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

Ivan strode toward the eastern walls of the capital, his pace steady, measured. The distant murmur of the city had faded, leaving only the crisp echo of his boots against the cobblestone.

Without turning, he spoke.

"I was under the impression that you would chart your own path," he said coolly. "And yet, it appears you are following mine."

Behind him, was none other than Abaddon.

A low chuckle rumbled from the fallen angel's throat as he spoke.

"I have chosen to follow you," he replied, amusement laced in his voice.

Ivan came to a halt at the base of the towering wall, exhaling softly as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Enlighten me, then. For what reason have you decided this?"

Abaddon stepped closer, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"Curiosity," he murmured.

"I find you… intriguing."

Ivan's crimson gaze sharpened. "And what, pray tell, is it that intrigues you so?"

Abaddon smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Aside from the Emperor, you are the only mortal I have encountered whose power eludes my understanding. It is an enigma—one I can neither name nor decipher."

Ivan remained silent, watching him warily.

"And beyond that," Abaddon continued, his tone turning almost reverent, "your very essence radiates sin. It is not merely the stain of a killer, no… It is something far deeper."

Ivan scoffed, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon. "I am an assassin," he said coldly. "My blade has claimed the lives of both the innocent and the damned alike. That alone is enough to taint my soul."

Abaddon chuckled, low and dark. "No," he mused, tilting his head. "This… goes beyond the blood on your hands."

His smirk deepened as he stepped forward, his presence growing ever more imposing. His voice, filled with amusement, carried an unsettling weight.

"Tell me… have you heard the tale?" he murmured. "Of the mortal who dared to steal a treasure from Ha'Threl, the God of Death?"

Ivan remained still, offering neither acknowledgment nor denial.

"They say this mortal used it to escape the clutches of death itself, shattering the natural order," Abaddon continued, his eyes gleaming. "And now, a man who ought to have perished walks among the living. The legend claims that, due to his now fractured existence, he may render himself… absent. That even the gods themselves, should they search for him, would find nothing."

"Just imagin it… to steal from a god. Wouldn't that be blasphemy? One of the few pinnacles of sin?"

Ivan exhaled sharply, unimpressed. "I have no patience for fables, Abaddon," he said curtly. "If you insist on trailing behind me, then at the very least, do not impede my path, unlike you, I do not need the emperor to give an order before I serve him."

With that, he crouched low, his muscles coiling like a spring. And in a single, effortless motion, he launched himself into the air, soaring over the massive walls.

Abaddon remained where he stood, watching with an ever-growing smirk.

"Changing the topic of the conversation… always a promising sign." His wings unfurled, casting darkened shadows upon the ground.

"Oh, this shall be most entertaining."

And with that, he took to the sky, vanishing into the night.

…

…

The relentless march had stretched into its second day without rest.

Arkanos had pressed forward through the cold, undeterred by the biting winds that howled through the landscape.

Night had fallen once more, the world cloaked in darkness, except for the soft glimmer of snowfall drifting from the skies.

A thick fur cape draped over his shoulders, its edges dusted with ice, lending him the appearance of a lone warlord traversing the frozen wilds.

Ahead lay a forest—one infested with trolls.

Arkanos reined in his mount, his emerald eyes narrowing at the towering figures emerging from the shadows.

The stench of rot and damp earth filled the air as guttural growls echoed through the trees.

This was not his first time coming across hords of monsters on his restless march.

But this woke be the last group that stood before him and his goal.

Why did he not just teleport to the Ashen peaks, one might ask, and the answer to that, is: he needed the experience and levels. The plan he had in mind would not work if he was simply teleported into the middle of enemy territory.

And that was the conditions to use the limit brak skill, one that allowed a player to equip items beyond their level for the duration of their current level in minutes, and if the time were to run out while he still equipped the items, he would instantly die.

Given the fact he was going to be wearing an entire set of armor including a sword, he would be wearing a total of ten times. Consuming ten minutes in 1 minute, so he had to level up.

And things were going well.

He was currently level 170.

A dozen trolls lumbered forward, their grotesque forms illuminated by the faint moonlight. They were massive, their thick hides capable of withstanding most weapons, but it hardly mattered.

Arkanos drew his blade.

With a single step, he surged forward. The sword in his grip radiated divine brilliance as he swung.

A wave of holy power erupted from the strike, cleaving through the creatures with merciless precision. The leading trolls were bisected instantly, their monstrous forms collapsing in gruesome heaps. Another step, another swing—golden arcs of destruction followed his every motion, cutting through flesh and bone as though they were nothing more than brittle twigs.

In mere moments, the ground was littered with butchered remains.

But one yet remained.

A troll shaman, its beady eyes gleaming with malevolence, raised a gnarled staff and began chanting in its guttural tongue. Flames crackled to life, coalescing into searing orbs that shot toward him with deadly intent.

Arkanos did not falter.

He tightened his grip, channeling an overwhelming surge of holy power into his blade.

"Holy Smite."

He swung.

The very air trembled as the attack was unleashed. A golden shockwave tore through the incoming fireballs, obliterating them in an instant before continuing its path. The troll shaman barely had time to let out a shriek before it was consumed by the radiant force. The explosion rocked the earth, leaving behind a massive crater where the creature once stood.

Arkanos exhaled, lowering his blade.

His horse neighed uneasily, shifting beneath him.

"Easy, boy," Arkanos murmured, patting the stallion's neck. "You still get shaken by sights like this? You should be used to them by now."

The black steed let out another nervous snort.

Arkanos chuckled. "I'll take that as a no."

He tightened his grip on the reins, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

"Move on, boy. We're not far from our destination now."

With that, he urged his mount forward, disappearing into the night.

…

…

The chamber was vast, its obsidian walls carved with sigils that pulsed with sickly light.

Candles of blackened wax flickered upon towering iron sconces, their flames casting shadows that danced along the floor.

The air was thick with the scent of burnt incense, mingling with something fouler—the unmistakable stench of decay.

At the center of the chamber stood two figures.

Herald, clad in ceremonial robes, traced a finger along the ancient runes etched into the altar before him.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk as he turned his gaze toward the towering doors at the far end of the chamber. The anticipation in his face was unmistakable.

Beside him, Vakemore stood unnervingly still, his tattered robes shifting only slightly despite the lack of wind. His presence alone made the air feel heavier, suffocating even.

The faint sound of something unseen slithering across the stone could be heard from beneath his robes.

Then, with a slow, ominous creak, the great doors groaned open.

A chill swept through the chamber, as though the very presence of the one who entered defied the natural order of the world.

Lord Kamel had arrived.

He moved with grace, his dark, flowing garments trailing behind him like living shadows.

His long black hair held in a silver hair pin. His red eyes gleaming ominously.

The air around him shimmered, as if reality itself struggled to remain intact in his wake.

His expression was unreadable, yet his presence alone was enough to send a shiver through lesser men.

Vakemore was the first to break the silence.

"Lord Kamel," he intoned. "You have graced us with your presence at last."

Kamel stepped forward, his gaze drifting lazily across the chamber before settling upon the altar. His lips twitched in amusement. "Spare me the pleasantries, Vakemore. I assume you did not summon me for idle conversation."

Herald let out a low chuckle. "Of course not, my lord. We have summoned you because the vessel approaches."

Kamel's eyes darkened. "Vessel?"

Herald inclined his head. "Arkanos Bloodbane. He will be at the gates very soon."

A moment of silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint crackling of candle flames.

Kamel tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "So it is finally time."

Vakemore gave a slow nod. "Indeed. The emperor rides toward his doom even as we speak. He is strong—undeniably so—but he has never known true helplessness. We will show him what it means to stand against forces beyond his understanding."

Herald's smirk widened. "His divine strength is formidable, yes, but not infallible. The moment he sets foot within our domain, his goddess's blessings will unravel... Thanks to you my lord. His faith will be rendered meaningless, his power stripped from him like a knight shorn of his armor. And then…"

He spread his hands, as if presenting a gift. "He will be nothing more than a man—exposed, vulnerable."

Kamel's gaze flickered with interest. "And you are certain your preparations are complete?"

Vakemore stepped toward the altar, his skeletal fingers tracing the runes with reverence. "The rites have been performed. The gates have been anointed in the blood of the forsaken. The Sepulcher itself has been woven into the ritual, ensuring that no divine hand may reach within."

Kamel let out a quiet hum, his fingers curling at his sides. "Then this shall be… most entertaining."

Herald nodded. "Arkanos believes he comes as a knight to rescue the fair maiden. He believes his blade alone will carry him through the dark." He let out a low laugh. "But the moment he steps beyond those gates, he will learn the truth—he is already dead."

Vakemore's hollow eyes gleamed with something almost akin to satisfaction. "We need only wait. His arrival is inevitable."

Kamel's lips curled into a slow, chilling smile.

"Then let us welcome him properly."