The Red Dragon Lord is OP, but Insists on a Pop Culture Invasion!

Zog made an oversized brush to write the name on the film studio’s main gate.

The bristles had been plucked from a Gnoll, a far cry from the traditional weasel hair, but he figured it was close enough to work.

’To think that after all this time in Twin Tower City, the first time I’ve returned to my original form is for calligraphy.’

He dipped the brush into the paint bucket. It had been a while, so he practiced on the ground first.

He wrote out all the classic phrases middle-aged entrepreneurs love to hang in their offices: *The highest good is like water, great virtue carries all things, heaven rewards the diligent*... His form still felt pretty good.

Coincidentally, the Dragon Language was also a logographic, block-style script, which felt as familiar as writing Chinese characters.

He held his breath, focused his mind, and wrote a line of characters on the wall.

"What does that mean?" Elsa shouted up at Zog, craning her neck.

"Shudian Film and Television City."

’Of course, another name I don’t understand. What a surprise.’

Elsa cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone and yelled, "Can’t you pick a better-sounding name?"

"You wouldn’t understand. It’s about the sense of occasion."

Zog shrank down in a flash. After getting used to his smaller form, he found his original size inconvenient—he couldn’t fit anywhere.

With the calligraphy done, it was time to inspect the progress on the film studio.

According to the plan, construction should have taken a while longer, but the Fishman Race had been a huge help.

Originally, Zor was in charge of design while the goblins and Beastmen handled construction. But after the Fishmen saw them working, they started shouting "For the Mother of the Sea!" and rushed over to haul bricks.

And they more than made up for their lack of intelligence with sheer, brute-force labor.

They worked sixteen hours a day with no days off, required no pay, and didn’t even need to be fed.

Their diligence was so extreme that Zog felt a pang of guilt watching them. ’No wonder rulers of old loved using religion. This level of exploitation is almost on par with slavery, yet the exploited are still grateful.’

To keep the Fishmen from working themselves to death on the construction site, Elsa had to play the part of the Mother of the Sea again. Of course, the shrimp head she wore this time had been properly treated and didn’t smell fishy.

In the name of the Mother of the Sea, she ordered them to eat with the Beastmen and to take more breaks each day.

The sets for *Holy Mountain Journey* were divided into three main areas: a full-scale replica of a train station, an outdoor section of railway with a train, and the main set, the train’s interior.

The reason for building a full-scale station was to prepare for the future. Zog planned to convert all the filming sets into a theme park after the entire island was developed.

’Visitors will get to experience being chased through the station by a zombie horde. How exciting!’

The train on the tracks was just a shell. After all, steam trains were still cutting-edge technology and hard to come by. During filming, a team of Beastmen would be inside, pushing it along.

The main interior set consisted of several independent train cars with removable side panels to allow for camera movement.

The most technically complex part was the Demon Crystal screen wall outside the train cars, which Furin would use to project Illusions simulating the scenery passing by the windows as the train "moved."

All the cars were placed inside a cavern, with the Lighting Technique controlling the light sources to simulate the darkness of passing through a tunnel.

It was even more complete than Zog had imagined.

Now only one problem remained: who would play the zombies?

In the original movie, the zombies were played by specially selected extras who had undergone extensive training.

Professional dance instructors designed their movements, differentiating between zombies of various body types, ages, genders, and stages of mutation.

While South Korea could be a bit out there, their serious attitude toward creative works was worth emulating.

At least their celebrities weren’t earning the equivalent of millions per day.

But Zog didn’t have such favorable conditions.

He couldn’t find anyone to choreograph the movements, and the zombie makeup was also a problem.

The current makeup techniques and props weren’t up to snuff. It was understandable—in a world that didn’t even have shampoo, how could they have so many kinds of cosmetics?

He had thought of two possible solutions, but both had their issues.

He could use Illusions to overlay the actors, but that would only work for small numbers. For scenes with a large number of zombies on screen at once, not even Furin could guarantee success.

Alternatively, he could just find a few Necromancers and have them summon some real zombies. It would be perfectly realistic, but the actors’ safety couldn’t be guaranteed. Even if no one got hurt, the psychological trauma would still be real—and there were children among the cast.

’What should I do?’

Zog, Elsa, Furin, and Yuno sat around a table, staring blankly at each other.

"Alright everyone, any ideas?"

Silence.

This "Shadow of Evil" business was a first for everyone; no one had any experience.

Just as Zog was about to rewrite the script to remove the massive zombie horde scenes, Yuno timidly raised his hand.

"I might know some people who would be suitable."

————————

Yuno led Zog through the refugee quarter.

The scene here was completely different from the Mixed Residence District or the slums. Those places were merely dirty and chaotic; this place was far more desperate.

A few wooden planks propped up with a piece of cloth served as a home. The people inside wore clothes like tattered sacks, their faces gaunt and haggard. Every few yards, you could see someone collapsed by the roadside.

Everyone was just quietly waiting for death.

"You’re surprisingly familiar with this place?" Zog was a little curious. Yuno had been a top student his whole life; he seemed out of place in the refugee quarter.

"I used to rent a room here," Yuno said, having nothing to hide. "The rent is just a fraction of the school dorms. Sometimes, being poor is more terrifying than death. They say the diseases people have here are contagious, but that’s not true. Otherwise, I’d have died long ago, wouldn’t I?"

He led Zog to the deepest part of the quarter, where a large group of people sat on the ground like clay statues, utterly lifeless.

Their skin was deathly pale, their veins protruded, and their eyes were a hazy gray. They looked just like a horde of zombies.

"The final stage of the Steam Curse. That’s what the Church calls this disease," Yuno explained. "They’re all the most hardworking laborers. The more they’re exposed to Steam Engines, the more likely they are to get it. But I don’t believe that. Someone must be behind this. They don’t want to see the Steam Engine develop."

’Could it be that, just like Magic, technological development in this world is also being suppressed?’

But that wasn’t something Zog needed to worry about for now.

"Are you sure they can work as actors?"

"Of course. As long as you pay them. Even if they can’t use the money themselves later, their families will need it."

"No, I mean, can they perform the movements required by the script?"

"This is a Lucky Potion," Yuno said, taking a small bottle from his bag. "It’s what they need most. Even though drinking it at this stage of the illness won’t cure them, it can greatly alleviate their suffering."

"So you’re going to..."

"Show you their mobility."

Yuno held up the bottle and removed the cap. The fragile "clay statues" began to stir. One by one, they rose and shuffled in Yuno’s direction.

Their pace quickened, but their limbs were difficult to control. They struggled and crawled, swarming forward in bizarre, contorted postures.

Zog knew these fading lives posed no threat to him, but he still felt a little tense.

It was as if he was seeing a zombie horde—a living one.