Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Alix and Gander walks through the open gate, Alix's steps light but certain. Soldiers nod as he passes, unsure whether to salute or avert their gaze. He doesn't stop for any of them.

He heads straight for the command building at the center of the base.

Inside, it's quiet—lit by a few crystal lamps and filled with the soft rustling of parchment and the faint scrape of quills. Past the hall, through the war room, and into the private quarters behind it, he finds Lathar.

The former commander sits behind a broad desk, half-buried in maps and reports. His expression is a blend of annoyance and fatigue, eyes flicking from paper to paper until he senses the figure at the door.

He looks up.

"Well, well," Lathar says flatly. "You finally decided to come back."

Alix said smirking. "I'm sure you're loving what you are doing right now.."

Lathar exhales slowly, fingers rubbing his forehead. "I'm not arguing with you anymore. I'll lose."

A pause. Then he leans back and gestures toward a sealed envelope on the desk.

"There's a meeting," he says. "Main base. They've called all the commanders."

Alix tilts his head. "Urgent?"

"Feels like it." Lathar glances sideways. "They don't call everyone unless something big's shifting. You know how rare it is for all regional commanders to be summoned at once?"

Alix takes the envelope and tucks it into his inventory.

"I'll go."

---

They arrive at the main base's teleportation station in a shimmer of light and humming mana. Gander is still with him.

As they step off the platform, Gander grins and lets out a low whistle. "Your Majesty, you're really something. You managed to become one of the commander, in just a few days."

Alix keeps walking, his expression calm. "Next time something like that happens," he says evenly, "you need to lay low. Get information first. Don't draw attention until you know the place."

Gander nods quickly, the grin slipping into something more serious. "Understood. I wasn't expecting—well, any of that. I'll be sharper next time."

"Good."

They move through the bustling plaza, slipping into the flow of people pouring in and out of the teleportation station. Alix keeps his pace steady, cutting through the crowd without effort. Gander walks beside him, slightly wide-eyed as they step beyond the station's boundaries and into the heart of the city.

They walk side by side through the wide streets of the city, the rhythmic pulse of ambient mana humming through the air like a living heartbeat. Gander keeps his eyes moving, absorbing everything around him.

But as they approach the central tower, that awe wanes.

The tower is tall, yes. Sleek. Magical. But compared to Alix's capital, it will considered as normal building.

Gander tilts his head, examining the structure as they near. "So this is their central tower, huh…"

Alix casts him a sideways glance. "Disappointed?"

Gander hesitates, then gives a respectful shrug. "Not exactly, Your Majesty. It's solid. Well-crafted. But if this were standing in your capital, it wouldn't even be one of the top hundred buildings."

They reach the entrance. As before, the guards part without a word, and the heavy rune-locked doors slide open with a low resonance. Inside, the faint hum of power and the echo of footsteps create a sense of calm tension.

As they step into the central tower's grand interior, Gander glances around, taking in the towering columns and the raw scale of the hall.

"…Alright," he says under his breath. "It's more impressive inside."

They walk deeper into the tower, the air thick with power and presence. At the far end of the great hall, the meeting chamber lies ahead—its vaulted entrance flanked by twin statues of armored beasts, their eyes glowing faintly with mana.

Inside, the space opens into a wide, circular council room. A large obsidian table dominates the center, ringed by elevated seats carved from darkstone and set with individual rune seals.

Most of them glance toward Alix as he enters. But none say a word.

Their eyes flicker with recognition—not of him specifically, but of the new face. They size him up in silence, their pride too thick to offer greeting, their station too high to speak first. To them, Alix is just another upstart, another tool perhaps… until proven otherwise.

But one breaks the stillness.

A large monster with silver fur along his arms, a spiked jawline, and a lazy grin pushes off the wall he's leaning against. His armor is scorched and scratched, clearly worn from recent battle. He walks toward Alix with a cocky tilt to his stride and no regard for decorum.

"So you're the guy who put that Lathar bastard on his back, huh?" the man says, voice loud enough for the others to hear. "You thrashed him into the dirt, didn't you?"

Alix doesn't even slow. He meets the man's gaze, calm and unbothered. "Who are you?"

The commander smirks. "Name's Brakar. Commander of the Ashfang Line. We keep the southern spires from falling apart. More monsters than brains down there, so I'm used to cracking skulls."

He folds his arms across his chest. "Lathar's a smug pain in the ass. Always walks around like he's two ranks above me. You taking him down? I respect that."

Alix studies him. "I didn't take him down. We fought. He lost."

Brakar raises an eyebrow. "Same difference."

A short silence follows, and a few of the other commanders glance over now with sharper interest.

Brakar chuckles. "New blood. You talk straight. I like you already."

He offers a nod—not quite friendly, but not hostile either. A gesture of informal acknowledgment.

"I would to have a spar with you after this."

Alix doesn't respond immediately. He steps past Brakar and toward the obsidian table, only saying as he moves:

"I don't think I have a time for that, maybe next time."

A few commanders murmur at that, some amused, others indifferent.

Brakar just laughs under his breath, low and pleased. "He's got teeth."

Gander, standing a respectful pace behind Alix, keeps his head down.

Time passes. The room gradually fills. More commanders arrive, taking their seats, murmuring in low tones, trading nods and glances. Every one of them holds weight—figures who command legions, who shape entire campaigns. The air is taut with expectation.

Then, the temperature changes.

A ripple of pressure rolls through the chamber, like gravity deepening for a heartbeat. Everyone feels it. Even the air feels heavier, as if holding its breath.

The far wall of the chamber glows with molten veins as something massive approaches.

And then—he arrives.

A colossal figure steps into the room, the sound of his arrival more felt than heard. The commanders stand almost in unison, straightening with the kind of discipline that comes not from protocol—but awe. Respect. Fear.

Veyrith.

He doesn't walk so much as descend, each step leaving faint scorch marks where his talons meet the stone. At least seven meters tall, his monstrous form casts a long shadow across the floor. His volcanic-black scales shimmer with dull crimson heat, and the magma-glow in the cracks of his body pulses in time with his breath.

He sits upon a throne that grows from the very floor—living crystal and fossilized bone coiling upward to meet his massive frame. His burning mane flows behind him like a banner in a silent wind, and when his eyes move—

—they fix instantly on Alix.

Molten gold. Sharp. Assessing. Quietly dangerous.

Every commander bows or nods in deference. Even Brakar lowers his head slightly.

Alix doesn't move. He simply sits, calm and unreadable, one hand resting on the obsidian table. Gander remains standing at his side, tense, gaze flicking between Veyrith and the rest of the room.

This one… feels like that monster, Gander thinks.

Veyrith's voice rolls out, deep and slow, layered like stone grinding against stone. Yet there's a strange clarity in it—measured, not monstrous.

"You must be wondering why I called you all here."

The room is silent. No one interrupts. Even the usual loudmouths stay still.

Veyrith's gaze sweeps over them once before continuing.

"We are not planning to go to an all out war."

A few eyebrows rise. Whispers start but die quickly.

"No... not yet," he adds.

Veyrith lets the silence hang, his words sinking in like weight dropped into still water.

"This time," he continues, "someone from another continent has made an offer. One that neither I nor Astram can ignore."

A stir goes through the chamber. Not loud, but noticeable—shifts in posture, shared glances, quiet exhalations. Even Brakar's grin fades a bit.

Brakar leans forward, his forearms resting on the table, voice steady. "What continent, my lord? As far as I remember, the only one close enough—and desperate enough to ask for help—is the one with those three kingdoms."

Alix's eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing. He leans back in his chair, expression unreadable.

Three kingdoms? he thinks. There's no way they're talking about...

Veyrith nods once, slow and deliberate. "Yes. The very same. The continent that holds a sealed relic… of a powerful figure long forgotten by most, but not by us."

A flicker of tension zips through the room.

One of the older commanders, a mage draped in heavy robes adorned with arcane sigils, speaks next. His voice is quiet, but it carries. "I've heard whispers about that. After the relic was discovered—or rather, after news of it got out—neighboring continents began probing their borders. Skirmishes. Demands. Threats."

He exhales slowly.

"In the end, the kingdom that held the relic made a choice. They destroyed every portal that connected them to the outer world. Severed all contact. Cut off even trade."