Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points!-Chapter 114 : War Part Ten

The battlefield was now bathed in blood, the strong smell of iron and ash filled the air.

All around the place, there were bodies—some smashed so badly they were unrecognizable—dead horses, completely destroyed siege weapons, and smoke rising from some flames in the distance, from spells that were shot but never landed.

Among the carnage, the Berserk Knights sat atop the broken corpses of their enemies, some casually cleaning their weapons, others simply lounging as if they hadn't just wiped out an entire army.

Jarek let out a long, exaggerated sigh as he leaned back against a pile of bodies, arms behind his head. "Well, that was fun and all… but I think we need to address something very important."

Rurik, who was sharpening his war hammer with slow strokes of a nice enchanted sword he picked up, arched an eyebrow. "If it's about the kill count, I already know I won."

Jarek scoffed. "Oh, please. I was at least ten heads ahead of you."

Daric, still grinning like a maniac, smacked his hammer against the ground. "Pfft! Doesn't matter, 'cause I got the most smashes!"

Keth rolled his eyes and sighed as he folded his arms. "That's not even a real measurement."

Daric gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Blasphemy! Smash is the ultimate measurement!"

Grandul let out a deep chuckle, cracking his knuckles. "Regardless, I think we can all agree that this was a fine warm-up."

Jarek snorted. "Warm-up for who? They didn't even make us break a sweat." He pointed a thumb toward the distance, where a pile of bodies lay. "A wild bear in the woods would have fared better than these amateurs.

"But guess who gets to have all the fun now?"

Rurik sighed. "Yeah, as usual, we clear out the small fry, and the captain gets the main course."

Keth crossed his arms. "I get why she doesn't let us join in, because it would be over too quickly, but still, would it kill her to let us handle the big fights once? Just once?"

Daric grumbled, waving a hand dismissively. "Yeah! Every time she says, 'Don't get in my way,' or, 'I'm off,' and then BAM—she's gone! We could at least get some hits in or something! All we're left to do now is place bets."

Grandul smirked. "Oh? And what would you bet on? How many limbs she tears off? How long it takes before her opponent regrets existing?"

Jarek chuckled. "My money's on twenty minutes before they start begging for mercy."

Keth shook his head. "You're all wrong. It won't even take that long."

Rurik, finishing with his war hammer, sighed. "In the end, none of it matters. We know exactly how this is going to end."

The group collectively nodded.

Jarek smirked. "Yeah. With her covered in blood… and us still sitting here, waiting."

Daric grinned. "So… why don't we figure out 'Who Killed the Most' while we wait?"

Grandul cracked his knuckles. "You're on."

---

Meanwhile.

Utilia stood at the center of it all, her breath heavy but her grin as wide as ever.

Blood dripped down her cheek from a fresh cut, yet the sheer madness in her glowing red eyes made it clear—she was enjoying this.

Freya and Serilda, however, were not smiling.

They had been fighting with everything they had, landing direct strikes—burning, freezing, cutting—but she only kept getting stronger. It was unnatural.

Every time they pushed her back, she retaliated with twice the force. Every time she took a wound, her aura burned brighter, hotter.

Freya gritted her teeth, flames moving up her arms as she wiped blood from her mouth. "She's still getting faster…"

Serilda, her breathing even but controlled, narrowed her eyes. "Not just that. Her strength and resistance to our attacks are getting better as well. We have to end this. Now."

Freya exhaled sharply, her grip on her sword tightening. "Then we bring out our Sacred Eidolith."

Serilda nodded once. There was no hesitation. No words needed.

Their bodies exploded with mana.

A sudden wave of frost rushed outward from Serilda's feet, turning the battlefield into an arctic wasteland.

The ground beneath her cracked and froze, turning from dull stone to gleaming purple ice. Her breath came out in visible mist, and then—

It appeared.

A massive, spectral purple Yeti loomed behind her, its fur a swirling mass of mist and frozen mana. Its hulking arms flexed as it released a low, rumbling growl, its deep-set purple eyes glowing like stars.

The frost around Serilda thickened, condensing into jagged ice armor that covered her body.

Her purple eyes glowed from the visors on her helmet.

Her sword grew longer, broader, heavier—the ice fusing with the metal, turning it into a blade fit for execution. A crown of crystalline frost hovered beside her head, vibrating erratically.

Her voice was like a whisper of death.

"Sacred Eidolith—Throne of the Everfrost."

At the same time, fire consumed the air.

A deafening whoosh filled the battlefield as a cyclone of blazing red flames erupted around Freya. The heat was suffocating, thick with the stench of scorched earth.

And then—it appeared.

A massive, spectral Phoenix coiled around Freya's body, its burning wings spreading wide, illuminating the battlefield like a second sun.

Its feathers crackled with embers, dripping molten fire, and when it opened its beak, the very air trembled from the screech.

Flames coiled around Freya's body, melding with her flesh.

Her armor turned to blackened steel, glowing with veins of molten mana. Wings of fire flared from her back, their heat distorting the air around her. Her sword now pulsed like a blade forged from the heart of the sun.

Her feet slowly hovered off the ground as bursts of flame erupted beneath her with each movement, and then with a sudden explosion, she shot into the air like a red streak of fire.

Her voice rang through the battlefield.

"Sacred Eidolith—Eternal Sun's Wrath."

The moment both warriors transformed, the world itself seemed to recoil from their presence, the air around them vibrating violently.

The Berserk Knights suddenly narrowed their gazes, their usual look of boredom gone—now, something rare could be seen on their faces.

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Interest.

Jarek whistled low, arms still behind his head. "Well, now... that's not something you see every day."