Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Someone clicks their tongue. Another scoffs. Brakar lets out a low grunt.

”Cowards,” he mutters.

”They were protecting something,” the mage commander counters. ”Or hiding it. Either way, the pressure from the outside didn’t stop. It just shifted form.”

Alix’s fingers tap once against the table.

If this is what I think it is... then things are going to get complicated.

Veyrith shifts slightly in his throne. The motion alone sends a small tremor through the floor.

Another commander leans forward, his voice tinged with disbelief. ”What kind of enemies are they facing, that they’d crawl back and ask us—and Astram—for help?”

Veyrith’s burning gaze shifts toward him. ”According to the king who contacted us, two of the three kingdoms have already fallen. Entire cities leveled. Armies vanished. The enemies they face are not invaders seeking land or gold.”

He pauses, his voice turning low and grim.

”They’re monsters. The kind that shouldn’t be able to coordinate… but do. And if they’re telling the truth, then the kingdom left standing won’t last another season.”

Then another commander scoffs, sharp and skeptical. ”So? Sounds like an easy task. Send a few legions. Clean it up.”

Veyrith’s molten eyes harden. ”They are not just asking for cleanup.”

He leans forward, the magma-cracks along his shoulders pulsing brighter.

”The king didn’t just want reinforcements. He asked for a joint operation—one led equally by us and Astram’s forces. He wants us to secure the continent. He wants to make sure that whatever’s there doesn’t reach anyone else.”

The room stirs. This time, it’s not surprise or curiosity that spreads.

It’s disgust.

Alix watches as several commanders shift uncomfortably. Faces tighten. Expressions darken.

One commander, a scarred beastkin with rust-colored scales, growls under his breath. ”He wants us to fight beside Astram?”

Another slams a fist softly against the table. ”The only reason most of us joined Ember Claw was because of Astram. To crush them. To burn their cities. Not hold their damn flank.”

Mutters ripple through the room. Words like betrayal, insult, and cowardice weave through the murmurs.

Brakar doesn’t say anything at first. But then he leans back in his seat, exhaling through his nose like someone holding back a snarl. ”Working with them like allies… That’s a hard one, my lord. You know what they did to our lines, to our people.”

”I do,” Veyrith says calmly, but the temperature in the room rises a degree.

Veyrith lets the silence drag, letting their anger simmer without boiling over. Then, his voice cuts through the tension like a molten blade.

”I’m not asking you to cooperate fully.”

The murmuring dies almost instantly. Eyes snap to him. Brakar’s brow furrows, and the other commanders lean in slightly, suspicious, curious.

Veyrith’s eyes narrow, glowing like twin furnaces. ”What happens inside the Relic… will remain inside.”

A beat.

”You want vengeance? You want blood for what your enemies did?” His voice lowers, but somehow feels louder. ”Then take it. Inside the Relic, you’ll be cut off from outside.”

Another pause.

”We can use this opportunity to kill the monster under Astram’s banner. Quietly. Efficiently.”

He leans forward, clawed fingers resting on the edge of his stone throne.

”No one will question what happens inside. No one outside will know.”

Brakar straightens, his grin slowly returning. ”Now that,” he says, voice low and amused, ”sounds more like the Veyrith I signed up to follow.”

A few commanders exchange glances—measured, considering. One nods, slowly. Another bares their teeth in a faint smile.

Veyrith doesn’t smile—but the slow rumble that rolls from his chest sounds like satisfaction. The room settles again, this time not in opposition, but readiness.

Then he raises one clawed hand, stopping the building murmurs before they rise too far.

”There is one more condition.”

The room stills again.

”Only those at Tier 5 and below can enter the Relic.”

A ripple of surprise breaks through the chamber.

Veyrith goes on, unbothered. ”I’ll remain stationed outside. Along with General Medoran and General Svira. Astram’s side will also keep their highest, with his two guardians.”

He leans back into the throne, the magma veins across his body dimming slightly. ”If they try anything... they’ll answer to us.”

Brakar chuckles under his breath. ”I almost hope they do.”

Another commander, a lanky horned woman with ink-black armor, nods. ”So the stage inside is ours.”

Veyrith’s gaze sweeps the table, steady and final. ”A week from now, we move. The portal will be opened then. Prepare your units, and sharpen your blades.”

He lets the final words settle like stone.

”Dismissed.”

One by one, chairs scrape against the darkstone. Commanders rise, some eager, some contemplative. But most wear the same look: restrained anticipation.

They finally have a chance.

To kill without blame. To strike down the ones they hate the most—without dragging their people into full-scale war.

Brakar walks past Alix on his way out, pausing just long enough to murmur, ”Try not to die in there, new blood. I want my spar after.”

Alix doesn’t respond. Just meets his gaze. Brakar smirks and strides off, his laughter fading into the corridor beyond.

The night air outside the Ember Claw citadel is sharp with heat and smoke, even this far from the central forges. The blackstone streets hiss beneath Alix’s boots as he walks, the crimson glow of the lava channels painting his cloak in flickering shades of blood.

Beside him, Gander walks in silence for a while—then finally speaks, voice low but tight.

”Your Majesty… this is bad. They’re going to help the Valgros Kingdom.”

Alix nods once, as if he’s been expecting it. ”I know.”

They pass under a basalt archway, guards in obsidian armor giving slight bows as they move through.

”That’s why we need to return,” Alix continues. ”Back to the Three Kingdoms continent. We have a week to prepare.”

Gander glances at him, concerned. ”And after that? You’ll come back here, your majesty?”

Alix doesn’t hesitate. ”Yes. I have to be present when they enter the Relic.”

They reach the teleportation station—massive, circular, and etched with glowing runes humming with restrained energy. Flames dance along the rim of the gate, waiting to be fed coordinates.

”But you won’t be alone during the preparations,” Alix adds.

Gander raises an eyebrow. ”Oh?”

”I’ll be reviving one of my Tier 6 subordinates.”

Gander slows his steps. His brow furrows, then smooths as a thought takes shape.

After a moment, he speaks.

”…Your Majesty, may I suggest who to revive?”

Alix turns to look at him fully. The runes behind them crackle with restrained heat, the teleportation circle pulsing steadily beneath their feet.

”Oh?” Alix asks, curious. ”You have someone in mind?”

Gander nods once, deliberate. ”Yes. Someone who was very close to me. And someone I worked well with—better than anyone else, truthfully.”

Alix studies him for a beat, then folds his arms. ”Alright. Who is it?”

-----

The teleportation circle flares to life. Heat surges around them, and a flash of white-gold light swallows them both.

A heartbeat later, the two of them reappear in the base—silent, cool. The sharp scent of pine and the distant rush of water replace the choking heat of Ember Claw. A pair of guards stationed near the arrival platform stiffen, then salute as they recognize them.

They walk through the outer courtyard, moonlight glinting faintly off the darkstone walls of the base. Somewhere above, the distant flutter of night patrol wings echoes faintly against the cliffs.

Lathar is in the same spot where Alix last saw him—still behind his desk, now scribbling a few curt instructions onto a scroll. The moment he hears footsteps, his head lifts sharply.

Alix strides in, cloak swaying, Gander a few steps behind. He stops just before the desk, arms at his sides, expression composed.

Lathar squints. ”Back already?”

Alix offers a tight smile. ”Not for long.”

Lathar leans back, arching an eyebrow. ”Don’t tell me that was it. Just a meeting and done?”

Alix snorts faintly. He folds his arms. ”They’ve found a relic. A sealed one. On another continent.”

Lathar blinks once, then narrows his eyes. ”...Relic? You serious?”

Alix then explained everything.

Lathar’s mouth opens, but no words come out at first. He stands slowly, pushing the chair back with a sharp scrape.

”A relic hunt? That explains the full summon…” he mutters, rubbing his jaw.

Alix nods, his tone measured. ”And they’re mobilizing to go in a week. Only Tier 5s and below are allowed entry. Veyrith and the other top generals are staying outside.”

Lathar exhales slowly, then motions toward a side chair. ”You should rest, at least for a day. We can start preparing the units, screen who we’ll bring—”

”I won’t be here,” Alix says suddenly, cutting him off.

Lathar blinks. ”What?”

Alix gives a half-shrug, like it’s nothing. ”I’m heading out to train. There’s… a technique I need to refine before we go in. I’ll be gone for about a week.”

”A week?” Lathar’s eyes narrow again, this time sharper. ”We still have a lot to do. Are you going to toss that onto me again?”

”It’s necessary,” Alix says simply, already turning toward the door.

”Hold on,” Lathar steps from behind the desk, voice rising. ”You can’t just drop that and vanish—”

But Alix lifts a hand behind him, already moving down the hall. ”Handle things while I’m gone. You’re good at that.”

”Alix—!”

And then he’s gone—vanishing down the corridor, Gander trailing behind, both cloaked in the fading echo of his words.

Lathar stands there for a long moment, staring at the empty hallway, jaw clenched. Then he exhales, mutters something under his breath, and turns back to his desk.