Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 199

Chapter 199: The Last Stand of House DeLambre Part Two
The great hall’s heavy doors slammed shut behind Alaric as he sprinted toward the armory, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Lord Yoanas DeLambre stood motionless for a heartbeat, the weight of his broadsword pulling at his hip. The fire in the hearth sputtered, casting jagged shadows across his weathered face. Captain Torren lingered by the threshold, his hand on his sword hilt, eyes darting to his lord for orders.

“Move, Torren,” Yoanas snapped, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Every second we waste, Bloodbane gets closer. Mages, wards, armor—now!”

Torren nodded sharply, turning on his heel. “Aye, my lord!” He barked orders to the guards outside, their hurried footsteps fading into the corridor. The manor stirred like a beast roused from slumber, its halls filling with the clatter of armor and the shouts of men rushing to their posts.

Yoanas crossed to the tall, arched window overlooking Viremont’s rolling hills. The amber sky had deepened to a bruised crimson, the setting sun bleeding into the horizon. Beyond the wheat fields, a dark tide surged—thousands of figures, their black-and-crimson banners snapping in the wind. The glint of steel and the dust of hooves marked their advance, relentless as a storm. Yoanas’s grip tightened on the windowsill, the stone cool under his calloused palms. Bloodbane, he thought, the name bitter as iron.

“My lord,” a soft voice interrupted. Mira, Yoanas’s daughter, stood in the doorway, her auburn hair loose over a simple blue gown. At seventeen, she bore her mother’s grace but her father’s steel in her gaze. “The servants are hiding in the cellars, as you ordered. Shall I join them?”

Yoanas turned, his stern expression softening for a moment. “No, Mira. Stay close. If the worst comes, you’ll ride for Valthorne with the guard.” He hesitated, then added, “Your brother’s on the walls. He’ll need your strength.”

Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Alaric’s no fool, Father. He’ll hold the paths.” Her voice wavered, betraying the fear she tried to hide. “But… the Bloodbane. They say their emperor wields magic older than our gods.”

“Stories to scare children,” Yoanas said gruffly, though doubt flickered in his chest. He crossed to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We are DeLambre. Our walls have stood for centuries. They’ll stand tonight.”

Before Mira could reply, a low rumble shook the manor, rattling the goblets on the table. Yoanas’s head snapped toward the window. A flare of crimson light pulsed on the horizon, followed by a chorus of war cries that pierced the evening air. The Bloodbane had reached the outer fields.

“Father!” Alaric’s voice rang out as he reentered the hall, now clad in polished steel plate, a longsword strapped to his back. His face was flushed, but his eyes burned with focus. “The wards are active, but their mages are setting up some kind of anchor in the hollow. If they stabilize it, they’ll bring more troops through.”

Yoanas cursed under his breath. Teleportation—Bloodbane sorcery, as unnatural as their dragon crest. “How many on the walls?”

“Two hundred, with archers and ballistae,” Alaric reported. “But their cavalry’s already at the first ridge. We can’t hold the fields.”

“Then we don’t,” Yoanas said, striding toward the armory. “We draw them to the manor’s choke points. The hill paths are narrow—force them into a funnel. Buy time for Valthorne’s riders.”

Alaric hesitated, glancing at Mira. “And Elyse? She’s in the village. If they reach it—”

Yoanas’s jaw tightened, the argument from earlier flaring like a spark. “Your duty is here, Alaric. The village is Torren’s concern. Focus on the walls, or we all fall.”

Mira stepped forward, her voice sharp. “Elyse is one of us, Father. If Alaric can save her—”

“Not now, Mira!” Yoanas roared, his patience fraying. He turned to Alaric, eyes blazing. “You wanted to lead? Prove it. Hold the line.”

Alaric’s fists clenched, but he gave a curt nod. “For Akeria,” he said, the words heavy with unspoken defiance. He spun and raced out, his armor clanking as he headed for the outer defenses.

Mira glared at her father, her hands trembling. “You push him too hard. He’s not you.”

Yoanas didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the window. The Bloodbane’s banners were closer now, their warhorses tearing through the wheat like a scythe. A second flare of crimson light erupted in the hollow, the teleportation anchor’s runes glowing like embers. They’re already preparing for more, he thought, dread coiling in his gut.

“Get to the keep, Mira,” he said quietly. “And pray your brother’s as stubborn as he seems.”

As Mira retreated, Yoanas donned his armor, the steel cold against his skin. The manor’s bells tolled, a mournful call to arms. Outside, the first arrows flew from the walls, answered by the Bloodbane’s thunderous charge.

The hills of Viremont trembled under the weight of ten thousand boots and hooves, a relentless tide of black and crimson surging toward the stone walls of House DeLambre’s manor.

Arkanos, Emperor of the Bloodbane, led the charge astride Midnight Veil, his warhorse’s onyx hide gleaming in the fading light. His red-and-black cloak snapped in the wind, the dragon crest emblazoned on his chest a promise of ruin. His holy blade rested in its scabbard, its hilt pulsing with a faint, divine glow. His helm’s visor was raised, revealing eyes that burned with purpose, scanning the manor’s distant silhouette against a blood-red sky.

The air thrummed with power, thick with the scent of scorched earth and sulfur from the teleportation anchor blazing in the hollow behind them.

Crimson-robed mages chanted, their runes carving a stable gateway for future reinforcements.

Beside him, Seraphine rode with grace, her white steed matching Midnight Veil’s pace.

Her blue aura flickered around her half-drawn sword, her gaze locked on the manor’s watchtowers. Her braid whipped behind her, and though her face wore a look of focus, Arkanos caught the brief glance she cast his way—a flicker of something deeper, unguarded, before she turned back to the battlefield.

He could sense the curiosity behind that gaze, the slim longing in it, but pushed the thought aside. War left no room for such distractions.

“Archers on the walls!” Seraphine called, her voice cutting through the din. She pointed to the manor, where pinpricks of light—arrowheads catching the sunset—lined the battlements.

“They’ll target the vanguard. We need cover!”

Arkanos nodded, raising his hand. “Mages, shields! Utilia, clear the path!”

Utilia, charging in, grinned fiercely from his left. Her crimson gauntlets sparked as she spurred forward, outpacing the cavalry.

“About time!” she bellowed, leaping into the air. She landed with a thunderous crash, the earth cracking beneath her boots. Slamming her fists together, she unleashed a shockwave of raw force, flattening a swath of wheat and scattering Akerian scouts hidden in the fields.

“Come on, you bastards! Try me!”

Velder Meldon, on Arkanos’s right, snorted from his grey steed, his cloak billowing like smoke. “She’ll bring the whole manor down before we reach it,” he muttered, adjusting his sword. His sharp eyes scanned the hill paths leading to the manor, noting their narrowness. “Those choke points will bleed us if we don’t break their line quickly.”

“Then we break it,” Arkanos growled, his voice carrying the weight of an empire. He spurred Midnight Veil, the horse surging forward with a snort. “Seraphine, take the left flank—draw their fire. Velder, right flank, target the ballistae. Utilia, with me. We hit the gates.”