Kingdom Building Game: Starting Out With A Million Upgrade Points! - Chapter 179

Chapter 179: • The Plan Part Three

“They won’t need to,” Sylvana said as she adjusted her stance, one hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Each army will carry a spell anchor. Once objectives are met and the region is secured, the anchors will link, creating a teleportation web. If one spearhead needs to reinforce another—they can. But only once control is established.”

Serina Windwhisper’s brows rose, her sharp gaze darting to the map as she leaned forward, fingers twitching as if eager to trace the glowing nodes. “A web of instant reinforcement…”

“And it grows with every victory,” Arkanos said, his voice rising slightly, his hand clenching into a fist for emphasis. “We take their land and make it ours in both soil and spell.”

Lord Gladius Virellian frowned, his thick fingers curling into fists, barely containing his eagerness. “The airships remain our greatest threat. If they concentrate them—”

“We neutralize them early,” Ivan said, leaning in as he tapped the map’s sky dock markers. “Every force will prioritize targeting their sky docks. Sylvana has already traced ley lines that interfere with their altitude runes. We’ll strike there first.”

“And if they have more hidden?” Sir Velder Meldon asked, his gauntleted hand flexing nervously at his side, betraying his unease.

“Then we ground them by fear, in addition to any other primary objective. I can have Abaddon instantly put down any he sees in the air from where he is. Considering his speed, it shouldn’t be a problem,” Arkanos said calmly, his lips curling into a faint, predatory smile as he leaned back slightly, practically radiating unshakable confidence.

“They cannot deploy what they cannot protect. They must weigh every launch against the risk of immediate annihilation.”

Esten tilted his head, voice measured, his fingers brushing the map’s edge. “You’re turning their advantage—mobility—into a liability. Spreading them thin, isolating their command, forcing them to react to fires they cannot put out.”

“Precisely,” Arkanos said, a hint of pride in his voice, his eyes glinting as he surveyed the room, daring anyone to doubt him. “We will not fight a war of walls and lines. We will fight a war of pressure—constant, unrelenting pressure. While they struggle to adapt, we shape the battlefield.”

Marshal Seraphine gave a rare smile, her posture relaxing slightly as she crossed her arms, a spark of approval in her eyes. “So we don’t invade the Akerian Empire… we unravel it.”

Arkanos nodded once, his hand resting lightly on the map, fingers tracing the Akerian capital.

“To ensure this,” he said, raising his voice slightly, his shoulders squaring as he addressed the room, “each spearhead shall be assigned one of my champions… Heroes. Warriors whose strength equals or surpasses a Swordsgrandmaster. They will anchor your forces, counter unexpected resistance, and ensure none of you are left blind or outmatched.”

Ivan stepped forward again, placing a hand over the western provinces, his fingers pressing firmly into the map as if staking his claim, his blood-streaked face set with brimming resolve. “I’ll lead the assault through the outer plains—cutting off their food supply from the outer baronies.”

Abaddon placed his marker atop the southern river basin. “The docks. I’ll burn their boats, their fleets, and anything that floats.”

Sylvana’s hand hovered over the northern leyline corridor. “The arcane towers are mine. I will see their mages blind and silent.”

Utilia traced the central route toward Domereth Valas. “The nobility will kneel—or fall.”

Arkanos smiled as he said, “Alright then.”

He lifted a hand, gazing at the seven distinct regions of the Akerian Empire. He pointed to each in turn as he gave the specifics.

“Now, we dive into the specifics of the plan,” Arkanos said, his voice low, sharp. “Each strike must be swift, decisive. The enemy cannot be allowed time to adapt. With firearms, explosives, and airships in their arsenal, we cannot afford the luxury of caution. We strike first. We strike hard.”

He reached toward the western side of the map. The region was marked as Heraldran, a vast stretch of golden plains and scattered farming villages.

“Ivan, you’ll take Heraldran,” he said. “The Akerian breadbasket. Its grain feeds their legions. You will burn the fields and salt the earth. Begin by assassinating their lord and commanders—ruin their chain of command. With you: Lord Gladius Virellian and Sir Tarius Valebright. You’ll move fast, striking supply routes and silos before word can spread to the capital.”

Ivan inclined his head, folding his arms as Gladius murmured, “The soil there runs deep. It will burn slow.”

“Then light many fires,” Ivan said.

Arkanos’ hand moved southward. “Next is Drevain’s Basin—lush and fertile—curved around the mouth of the Silhar River. Their most accessible waterway and home to half their shipyards. Abaddon, this is yours. Countess Elira Valtorin and Lord Damaris Draevenhart will accompany you. Sink their river fleets. Collapse their bridges. Poison their ports.”

“Gladly,” Abaddon grunted. Elira merely smiled like someone given a gift she’d long awaited.

“To the north,” Arkanos continued, “lies Velkaria, a rugged stretch of cliffside towns nestled along steep ridges. This is where they mine their black powder, forge their cannons. It is the backbone of their artillery. Kael and Esten—you’ll lead here together. Sever their industry. Crush their iron veins.”

Kael tapped the table. “We’ll bury their forges beneath their own mountains.”

Esten nodded. “We’ll make ghosts of their gunsmiths.”

Arkanos’ hand hovered eastward, settling on a wild, forested region. “Silmere, the eastern frontier. Isolated. Warded. And yet, home to their most sacred magical towers. Their leyline communication flows through this region. Disrupt the flow, and the capital goes blind. Sylvana, this task is yours. Serina Windwhisper and Lord Hosaion Thorneveil will go with you.”

Sylvana raised an eyebrow. “The forest there is alive,” she said. “And angry.”

“Then you will make it scream as you turn it against them,” Arkanos answered.

He gestured to a northeastern territory named Viremont, once a duchy, now a military district. “Utilia, Marshal Seraphine, Sir Velder Meldon—you three will strike here along with me. The nobility stationed in Viremont are their pride: cavalry lords, old blood, their morale strong. We break them. Use their pride against them. Make the sons of generals die screaming, and the fathers will beg for peace.”