Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

The teleportation platform activates with a sharp pulse of mana, the sigils beneath Alix’s feet flaring with blue-white light.

Then—

Silence.

Stillness.

Pressure like slipping between folded dimensions—

And he’s through.

Alix steps out into a dim, circular chamber. Not ruined. Not dusty. The walls are clean, lined with obsidian plating veined in living mana circuits that pulse gently beneath the surface—new construction, or at least maintained.

He glances around. The room is built into stone, but reinforced with aether-treated steel, the air filtered and dry. No welcome committee. No sensors flaring in alarm. Just an automated presence that registers his arrival and logs it silently into a nearby console.

”Smart,” Alix mutters, stepping off the pad. ”No direct connection to the network… just a controlled endpoint.”

The Ember Claw Group can’t link directly to other cities. Their teleportation grid is cut off from everyone—either by necessity or strategy. Which means this station was built quietly, likely without permission, bypassing Astram’s surveillance net.

He walks to the door—no obvious handle, no keypad. It opens with a whisper as the rune-token still resting in his coat pulses once.

The door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing the outside world.

Alix steps out into dense forest.

The shift in environment is immediate—cooler air, the chirring of unseen insects, filtered light breaking through thick, moss-covered branches. It’s quiet, but not lifeless. The teleportation chamber behind him blends seamlessly into a mound of earth and stone, like part of the forest itself.

He glances back once to make sure it seals itself properly.

Then he pulls out the map.

”Let’s see…”

He traces a finger toward Verid Hollow. A jagged symbol marks the scarred valley nearby—twisted topography, erratic leyline clusters. No faction banners, no recognized safe zones.

Just warnings.

But then his eyes catch something else—just west of Verid Hollow’s outer edge, nestled along a curved river and ringed by ridged cliffs.

”Dosgir…” he murmurs.

The city’s marker gleams faintly under the sunlight—small, fortified, positioned just outside the edge of the ley-warp zone. According to the notations, it’s the last functional settlement before the Hollow. Not exactly close, but reachable.

He studies the terrain between here and the Hollow. Dense forest. Rocky ridges. Two collapsed ley streams. And no official roadways.

Of course there wouldn’t be.

He stands, tucking the map away into his coat and scanning the treeline ahead.

”This place might be crawling with scavengers and lunatics… but it’s rich.”

Mana crystals. Rare herbs. Ether-drenched beasts. Even relics left behind by unlucky adventurers.

Alix exhales softly, then lifts into the air.

The flight is smooth and effortless—mana swirling faintly around his boots as he soars above the forest canopy.

Wind tugs at his coat, the thick trees below giving way to rolling hills and shadowed cliffs. The sky is cloudy, but the visibility is good.

The sky is cloudy, but the visibility is good. It doesn’t take long before the fortified outline of Dosgir comes into view—a compact city built into the base of a steep ridge, its outer wall a mix of stone, metal, and reinforced bonewood.

A few towers dot the perimeter, manned by sentries. Watch crystals blink from their perches.

Alix begins to descend.

The wind gathers around him in spirals as he floats gently down, landing just before the massive ironwood gates.

A few guards shift where they stand, gripping halberds—but their expressions change the moment they see him lower from the sky.

”Tier Five…” one of them mutters under his breath.

A few locals nearby stop to stare. Two adventurers gawking openly from a nearby caravan elbow each other and start whispering.

Alix doesn’t pay them any mind. He walks forward calmly, stopping just before the gate’s checkpoint.

A bored-looking guard—older, with a patchy beard and a well-used cuirass—straightens up a bit when he sees Alix. His eyes flick briefly to the mana still radiating off Alix’s shoulders.

”Welcome to Dosgir,” the man says. ”Entry tax is six silver.”

Alix nods and reaches into his coat. He drops a handful of silver coins onto the small tray beside the guard’s post.

The guard doesn’t bother to count them. Just steps aside and taps the gate rune.

”Go on through.”

The great gate lurches and splits open with a groan of gears and mana-powered pistons.

Inside, the city is buzzing.

Stone-paved roads, lined with vendors, mercenaries, and travelers from every corner of the continent. The air smells of iron, smoke, and a hint of roasted meat. Mana lights drift overhead, their glow pale against the overcast sky.

But what dominates the center of the city—what Alix notices immediately—is the Adventurers Guild building.

Massive. Towering above the surrounding structures, its darksteel walls glinting under enchantment wards, a huge crest carved above its open archway: two crossed spears over a shattered helm.

Crowds move in and out—grizzled warriors, robed mages, hunters with monster hides slung over their backs.

Alix watches silently for a moment, then steps forward.

He just steps into the city proper, the gate sliding shut behind him with a metallic groan, when he catches a conversation nearby.

Two adventurers, young and scruffy, leaning against a supply cart just off the main path.

”Hey, did you see Sir Carwel and Tandu earlier?” one says, eyes wide with excitement.

”No way,” the other replies, turning toward him. ”You’re serious?”

”I swear on my core. They flew right over the outer wall—landed near the old barracks.”

The second man’s expression twists in disbelief, then awe. ”Wait… that’s two of Lord Astram’s guardians. Two out of three. What are they doing here?”

Alix slows slightly, his ears sharpening.

”So the rumors are true,” the first murmurs, his voice dropping lower. ”The plague… it’s hiding in the Verid Hollow.”

The second exhales, low and shaky. ”Damn. It must be. Why else would Tier Six powerhouses show up out here? Dosgir’s not exactly on the royal tour.”

”You’re lucky,” the first says, shaking his head. ”Seeing a Tier Six in person… I couldn’t even breathe when they walked past. Like gravity itself got heavier.”

Alix passes them without a word, but his eyes narrow slightly.

”Two Tier Six…” Alix thinks, eyes narrowing as he continues walking. ”Even for Gander, that’d be tough. If they’ve been Tier Six for a while, it’s a death sentence. But if they just broke through…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. Either way, it’s a dangerous variable.

He strides through the busy avenue, weaving between armored mercenaries and cloaked traders. His destination is clear: the Adventurers Guild.

Inside, the building hums with mana and voices. Quest boards line the eastern wall, glowing softly. A scent of incense and leather hangs in the air. Scribes work behind reinforced counters, while adventurers of all ranks sort through missions, supplies, or bounties.

Alix approaches the nearest reception desk—a young elf woman glancing up from a stack of enchanted parchments.

”Looking for something, sir?” she asks politely, eyeing his coat and the mana radiating from him.

”I need a detailed map of Verid Hollow,” Alix says. ”Topography, leyline activity, anything you’ve got.”

She hesitates for a beat. ”We do have a few updated route charts compiled by survivors. They’re expensive—fifty silver each.”

Alix slides a gold coin onto the counter.

”Give me the best version.”

------

Far from the bustle of Dosgir, deep within the twisted core of Verid Hollow, the air is thick with static.

Crimson fog clings to the gnarled ground. Warped trees bend at unnatural angles. Ether pulses through the cracked terrain like the veins of some ancient creature.

Floating just inches above the blighted soil, two figures move with careful precision.

One wears deep violet armor inscribed with golden sigils—tall, grim, his eyes glowing with restrained force. It’s Carwel.

Beside him, broader and more bestial in build, his armor fused with living stone and arcane plating, floats Tandu—his expression tight with focus.

Tandu hovers a little lower, eyes sweeping over the gnarled terrain. His voice is low, gruff, and tinged with irritation.

”Where do you think that plague guy’s hiding?”

Carwel doesn’t stop moving. His eyes scan the landscape with the precision of a predator. ”Probably close. He was wounded fighting Lord Astram. He won’t have gone far.”

Tandu snorts, a plume of mana smoke curling from his helm vents. ”Still can’t believe he survived that. Anyone else would’ve been vaporized.”

”It is impressive,” Carwel says, his tone unreadable. ”To face lord Astram directly and walk away—even barely—isn’t something many can claim.”

”Yeah,” Tandu mutters. ”But impressive or not, we’re here to finish what he started.”

Carwel finally stops, floating above a twisted ridge of stone, his gaze settling on a dark ravine oozing violet mist. ”Then let’s not waste time.”

Tandu cracks his knuckles, a ripple of stone spreading down his forearm. ”Fine by me. Let’s smoke this freak before he finds a way to heal.”

---

Somewhere deeper in the Hollow—beneath a shattered ridge where the leyline currents fracture into flickering strands—Gander kneels inside a natural alcove carved into the roots of a massive, half-dead tree. The hollow hums around him, air warped and thick with arcane residue.

He’s still now, breathing slow, controlled. His hands move with care.

A black-gloved finger uncorks a small, jagged vial of greenish fluid—thick, glowing faintly in the gloom. A healing potion, but not the kind found in stores. This one is laced with soulthread and bone powder, brewed in silence and pain.

Gander lifts it to the ruined place where his mouth should be—just a jagged seam below the grotesque patchwork mask of his face. The thread stitches flex and shift as he drinks, the liquid vanishing between the folds of stitched skin.

A hiss escapes him, involuntary.