Building a Kingdom as a Kobold-Chapter 73: Apparently I’m Not Allowed to Walk Anywhere Without Being Ambushed Now

Chapter 73: Apparently I’m Not Allowed to Walk Anywhere Without Being Ambushed Now

The problem wasn’t that we took a detour. The problem was that I chose to take one.

We’d already confirmed the mimic node, faced the fake fire signature, and cleaned up the mess. The smart move would’ve been to head back to Ashring, regroup, reinforce the command thread, and let Quicktongue yell at me for abandoning post again.

Instead, I opened the map, saw the low flicker of a fragmented relay echo blinking off the side of a known tunnel path, and said, "Let’s check that."

And just like that, I created our next crisis.

The terrain was awful. The kind of dungeon shelf that had been collapsed and re-collapsed until all the dirt learned not to trust anyone. Moss clung to dead copper root-lines. The air was too still. And the earth smelled like someone had tried to cook gravel and failed.

We weren’t far from the last mimic signal—less than a half-day’s walk—but this place felt... forgotten. Not mythical. Not deep. Just used and discarded.

There was no flame here. Not even residue. No runes. No ambiance. Nothing trying to talk back.

Which is what made the warning flare so much worse.

[Signal Drift Registered – Pattern Fragment Matches Sovereign-Class Archive]

[Relay Origin: Thread-Scored Slope / Unaligned]

[Echo Response Potential: High]

I narrowed my eyes at the slope ahead. Just a collapsed bluff, really. A few fallen stone ribs. Some melted anchor lines poking out like broken insect legs.

It didn’t look dangerous. That was the giveaway.

"We’re stopping here?" Relay asked.

"No," I said. "We’re investigating here and then we’re complaining about it for the next two hours."

He groaned. "Do I at least get to do something reckless?"

"No. You get to watch me do something reckless and then say ’I told you so.’"

Cinders had already moved ahead, eyeing the stones. Glare trailed her with his usual brooding silence, fingers resting lightly on his sword. Flick was nowhere visible, which was normal and slightly comforting.

I stepped into the shallow basin at the base of the slope.

No system alert. No ping.

Just... a feeling.

Not fear. Just an itch.

Like I’d walked into a place that remembered me wrong.

There was a mark scratched into one of the stones. Shallow. Dust-worn. Barely held together.

It wasn’t mine.

But it was based on something I’d made.

One of the construction cues we’d used early in Ashring, back when the mosscrete was still half-mixed and I had to carve orders into the dirt with a bone shard. It was sloppier than my original, the spacing was wrong, and the arch didn’t close. But the shape was close enough to make my tail twitch.

Cinders crouched beside it. "Looks like they tried to reuse a fire-call pattern."

"They didn’t light anything," I said. "This isn’t for flame."

"What then?"

I touched the edge of the mark.

"Signaling."

Flick’s voice came from the rocks. "Something’s moving."

The moment I pulled my claw back, the dirt shifted.

Not a system flare. Not even mana ripple. Just raw, awful motion—the kind of movement things made when they were built wrong on purpose.

From behind the broken slope, three figures surged forward. Low-slung, jointed wrong, spines laced with that same fake copper threading we’d seen near the relay tower. They didn’t roar or hiss. They didn’t make a sound at all.

They just ran straight at us like they already knew our names.

[Engagement Triggered – Unaligned Spawn (Constructed Mimic-Hunter)]

[Target Designation: Sovereign Thread Signal (Active)]

[Warning: Hostile Algorithmic Pathfinding Engaged]

Which was system-speak for: they’re coming for me, specifically, and they’re not guessing.

Cinders met the first one head-on, ladle gripped in both hands like a warhammer. She slammed it in the neck joint with a blow that cracked something—but not enough.

The thing twisted with a mechanical hiss and drove a sharpened forelimb toward her side.

She didn’t dodge in time.

Metal scraped her shoulder. She staggered back with a grunt, swearing through her teeth.

"Armor’s not catching it right!" she barked.

"Because they’re not slashing," I called. "They’re stabbing through the rhythm gaps!"

Glare deflected the second one, barely. His blade clanged off its side and it shoved him off balance. He went down hard, claws skidding through the dust, chest heaving.

The third one leapt straight over the wreckage and curved toward me.

I activated my terrain thread.

[Reinforce Line – Manual Anchor Set]

The slope hardened under my stance—but it didn’t stop the thing’s momentum.

It hit me square in the ribs.

I rolled.

Pain flared down my spine, and for a half second, all I could hear was that awful clicking noise it made when it shifted its legs to reposition—like bones grinding over stone.

Flick darted in from the side, slamming a pouch of flare dust straight into the creature’s head.

It went off in a blast of sparks. The thing recoiled, spitting sparks, just long enough for me to scramble back to my feet and drive a broken copper rod into its midsection.

That didn’t kill it.

But it slowed.

"Status!" I barked.

"Two up!" Cinders called. "I got a line on one. Mine’s limping."

"Glare’s up!" Flick added. "Glare’s bleeding. But he’s up."

I cursed and repositioned. "Don’t block them—redirect! They’re programmed to break pattern! Make them improvise!"

That worked—for about five seconds.

Then the construct I stabbed did something new.

It started crawling—not running—crawling around the edge of the slope, low to the ground, moving like a spider with a grudge, and completely ignoring the front line.

Heading straight for the signal echo I’d triggered.

The mark.

It was trying to rewrite itself.

I broke off, crossed the slope, and slammed my body into it just as its limb began tracing the outer curve of the stone.

Too late.

The moment its claw etched the first curve, a spark jolted through the dirt and the whole ridge pulsed with heat.

System ping.

[Authority Echo Initiated – Sub-Flame Protocol Engaged]

[Flame Anchor Rejecting Local Sovereign Input]

[Stability Risk: HIGH]

No.

No, no, no.

I drove my claws into the construct’s back and yanked it off the mark. It flailed, kicked, caught me in the side. I bit down on the pain and jammed the copper rod in deeper.

Its body went still, spasming once. Then nothing.

The ridge quieted.

The heat faded.

The echo stopped.

And I realized, panting, that I was shaking.

Because if I’d been one second slower, that thing wouldn’t have just attacked me.

It would’ve spoken for me. freewēbnoveℓ.com

We didn’t say anything for a long time.

The air still tasted like fake copper and moss ash. Not burning—just sour, the kind of residue you get when something tries to imitate heat without actually catching fire.

Cinders crouched beside Glare, wrapping a bit of cloth around his arm. It was shredded—not broken, not bleeding out, but raw enough to leave him wincing every time he flexed.

He didn’t say a word.

Flick was crouched upside-down on a slanted rock again, blinking at me like I was the one being weird. I ignored him.

The construct I’d killed lay twisted across the slope, copper threads seared down the spine, still faintly twitching. I stepped closer and nudged it with a claw.

Nothing.

But under the front panel—between its scorched limbs—I saw something catch the light.

A fragment. Charred on one side. Not stone, not wood. Some kind of old-dungeon alloy, etched in a pattern that had no right being familiar.

I didn’t touch it. Not yet.

"Relay," I called. "Log this."

He stepped forward, rubbing his wrist. "You alright?"

"No," I said. "But that can wait."

I tapped the stone beside the fragment and opened the system thread manually.

[Object Identified – Echo Fragment (Unaffiliated)]

[Thread Signature: Sovereign-Class Echo – Incomplete]

[Origin: Flame Authority Mismatch – Confirmed Non-Dungeon Core]

[Fragment Analysis: Cannot Self-Propagate – Requires Guidance]

I read it again.

And again.

And I felt something in the back of my throat twist.

They weren’t just copying my signal.

They were training something with it.

Cinders stood beside me. Her sleeve was torn and the side of her face was streaked with dust and old blood.

"That was targeted," she said flatly.

I nodded.

"Not a trap. Not a patrol. They knew how we moved."

Another nod.

"And it tried to edit your mark."

"Almost succeeded."

She was quiet for a second.

Then she said, "Do you think the Shadow Sovereign is watching?"

"Not watching," I said. "Guiding."

Glare leaned against a rock, arms crossed tight.

"They’re not mimicking you. They’re building around you."

Flick added from above, "Wanna bet they’re testing which version gets the most response?"

I didn’t answer.

Because they were both right.

That night we made camp a little further up the ridge, far enough from the broken relay zone to breathe, close enough to watch for more. I marked a fire thread manually—no system help, no automatic sync. Just me, a line of scraped dirt, and a flat rock I knew wouldn’t start humming at me.

The flame took on the second try.

It burned low and tight, but it was mine.

The others drifted off slowly. Cinders kept checking her shoulder. Glare went to sleep with his blade on his chest. Flick sat with his back to the wall, still pretending to nap with one eye open.

Only Relay stayed by the fire.

He didn’t ask anything.

He just sat.

And after a while, I handed him the charred fragment.

"Hold onto this," I said.

"Because it’s valuable?"

"Because I don’t want to."

He nodded.

Didn’t ask again.

I opened a tether flame just before sunrise.

Not to Ashring.

To Quicktongue.

The message was short.

> "Shadow signal escalating. Infiltration vector confirmed. Not returning yet. Adjust unity rites if flame signs destabilize. Hold ground."

Her reply came a few minutes later.

> "Ashring steady. Goblins nervous. No new unrest. Still no sovereign sign—except one. Faint echo on outer node. I’m watching it. You watch yours."

I closed the thread.

Didn’t sleep.

Not with what was waiting up ahead.

We reached the next ridge around midday.

Flick was the one who saw it first—he dropped flat to the dirt and pointed up toward the overhang before anyone else reacted.

We followed his claw.

And there it was.

Another tower.

But not abandoned. Not flickering.

Fully intact.

Signal crystal lit.

Lines carved.

And dead in the center of its crest: my old Sovereign seal.

Burned in.

Perfectly symmetrical.

And freshly cleaned.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢