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

The land stretched before Arkanos, barren and lifeless, like a corpse left too long in the sun.

Frost clung to the earth in thin, brittle sheets, cracking under the slow, steady steps of his horse.

The wind howled, carrying the scent of damp stone and something far worse—the stink of rot, of death left to fester.

He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, the fur lining coarse against his fingers.

It did little against the cold, but it was better than nothing. His breath came out as pale clouds in the frigid air, vanishing like a forgotten prayer.

And then, he saw it.

The Outer Walls of the Sepulcher of the Forsaken.

A great black monolith, stretching impossibly high, as if trying to scrape against the heavens themselves.

But there was no heaven here—only a sky the color of old ash, raining down snow.

The old walls were covered in stubborn moss that refused to die even in the snow.

The stone was marred with symbols—etched deep, writhing faintly with a greenish glow. The longer he stared, the more they seemed to shift beneath his gaze, as if they knew he was watching.

Massive towers could be seen in the distance, but some of them had broken, most likely due to aging and loss of structural integrity.

It looked like something that had tried to be a fortress but ended up a monument to suffering instead.

Then, the whispers began.

Soft. Crawling. A hundred voices, maybe more, murmuring over each other. Not loud enough to understand, just enough to leave one unsettled.

The wind shifted, and with it came the full assault of the Sepulcher's scent—blood, mildew, decay. The kind of stench that sank into the bones of a place, refusing to leave no matter how much time passed.

Even his horse tensed beneath him. Its breath was ragged, its muscles coiled like a bowstring. It didn't want to go any closer. Frankly, neither did he. But here they were.

Arkanos exhaled, pressing a gloved hand against its neck.

Seeing the horse's reluctance, he had to leave it behind.

Arkanos swung his leg over the saddle and dropped onto the frozen ground. His boots crunched against the frost.

His horse huffed, nostrils flaring, hooves shifting uneasily. It wanted to turn back.

Arkanos ignored it. His gaze locked onto the towering black walls ahead. His fingers curled around the hilt of his blade, his muscles tensed as he began to approach the wall.

Then, he spoke.

"System, erect a wall around the Ashen Peaks. No one leaves unless I say so."

〘 ⋄ Command received. Constructing containment barrier... ⋄ 〙

The air trembled. A deep, hollow chime rang out, as if the world itself had been struck like a bell. The earth rumbled beneath his feet.

Far in the distance, beyond the Sepulcher's looming walls, something vast and stirred beneath the snow. A faint, rippling light carved its way into the sky, forming an unseen boundary, locking the entire region within its grasp.

〘 ⋄ Containment barrier established. Area sealed. ⋄ 〙

The wind howled louder, as if in protest. The whispers at the edge of his mind grew sharper.

Arkanos exhaled eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his boots grinding against the frost-covered ground.

The black gates of the Sepulcher loomed ahead, rusted iron twisted into cruel shapes.

Then—

A deep, guttural growl.

It rumbled through the air like thunder, shaking the very ground beneath his feet.

From behind the gate, something massive stirred. A shadow suddenly rose, rising higher and higher, until its rotten body became visible through the gaps in the metal.

An undead giant.

Its flesh hung in decayed strips, bones jutting from its ruined frame. Hollow, glowing green eyes locked onto him, filled with nothing but hunger.

With a single, effortless motion, it gripped the gate, tore it from its hinges, and flung it straight at him.

Arkanos exhaled, then moved. He threw himself to the side, the air screaming past his ear as the gate slammed into the ground where he'd stood.

Snow and shattered stone erupted from the impact, the shockwave sending ice shards biting against his skin.

He landed in a crouch, breath misting in the cold air. Slowly, he stood.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his holy sword. With a sharp pull, he unsheathed it, its silver blade gleaming with golden holy light—

And then, the sky darkened.

Not like a storm. Not like nightfall.

Something strange.

A black magic circle appeared above, its swirling patterns expanding outward, devouring the light. It pulsed, its energy thick, oppressive.

For a moment, it was as if a small black sun had suddenly appeared in the sky.

Then—

〘 ⋄ Warning. You are under the debuff: Confusion. ⋄ 〙

His felt head swam. The world tilted, shapes twisting at the edges of his vision. His grip on his sword wavered.

〘 ⋄ Enemy magic is interfering with your blessings. Holy power temporarily sealed. ⋄ 〙

The glow of his blade flickered—then died.

〘 ⋄ You are under the debuff: Weakness. ⋄ 〙

His muscles felt heavier. Slower. Strength drained from his limbs.

〘 ⋄ Vision capability reduced by 25%. ⋄ 〙

The world dimmed. His eyes struggled to focus.

The undead giant moved, each step making the ground quake.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Arkanos dodged left, his boots scraping against the frozen earth as he narrowly avoided a downward swing.

The giant's arm came crashing down where he had just stood, shattering the ground. Fragments of stone and frost erupted into the air.

CRACK!

He barely had time to react before the other arm swung in a sweeping arc, aiming to swat him aside like an insect.

He ducked, twisting his body, his cloak whipping through the air as the attack whistled past his head.

His fingers clenched around his sword. It was dead weight in his grip—useless in this cursed place. He exhaled sharply.

"Well, I expected as much."

With a flick of his wrist, he flung the blade into the air.

The moment it left his grasp, it dissolved into a swirl of shimmering green particles, scattering like embers before vanishing into his inventory.

〘 ⋄ Weapon stored. ⋄ 〙

He dashed backward just as the giant slammed a fist down again. BOOM! A crater formed where he had just stood, cracks spider-webbing outward. Dust and debris shot into the air.

The giant roared, raising its fist again and it swung down, but the emperor stood unfazed.

Time seemed to slow does as the crushing blow descended.

In that moment his green eyes shined brightly as he spoke.

"Equip class items within level range."

〘 ⋄ Equipping: Druid's Mantle, Verdant Grasp Bracers, Naturebound Greaves. ⋄ 〙

His body surged with warmth.

The air shimmered as his worn cloak morphed into the Druid's Mantle—a flowing garment of deep green fabric, woven with green fibers that pulsed like a heartbeat. His bracers reshaped themselves, shifting from metal to a fusion of enchanted wood and steel. His boots thickened, roots winding through the leather, binding them into his skin.

Power thrummed in his limbs.

Arkanos' eyes narrowed.

He planted his foot and thrust his hand forward.

RUMBLE!

The earth obeyed.

From the frozen ground, massive roots exploded upward. They shot toward the giant, wrapping around itslegs, slithering over its torso, coiling up its massive arms.

The undead behemoth thrashed. Bones cracked as it tried to tear itself free. But for every root it snapped, more took its place—stronger, thicker.

Then came the spears.

Jagged roots surged from the ground, sharp as lances, piercing through its decayed flesh. One impaled its stomach, another tore through its shoulder, a third rammed into its spine.

The giant let out a monstrous, gurgling roar. It staggered.

Arkanos clenched his fist causing it to glow with his green mana.

CRACK!

The roots twisted and pulled.

Bones snapped. Flesh ripped.

With one final, sickening CRUNCH, the giant's body collapsed in on itself.

The roots tightened until there was nothing left but a crushed husk. The remains were pulled into the earth, swallowed whole. The air fell silent.

Arkanos exhaled, lowering his hand. The wind howled through the emptiness.

He stepped forward, boots crunching against the frost-covered ground.

Then, he saw them.

Beyond the shattered gates, past the wreckage of the courtyard—they waited.

A horde.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of undead.

Some were skeletal knights, their rusted armor barely clinging to their crumbling bones. Others were bloated corpses, their flesh riddled with rot, their hollow eyes flickering with eerie green light. They twitched, lurched, and then turned their heads toward him.

The whispers from before grew louder.

Crawling into his ears. Voices of the damned.

Arkanos took another step.

The horde stirred.

A hundred bodies, maybe more, began to shift.

Then they charged.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

"Well then…"

He cracked his knuckles.

"Let's get this over with."

Arkanos strode forward, unbothered by the horde surging toward him. The earth beneath his feet trembled.

Then, the roots came.

They slithered from the frozen ground, winding up his legs, crawling over his torso, spiraling around his arms. More and more surged forth, twisting, coiling, fusing into a living armor of bark and gnarled wood.

His green eyes gleamed beneath the bark. A flickering light, making him look like a treeant.

He raised his hand.

The roots obeyed.

The bark tightened, hardening over his limbs. His fingers flexed, now wrapped in living wood. The air hummed with power.

Then, in his grasp, something grew.

Roots burst from his palm, twisting together, weaving into shape. Bark thickened, forming a shaft. The head split, stretching into the brutal crescent of a massive axe. Its edges gleamed, not metal, but sharpened wood—hardened beyond steel, infused with the raw force of nature itself.

He shifted his stance, gripping the axe in both hands.

The horde was almost upon him.

Arkanos exhaled.

Then, he swung.