Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points!

Kaela's mind raced as she heard Vakemore's words. "When he arrives…" The phrasing struck her as odd. The way they spoke sounded certain that Arkanos would come alone. That should have been impossible. He was an emperor, a man who commanded armies with a single decree. Even if he were personally involved, his elite forces, his summoned heroes, his general—surely they would be with him. And yet… Her lips parted, she couldn't help but satisfy the growing curiosity within her. "What do you mean when he arrives? You speak as if he's coming alone." Herald, ever the performer, placed a hand over his heart and gasped in mock surprise. "Ah, did I fail to mention that?" he said, feigning mild surprise. "How careless of me." "I sent word to our beloved emperor with a rather simple message—should he dare to bring even a single soul with him, I would see you dead before he set foot within the Ashen Peaks." He smiled. "And since he holds you so very dear, well… the fool will most certainly come alone." The words felt like a dagger placed at her throat. A slow chuckle rumbled from his chest as he clenched his fist. "He'll walk right into my grasp, shackled by his own heartstrings." Kaela's stomach twisted. This wasn't just a well-laid trap—it was one designed to exploit the very thing that made Arkanos feared. His unwavering resolve. His absolute pride. His refusal to ever bend under threat or compromise. The same traits that made him invincible in battle were the very chains now guiding him straight into the enemy's hands. Herald exhaled in amusement. "Really, it's almost poetic, don't you think?" His eyes gleamed as he tilted his head. "The unbreakable emperor, crumbling because he actually cares." Kaela gritted her teeth, forcing herself to look away. Her hands clenched into fists as she steadied her breath. "You are mistaken." "He would not take such a risk for me." It was not a declaration of certainty, but of desperate defiance—she wanted to believe it. She needed to believe it. Yet deep down she hoped it wasn't true. Herald chuckled, tilting his head as though regarding a child who still believed in fairytales. "Ah, my sources tell a rather sweet story." He smiled. "You and the emperor have not been on the best of terms as of late, have you? Something about a broken promise? A betrayal, even? My spies whisper that you are rather… unhappy with him." Kaela's breath hitched. The words stung, not because they were false, but because they were too close to something she did not wish to acknowledge. "Shut—!" "Silence woman." Herald suddenly spoke with a sharp tone. Kaela felt a strange force seal her lips. Her lips refused to part, her voice stolen from her throat. Herald smirked, his amusement deepening as he watched her struggle. "Ah, you must be wondering how I did that." He stepped closer, savoring the look of confusion in her eyes. "Surprised, are you?" He extended his hand, flexing his fingers as if grasping the invisible force that bound her. "This is a gift, you see—a blessing from the angels themselves. A mere taste of the Fruit of Eden. So small, so insignificant… and yet, even this fragment has changed me." Indeed, the apple was what was responsible for changing his previously blue eyes, golden, and beyond that, something within his very core, his soul, had fundamentally changed. His voice lowered as he spoke. "Now, my words carry the weight of the divine." Power woven into speech. Authority made absolute. Herald's golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head, gazing at Kaela as one might a naïve child clinging to bedtime tales. "Tell me, do you truly believe life to be a fairytale?" "People break promises all the time, Kaela. Kings, emperors, beggars—it makes no difference. Oaths are spoken in moments of conviction and broken in moments of necessity." He took a slow step forward, watching her expression for the look of doubt he knew would be there. "But tell me this—before you chose to turn cold to him, did you ever bother to ask why he did what he did?" The words slithered into her mind like a blade slipping between armor. He already knew the answer. Herald chuckled, shaking his head. "I admit, I have fallen far to resort to such methods—threats, spies, divine trickery. But you…" He exhaled, eyes narrowing with amusement. "You are even lower, drowning in your own indignation, weeping over a man who decided you were worthy to stand at his side." A smile touched his lips. "Yes, I imagine his heart must ache indeed." He gestured vaguely, as if painting a picture in the air. "What must it be like, I wonder? To be the great Emperor Arkanos, indomitable in battle, unyielding in conquest—only to return home and find a consort he chose, a woman he bound himself to, avoiding him as one would avoid a plague." Herald let out a low chuckle. "Ah, love. It is a chain more binding than any shackle, and far crueler indeed." Vakemore exhaled, his skeletal fingers tightening around the hilt of his staff. "I will begin the preparations. The lower catacombs will serve as the conduit—deep enough to contain the energies, secluded enough to ensure no interference." The structure in which they stood was the Sepulcher of the Forsaken, once the Sanctuary of Edrathis, a grand temple dedicated to the god of wisdom and prophecy, Edrathis the Ever-Seeing. It stood at the heart of the Vaelthorne Dominion, a once-prosperous kingdom that prided itself on knowledge, faith, and mystical foresight. Pilgrims from across the land journeyed to the temple, seeking divine revelations and the counsel of the High Oracles who once resided within. That was before Vaelmir Bloodbane, 'The Crimson' carved a path of conquest. Now, centuries later, the temple was but a husk of its former self, its sacred halls twisted into something unholy. Situated near the border of Herald's domain. The task ahead was not a simple one. Summoning the dead, especially those of great power, was trivial to one such as him—necromancy was an art of will, of calling forth that which should remain still. But to control them? That was another matter entirely. Powerful undead were not mere puppets. The greater their strength in life, the more potent their will in death. A weak necromancer could summon a corpse; a skilled one could raise a warrior. But to command kings, champions, and ancient horrors—that required something far greater than mere magic. Vakemore's empty eye sockets burned with faint, purple light. "Spirits bound by fury, revenants clinging to purpose… their chains must be absolute." Herald waved a hand dismissively. "Then go ahead, Vakemore. Prepare as you must." His golden eyes gleamed with amusement before narrowing slightly. "And what of Lord Kamel? Will he be joining us as planned?" Vakemore gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Yes. He is already making his way here as we speak." The man they spoke of was none other than Kamel, The Unraveler, a being whose very presence disrupted the fabric of divine order. Kamel was not a sorcerer, nor a warlord in the traditional sense, yet his presence was said to be equal to a thousand men strong. His power did not shatter walls or summon storms—it did something far more insidious. It made the faithful doubt. It made the blessed ordinary. It made the strong kneel under the weight of their own uncertainty.