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

His strength, his mind, his ability to command the empire at his feet. The attention he gave her. She wasn't just playing for a seat at his side; she wanted to bear his child, to carry his bloodline into the future. To be the one who shaped the empire alongside him, not as a distant observer, but as his equal.

The game, for her, was not about the throne—it was about love. And love, it seemed, could be just as treacherous as ambition.

Her mother had wished for the same thing. Not out of love, but out of a desire for control. To place a son on the throne who would rule in her stead—a puppet draped in royal finery. But Sephira had only come to learn of this much later after she married the man of her dreams.

But that was never what she wanted.

Her child would not be a pawn.

Her child would be an emperor. A ruler in their own right, shaped by strength, not by the grasping hands of those who lurked in the shadows.

And she—she would be the mother of that ruler, not a forgotten concubine left to wither away in some quiet corner of the palace.

The servant hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had served in the palace long enough to know that Sephira valued efficiency over embellishment, yet tonight, with her mood as unreadable as the Emperor's own, he risked adding a little more.

"My Lady," he murmured, careful with his words, "it wasn't just that he agreed to go. He… looked at her with interest."

The silver hairpin in Sephira's fingers stopped spinning.

The maid, ever too slow to read the air, frowned slightly. "Interest?"

The servant nodded. "A glint in his eye. The kind that lingers."

Silence settled between them, the thick and suffocating kind. Sephira had long known the Emperor was a man who rarely gave his true thoughts away, but interest?

That was dangerous. Dangerous for her, dangerous for the balance of power, dangerous for anyone who thought they already had a claim to him.

A lesser woman might have panicked. Might have let the fear show in the set of her jaw or the tightness of her shoulders. But Sephira merely smiled—slow, deliberate, like a snake tasting the air.

"Is that so?" She set the hairpin down gently. "Then all the more reason for me to be there."

The maid still looked hesitant. "But My Lady, if the Emperor has already shown interest in another—"

Sephira cut her off with a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Men are creatures of impulse. A moment's interest means nothing if someone more compelling is already waiting in his bed."

The maid swallowed. The servant wisely remained silent.

Sephira leaned back, tilting her head as she admired herself in the mirror once more. "Make arrangements. I will visit the temple myself. If the High Priestess thinks she can capture the Emperor's attention, then I must remind her why he belongs to me."

The servant bowed and slipped from the room, leaving Sephira alone with her thoughts.

…

…

The cathedral stood in grandeur, its towering columns stretching toward the heavens, as if seeking the divine presence Arkanos spoke of. The assembled priests and priestesses hung on his every word, as they gazed at him.

"The gods are not distant," he said. "They do not answer only the loudest prayers, nor do they bestow favor upon those who merely chant their names. True connection is built through understanding, through aligning oneself with the principles they embody."

He let the words settle before continuing, his gaze sweeping over the gathered clergy.

"Consider this: you wield holy magic, yet many of you struggle to harness its full strength. Why? Because faith alone is not enough. The gods are forces of law, order, and divinity—but their will is expressed through the world, through us. To strengthen your holy abilities, you must do more than believe. You must embody. If your god is one of justice, then justice must guide your every action. If your god is one of mercy, then mercy must flow through you, not just in words, but in deed. If you seek power from the divine, you must become a reflection of it."

A murmur passed through the gathered priests—some in awe, others in deep thought. This was not the empty rhetoric they were used to hearing, the vague promises of divine favor in exchange for blind obedience. No, this was something else. Something unsettling.

"Faith is a contract," Arkanos continued. "You offer yourself, and in return, the gods grant you strength. But a contract is only as strong as the effort put into maintaining it. If you pray without understanding, if you invoke their names without embodying their will, then your connection is weak, your power lesser. To be truly blessed, to wield their strength as your own, you must not simply worship—you must live in accordance with their ideals."

The room was silent, save for the occasional shuffle of robes as some priests shifted uncomfortably. Arkanos had given them something more than doctrine—he had given them a method. A responsibility.

Satisfied, he stepped away, allowing them to absorb his words. That was when his gaze fell upon Isolde.

"Walk with me," he said.

She hesitated. "M-My duty is here, Your Majesty."

A quiet refusal. Expected, yet not unwelcome. It showed resolve—something he could respect.

He let a small smile appear on his lips before speaking again.

"Isolde, heir to the throne of the Holy Empire of Threshia."

The shift in her posture was immediate. A tightening of the shoulders, a sharp intake of breath.

For years, she had lived as a priestess, leaving behind the burden of her birthright. Yet here he was, saying it aloud, stripping away the layers of devotion she had wrapped herself in.

Her jaw clenched, her gaze wary. "Where would you have me walk, Your Majesty?"

She already knew she had no choice.