Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Derek charges forward, his war axe whistling through the air as he swings at Nyssara’s chest.

CRASH!

The force of his strike shatters the ground beneath them, but when the dust clears—Nyssara stands, completely unscathed.

Her evolved Arachne body, strengthened by consuming ores daily, allows her exoskeleton to rival enchanted steel. Derek’s eyes widen in shock.

”The hell?” he growls. ”That should’ve crushed your ribs!”

Nyssara flexes her claws, her fingers tipped with razor-sharp talons. ”You humans always underestimate what you don’t understand.”

With a blinding burst of speed, she lunges, her clawed hands slashing at Derek’s exposed arms.

SLASH!

Blood splatters across the ground as deep gashes appear on Derek’s forearms. He grits his teeth, stumbling back, but Nyssara isn’t finished. She follows up with a kick, her powerful Arachne legs striking his chest like a battering ram.

Derek flies backward, his boots skidding against the dirt as he barely regains balance. His grip tightens around his war axe. ”Alright then, monster,” he growls. ”Let’s see how much that armor holds up.”

He activates a skill.

”Crushing Force!”

His axe glows, gaining weight and destructive power. He rushes forward, bringing it down in a brutal overhead strike.

Nyssara raises her arms, cross-blocking the attack with her reinforced exoskeleton. The ground beneath her shatters from the impact, but her body holds firm.

”That won’t work on me,” she says, her voice eerily calm.

Then—her carapace shifts.

From her back, two bladed legs unfold, gleaming with unnatural sharpness. Derek’s eyes widen.

”Ore-Forged Blades.”

With an unnatural twist, Nyssara’s blade-legs strike forward, forcing Derek to leap back to avoid being skewered.

”Shit!” he curses. ”You got extra arms?! That’s cheating!”

Nyssara doesn’t respond. She just advances, the extra limbs moving with terrifying precision, her strikes relentless.

Meanwhile, Thurn moves like a wind, slipping between Marik’s spear thrusts with ease.

Marik is fast, his spearwork precise, but Thurn is an Arachne poison master. He doesn’t need to overpower his enemy—just one scratch critical strike is enough.

Marik thrusts forward. Thurn sidesteps, his upper body swaying unnaturally, his extra spider legs anchoring him. His chitinous hands flex, revealing thin, needle-like claws.

He feints left—then suddenly lashes out, grazing Marik’s forearm.

A tiny cut. Barely a scratch.

But Marik stumbles.

His breathing grows ragged. His pupils dilate.

”You…” Marik pants, sweat dripping down his face. ”What the hell did you…?”

Thurn tilts his head. ”Your body is slowing, isn’t it?”

Marik growls, forcing his body to move, but his reactions are now a fraction slower. His strikes become sloppier, his footwork uneven.

Thurn’s venom is taking hold.

Marik grits his teeth. ”Damn you, spider bastard…”

Thurn simply smiles before vanishing, his next attack already coming.

Elsewhere, Veltha and Joran engage in a deadly dance of speed and deception.

Joran, the rogue, moves like liquid, his dagger flickering in and out of sight. He’s used to hunting monsters, used to striking unseen and disappearing before the counterattack.

But Veltha is a serpent.

A predator.

Her elongated body coils, her movements sinuous and unreadable. Her eyes glow in the, seeing through Joran’s tricks.

He vanishes, flickering behind her—

Veltha whirls, her tail snapping out like a whip.

CRACK!

Joran barely dodges, feeling the gust of air as the massive tail nearly shatters his ribs. His eyes widen. ”That’s not normal,” he mutters.

Veltha hisses. ”You can’t hide from me.”

She lunges, her speed overwhelming.

Joran tries to retreat, but her tail catches his ankle. He stumbles, and in that moment, Veltha’s claws flash forward.

SLASH!

Joran barely twists away, but not before Veltha’s talons carve deep gashes across his chest.

Blood drips.

Joran exhales sharply, realizing—he can’t outmaneuver her. She sees everything.

His smirk fades. This fight is going to be hell.

On the other side of the battlefield, Groth faces Gavin, the broadsword-wielding warrior.

Gavin grins. ”Fire magic, huh? Bad luck for you—I’ve fought plenty of mages.”

He charges forward, his broadsword already glowing with energy—

”Blazing Ward!”

Groth slams his staff into the ground.

A dome of white-hot fire erupts, forcing Gavin to skid to a stop. The flames twist unnaturally, forming a spiraling wall of heat.

Gavin’s eyes widen. ”The hell…?”

Groth chuckles. ”Boy… you know nothing about fire.”

The flames collapse inward.

Gavin barely raises his sword before the spiraling inferno lashes toward him.

BOOM!

The explosion engulfs him.

For a moment, all that remains is a sea of flames.

Then—

Gavin emerges, coughing, his armor scorched, his sword glowing red-hot. He glares at Groth. ”Alright. That actually hurt.”

Groth smirks. ”Then let’s see how much more you can take.”

He raises his staff again, the temperature rising.

The battle rages on.

----

The adventurers slam their ladders against the fortress walls, their hands grasping at the rungs as they climb toward the top. The defenders above rain down arrows, spears, and stones, trying to halt the assault.

But the adventurers are tenacious, driven by greed, pride, and bloodlust. Some fall, pierced by arrows, their bodies tumbling back to the ground. Others push forward, screaming war cries, their weapons ready.

A Tier 2 adventurer, his greatsword strapped to his back, climbs furiously. His eyes lock onto the soldier above him. ”Die, monster!” he roars, reaching the top—

A massive, clawed hand grabs his face.

The soldier, a massive beast of a man, lifts the adventurer off the ladder with one hand. His eyes burn with an eerie black aura, his body exuding something inhuman.

”You don’t belong here,” the soldier says, his voice a deep, unnatural growl.

Then—

CRACK!

The soldier smashes the adventurer’s head against the wall and hurls his corpse back down onto the climbers below.

The adventurers pause.

Something is wrong.

The defenders—the monsters turned soldiers—should be untrained, disorganized, scared.

But instead…

They move as one.

Their attacks are coordinated. Their formations solid. Their aura—

It blends together.

A single will. A single presence.

One adventurer stares up, his voice shaking. ”What… what the hell is this?”

And suddenly—

An invisible pressure descends.

A mage below, a Tier 2 spellcaster, hurls fireballs at the main gate, bombarding it with spells. Wood splinters, cracks forming. ”Almost there!” he shouts.