Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 71

Chapter 71: The Seeds of Rebellion
The sun hung in the sky, bathing the sprawling estate in a golden hue that seemed almost too serene for the dark ploys brewing within.

Duke Herald’s estate, nestled in the fertile lands of the Ebonriver Province, sprawled across the southern reaches of the Bloodbane Empire.

The territory, known for its massive fields and winding rivers that stood as a symbol of wealth and prosperity—yet within its polished walls, rebellion brewed like a storm on the horizon.

In the heart of the study, Jareth sat.

His fiery red hair, streaked with silver at the temples, fell in uneven waves to his shoulders, framing a face carved by hardship and time.

His sharp, angular jawline was offset by a faint scar that ran from his left cheekbone to the corner of his mouth… a relic from a skirmish long since faded into obscurity.

His piercing orange eyes, glinted with an intensity that could freeze even the boldest of men.

They were eyes that had seen too much, carrying the weight of loss and fury.

He wore a battered breastplate, darkened from years of combat, over a simple tunic of deep maroon.

The armor, etched with faint remnants of the imperial insignia, was a haunting reminder of the position he once held.

His weathered hands gripped a parchment as if it held the cause of his torment.

The messenger owl had departed hours ago, leaving behind the bitter taste of betrayal in Jareth’s throat.

The words written in Lucien’s unmistakable handwriting cut deeper than any blade.

“The emperor has changed. He seeks not dominion, but redemption. For the sake of the people, let the past die. To war against him is to war against those you swore to protect.”

The silence was suffocating. Jareth’s laugh broke it, bitter and hollow, like a blade drawn across a whetstone.

“Changed?”

“Arkanos changed? Redemption? And you, Lucien, would have me bury my grief beneath his sins?”

He slammed the letter onto the table, the ink smudging beneath his trembling fingers.

“Did Arkanos change when my wife screamed for aid and no one came? When his laws condemned us to squalor because I dared to defy an unjust order? Did he change when I buried not just my wife but the hope she carried?”

His words carried the the weight of his loss, each filled with his fury.

The shadows leaning in as if to console him.

A History Written in Grief…

Jareth’s grief was not his alone.

It was a reflection of a kingdom fractured, where loyalty was rewarded with dismissal and disgrace.

He had risen through the ranks, not through birthright, but through sweat and blood.

Yet all it had taken was the whim of a boy emperor to reduce him to nothing.

And Lucien, his friend, now stood on his side!

“Best friends…”

Jareth whispered, his hand clutching the hilt of the sword that still had the imperial crest.

“Once, we swore to die for each other. Now, you ask me to die in obscurity while Arkanos plays the savior?”

Suddenly a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You should not waste your anger on parchment. Save it for the throne.”

Duke Herald stepped into the study, his short, neatly combed black hair gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, while his sharp blue eyes looked charming… Calculative.

A well-groomed beard framed his angular face. The crimson and black embroidery on his robes complimented his lean frame, and every detail of his attire practically spoke of wealth and meticulous precision.

His face, sharp and foxlike, always set in a cunning expression. Unlike Jareth, Herald was not a man of steel but of strings, pulling them to orchestrate the rebellion.

He and Cedric of course.

“Lucien’s words sting, do they not?” Herald drawled, pouring wine into a goblet.

“The tower master was always the virtuous one, blinded by ideals. But ideals do not feed the hungry or shelter the cold. They do not return the dead.”

Jareth’s gaze was sharp. “Speak plainly, Herald. I’ve no patience for your riddles today.”

Herald chuckled, taking a slow sip of his wine. “Very well. You wish to storm the capital. To raise your banner and march against a weakened patrol. But a single arrow does not fell a castle, Jareth. We need Cedric. The nobles. We need an army that can crush Arkanos not just in might, but in spirit.”

“Cedric.” Jareth spat the name like venom. “The Grand Vizier who’s constantly blinded by greed? He is no ally.”

Herald smiled, a predator scenting blood.

“Ah, but Cedric is no fool. His greed may often blind him, but his schemes are second to none… We’ll except mine of course. Offer him power, and he will switch allegiances faster than you can draw your sword, he is a man that only fights battles he knows he can win. The nobles? They care not who wears the crown, only that they remain fat and comfortable. Appeal to their greed, Jareth. Promise them what Arkanos cannot.”

“And what of the people?” Jareth asked, his voice low.

“What do we promise them? More bloodshed? More ruin? Will they cheer as we topple one tyrant to replace him with another?”

Herald’s gaze darkened, his voice was calm, yet sharp.

“The people are pawns, Jareth. They do not shape history—they are shaped by it. Your wife… she was a victim of this world. But do not mistake her death as noble. It was a tragedy, nothing more. Do you think her ghost cares who sits on the throne?”

Jareth rose, his fist slamming onto the table.

“Do not speak of her! You have no right—”

“But I do,” Herald interrupted, unflinching.

“Because her death is your fuel, Jareth. Without it, you are just a man, broken and bitter. With it, you are a weapon. And weapons do not hesitate.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the whistles of birds outside. Jareth turned to the window, his gaze distant, lost in the past.

The fields beyond were beautiful, the village bathed in the sunlight. This was what he once fought for—not power, not revenge, but the dream of a empire where no child would cry out in hunger, where no man would bury his wife for lack of coin.

Yet the path to that world was paved with the bones of the righteous.

“You’re right,” Jareth finally said, his voice hollow. “We need Cedric. The nobles. A mighty army.”

“But know this, Herald—if you betray me, if you use this cause for your own gain, I will cut you down myself.”

Herald’s smile was thin. “Of course, my friend. Our goals are aligned… for now.”

The sunlight streamed brighter now, illuminating the maps spread across the table, the letters bearing the seals of nobles yet to be convinced to join their cause, and the blades polished for war.

Jareth slammed his hand on the table, turning around then began to stride towards the door, his eyes burning with anger.

“I’ll go swing my sword to clear my mind.”

Herald watched him, a sly smile on his face. “Once a knight, always a knight it seems,” he murmured, lifting his goblet to his lips. As he sipped the wine, his gaze drifted out the window, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly.

“Arkanos…”

“I am most certain you will not be prepared for the storm that approaches. One that will bring about the end of your rule—and the dawn of a new era.”

He paused for a moment, the weight of his words settling in the air. Then, with a knowing smile, he added.

“Oh, my wine tastes even better just thinking about it.”

Jareth paused at the threshold, his hand resting briefly on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t look back, but he could feel Herald’s gaze—a predator savoring the moments before the hunt begins.

The door closed behind him, the soft creak echoing in the silence that followed.

…

Back In the heart of the bustling capital of Castrellon, Arkanos stood before the gathered crowd in the grand plaza.

Lady Sylvana stood beside him, with a calm smile on her face. The midday sun cast a golden glow over the city, illuminating their figures against the marble columns and the towering banners of the Bloodbane Empire.

Arkanos’ voice was calm yet firm, projecting easily over the murmurs of the crowd.

“Citizens of the capital.”

“I come before you not only as your emperor, but as a man who cares of the people. Today, I introduce to you someone who has been quietly shaping a brighter future for us all.”

He gestured to Lady Sylvana, who stepped forward gracefully. Her long green hair shimmered in the sunlight, her soft, emerald eyes radiating warmth.

“This is Sylvana,” Arkanos continued, “a mage who has been instrumental in overseeing the farming Project—a massive initiative that has already begun transforming our lives. Her expertise ensures that we move forward together, towards prosperity and harmony.”

Sylvana offered a gentle bow, her voice clear and soothing. “It is an honor to serve under the emperor and alongside the people. Together, we can build a better future.”

Arkanos took over once more, his tone shifting into a more celebratory note. “With this, I declare a massive Harvest Festival a week from now—a day of gratitude, of unity, and of renewal. From that day forward, it will be a tradition here in the capital. Every year, we will come together to celebrate the fruits of our labor.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices rising in a unified wave. Arkanos raised his hand, calling for silence. “During this festival, we will ensure a bountiful feast for all. There will be a significant discount on food commodities, so that no one is left wanting on this day of celebration.”

Lady Sylvana’s smile widened as the crowd cheered once more. She glanced subtly at Arkanos, her gratitude shining in her eyes.

〘 ⋄ Loyalty of the people has increased to 50%⋄ 〙