Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points!-Chapter 156: • The Emperor’s Decree Part Two

Arkanos rested his chin on his hand, his emerald eyes piercing into Lord Hadrian with an expression that sent a shiver through the chamber.

The young noble had chosen his words carefully, but even the slightest suggestion of resistance was dangerous in a room like this. The air grew tense as whispers rippled through the gathered lords, some watching with intrigue, others with barely concealed amusement at the noble's predicament.

A single word from the Emperor could see him stripped of title, exiled—or worse.

Arkanos let the silence linger for a moment longer before speaking.

"You speak of the people's will, Lord Valmere?" His voice was even, but there was a weight behind it.

Hadrian swallowed hard, but he held his ground. "Only that transitions of power, when done too abruptly, may lead to unrest, Your Majesty. If the commoners resist the changes, then it could—"

"—It could what?" Arkanos interrupted, his voice like a blade slicing through Hadrian's sentence. He slowly rose from his throne, descending the dais with deliberate steps, his presence pressing down on the room like a physical force.

"Would you suggest that my decree should bend to the whims of the commoners?"

Hadrian paled but quickly shook his head. "No, Your Majesty! I would never dare imply such a thing. I only mean to suggest that careful handling could prevent unnecessary strife. If the new lords show restraint and patience, rather than ruling with immediate force, the transition will be smoother."

Arkanos halted just before Hadrian, looking down at him with quiet scrutiny.

"And what would you suggest, Lord Valmere? Should I have given the traitors leniency? Allowed them to gather their strength? Perhaps even granted them time to strike once more?"

Hadrian bowed his head further, feeling the weight of his own words trap him. "That is not my meaning, Your Majesty. I merely—"

Arkanos cut him off with a quiet chuckle, a sound that sent another ripple of unease through the court.

"Then perhaps I should commend you, Lord Valmere, for your concern for the well-being of the Empire's people." His voice dripped with amusement, yet beneath it was a layer of undeniable warning.

Hadrian dared to look up, meeting the Emperor's gaze for only a fraction of a second before lowering his head once more.

"Forgive my impudence, Your Majesty. I only wish to serve the Empire as best I can."

Arkanos studied him for a moment longer before finally turning away, his golden-trimmed robes billowing slightly as he ascended back to his throne.

"You would do well to remember, Lord Valmere, that it is not the people who dictate the course of this Empire." He lowered himself onto the throne once more, his emerald eyes sweeping across the gathered nobles. "It is I."

A hush fell over the court, the weight of his words sinking into every noble present.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, he gestured toward Arval. "Continue."

The royal scribe, who had remained still throughout the exchange, cleared his throat before resuming his duties.

"The next decree: The remaining assets of House Drelthorne, whose head was found guilty of conspiring against the throne, shall be absorbed into the Imperial Treasury. Their trade routes and merchant fleets shall be reassigned at His Majesty's discretion."

A noblewoman in the crowd, likely a relative of the disgraced house, stiffened at the proclamation, but she wisely said nothing.

Arval continued reading from the Imperial Ledger, distributing lands and wealth as the Emperor saw fit. Each declaration was met with either bowed heads of acceptance or subtle shifts of discomfort from those who now understood the full consequences of defiance.

Yet despite the heavy atmosphere, one thing became abundantly clear—Arkanos Bloodbane ruled not through fear alone, but through absolute control. He did not merely demand loyalty; he commanded it.

And those who stood in his way? They would not stand for long.

After what felt like an eternity, the distribution of lands finally came to an end.

The most fortunate—or rather, the most well-connected—were House Darkmoon and House Windwhisper.

Both had dutifully married their daughters into the Imperial family, a noble sacrifice, no doubt, for the grand cause of the empire.

And naturally, such devotion to the throne had to be rewarded.

If nothing else, it sent a clear message to the other houses: invest wisely in your daughters, and perhaps your lands will stretch a little further next time.

Finally, Arval reached the part that many had been waiting for, some with hope, others with dread—the recognition of the Emperor's knights and champions, those who had brought the traitors to their knees in his absence.

"By the decree of His Majesty," Arval announced, his voice carrying through the chamber, "Seraphine, Knight-Captain of the Imperial Order, shall henceforth bear the title of Imperial Marshal."

A murmur of approval swept through the court, though whether it was genuine respect or just well-practiced deference was debatable.

"Kael, Esten, Laris, and Garik shall each be granted the rank of Commander."

As Arval finished his announcement, the knights stepped forward one by one.

Seraphine was the first. The newly appointed Imperial Marshal walked with precise, measured steps, her white and gold-plated armor catching the torchlight.

She knelt before Arkanos, unsheathing her sword and presenting it across her palms.

"Your Majesty, to serve as your sword and shield has always been my duty. To be entrusted with the title of Imperial Marshal is an honor I shall uphold with absolute loyalty."

Arkanos took the blade from her hands, weighing it for a moment before tapping her right shoulder, then her left, and finally her forehead.

"Rise, Seraphine, Imperial Marshal of the Empire," he said.

She lifted her gaze, eyes burning with pride, and took her sword back before stepping aside.

Next came Kael. He knelt and presented his weapon, the hilt gleaming in the light.

"I never sought a title, only the chance to fight for the empire," he admitted. "But if this is your will, Your Majesty, then I shall command as fiercely as I once obeyed."

Arkanos tapped his shoulders and head with the sword before nodding. "Then command well, Kael, I expect great things from you."

Kael took back his weapon, stood, and stepped aside without another word.

Esten followed, his expression preticall gave away his excitement the spark is effort to appear stoic. He knelt and extended his blade, speaking in a low, firm voice.

"Your Majesty, I have fought in the darkness of night and the light of day, striking down enemies seen and unseen. To be given command is more than I ever imagined. I will not fail you."

Arkanos performed the ritual, his touch on Esten's shoulders lingering a moment longer than the others. "Then do not," he said simply.

Esten rose, his grip tightening around his sword before he took his place beside the others.

Laris, ever the dutiful knight, was next. His expression was calm, but there was a fire in his eyes as he knelt, offering his weapon with both hands.

"The empire is my home, the sword my vow, and you, my Emperor, are my oath," Laris said. "With this title, I swear to lead as you have commanded, with steel and with honor."

Arkanos completed the rite with the same measured grace. "Then see to it that honor does not wane, Laris."

Laris took back his weapon, nodding once before rising to his feet and stepping aside.

Then came Garik. Unlike the others, he hesitated before dropping to one knee. He looked up at Arkanos with a touch of wariness and something else—perhaps disbelief. Still, he unsheathed his massive greatsword and held it out.

"Your Majesty," he began, "I… didn't expect this." He let out a breath. "But if you believe me fit for command, then I will serve in whatever way you see best."

Arkanos studied him for a long moment before performing the ceremonial taps. "You are a knight of experience, Garik. Far more than the others. A leadership role will suit you better than the battlefield alone."

Garik accepted his sword, gripping the hilt tightly as he stood. "Then I'll make sure you don't regret it," he muttered before moving to stand beside the others.

And with that, the knighting was done.

Then, Arval took a breath before moving to the next name. The tension in the chamber thickened.

"Now, the champions," he declared. "Step forward—the Fallen Angel, Abaddon." freёwebnoѵel.com

A ripple of whispers tore through the gathered nobles. Some barely contained their shock, others leaned toward each other, speaking in hushed voices. The man who had once been cast down from the heavens was now stepping forward to receive favor from the Emperor himself.

Abaddon, of course, looked entirely too pleased with himself, wearing a grin that was as sharp as the blade strapped to his side. He relished the murmurs, the unease—he always did.

Arkanos barely spared the nobles a glance before he spoke again, his voice cutting through their whispers like a blade.

"Silence, you fools."

And just like that, the chamber fell quiet.

The Emperor turned his attention back to Abaddon. "Tell me, is there something you desire? If it is within my power, I shall grant it."

Abaddon's grin widened. "Wine, women, and conquest."

The words hung in the air for a moment before Arkanos let out a low chuckle. "I expected more. But that is also good."

A few uneasy chuckles from the nobles followed, though they were quick to silence themselves.

Then, as if just remembering something, Abaddon's expression shifted. "Ah, before I forget—"

He raised a hand, and without warning, a dark portal crackled into existence beside him.

Immediately, every knight in the room tensed, hands flying to their weapons.

Abaddon merely chuckled, raising his free hand in mock surrender.

"Now, now, let's not be hasty. I'd be a fool to attack the Emperor after coming this far, wouldn't I?"

His words did little to ease the tension, but he ignored it, reaching into the portal. A moment later, he withdrew something—a gnarled root, twisted and ancient, yet pulsing with an unmistakable aura of divinity.

The chamber fell into stunned silence.

The knights, the nobles, even Arvel, who had remained composed through the entire session, were caught off guard. Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the court.

Abaddon presented the root with an exaggerated flourish. "Behold—a Root of the Tree of Eden."