Kingdom Simulator: I, a Fallen Noble, Build a God-Level Kingdom!-Chapter 58: Erased From the World

Pito and Pir had clearly chosen to follow Romon. Pir, however, had never received a systematic education. Even after moving into town, his actions remained brash and reckless, which kept his social status relatively low.

As for Mayus and the others, Romon didn’t demand an oath of undying loyalty from them. As Lord, he’d long since accepted this reality—just as a king cannot expect every citizen in his nation to be patriotic.

He certainly wished it were possible, but reality didn’t work that way.

Did a lack of patriotism mean someone had to be exiled or executed? Of course not.

Human nature is messy and contradictory. Those willing to swear lifelong loyalty were a blessing; those who never would, he couldn’t force. Pushing too hard would blow up in his face.

As long as they could be mutually useful, that was enough.

By the time everyone he’d summoned had completed their offerings, the Culture stat on the simulator had already broken through the 400 mark! frёewebηovel.cѳm

Dwarf Lukoff was the last to arrive—and naturally, the last to complete his ritual.

The moment he finished, he didn’t even wait for Romon’s instructions; he immediately dashed off toward the dwarven factory.

Given the considerable distance between the hall and the factory, Romon quickly ordered Pir, "You, escort him back."

The current Culture value was now double what it had been during the development of the second-generation machine. Romon couldn’t help but feel excited—if this upgrade led to a third-generation machine, he’d have nothing to fear from even king-level priests.

...

Meanwhile.

Nightingale Territory.

Within the manor of Thomas Nightingale.

A priest in flowing white robes was reciting the sacred texts inside the chapel. Every member of the Nightingale family, young and old, sat upright in their pews.

Some faces already showed clear signs of boredom, but all remained quiet and attentive until the end. After all, it was the head of the family’s command.

"God said, ’Let there be light,’ and so there was light. The radiance nourished all things—this was the beginning of everything..."

The gaunt, towering preacher at the pulpit had cropped chestnut hair.

Thomas Nightingale had constructed a grand cathedral just for him—the seating alone could accommodate five thousand. The pews and the altar were evenly split, fifty-fifty.

A massive statue of the deity nearly reached the ceiling, and with the special lighting, those below couldn’t see the statue’s face clearly.

It was at the feet of this giant idol that the gaunt priest delivered his sermon.

"To the great God of Light," he intoned at the end.

At these final words, the entire Nightingale family rose as one, repeating in unison: "To the great God of Light."

The children, who had been struggling to sit still, bolted for the doors as soon as the ritual ended.

Despite the attendance of the entire Nightingale family, the vast cathedral still felt empty—its massive size left most of the pews unfilled.

The only one who stayed behind was Thomas Nightingale himself.

He stood straight, fixing the priest with a brooding, somber gaze.

"Sir, I sense your confusion. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here to listen," the priest in white robes offered with a gentle, warm smile.

Thomas snorted, then looked up at the towering statue. "That damned brat is getting bolder and bolder. I just got word from Highmount Fortress—our scouts sent to gather intelligence never returned. It’s safe to assume they were killed."

"Oh?" The priest drew out the syllable in exaggerated surprise, though it was clear he didn’t actually care.

"Do you know, Aiken, that scout was a Phantom Assassin? When I left Stone Town, there wasn’t a single decent assassin there! And now—what happened? The Phantom Assassin didn’t even make a sound, just died, killed in some backwater like Stone Town!"

The more Thomas Nightingale spoke, the angrier he became. The wound in his groin, torn open during his last visit to Stone Town, began to ache again.

That pain was a constant reminder of who his enemy was. That damned brat, that family that needed to be wiped out!

Truthfully, if a king-level priest were willing to intervene, even a torn groin could be healed completely. But Thomas Nightingale had never asked for help—odd as his tastes were, he was still uncomfortable with the idea of another man touching him there.

"If you ask me, sir..." The white-robed priest, Aiken, closed the holy book in his hands, as if shutting off some sacred switch. "Just send another assassin. Last time you failed because it was such a backwater, there wasn’t a single competent killer. This time, pick someone carefully—problem solved. You have plenty of assassins under your command, don’t you? Why not use them?"

At this, Thomas Nightingale sighed in frustration. "After my audience with the king, I realized something: every one of my retainers is being tracked. Every move they make, everywhere they go, every job they take—the royal family knows everything! I should count myself lucky I hired outsiders for Stone Town. If I hadn’t, I’d probably never have made it back alive."

Upon hearing this, even the unflappable priest lost his calm. He frowned and said, "Everything is under royal surveillance? Hah! It looks like His Majesty is treating your house like the next Thune family."

Thomas broke out in a cold sweat at those words, sighing, "Exactly. The king usually pretends to be blind, but the moment a Lord shows any sign of ambition, he cracks down immediately—sometimes even wipes them out. But if a Lord does nothing, he’s eaten alive by other Lords. There’s no way to win."

"Sir, are you sure this conversation isn’t being monitored too?"

"Hmph, it isn’t." Thomas drew a deep breath, burying his resentment. "Unless you’re a spy for the king, Aiken."

"Then you can rest easy."

"But this audience with the king wasn’t all bad news," Thomas Nightingale continued, changing the subject. "I’ve been granted the authority of the Royal Honor Guard—I can represent them to go and receive Princess Angelia. I need you to accompany me, and as soon as we have the princess, we’ll kill that brat on the spot!"

At these words, a faint displeasure flickered across the priest’s face—after all, he was a king-level priest, a rank not easily attained.

Aiken’s advancement had required talent, luck, and powerful support—none of which could be lacking. As a result, he was extremely protective of his reputation.

If he were to stain himself with a Lord’s blood, his entire path forward could be ruined.

Assassins were meant to do the dirty work—how could a holy priest take on such a task? And for a king-level priest to deal with someone whose level was unknown—it was beneath him!

"Sir, if it’s going to be a killing, why not just bring a few assassins? I—"

Aiken hadn’t even finished when Thomas Nightingale cut him off. "I need you. That brat is growing way too fast! I can’t risk blowing this chance by bringing a bunch of useless fools—if we fail again, that’s it! You’re my most powerful ally, I have to take you! I absolutely must make sure this is the brat’s last day, no mistakes, no more failures, not this time!"

His agitation grew as he spoke, even his slicked-back hair falling into disarray.

But those were his own problems—and none of it was enough to sway Aiken, the white-robed priest.

So, at last, Thomas calmly dropped his real trump card: "I’ll nominate you to the king, along with other Lords, to become a new Lord yourself—His Majesty will grant you land... Or! I’ll recommend you to become Princess Angelia’s husband. She’s beautiful, I promise. Take your pick."

Either of these offers was incredibly tempting. At the king-level, it was hard to move any higher—if you couldn’t break through your limitations, all you could do was seek advancement in other ways.

Becoming a Lord, or marrying the princess—both were paths to real power.

But on the road to power, you needed a guide. For someone without a powerful family background, simply finding the door would be impossible.

"You’ll prepare a scapegoat for me, won’t you, sir?" Aiken’s expression finally changed.

"Of course. My friend." Thomas Nightingale clapped Aiken on the back, a look of absolute confidence crossing his face.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go," Aiken said.

"No. As I just mentioned, all my retainers are on the royal records—everything they do is monitored. So first, I have to take you to be formally certified as a member of the Honor Guard. Only after that can we set out openly," Thomas replied.

"Heh, what a pointless waste of a day."

"No, not at all. I’ll send a letter to Highmount Fortress, instructing my men to assemble the troops. They’ve lost a Phantom Assassin, so now they’re just as hungry for revenge. By the time we arrive at Highmount Fortress, their army should be ready. I want you to kill that brat first, and then Highmount Fortress’s troops will flatten the Thune Territory. I want that entire family erased from this world—completely!"

Whenever Thomas Nightingale got worked up, his groin wound would start throbbing with a tearing pain. By this point, his voice had twisted with agony, losing its usual gentlemanly composure and taking on a strangely effeminate edge.

...

A night passed.

Thune Territory.

Dwarven Factory District.

Romon arrived early that morning, spurred by a glimpse in the Simulator Blueprint of an all-new Magitech Drone design.

Now, seeing it in person, the shape of this third-generation Magitech Drone hadn’t changed much, but the Magic Crystal integration core had been completely redesigned. What used to be several separate segments was now a single, seamless sphere.

With the upgraded Magic Crystal core, the drone’s weaponry and propulsion systems had been improved as well.

"Milord! This is our third-generation model. Would you like to try it yourself?" Lukoff offered him a control stick and a set of goggles.

Romon didn’t hesitate. He put on the goggles and began to operate.

In an instant, his view switched to the third-gen drone’s perspective. He nudged the control stick, and the scene jerked sharply as the drone shot into the sky.

"This speed is incredible! So this is the third generation?"

Next, he aimed at a distant boulder and pressed the fire button.

Immediately, twenty rapid-fire magic beams formed a luminous curtain—like a divine sword from the heavens—sweeping across the target.