Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

The sheer force of his transformation sends a shockwave through the battlefield. The ground beneath him cracks. The wind howls. His presence alone is suffocating.

But he holds back.

He doesn’t activate his second Tier 5 buff—the one granted by his bloodline. He doesn’t want to frighten his enemy into running away.

And then—

They move.

The sky explodes.

Their clash creates a powerful shockwave. The wind roars as their figures blur, appearing and vanishing across the battlefield like flashes of lightning and crimson energy.

Draven swings—his blade moves faster than the eye can follow.

Varkas counters—his claws meet steel, sending arcs of golden lightning and crimson energy scattering into the stormy sky.

BOOM!

A massive explosion erupts as their attacks collide, sending ripples across the battlefield. The ground quakes. The fortress walls tremble.

Then—Draven accelerates.

He vanishes and reappears behind Varkas, his sword already mid-swing. A bolt of divine lightning descends from the sky, striking his blade at the moment of impact.

THUNDEROUS JUDGEMENT!

A Tier 4 skill amplified by his buff, turned into something beyond comprehension. The sheer force is enough to make the air itself wail.

But Varkas twists at the last second.

He dodges—. But the attack still grazes his side, sending a shallow burning cut across his ribs. For the first time, blood spills from his body.

Draven grins. ”Got you.”

Varkas chuckles. ”Not bad.”

Then he grabs Draven by the wrist.

Before Draven can react, Varkas pulls—

And slams his knee into his stomach.

CRACK!

Draven’s eyes widen as pain shoots through his core.

Varkas doesn’t stop. He pivots, using his full monstrous strength, and hurls Draven through the air like a meteor. The Valgros warrior crashes into the battlefield below, carving a massive trench through human and monster alike before coming to a stop.

Silence.

Then—Draven stands up.

Lightning crackles around Draven’s battered body as he straightens, his breathing ragged but his eyes burning with defiance. His armor is cracked, blood drips from his mouth, but he refuses to fall.

Varkas watches him with something between amusement and admiration. ”You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Draven wipes his mouth, smearing blood across his gauntlet. ”I don’t lose. Not to monsters.” His greatsword pulses with divine energy, golden arcs crackling in the air.

Varkas chuckles, shaking his head. ”You should’ve stayed down.”

The air shifts. The battlefield stills.

Then, it happens.

Varkas raises his clawed hand, and a deep, guttural growl rumbles from his chest. His crimson eyes glow brighter—like twin embers burning in the darkness. The blood in his veins surges, and the energy radiating from him becomes suffocating.

He is done playing.

”Let’s end this,” he murmurs.

A pulse of dark crimson energy erupts from his body, expanding outward like a tidal wave. The battlefield trembles. The sky darkens—not with storm clouds, but with something deeper, something primal.

Then—his aura explodes.

[Sovereign Predator’s Howl]—A Tier 5 skill.

The sound is unlike anything ever heard before. It is not just a roar—it is a command, a decree from the apex predator of all living beings. It is the sound of absolute dominance.

The moment it reaches Draven, his body freezes.

Not by choice.

His nerves fail. His muscles refuse to obey. His divine lightning flickers, struggling against the overwhelming force pressing down on him. His heartbeat stutters. His breath is stolen.

His mind fractures.

Draven’s vision distorts. His consciousness wavers. He feels small. Helpless. A rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf—no, something worse. His mind screams at him to run, but his body won’t move.

Then, Varkas vanishes.

Before Draven can comprehend what’s happening, a clawed hand grips his face.

And smashes him into the ground.

The earth shatters. A crater erupts beneath them, debris exploding outward. The sheer force of the impact sends shockwaves across the battlefield.

Draven tries to move.

He can’t.

His vision flickers. His mind is slipping.

No… No, he’s not done. He—

Another impact.

Varkas slams him deeper into the ground.

Draven’s divine lightning sputters out. His aura crumbles.

His eyes turn dull.

His consciousness snaps.

The battlefield is silent.

Varkas watches as Draven’s body twitches once, then goes completely limp. The once-mighty Thunder God of Valgros, the warrior who stood at the peak of the three kingdoms—died just like that.

The battlefield stands frozen in stunned silence. The coalition soldiers, who had moments ago been rallying behind their strongest warrior, now watch in horror as Draven—their legend, their hope—lies motionless in the crater.

Then, chaos erupts.

”Sir Draven has fallen!” A desperate scream breaks through the stillness. ”Retreat! RETREAT!”

The coalition commanders don’t hesitate. They’ve seen enough. If Draven couldn’t win, no one could.

”Fall back! Get out of here!” One of the knights yells, his voice raw with panic.

The soldiers don’t need to be told twice. The once-organized ranks dissolve into madness as 14,000 human warriors turn and flee. Some drop their weapons in blind terror, others push past their comrades in their desperation to escape the nightmare before them.

But then—Varkas hears his voice.

Alix.

”Kill as many as you can.”

A slow, wicked grin spreads across Varkas’s face. His crimson eyes gleam with hunger as he straightens, rolling his shoulders.

”As you wish, Your Majesty,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement.

Then—he moves.

A blur of crimson streaks across the battlefield. Varkas tears into the retreating army, his claws slashing through steel and flesh alike. Screams rise into the air as bodies are ripped apart, armor proving useless against his monstrous strength.

A knight tries to turn and fight—Varkas decapitates him with a single swipe.

A mage casts a desperate spell—Varkas is already behind him, claws through his chest, ripping his heart out before he even finishes his chant.

A group of spearmen rally together, hoping to slow him down. Varkas grins.

”Good effort.”

He lunges—Blood Reaver’s Claw! A crimson arc of destruction carves through them, bodies torn apart mid-flight. The survivors are sent sprawling, their formation shattered.

He keeps going.