Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 203

Chapter 203: The Last Stand of House DeLambre Part Six
Yoanas was nothing but a ruin of flesh now—his lower half gone, shredded, a trail of blood, gore, and ruptured organs painting the stone behind him. But the bastard wouldn’t die. No, not yet.

With a snarl tearing from his throat, he dragged himself forward with trembling arms, fingers clawing at the broken earth like a dying wolf still trying to rip out the hunter’s throat.

His insides sloshed behind him, steaming in the cold, and yet he moved, relentless, dripping blood, crawling through his own hell.

“Don’t…” he spat, crimson drool hanging from his lips, “Don’t think… you’ll get away with this… Bloodbane…”

Arkanos’ boots echoed through the courtyard like war drums as he approached the crawling man. He knelt before the wreck that had once been the proud Wolf of the Vale.

With one gloved hand, he fisted a chunk of Yoanas’s blood-soaked hair and yanked his head up like a butcher inspecting meat, then spoke coldly.

“I already have,” Arkanos whispered.

Then he raised his blade—a flash of holy light.

The sword hissed through the air and shhk!—Yoanas’s head tore free from his shoulders like a puppet’s strings sliced.

Blood geysered from the stump in violent spurts, soaking the emperor’s chest and face.

Arkanos didn’t flinch.

He rose slowly, holding Yoanas’s head high by the hair, the face twisted in frozen defiance, mouth still half-open in a curse he never got to finish.

His emerald eyes scanned the stunned remains of the Akerians—knights, mages, commanders—all frozen, all trembling.

The emperor’s voice roared through the smoke like the growl of a god who had no room left for mercy.

“Your lord has fallen!”

He turned slowly, showing them the head—dripping, swinging, grinning.

“Stand down… or be sent to the underworld to keep him company.”

Silence.

And then the sound of spears clattering to the stone.

Arkanos tilted his head in disappointment.

“Really?” he said, eyes wide with disbelief, a mocking smile peeling across his face.

“Not even one of you? Not a single brave little soul to charge forward and scream vengeance for your glorious lord?”

How could they get the resolve to do so? They had just witnessed a single man cut down the entirety of their reinforcements with a single sword slash.

He began to pace slowly, boots crunching through the blood-soaked floor and bits of viscera, raising the severed head higher like a grotesque idol.

“Come on now. This—” he jostled Yoanas’s head until the jaw wagged, “—this was your shining banner, wasn’t he? The great Wolf of the Vale. He gave everything… even his guts… and you give him silence?”

He paused, scanning the crowd of Akerian knights—dozens of armored men, trained killers, all now trembling in place. Some gripped their weapons tighter, but none stepped forward. None met his gaze.

“No one?” he laughed. “Really?”

He whipped the head in a lazy circle, letting it dangle by a strand of scalp, gore trailing like ribbons.

The knights looked away. One dropped to his knees, fist clenched against his mouth. Another clenched his eyes shut, teeth bared in helpless fury.

Guilt. Fear. Cowardice. It all reeked the same.

Arkanos scoffed and finally tossed the head. It landed with a wet thud, face-down in the dirt, mouth open like it was still trying to scream.

“Utterly. Pathetic.”

He slid his blade back into its scabbard with a quiet shhk, the divine runes flaring once before fading like dying stars.

Without sparing another glance, he turned his back to his men and began walking toward the shattered gates of the manor.

“Burn the bodies,” he called over his shoulder, voice calm, bored even.

Arkanos halted just before the threshold of the manor, the wind catching his cloak like a shroud of smoke.

He didn’t turn his head. Didn’t need to.

“Take the heads. Yoanas. His son. Shove them into barrels with the rest of their rotting meat.”

His command hung in the blood-slicked air like a guillotine waiting to fall.

“Seal them tight. Stamp them with their family crest.”

The soldiers stiffened, some flinching.

“And send them… to the nearest lords who still have the delusion of siding against me.”

Now he turned—slowly—green eyes burning beneath his soot-streaked brow.

“Let them open the casks with trembling hands. Let them see the faces they made in their last moments. Let them smell their loyalty festering in salt and wood.”

He stepped forward, boots squelching in gore.

“Let them know,” he said, a cruel grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “that Bloodbane is coming.”

Behind him, the sky was still bleeding fire.

Arkanos stepped through the threshold of House DeLambre’s manor, his boots echoing on the polished oak floor of the great hall, pristine and untouched by the chaos outside.

The manor stood, its vaulted ceiling adorned with gilded sunbursts and tapestries of victories, their colors vivid under the flickering candlelight.

No ruin marred its grandeur—every crystal goblet on the long table gleamed, every stone in the walls stood uncracked, a testament to the DeLambre legacy now claimed by Bloodbane ambition.

The air carried the faint scent of wax and old wood, a stark contrast to the blood and ash outside.

Seraphine strode beside him, her armor blood-streaked but unbowed, her blue aura dimmed but steady. Her braid swayed with each step, her face calm as she reported, her voice clear and measured.

“My lord, the victory is absolute. Their outer defenses are shattered, their mages silenced…”

“Our losses are minimal—twenty-three, mostly vanguard caught by early ballistae.

The Akerians lost hundreds, their reinforcements cut down by your Holy Slash. The courtyard is ours, and the keep’s wards are broken.”

Arkanos nodded, his emerald eyes scanning the hall, the dragon crest on his cloak catching the light.

“And the manor’s stores? Their armory?”

“Intact… Grain silos are full, enough to supply our campaign for weeks. The armory holds fine steel—swords, spears, and plate. Utilia’s securing the lower levels; Velder’s overseeing the prisoners.”

“Good,” Arkanos said, pausing before the lord’s high seat, its polished oak unmarred. He ran a gloved hand along its arm, feeling the weight of conquest.

“Strip the tapestries. Replace them with our banners. This manor is Bloodbane now.”

Seraphine nodded, “Understood, my lord. And what should we do about the survivors… some beg mercy. Shall we—”

“No mercy,” he cut in, his voice cold. “Remember, Seraphine, the point of our attack, as per my plan, is to strike fear into the hearts of the noble lords.” He turned, his cloak swirling, and fixed her with a stare that made her eyes widen for a moment, cheeks flush slightly.

He spoke calmly.

“Viremont is a lesson, Seraphine. Let their empire see what defiance costs.”

She hesitated for a moment then nodded, and saluted. “As you command, Emperor.”