Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 207

Chapter 207: Hearts Like Blades
Seraphine stood motionless for a moment, her ocean-blue eyes wide, reflecting the flicker of the torchlight. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came at first. The weight of Isode’s revelation hung between them, a tapestry of prophecy and divine purpose unfurled in the cool night air.

“An empress…” Seraphine finally murmured, her voice softer than before, tinged with awe. She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to see Isode anew. “You, a princess of Threshia, sworn to a prophecy… and now you claim a place beside Arkanos as his… holy empress?”

Isode’s posture remained regal, her chin lifted just enough to betray a quiet pride. Her purple eyes gleamed with unshakable conviction, softened only by the faintest curve of a smile.

“Not claim, Marshal,” she corrected gently, her voice smooth as velvet. “It is not ambition that drives me, but destiny. The Goddess has woven this path, and I walk it with certainty. Arkanos is the flame foretold, and I am bound to him—not by fleeting desire, but by divine mandate.”

Seraphine’s brow furrowed, her surprise giving way to a subtle shift in her expression. She crossed her arms, her polished armor glinting as she leaned her weight onto one hip. Her tone, though still light, carried a faint edge now, like a blade wrapped in silk.

“That’s… quite the calling, Lady Isode,” she said, her words measured. “To leave a throne behind, to cross nations, all for a man you believe is destined to unite the world. And he accepts this? He sees you as… what, his equal in this grand vision?”

Isode’s smile deepened, a touch of warmth breaking through her composure. “He does,” she said simply. “Arkanos is no ordinary man. He listens to the whispers of fate, as I do. Together, we are more than flesh and blood—we are the embodiment of what is to come.”

Seraphine’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She glanced away briefly, toward the darkened horizon, her fingers tightening slightly against her armored forearms. “How… poetic,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost too casual. “To be so certain of your place beside him. To know your heart and soul are aligned with his… It must be a comfort, to have such clarity.”

Isode’s gaze sharpened, catching the subtle shift in Seraphine’s tone. She tilted her head, studying the marshal with a knowing look, though her expression remained kind. The High Priestess took a slow step closer, her robes whispering against the stone path.

“Clarity comes from honesty, Seraphine,” she said softly, her voice carrying a gentle weight. “Not just with others, but with oneself. The Goddess does not favor those who hide from their own truths, whether they be of faith… or of the heart.”

Seraphine’s eyes flicked back to Isode, a flicker of something—defiance, perhaps, or unease—crossing her face before she masked it with a light laugh. “Oh, you needn’t preach to me, High Priestess,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m a soldier, not a poet. My truths are found in steel and strategy, not… divine visions or warm blood.”

Isode’s smile remained, but there was a glint of understanding in her eyes. She inclined her head, as if conceding the point, though her words carried a quiet challenge. “Perhaps,” she said. “But even soldiers have hearts, Marshal. And hearts, like blades, grow dull when ignored.”

Before Seraphine could respond, Isode turned, her robes catching the torchlight as she began to walk away. “Good night, Seraphine,” she called over her shoulder, her voice calm but resonant. “May you find the courage to face all that stirs within you.”

Seraphine watched her go, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her hands fell to her sides, one resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. For a moment, she stood alone in the flickering light, her expression unreadable—save for the flicker of longing that lingered in her eyes.

Seraphine lingered in the torchlit courtyard, her gaze fixed on the path where Isode’s figure had vanished into the shadows of the manor. The night air felt heavier now, pressing against her armor as if it carried the weight of the High Priestess’s words. Her fingers tightened briefly on her sword hilt, then relaxed, her hand falling away as she exhaled a slow, measured breath.

“Face what stirs within me,” she muttered. She shook her head, her blond hair catching the firelight as she turned to pace a few steps, her boots clicking softly against the stone.

“As if I’ve the luxury to play at soul-searching like some cloistered mystic.”

Yet the words gnawed at her. Isode’s calm certainty, her unshakable belief in her place beside Arkanos—it stirred something in Seraphine that she couldn’t quite name. Admiration, perhaps. Or resentment. Or something sharper, more personal, that twisted in her chest like a thorn. She stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the manor’s high windows, where faint candlelight glowed behind heavy curtains.

“An empress by divine will,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a bitter edge. “And what am I? A marshal. A blade in his service. Loyal. Trusted. But…” She trailed off, her jaw tightening as she swallowed the rest of the thought.

She forced her thoughts back to the present.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders and letting the tension bleed out slowly. She turned away from the manor’s high windows and made her way toward the outer edge of the courtyard, where a few Bloodbane knights sat gathered around a low fire. They were laughing—low, tired chuckles shared over tin cups and strips of roasted meat.

One of them, a broad-shouldered knight with soot still smudged across his cheek, spotted her.

“Marshal!” he called, straightening up a bit. “Care to join us? We’ve got meat, and Alrin managed to pinch a bottle from the DeLambre cellar.”

Seraphine hesitated, then offered a faint smile. “Only a sip,” she said. “If you poured it already, I suppose I’d be remiss not to taste the spoils.”

The men chuckled, shifting to make space. A tin cup was pressed into her hand—not silver, not fine, just practical and warm from the fire.

She sat, her armor clinking faintly, and took a small sip. The wine was rich, dark, and sharp at the back of the tongue. She didn’t care much for wine, truth be told. But it was easier than being alone in her thoughts.

Around her, the soldiers began to share idle stories—tales from the campaign, jests about a cook who fled at the first sign of battle, murmured speculation about what the Emperor might do next. She laughed once or twice, softly, but her eyes kept drifting.

Back toward the manor.

Back toward the chambers where candlelight still glowed behind drawn curtains.

Toward where Isode had gone.

Toward where he likely was.

The thought twisted something in her gut again.

She set the cup down, still half full.

“Marshal?” one of the men asked. “You alright?”

Seraphine glanced at him—offered another small smile. “Just tired,” she said. “Long day.”

The fire cracked gently beside her. She watched the sparks rise.

And in her chest, something still stirred.

Not quite jealousy.

Not quite longing.

Something deeper.

Harder.

A hunger she couldn’t name.