Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Edric inclines his head, his voice measured. ”Prince Darius. Marshal Draven. It is an honor to receive the esteemed representatives of Valgros.”

Marshal Draven says nothing, only giving Edric a slow, assessing glance before shifting his gaze to the gathered nobles.

A noble clenches his jaw. Another averts his gaze.

Duke Fynn suddenly said. ”Prince Darius we sought your kingdom’s aid,” he replies smoothly. ”After all, Valgros has always been unmatched in the art of war.”

Darius turns to Duke Fynn, his expression one of mock surprise. ”Oh? Is that so?” He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. ”My, my… what happened here, exactly?”

His eyes gleam with amusement, but beneath that, there’s something sharper—a silent message to Fynn. Act natural.

Edric exhales slowly, forcing himself to remain calm. His voice is steady, but there’s an undeniable edge to it. ”Prince Darius must be joking. With your kingdom’s intelligence network, you already know what has happened.”

The nobles shift uneasily. They know it too. Valgros wouldn’t have sent a prince and a Tier 5 marshal without knowing every single detail beforehand.

Darius’s smirk deepens. ”Ah, Your Majesty is truly wise,” he says, voice smooth as silk. ”Then let’s not waste time with pleasantries. My father wishes to offer his assistance. After all, what we face now is a common enemy of all humankind.”

Edric doesn’t react immediately, his gaze unreadable. But before he can speak, Edris scoffs. His voice is laced with distrust. ”I don’t believe for a second that King Rewalt offers help without expecting something in return.” He leans forward, arms crossed. ”So tell us, Prince Darius—what is it that you want?”

Darius chuckles lightly, as if entertained by the accusation. ”So direct,” he muses. Then, with a casual shrug, he delivers his demand. ”Very well. My father wants Misorn City.”

The words send a ripple of shock through the court.

Instantly, several nobles step forward, their voices overlapping in protest.

”Your Majesty, you can’t!”

”Misorn is too important!”

”Even if Vylan’s corruption has ruined it, the city’s resources coming from it to the kingdom remain untouched!”

”The kingdom would suffer a great loss if we surrendered it!”

The throne room erupts into chaos. Some nobles look at Edric, waiting for his response, while others turn to Fynn, anticipating his counter.

But Fynn remains silent, watching the exchange unfold with a calculating gaze.

Edric lets the uproar continue for a few moments before raising a hand. The hall falls into tense silence.

His eyes lock onto Darius, sharp and unreadable. ”You ask for one of my cities,” he says, voice even. ”That is no small request, Prince Darius. You must know how much it would cost me.”

Darius meets Edric’s gaze with an easy smile. ”I don’t think it’s an unfair request, Your Majesty,” he says smoothly. ”From the intelligence we’ve gathered, there’s a Tier 5 monster in Delon City.”

The room falls into stunned silence.

Several nobles exchange alarmed glances, while others whisper among themselves. A few look outright disbelieving.

”A Tier 5?” one noble mutters, his voice shaking. ”Impossible…”

Edric himself feels a chill creep down his spine. His kingdom doesn’t even have a single Tier 5 warrior. How did a forest that had never birthed even a Tier 4 suddenly produce something of that level?

Darius, clearly enjoying the reaction, leans back slightly. ”Hard to believe, isn’t it?” His golden eyes gleam with amusement. ”But my father wouldn’t have sent me here if we weren’t certain.”

A heavy tension hangs in the air. Even the most vocal nobles hesitate, realizing the weight of what this means.

Then Darius speaks again, his tone turning almost casual. ”Unless, of course, Your Majesty plans to use… that item.”

The room collectively takes a sharp breath in.

A single sentence, yet it shakes the entire court.

Several nobles pale, while others instinctively avert their gazes. That item. The one relic that keeps Raltheon from being swallowed by its stronger neighbors. To them, it is nothing short of a god’s artifact.

Edric’s expression darkens, his fingers tightening slightly against the armrest of his throne. His voice, when he speaks, is cold and absolute. ”Let’s not talk about that.”

Darius chuckles, his smirk unfading. ”Of course, Your Majesty.”

Everyone in the room knows why Edric shuts the topic down so quickly.

The reason the two powerful kingdoms bordering Raltheon haven’t crushed it is because of that item.

But it can only be used three times.

And in the kingdom’s long history, it has already been used twice.

Edric exhales slowly, his fingers tapping against the armrest as the weight of the situation settles in. He hates it, but the truth is clear.

Raltheon has no Tier 5 warriors. They can’t defeat that monster alone.

His jaw tightens before he finally speaks, his voice steady but heavy. ”I suppose we don’t have a choice, then.”

Darius’s smirk widens, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction. ”Such a wise decision, Your Majesty,” he says smoothly. ”I knew his majesty would understand the value of practicality.”

He gestures respectfully toward the silent figure standing beside him. ”Sir Marshal Draven will personally deal with the Tier 5 monster. Your Majesty and your forces only need to handle the small fries.”

The weight of Draven’s presence alone is suffocating. A man who has seen countless battlefields, standing there like a war god in waiting.

Edric’s gaze shifts to the marshal. ”And you’re confident you can handle it?”

For the first time, Draven speaks. His voice is low and firm, carrying the quiet certainty of a man who has never known fear. ”It will die.”

A simple statement. A declaration.

A chill runs through the nobles.

Edric’s expression remains unreadable. ”Misorn is still part of my kingdom until this war is won.”

Darius inclines his head. ”Of course.”

The court remains tense, but for now, the deal is made.

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Back in Alix, the atmosphere in his work chamber is stagnant. He leans back in his chair, staring at the high ceiling, exhaling deeply.