Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 201

Chapter 201: The Last Stand of House DeLambre Part Four
Arkanos parried with his holy sword, the blades sparking as they met. The force jolted his arm, but he held firm, his horse rearing.

Alaric’s skill was evident; one could see it in the swiftness and precision of his swings. “You’ll not take Viremont!” Alaric snarled, striking again, his blade grazing Arkanos’s gauntlet.

“You fight well, boy,” Arkanos said, his voice low, almost impressed.

He countered, his holy sword slashing in a crescent that forced Alaric back, the blade’s runes flaring with each strike. The Akerian heir stumbled, his shield raised, but Arkanos pressed the advantage, his horse circling like a predator.

Arkanos dismounted in a single, fluid motion, his boots striking the bloodied cobblestones with a quiet thud. Midnight Veil snorted, hooves pawing the ground, but Arkanos waved the warhorse back, its onyx hide retreating into the throng of Bloodbane knights.

His red-and-black cloak billowed, the dragon crest catching the flicker of burning banners. In his hand, his holy sword gleamed, pulsing with divine light.

He stepped forward, calm and deliberate, his presence heavy with authority.

He narrowed his emerald eyes, their glow intensifying to match his killing intent.

“Tell me your name, young warrior. You’ve managed to pique my curiosity. Be honored,”

Arkanos said, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

The young man spat to the side, blood trailing down his temple. He raised his sword once more, defiant even as exhaustion tugged at his limbs.

“Why should I tell a dead man my name?” he growled, his stance tightening. “Let your gods whisper mine when they find your corpse.”

Arkanos chuckled, slow and low, not mockingly—but almost fondly.

“Such spine, to talk to an emperor as if he were a mere knight. I like you,” he said, stepping into a ready stance. “Pity you serve a doomed empire.”

Alaric’s gaze burned, his grip tightening on his sword. “You’ll find no surrender here, Bloodbane. Viremont is ours.”

“Come, then,” Arkanos taunted, his voice a velvet blade, silver and biting. “Show me more of the spine of House DeLambre, before I carve it out.”

Alaric lunged with a fierce cry, his blade cutting the air like a silver streak. Arkanos met him head-on, their swords clashing in a thunderous spark of steel and will. The courtyard around them seemed to still for a heartbeat—soldiers pausing, breaths caught—as two legacies collided in a dance of death.

Alaric struck low, then high, then feinted left before pivoting to the right, each movement sharp, refined by years of training. But Arkanos was war incarnate—his blade an extension of divine judgment. He parried each blow with minimal movement, letting the boy exhaust himself.

“You swing like a lordling playing at war,” Arkanos mocked, his eyes glinting. He twisted his wrist, redirecting Alaric’s blade, then countered with a thrust that grazed the heir’s pauldron, drawing a thin line of blood.

Alaric grunted, staggering back, but his resolve held.

He lunged, feinting left before slashing at Arkanos’s flank, the longsword whistling through the air.

Arkanos sidestepped with ease.

He slammed his free hand to the cobblestones, green mana surging from his palm like a heartbeat.

The earth shuddered, and jagged wooden spikes erupted from the ground, their thorned tips glistening with sap.

Alaric dove aside, the spikes grazing his cloak, tearing fabric as they thrust skyward. One knight behind him wasn’t so lucky—impaled through the chest, his scream cut short as the wood twisted cruelly.

“Coward’s magic!” Alaric spat, rolling to his feet. He charged, his longsword sweeping in a brutal overhead strike, aiming to cleave Arkanos’s shoulder. The emperor met the blow head-on, holy sword raised, the runes flaring white-hot. The clash reverberated, forcing both men back, their boots skidding on the blood-slick stones. Arkanos’s sharp tongue lashed out, his voice dripping with scorn.

“Only a fool mistakes power for cowardice.”

Suddenly, Arkanos closed the distance between them in an instant, causing Alaric’s eyes to widen in shock. He thrust his blade forward, aiming for Alaric’s abdomen. The younger warrior managed to counter, steel screeching as it met divine edge—but he was too slow.

Arkanos pivoted, twisting his sword mid-thrust, and drove his armored shoulder into Alaric’s chest with brutal force. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, sending him sprawling across the cobblestones. His shield clattered from his grasp, skidding away as he rolled to a stop near the courtyard’s edge.

Before Alaric could recover, Arkanos was upon him—an unstoppable force wrapped in imperial authority. The emperor’s boot slammed down on Alaric’s sword, pinning it to the stone.

“I’ve faced monsters and sorcerers, boy,” Arkanos said coldly, his emerald eyes glowing with intense bloodlust. “You are neither.”

Alaric gritted his teeth, straining to rise. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

“I don’t need to be a sorcerer,” he growled, forcing himself to his knees. “Just strong enough to make you bleed.”

Arkanos arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in something between amusement and menace. Then, in a sudden motion, Alaric grabbed a dagger from his belt and slashed upward.

The blade scraped across Arkanos’s greave, sparks flying—but it didn’t pierce.

Arkanos’s hand moved like lightning. He backhanded Alaric with the flat of his sword, the blow cracking across his cheek and sending him to the ground once more, dazed.

“You waste your valor on a lost cause,” Arkanos said, voice low, dangerous. “But… I admire your stubbornness. So I shall grant you a swift death.”

He raised his sword, the runes along the blade igniting with blinding light. The gathered soldiers around them watched in tense silence, the battle momentarily forgotten.

Then—another voice rang out across the courtyard.

“Stop!”

A man’s voice. Commanding. Clear.

Arkanos paused, his blade hovering inches above Alaric’s throat. His eyes flicked toward the sound, narrowing.

Marching through the smoke came a line of Viremont reinforcements—gleaming steel, tattered banners, and at their head rode a broad-shouldered man in ornate, silver-blue armor, his cloak trailing behind like a wave.

Yoanas DeLambre.

The Wolf of the Vale.

His eyes—so much like his son’s—burned with fury and paternal wrath as he dismounted, his massive broadsword already drawn.

“You’ll find me a far less forgiving opponent, Bloodbane. But if you step away from my son and call back your forces, House DeLambre will be willing to look past your actions and let you retreat in peace,” Yoanas growled, walking steadily toward the courtyard, his soldiers fanning out behind him.

Alaric, still gasping on the ground, blinked in disbelief. “Father…?”

Arkanos sighed, almost as if bored by the interruption.

He suddenly raised his glowing blade high, the light flaring like a second sun above Alaric’s throat.

But before the strike fell, Alaric, bloodied and breathless, glared up at him.

His voice cracked, but the defiance remained.

“What… do you think you’re doing? You can’t just—”

“Alaric!” Yoanas roared, his boots slamming against the cobblestones as he surged forward, horror flooding his eyes.

Time slowed.

The wind seemed to still. The chaos of the battlefield muffled to a low hum.

Arkanos’s emerald eyes narrowed—not with rage, but pure, cold finality.

Then, with clinical precision, he brought his sword down.

Schlick!

The sound was sharp, and it seemed to echo louder than any other sound in the courtyard.

Alaric’s head flew cleanly from his shoulders, blood arcing like a banner through the air.

A stillness swept the courtyard.

Then, Arkanos raised his boot and kicked the severed head toward Yoanas, the skull bouncing once, then rolling to rest before the Wolf’s armored boots.

Yoanas’s eyes widened—too slow, too late—as the head landed with a dull thud at his feet, blood trailing in its wake. His son’s lifeless eyes stared up at him, frozen in disbelief.

Arkanos’s cloak flared as he turned, his voice low and thunderous, echoing across the stunned silence.

“Retreat?” he repeated mockingly.

“Me?” He paced slowly toward Yoanas now, the weight of his words sinking like daggers into every heart that still beat on the field.

His sword dragged slightly across the stone, leaving a faint glowing trail.

“Don’t you dare insult me with that word.”