Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 212

Chapter 212: Omens Beneath a Restless Sea
The morning mists clung to Thalren’s coast, drifting low over the dark blue waters as gulls wheeled overhead, their cries echoing through the salt-tinged air.

The sun’s first light struck the sails of a grand Threshian warship, its white banners emblazoned with the golden chalice of the Holy Empire. The vessel cut through the waves with solemn grace, its hull carved with intricate holy runes that glimmered faintly like starlight upon the sea.

Dockworkers and fishermen halted their toil as the ship neared the port, whispers rising among them. Such a vessel did not come for trade.

Upon the deck stood Sir Albrecht Veynar, one of the Seven Sword Saints of Threshia, his armor glinting faintly beneath a white cloak edged in gold.

His hand rested on the hilt of Sanctivale, the radiant blade that had earned him his title. Beside him sat an old woman upon a simple wooden chair, her posture straight despite her frail frame. Her eyes were covered by a silken blindfold, and her hands rested lightly upon an engraved staff of ashwood.

She was one of the Six High Seers of Threshia, a keeper of omens and visions, known among priests and nobles alike as Mother Anira the Unyielding.

“You are silent, Sword Saint,” the old woman murmured, her voice steady despite her years. “Does the weight of duty silence your tongue?”

Albrecht’s gaze remained fixed upon the distant coastline, where the port’s stone piers jutted out like fingers reaching into the sea. “Nay, Mother Anira. It is not silence but restraint. I fear that in speaking of what awaits us, I might give my doubts shape.”

She tilted her head slightly, her blindfolded face turning toward him as though she could see. “Then speak them regardless. Doubts unspoken fester like wounds uncleaned.”

Albrecht exhaled slowly. “The Holy Empire bleeds. With Lady Isode absent, the faith of men wanes. The nobles tear at each other like starving wolves, and we lack an emperor to unite them. Even the Church falters, priests bicker over doctrine while provinces whisper of secession. Every report I hear stinks of betrayal.”

Mother Anira’s gnarled hands tightened slightly over her staff. “And yet still, duty binds you. You sail here, to foreign shores, not for glory or ambition, but because the tide of fate demands it.”

“Duty,” Albrecht muttered bitterly. “What good is duty if it leads only to ruin? The Empire cries for unity, yet all I bring are swords. Were Lady Isode here…”

“Were Lady Isode here,” the Seer interrupted softly, “her presence would bind the realm as faith binds the soul. But she is gone, and so the empire she left unravels. It is for men like you to hold the seams together until her return, or until another truth takes her place.”

The Sword Saint’s gauntleted hand tightened on his sword hilt. “You speak as though you already know the ending, Mother.”

She gave a thin smile. “The ending? No. But I have seen omens of fire on the sea, blood on the chalice, and a crown that will not rest easily upon any brow. The tides bear not just your ship, Albrecht, but the burdens of a destiny neither of us yet understands.”

The ship’s anchor fell with a heavy splash, chains clattering as the vessel drew against the dock. Ropes were thrown, planks lowered. Threshian knights in white and gold cloaks descended first, forming a solemn honor guard as emissaries prepared to step onto Akerian soil.

As Albrecht turned to help Mother Anira rise from her seat, her blindfolded face lifted toward the distant city beyond the harbor.

“The sea is restless,” she whispered. “It knows what we carry with us. And so, perhaps, do the winds.”

And with that, the first Sword Saint of Threshia stepped onto foreign land, his arrival not merely the herald of diplomacy, but the prelude to a storm long foretold.

The port of Thalren stirred uneasily as the emissaries advanced down the plank. Akerian soldiers in dark blue tabards lined the pier, their halberds gleaming in the morning light. At their head stood Lord Commander Kael Draven, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek and a hawk-like gaze that never left Albrecht’s form as he approached.

Behind him, merchants, sailors, and curious townsfolk watched in silence. Though the two nations were not at war, the sight of a Threshian warship, especially one carrying knights in ceremonial armor, was enough to put the harbor on edge.

Kael stepped forward as Albrecht and Mother Anira reached the foot of the pier. He inclined his head in a gesture of restrained courtesy. “Sir Albrecht Veynar of Threshia. Word of your arrival reached us, though the reason for it remains… unclear.”

Albrecht returned the nod, his voice measured but firm. “I come not as a conqueror, Lord Commander, but as a servant of my Emperor and the Holy Church. Our Empire falters, beset by famine, betrayal, and war. We come to Akerian shores seeking alliance, not in arms, but in sustenance.”

A murmur rippled through the watching crowd.

Mother Anira, still holding Albrecht’s arm, tilted her head toward Kael, her blindfolded eyes seemingly fixed upon him. “And yet,” she said softly, “you already knew. The omens whispered it long before our sails touched your waters.”

Kael stiffened slightly but said nothing, his expression unreadable.

Albrecht continued, his tone growing heavier. “Lady Isode, our High Priestess and heir apparent, remains absent. The nobles circle like vultures, provinces threaten secession, without an emperor, the empire is anything but steady. Without aid, Threshia will bleed itself dry before unity can be restored.”

The Akerian commander regarded him in silence for a moment. “You would have us feed your people while you settle your own quarrels? Many in the Imperial Court will call this folly.”

Anira’s voice cut through the tension like a blade of glass. “Call it folly if you must, commander. Yet I see what you do not. If Threshia falls, the tide that follows will not stop at your shores. The chalice and the crown are bound by fate, and so too are our nations.”

Kael’s eyes flicked briefly toward the blind Seer, a shadow of unease in his otherwise stoic face. After a long pause, he gestured for them to follow.

“Then let us see if your words can move the Akerian court. The Emperor awaits counsel in Domereth Valas. You will find him less easily swayed than priests or nobles, Sword Saint.”

As they were escorted through the busy port toward the road leading inland, Albrecht glanced at the old woman beside him. “So it begins,” he murmured.

Mother Anira’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “No, Sir Albrecht. This is only the first ripple. The storm lies far beyond the horizon.”