Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Draya turns toward him, brow arched. ”A link skill?”

”A rare one,” Alix says, voice calm but thoughtful. ”I have a few, myself. But even among skilled warriors, they’re uncommon.” His eyes narrow slightly. ”They require more than just power. They need… connection.”

Draya tilts her head. ”Like trust?”

”Exactly.” He exhales through his nose and thought. ”In the game… only players could use them. And even then, only if they were close—deeply connected. The stronger the bond, the stronger the link skill.”

------

The once-proud city of Ashlight smolders under the midday sun. Smoke curls from shattered towers. Walls that stood for centuries now lie in pieces, rubble scattered across wide courtyards like broken bones. The streets are eerily silent—no screams, no swords, only the soft crackle of embers and the distant sobs of displaced civilians huddled behind scorched columns.

And in the middle of it all stands Gorath.

Ten meters tall, skin like darkened stone etched with crimson runes, the giant surveys the wreckage with a faint scowl etched into his massive features. One foot is planted firmly atop what remains of the southern gate—flattened stone and bent steel curling beneath his weight.

He scratches the side of his head, grumbling, ”I think I overdid things.”

His voice echoes through the broken city like rolling thunder.

A gust of wind carries ash across his boots. Beneath him, soldiers, survivors, officials—move like ants, avoiding his gaze. Gorath sighs, glancing down at the half-collapsed council hall that once stood as the city’s heart.

A jagged crack runs straight through its roof, and part of its central dome lies several blocks away, embedded in a bakery. Gorath winces slightly at the sight.

”Yeah… Thano is going to throw a fit.”

He crouches slightly, and picks up what looks like the twisted remains of a street lamp. He squints at it, then sighs and tosses it behind him, where it lands with a loud clang that startles a group of soldiers trying to rebuild a barricade.

”Sorry,” he calls halfheartedly. ”Didn’t see you there.”

One of the younger guards flinches but nods rapidly. ”N-No problem, sir!”

Gorath straightens again with a loud creak of strained leather straps and groans. His back cracks.

”Thano’s not even here, and I can already hear him lecturing me. ’Gorath, you broke the east wall again. Gorath, why is the aqueduct in three pieces? Gorath, why is there a smithy embedded in the clocktower?’”

He gestures broadly to the devastation with both massive hands. ”This is why I don’t do city fights. Give me open fields, mountains—hell, the sea. But cities? Too cramped. No space to swing properly.”

------

Back on the balcony, the warm glow of divine magic fading from the distant sky, Alix remains still. The wind pulls gently at his coat, brushing strands of his dark hair across his face.

Draya doesn’t speak. She knows that look—the calculating one. The way his eyes narrow just slightly, as if he’s already several steps ahead of whatever’s to come.

Suddenly, a shimmer distorts the air beside him.

Vaelith materializes in a swirl of shadow and violet sparks, kneeling instantly. ”Your Majesty,” she says, voice crisp and steady. ”The operation is a success. Our army has taken seven cities across Ordeya. That’s… nearly half of their total holdings.”

Alix gives a slow nod, lips pressing into a thin line. ”Good. That’s progress.”

Vaelith rises smoothly. ”Orders?”

”For now, we need to integrate those territories,” Alix says, voice even. ”Send word to Varkos and Gorath. I want them to draw up a defensive structure for each city—immediately. If Ordeya retaliates, we’ll be ready.”

”As you wish,” she replies with a slight bow. Then her tone shifts. ”Also… Gorath destroyed Ashlight City.”

There’s a brief pause.

Alix sighs. ”Of course he did.”

Draya winces softly. ”That poor city…”

”I expected it already,” Alix mutters, folding his arms. ”He doesn’t know how to hold back. Though Thano won’t be happy about it.” A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. ”He’ll probably send ten reports filled with complaints and diagrams. Again.”

He turns, eyes locking on the mountains far beyond the horizon.

Alix’s gaze sharpens as he watches the faint trails of smoke drifting upward from Ashlight’s remains.

”If the Valgros Kingdom wants to send reinforcements to Ordeya,” he says quietly, ”they have no choice but to go through Ashlight City.”

Draya glances at him, thoughtful. ”And if they don’t?”

”They’ll be forced to reroute,” Alix replies, his voice calm but absolute. ”And that means traveling around the Scorching Valleys or through the Fenrath Peaks. Either way… it’ll take them months. Maybe longer.”

Vaelith crosses her arms, nodding slightly. ”That gives us a significant edge.”

”It gives us control,” Alix says. ”Ashlight isn’t just a ruin. It’s a choke point. A gateway. And now, it’s ours.”

Draya looks out toward the smoke again, then back at Alix. ”You’re going to fortify it into something they can’t ignore.”

Alix’s eyes narrow, a cold fire burning behind them. ”Exactly. When Valgros finally decides to fully intervene… they’ll find a fortress, not a city. And by the time they realize what we’ve built—”

”They’ll already be too late,” Vaelith finishes, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Alix doesn’t smile, but his silence confirms it.

He looks down at the landscape once more, at the path that winds from the edge of the ruined city into the heart of Ordeya.

”This is where the real war begins.”

----

The heavy scent of incense barely masks the underlying staleness of smoke and sweat. Golden banners hang limp in the thick air. Sunlight filters through shattered stained-glass windows, scattering color across the marble floor—but there’s no warmth to it. Only fractured beauty.

Queen Seraphina sits tall on her throne, back rigid, hands clasped tight on the lion-carved armrests. Her silver armor glints in the muted light, though cracks line its edges. A thin smear of blood mars the side of her cheek—dried, unnoticed, or ignored.

Before her stands Medren, his posture stiff, eyes lowered in grim respect.

”They’ve taken seven cities, Your Majesty,” he says quietly. ”In a single coordinated strike. Our outposts barely had time to send warnings before communications went dark.”

Seraphina’s voice is steady, but low. ”Which cities?”

Medren hesitates for only a breath before listing them. ”Haldenridge, Windel, Dorne, Edolde, Havarg, Cargos… and Ashlight.”

At the last name, her jaw tightens. ”Ashlight has fallen?”

He nods, regret etched into his features. ”The report says there was only one huge monster that conquered the city. The city’s defenses held for less than an hour. Then… it was gone. Flattened.”

Seraphina closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, her gaze is sharper. ”What about the capital? What is the damage?”

Medren draws a slow breath. ”We held the capital, but it came at a cost. A thousand soldiers died fighting off that monster’s underlings. And the destruction…” He glances at the cracked pillars lining the chamber. ”Entire districts are in ruins. Homes, temples, marketplaces—gone. Fires burned through the western quarter. We’re still pulling bodies out of the rubble.”

Seraphina’s fingers curl around the throne’s armrests. Her voice drops to a near-whisper. ”They invaded our land. Took our cities. Burned our streets. And now they’re fortifying Ashlight…”

Medren nods solemnly. ”They’re preparing for more.”

Seraphina rises from her throne, the train of her dark crimson gown sweeping behind her like flowing blood. Her voice is soft, but filled with steel. ”Then so are we. Call the council. Summon what remains of the eastern legions. And send a raven to Valgros.”

-----

The next day.

The sky over Ashlight is cloudless, but the air still carries the scent of soot and ash.

As Alix’s carriage descends from the sky—its sleek frame wreathed in slow-rotating sigils of flight—the ruined city lies below like a wounded beast. Scorch marks still blacken the earth. Shattered stone and scorched timber form a graveyard of what once was.

Gorath waits at the central courtyard, arms folded, massive frame casting a long shadow over the cracked plaza.

The moment the carriage lands with a soft hum and a breeze kicks up dust, Gorath steps forward, thumping a closed fist to his chest. ”Your Majesty.”

Alix steps out, long coat trailing behind him, Draya descending right behind. His gaze sweeps the devastation—quiet, unreadable.

Before he can speak, another voice cuts in.

”Welcome, Your Majesty.”

Thano approaches, sleeves rolled up, smudges of ink and charcoal across his gloves. Behind him, a small army of engineers, mages, and workers scurry about—measuring, sketching, arguing over elevations.

Thano stops a few feet away, bows quickly, and gestures broadly at the destruction. ”The city is… destroyed right now.” He throws a meaningful glance at Gorath. ”Because of someone.”

Gorath shifts slightly, scratching his neck. ”I said I overdid it. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

”You embedded a whole church into a warehouse,” Thano mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. ”How is that even possible?”

Alix said. ”Did it collapse?”

”No,” Gorath answers proudly. ”It’s actually standing better than before.”

Alix lets the corner of his mouth twitch before turning fully to Thano. ”The damage is done. What matters now is what comes next.”

Thano straightens, more composed now. ”The blueprints are almost finalized. We’ll finish drafting the complete renovation plan in two weeks. After that—” he glances at his team ”—Ashlight will begin its transformation.”

Alix’s gaze sharpens. ”Into a fortress.”

Thano nods. ”A fortress-city. Reinforced walls. Defensive enchantments. Underground storage. Multi-layered barriers, ballistic towers, and three escape routes built into the terrain. It won’t just hold the line—it’ll break anyone who tries to cross it.”