Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

They both try again. Harder. Medoran pours more power into the token until it glows red-hot in his hand. Gresvin attempts to stabilize the dimensional matrix of his shard with runic chant.

Neither item responds.

Across the battlefield, Lysaria watches them with a slow, amused blink. Her plague spear spins lazily in one hand, the tip slick with Gresvin's blood. She lets out a quiet, musical laugh that doesn't match the blood drying on her jaw.

"Oh, did you really think you could run?" she says lightly, almost playfully. "How sweet."

Medoran grits his teeth. "You're blocking spatial transfer—!"

"Obviously," she cuts in, voice sharp with mockery. "This entire zone is under the influence of a Tier 7 item: Seal of Ashen Heaven. Anything that tries to breach this space—teleportation, shifting, dimensional phasing—won't even sputter. You're caged."

Medoran's breath hitches. "A Tier 7 item…?" He stares at the battlefield, disbelief warring with panic in his scorched expression. "Only my leader has access to that kind of artifact. Who are you?"

His voice cracks through the haze like a blade, aimed directly at Gander.

Gander tilts his head slightly, as if the question is a mild inconvenience. He walks forward slowly, each step echoing with the subtle resonance of suppressed power. The faint hum of the Dread Choir Ascendant lingers behind him, like the whisper of a funeral dirge.

"You've asked that already," he says, voice cold and smooth. "This is the second time."

Medoran clenches his fists. "Answer me."

Gander stops just out of reach, his face calm, eyes shadowed beneath the torn edge of his hood. "And my answer remains the same." His staff lifts, runes dimly pulsing. "It's none of your concern."

Medoran snarls and lunges forward, molten light surging through his limbs in one last desperate charge.

Too slow.

Gander moves like falling night. One whisper of a curse—Null Womb—and Medoran freezes mid-stride, eyes wide in shock as time falters within him. A moment later, Gander is in front of him.

The broken staff slams through Medoran's chest.

A soundless impact. Then a sharp exhale of breath—and silence.

Medoran's body drops, smoldering, lifeless.

Gresvin lets out a hoarse cry, rage and despair warping his features. He lifts his blade again—

But Lysaria is already there.

Her spear punctures his thigh, spins, and drives upward. The movement is elegant, clinical.

He coughs blood, eyes wide in disbelief. "We were—Tier 6s…!"

"You were," Lysaria murmurs, her voice as calm as falling snow. She leans in close, watching the light fade from his eyes. "But you were never important."

With one final twist, her spear severs spine from soul. Gresvin crumples without another word, his body falling like so much discarded ash.

A hush spreads across the battlefield.

Then—

The sky clears.

The cursed winds die.

And in the city below—silence.

For a moment, no one dares to move. Thousands of soldiers stand frozen on walls, towers, and the streets behind them, still bracing for death that never came.

Then a single voice shouts, raw and disbelieving:

"They're dead!"

Another cries out, "We won! They're really dead!"

A wave of sound erupts.

Cheers explode from the battlements like cannon fire. Helmets are raised. Weapons thrust skyward. The city's defenders scream themselves hoarse as the impossible sinks in—they lived.

Soldiers clutch each other—some laughing, others weeping. A monster soldier near the east wall sinks to his knees. "That was scary… it felt like the sky was tearing apart." He breaks down, and no one mocks him.

A captain slaps the young monster's back, grinning like a man who's forgotten what fear feels like. "Do you know what this means?" he says hoarsely. "The kingdom has a Tier 6. We have a Tier 6!"

Voices pick up the cry across the wall.

"Tier 6!"

"They're one of ours!"

"I thought they were just a legend—!"

"The founders of the three great kingdoms were the last ones! That was a thousand years ago!"

----

In the quiet warmth of his private chamber, Alix sits in silence.

A soft hum cuts through the stillness—faint. Before him floats a transparent screen, glowing faintly in the golden candlelight.

[STATUS WINDOW]

Alix

Level: 500

Gold Coins: 8,090,637

Erevaris Kingdom

Cities: 20

Population: 14,678,086

Population Needed for Next Level: 30,000,000]

He leans back slightly in his high-backed chair, one elbow resting on the armrest, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"Level five hundred," he murmurs.

The number doesn't bring satisfaction. Only a distant acknowledgment of the work still ahead.

He drums his fingers against the armrest, the soft tapping lost in the quiet of the room.

"I've already taken two of the three kingdoms. Cities are stable. Refugees are coming in by the thousands…" His gaze lingers on the floating numbers. "But even with all that, I'm still short."

His eyes drift upward, thoughtful.

"The monsters that joined—the beast clans, the different tribes, even the ones hiding in the southern marshes... all of that, and I'm still under." He lets out a short breath, somewhere between annoyance and curiosity.

The screen flickers slightly as if reacting to his thoughts. The glowing numbers stay unchanged.

He continues quietly, "it means I've reached the ceiling of what this continent alone can give me."

Alix leans forward, calling up his Inventory with a flick of his fingers.

A new screen opens beside the [STATUS WINDOW], a translucent list unfolding in the air with faint metallic chimes.

Rows of artifacts, soul shards, sealed tomes, and rare materials slide past until he pauses on a glowing blueprint marked:

[INTERCITY PORTAL NODE: 1,000,000 Gold]

A small smile touches his lips.

"Hm. One million per portal…" He tilts his head. "And it links cities together. Fast movement between key locations. That'll save time… consolidate supply lines, reaction forces, internal defense..."

He glances at the lower right corner of the screen.

[Current Gold: 8,090,637]

"Eight million," he murmurs. "Down from sixty."

His eyes flick briefly, and for a moment, his expression softens—not with regret, but quiet certainty.

"Worth it," he says aloud. "Fifty million to bring Lysaria back."

He returns to the blueprint list, then taps on the portal node. Another design appears:

[CONTINENTAL GATEWAY: 3,000,000 Gold]

The smile fades into a more calculating expression.

"So. One million per intercity portal… I can build five." He leans back again, eyes glinting with quiet focus. "That'll cost me five million."

A pause.

"Leaves me with just enough for the gateway."

Alix's eyes narrow slightly. Without hesitation, he reaches out with his mind.

'Thano.'

The connection is instant, the sensation like brushing his thoughts against a distant wire. A heartbeat later, he feels the minister's reply—alert, steady.

'Your Majesty?'

Alix doesn't speak aloud. The mental voice is direct, commanding. 'Come to my private chamber. Immediately.'

Moments later, a faint shimmer of magic signals Thano's arrival. The door to the chamber opens with a gentle click, and the Minister of Infrastructure steps through, his robes still dusted with parchment ash and faint traces of old chalk—the mark of someone pulled straight from drafting tables.

"You called for me, Your Majesty?" Thano bows, composed but curious.

Alix turns in his chair and gestures to the glowing screen still hovering beside him. With a thought, he materializes five blueprints from his inventory. The glowing schematics of the Intercity Portal Nodes float in midair between them, softly rotating.

"Take these," Alix says evenly. "I want them built immediately in this five cities."

Thano's eyes flick over the designs. His posture straightens. "Intercity portals…? These will change everything." He hesitates only a second before nodding firmly. "Understood. We'll begin construction at once. Coordination between those five cities will improve tenfold."

Alix nods once. "Prioritize central node placement and structural resilience. I don't want any disruption, magical or otherwise. Keep the anchors well-protected."

Thano places a hand over his chest. "It will be done, Your Majesty. I'll personally oversee the construction."

"Good." Alix's gaze lingers on the continental map for a moment, then shifts back to Thano. "Once they're online, I'll be building the next portal on another continent."

Thano blinks. "…Oh, there are still other continent?"

"Yes." Alix's voice is quiet, but unyielding. "We've reached our ceiling here. The next stage begins soon."

Thano bows again, this time lower. "Then I'll ensure your foundation is solid, sire. The portals will be ready."

Alix dismisses him with a nod, and Thano turns swiftly, cloak sweeping behind him as he strides from the room—already sending silent commands to his engineers before the door even closes.

The next day, in Misorn City, the first city Alix ever conquered—things are stirring.

Once little more than a fractured stronghold on the edge of survival, Misorn now stands as a breathtaking marvel of design and power. Its towers rise like polished bone and crystal above the verdant hills, arched walkways loop between structures glowing faintly with embedded runes, and shimmering canals wind through the city like veins of silver-blue light.

Even the air here is different—thicker with mana.

Its spires and central domes glitter under the rising sun, and its wide, clean roads are packed with all manner of life. Monsters, mostly. Beastkin, scaled folk, winged hybrids, arachne vendors, and even a few polite ogres in trimmed coats—all bustling peacefully in the streets.

Because something is happening in the heart of the city, near the great plaza surrounding the Crystal Archive.

A vast curtain of white light has emerged from nothingness, tall as a fortress wall and humming gently. It's translucent—yet behind it, there's nothing but blinding glow. A slow, holy-sounding pulse emanates from it every few seconds, like a heartbeat echoing through the stone.

They've seen it before.

And they know what it means.

Something is being built.