful yet devastatingly powerful dragon, made a habit of casually strolling around the construction site whenever he felt like it.
Even when Asterion intentionally suppressed his aura, his mountain-like physique constantly radiated a pressure born from the fundamental gap in their very planes of existence. It was impossible for these Lynians, with their razor-sharp senses and instincts, not to tremble in absolute terror.
Under the deliberate guidance of the Glavenus Tribe, this bone-deep fear was doubled and channeled into a fanatical, reverent awe.
Coupled with the occasional visits from Kulve Taroth, the Qixiang Dragon, and the azure-mutated Bazelgeuse to scrounge for food or check in, the sheer, crushing disparity in power—where their lives were entirely at the mercy of these beings—left these simple-minded Lynians without even the slightest inkling of rebellion deep in their hearts.
As a result, things proceeded with exceptional smoothness. It reached a point where no matter what the humans or the Nether-veined Grimalkynes said, these wild Lynians would obediently do exactly as they were told. Their integration was blindingly fast.
"It really is a sight teeming with life," the Admiral remarked out of nowhere, standing beside Asterion and gazing down at the spectacle below. "The pace might be a bit slow, but seeing everyone so busy always reminds me of when Astera was first founded."
"Roar?"(You still feel that way even though this world isn't ruled by humans? You feel happy? Satisfied?)
Withdrawing his gaze, Asterion slightly tilted his massive head to look at the Admiral.
Call it a bit of morbid curiosity, but Asterion was actually quite eager to know how the human rulers back in the Old World viewed him. Were they furious or resentful? Did they want to reclaim human dominance?
Unfortunately, the Admiral didn't have the answer to that, and the emissaries from the Old World would never speak ill of their kings. Thus, Asterion could only let the matter rest with a tinge of regret.
Not only had five years failed to leave any aging marks on this familiar old friend's face, but the Admiral actually looked younger than he had half a decade ago. Even though he was well into his seventies—an age where anyone in human society would be considered an elder requiring a youngster's arm just to cross the street—the Admiral's muscles showed absolutely no signs of atrophy. Instead, they gleamed with health, radiating immense power.
This wasn't an exaggeration, either; the old man could still grab a blade and go toe-to-toe with a Tobi-Kadachi for rounds, securing an easy victory. His combat prowess hadn't waned with age; if anything, he had grown stronger.
But the most striking change was undoubtedly his deep blue hair. His once-white, lion-like spiky mane had transformed into a vibrant shade of twilight blue, and his pupils seemed to harbor a burning flame, casting a distinct luminescence even in broad daylight.
Without a doubt, this veteran hunter had been infused with Nether energy, transforming into what scholars had categorized as a distinct human subspecies: Nether-veined humans.
The terminology was carried over from the Nether-veined Grimalkynes, as both exhibited leaf-like patterns across their skin depending on the individual. These lines resembled veins, but instead of blood, Nether energy pulsed through them.
Consequently, the Admiral could now understand the language of monsters perfectly clear.
"Well, a world ruled by humans?" The Admiral scratched his head in confusion. "Humans have never ruled this world, have they? Between the Elder Dragons and various natural disasters, this world has never been bent to human will... Boss, what brought this on all of a sudden?"
"Roar, roar."(Just a passing thought.)
Asterion noted inwardly with a flash of realization. He was still projecting the shadow of humanity from his past life onto the people of this world. Just as the Admiral said, humans here never viewed themselves as the pinnacle of the food chain; they had always moved forward with an attitude of exploring the unknown.
"I don't get it," the Admiral said, shrugging his shoulders. "Besides, a world as vibrant as this doesn't need a ruler, does it? Whether monster or human, we are all part of nature... Come to think of it, I actually owe you an apology, Boss."
"Roar?"(What for?)
"Ah, well, about that..." The moment the topic was raised, an embarrassed look washed over the Admiral's face. "To be honest, I used to think you wanted humans and Lynians to serve monsters the way the Grimalkynes do... Er, how should I put it? I'm not quite sure how to phrase it."
"Roar, roar?"(Did you think I would treat you as slaves?)
Far from angry, Asterion actually let out a rumbling laugh.
"Not exactly slaves... but the current reality is definitely different from what I envisioned," the Admiral muttered, tugging at a few strands of his hair without quite managing to untangle his thoughts. "It's just that I never expected monsters—the very creatures we always had to face with absolute readiness, where every encounter usually meant a fight to the death—could communicate normally like this. We all share the same standing now."
The Admiral's gaze lingered for a long time on several Rathalos down below. The Rathalos soared gracefully over the heads of the humans and Lynians carrying building materials, yet their presence triggered absolutely no chaos or panic. Some workers even looked up and waved at them, shouting things lost to the wind.