Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points!-Chapter 162: • The Akerian Emperor’s Return From Seclusion

Far East of the Bloodbane empire.

The Imperial Court of Akeria was not known for its patience. In fact, if there was one thing its nobles, generals, and bureaucrats excelled at, it was the art of self-serving intrigue—masked under the pretense of loyalty.

And yet, here they all were, gathered in the great hall, waiting.

The golden chandeliers flickered overhead, illuminating the polished marble floors that had seen centuries of betrayals, assassinations, and grand declarations of power.

The walls, lined with towering banners of the Akerian Sunburst, it’s blood red banner with a golden sun, loomed over the assembly as though silently judging their worth.

At the center of the hall, the throne—or rather, the seat of absolute dominion—stood empty. And that, of course, was the source of everyone’s unease.

For five long years, Emperor Varian Akeria also known as ’The Everlasting’ had been absent, locked away in seclusion, seeking the so-called "transcendence beyond mortality."

Rumors had swirled, as they always did. Some said he had perished in his pursuit.

Others whispered he had ascended to godhood, ready to return as a divine ruler. A few of the more practical folk suggested he had simply grown tired of the court’s endless scheming and left them to choke on their own politics.

Unfortunately for the hopeful schemers, the emperor... had returned.

And from what little word had leaked through the imperial channels, he had not come back as the same man who had left.

The room was silent except for the occasional nervous cough, the shifting of armored boots, and the faint rustling of silk as nobles exchanged wary glances.

Then, at long last, the golden doors of the throne room swung open.

When Varian entered, the very air seemed to tighten, as if reality itself had been made aware of his presence and chose to cower in his wake.

His once golden locks, a symbol of the Akerian imperial bloodline, had darkened slightly, now tinged with streaks of silver—a mark not of age, but of something far worse: power that had eaten away at his mortality.

His crimson cloak, woven from the silk of the extinct Abyss Spiders of Vraxis, flowed behind him as though it had a will of its own.

And by his side, a sword divine arms, known as Eclipse Fang, a royal heirloom, said to have been a weapon wielded by his ancestor, a man said to have been one the first few to ascend it to divinity.

But the most unnerving change was not his appearance, nor his aura, nor the unmistakable weight of his presence. It was his eyes.

They were ancient, not in years, but in understanding.

The gaze of a man who had peered into the abyss and returned with knowledge no human was ever meant to wield.

As he stepped forward, the assembled nobles and military officers dropped to their knees, some slower than others, though the hesitant ones quickly adjusted their posture. His gaze swept across the court, and for a long moment, silence reigned. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Although it wasn’t really needed, because...

They were already beneath him.

And they knew it.

Then, a voice broke the stillness.

"Your Majesty, welcome back from your seclusion," came the practiced, honeyed tone of Eryndor, the Royal Advisor. The man wore his fear well, buried under the layers of his carefully maintained veneer of confidence, but it was there—in the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his fingers as he pressed them together in a polite fold.

Varian wasted no time with pleasantries, he barely acknowledged the greeting. Instead, he settled into his throne—a monolith of obsidian and dragonbone, built for a god, not a man—and reclined slightly, the gesture deceptively casual.

"Enough with the pleasantries," he said. "The mission. Did you complete it?"

The Royal Advisor flinched. The emperor’s voice, though soft, carried the weight of command, the kind that left no room for negotiation.

Eryndor was a man who had once prided himself on his sharp intellect, his mastery of political maneuvering, and—most importantly—his survival instincts. But at this moment, he understood none of that would save him.

He fell to one knee. "Your Majesty... The Bloodbane Empire still stands."

The words were barely above a whisper, yet they rippled through the court like a thunderclap.

Failure.

A word that should never have been spoken in the presence of the emperor.

Eryndor had spent years engineering the downfall of the Bloodbane Empire, enacting countless schemes, hiring assassins, bribing generals, even making a pact with the Angels of Ruin, celestial beings whose very name promised destruction.

And yet, here he was, admitting defeat.

Varian fingers curled against the armrest of his throne, a subtle motion, but one that made the tension in the room skyrocket like a match dropped into dry parchment.

Eryndor, ever the diplomat, tried to continue. "We made significant efforts to destabilize them, but—"

Varian tilted his head, as if examining an insect that had dared to crawl onto his throne. Then, with the grace of inevitability, he drew his sword.

A blade like blackened glass, Eclipse Fang.

A weapon not designed to kill, but to erase.

The court did not move. They knew better.

Eryndor, to his credit, did not beg. He only managed to widen his eyes before a single arc of midnight steel severed his head from his body.

Or at least, it should have.

There was no body.

No blood.

No trace that Eryndor had ever existed at all.

The throne room remained silent. But this was no longer the silence of reverence.

It was horror.

"Who among you is capable enough to replace that fool?"

The question hung in the air like a blade suspended by a single thread.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then, stepping forward with the kind of confidence only a fool or a genius possessed, a man clad in obsidian-black robes knelt.

"Lord Veydris Kain, at your service, Your Majesty."

Ah. Of course. If there was one man who could turn the death of a colleague into a promotion opportunity, it was Veydris Kain.

Varian’s gaze met his. A lesser man would have turned to dust under that stare. But Veydris, ever the opportunist, held his ground.

"Very well," Varian said. "Then let us discuss our next move."

Veydris smirked.

"Your Majesty, brute force has failed. But what if we could fly?"

The court stirred, confused. Flight? In all recorded history, nothing but dragons and sky serpents had ever defied gravity.

Varian raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Veydris gestured to a shadowy figure at the edge of the room. The man stepped forward—clad in a coat of strange metals and holding a contraption that no one recognized.

"A machine," Veydris continued, "that does not need wings. An airship."

Silence.

Then, a slow, creeping realization.

If this was real—if the Akerian Empire could claim the skies—then walls, fortresses, mountains... none of it would matter anymore.

A new kind of warfare.

A new dominion.

Varian’s lips curled into something almost resembling a smile.

"Show me."

And thus, the Skyward Dominion was born

And for just a moment, a grin flickered across his lips.

After all, the emperor thought he was claiming the heavens.

But some secrets were never meant to be shared.

And some men—not even emperors—were meant to rule the skies.

The court still whispered as Varian stood from his throne, his crimson cloak flowing behind him like a living entity. The weight of what had just transpired—Eryndor’s erasure, the rise of Veydris Kain, the revelation of flight—hung thick in the air. But the emperor was not one to dwell on past moments, no matter how monumental.

He turned to Veydris, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Take me to him."

Veydris hesitated for only a fraction of a second before bowing deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."

The nobles and generals exchanged nervous glances. It was one thing to hear about this mysterious inventor—another to witness their emperor show actual interest in something outside of conquest and execution.

As Varian strode toward the doors, a single thought slithered through the minds of those left behind:

Who was this man, this outsider, who had caught the emperor’s attention?

...

...

The journey to the inventor’s domain took them beneath the palace—deep into the underground chambers where only imperial alchemists and forbidden scholars were allowed to tread.

The corridors were lined with glowing runes, their energy pulsing faintly against the stone walls, remnants of ancient technologies that predated even the Akerian Empire.

It was a fitting place for a man who claimed to defy gravity itself.

As they approached a large, reinforced door, Veydris motioned to one of the guards. The man hesitated before knocking three times, then stepping aside as the heavy mechanisms within the door groaned to life.

A hiss of steam. A whir of gears. The door creaked open, revealing chaos.

Books. Gears. Blueprints. Metal parts. All strewn across the floor with reckless abandon. The smell of oil, burnt metal, and something suspiciously resembling fried mushrooms filled the air.

And at the center of the madness—

A man.

Or rather, a creature of perpetual motion.

He was tall and gangly, his limbs moving like that of a man who had long since abandoned the concept of sleep.