Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 209

Chapter 209: Prophecy And Pale Wings
“The black lizard’s spawn wasted only ten days before proving himself a truly problematic heir. Arkanos — ah, unfortunate he is to be used as a stepping stone to my ascension.”

The court erupted into alarmed murmurs.

“That cannot be possible!” one baron spluttered.

“Strike everywhere? Move legions like chess pieces upon a single command?”

“Madness — no magic could sustain such—”

“Enough!” Varian’s voice cracked across the hall like a whip. The nobles fell silent at once.

His stare swept over them, sharp as a sword’s edge.

“Do not insult this court — or your own wits — by clinging to comforting lies. The Bloodbane empire has shown its fangs, and now we must prepare to break them off. I will not have another lord’s head passed around in my lands because old fools refused to believe the world is larger than the borders of their estates.”

He leaned forward slightly, every inch the predator now.

“Ready your levies. Double the watch at every stronghold. And send word to the High Seers — if there are omens to be read in blood and ash, I will have them.”

Then he sat back, one hand drumming lazily on the arm of his throne, the ghost of a dark smile on his lips.

“The game begins in earnest, my lords. Pray you are not found wanting.”

The nobles hesitated only a heartbeat more before they began to move again.

Courtiers dipped quick bows as they hurried off to send urgent letters, summon household knights, or whisper frantic orders to pages.

Generals clustered together, speaking in low, sharp voices about supply lines and levy schedules. Even the lesser lords who had come to Asterthrone merely to flatter the emperor now found pressing reason to return to their own keeps and raise fresh garrisons.

Fear had become a leash — and Varian watched them tug at it.

Veydris Kain lingered near the foot of the throne, his hands folded behind his back, black robes flowing like spilled ink.

A small, knowing smile touched his lips as he observed the scrambling nobility. He inclined his head once more toward Varian.

“With your leave, Majesty, I will ride at once for Thalren. The shipwrights will not delay once they see the seal of your command — and the shadow of your patience.”

Varian’s gaze rested on him a long moment. Then he gave a slow nod.

“Go. And Veydris…” — his voice dropped to something almost pleasant, which only made it more dangerous — “if the Skyward Dominion stumbles, I will hold you above the very ramparts you failed to raise. Long enough for every crow from here to Korath to feast.”

Veydris’s thin smile only deepened, his eyes glittering.

“Then I shall see to it the crows look elsewhere for their supper. By your command, Emperor.”

With a flourish of his dark cloak, he turned and strode from the hall, his long steps confident, already composing the letters and threats he would use to tighten the labor of Thalren around his will.

As the last of the nobles and generals filed out of the throne hall, the heavy doors thudded shut behind them.

The vast chamber seemed to exhale, the echo of footsteps fading into stillness.

Varian let out a long, quiet sigh. His hand left the armrest of his throne and rested loosely in his lap, fingers idly tracing unseen patterns against his palm.

Just then, a voice rose from behind the throne.

“I still find it strange you choose to accommodate these fools in your court.”

Varian didn’t startle. His sigh deepened, shoulders sinking slightly before he spoke.

“They have their uses,” he said, his tone dry. “One doesn’t toss away a water sack in the desert simply because it’s lost its cover. Even patched and ugly, it holds what you need to survive. Only when it’s empty is it discarded.”

A soft, amused chuckle came from the shadows behind the throne. Then a figure stepped forth.

He was draped in a shroud of dark aura that seemed to coil and breathe around him. His skin was pale, near white, as if it had never seen sunlight. Midnight black hair fell past his shoulders, glossy and fine. Perched atop his head was a small pair of dark wings, folded tight and obscuring his eyes entirely.

His back bore six larger wings, their feathers ink-black and faintly iridescent, stirring as if to taste the air. Above his brow floated a thin black halo, with cracks running across its smooth surface.

Despite such monstrous features, he was dressed almost absurdly like a local lord of modest means — tailored black and white fabric, neat silver clasps and chains, a narrow belt studded with small gems.

He stepped down from the dais, boots clicking softly on the marble, head tilted ever so slightly. A faint smirk curved his lips.

“Still rationing your patience with mortal nobility. How very… pragmatic of you, Varian.”

Varian rose from his throne, his boots striking the marble steps as he began to descend toward the shadowed arches at the far end of the hall.

“Your presence is as foul as ever,” he said without looking back.

“What do you want, Zair’El?”

Behind him, the fallen angel let out a low, rich chuckle.

“Ah, how delightfully cold…”

“…I believe you humans have a saying, do you not? ‘Disrespect shown to the messenger is disrespect shown to the king.’ Am I to take it that your sharp tongue toward me also serves as a slight against my… lord?”

He tilted his head, smiling.

“Or shall I grant you the courtesy of believing this is but your usual charming manner, reserved for all your esteemed guests?”

Varian didn’t break stride. His cloak fanned out behind him as he moved past the towering pillars that lined the hall.

“Do not prattle, Zair’El,” he said, voice low and edged with ice. “If your master feels slighted, he is welcome to send something other than a wing-clipped jester to press his grievance.”

That drew another laugh from the fallen angel, richer this time.

Zair’El followed at an easy pace, his boots almost silent, the smaller wings upon his head twitching with faint amusement.

“Sharp as ever, dear Emperor. But you misjudge me. I come not to parade my master’s pride. No — I come bearing insight. Consider it… a token. A courtesy from one who appreciates the finer art of conquest.”

“A divine artifact shall be born upon the mountain of the first dawn.”