Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

A day later, in Valgros Kingdom teleportation Portal.

A rumble of energy crackles through the air as the portal surges with power. Rings of magic churn in layered rotation, glowing runes flaring brighter with each second.

Then, with a sharp whump, two silhouettes emerge from the other side of the dimensional gate—tall, imposing figures who radiate a pressure that makes the surrounding guards tense instinctively.

The first to step forward is clad in jagged crimson armor laced with ember veins that pulse like molten lava. His presence is suffocating, heat radiating from his body in waves that warp the air around him. A thick mane of blackened red hair tumbles down his back, his face half-covered by a brutal helm shaped like a snarling beast. His eyes burn—literally—with flickering flames.

Medoran, General of the Ember Claw Group.

He stops, placing a heavy boot onto the portal’s stone floor with a dull thud that feels like the earth itself flinched. A single exhale sends wisps of steam curling from the vents of his armor.

Behind him, an eerily silent figure walks into the light.

The second is less flashy—no glowing armor, no bluster—but equally terrifying.

A tall man draped in a long, flowing coat of pitch-black leather, unadorned but impossibly clean. His skin is pale as snow, his hair silver and slicked back. His eyes are mismatched—one a cold blue, the other pitch black and swirling like a void. Around him, space bends slightly, as if rejecting his very presence.

His hands are clasped behind his back, his expression calm, almost bored.

Gresvin. Astram’s representative.

As they come to a stop side by side, the magic around the portal dies down, and the oppressive silence that follows is broken only by a faint creak—one of the nearby knights shifting nervously under the pressure of their aura.

Prince Asdri stiffens as he watches from the side, jaw clenched. He quickly glances at his father seated beside him, eyes searching.

He keeps his face neutral. Trained. But inside, a storm brews. These weren’t allies—they were walking calamities. Monsters, each of them, and no one knew what they might do. Any one of them alone could erase a city. Calling on their help was…

Desperate.

His father, the king, meets his gaze with unreadable calm, then shifts his attention back to the two arrivals.

Asdri turns back toward the platform, watching as the two Tier 6 monsters approach with measured steps.

High above the portal chamber, the domed ceiling hums faintly with residual magic. The air is thick—too thick. Like a storm about to break.

King Rewalt descends the stairs flanked by his royal guards, walking with quiet authority despite the pressure in the air. His steps are calm, deliberate. There is no fear in his face.

He stops a few paces from the two monsters.

”Welcome to Valgros,” Rewalt says, voice firm but not hostile. ”Your presence honors the pact.”

Gresvin tilts his head slightly, his void-black eye gleaming. His tone is cold and dry.

”Human, you are bold. You call upon monsters like us for aid… even while your enemy are also monsters. Tell me—are you not afraid we might just kill you all, take the key to the Sealed Relic, and be done with it?”

A beat of silence follows. Even the guards flinch—but Rewalt doesn’t waver.

He lifts his chin slightly.

”Even if you did take the key,” he replies calmly, ”you wouldn’t be able to open the Sealed Relic. Only I can. It’s bound to my soul.”

He steps forward once more.

”And don’t look down on us. This kingdom may not have a Tier 6 of its own, but it will not fall from the pressure of just two. We called for allies, not masters. Remember that. We’re working together here.”

Gresvin’s face twitches. Not fear, but annoyance. His lips curl into a faint grimace, like someone insulted by the very idea of being spoken back to.

A tense pulse of mana radiates from his body—space ripples. A low-pitched hum grows sharper by the second.

Then—

Medoran barks out a laugh, deep and rough like an avalanche crashing through flame.

Medoran barks out a laugh, deep and rough like an avalanche crashing through flame.

”Hah! There it is!” he says, turning toward Gresvin with a mocking grin. ”You Astram dogs really can’t help yourselves, can you? Threaten first, posture second, then act surprised when someone doesn’t grovel.”

He leans in slightly, embers rising around him like fireflies. ”Try not to plunder the kingdom before the war starts, eh? Or is that still policy where you come from?”

Gresvin’s eye twitches.

The void-black one darkens further, drawing in ambient light like a sinkhole. The temperature in the hall drops a few degrees in an instant, frost crackling along the edges of the polished floor despite Medoran’s heat.

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

”Do you want to fight now, Medoran?”

The moment those words leave his lips, the world seems to tighten.

An aura erupts from Gresvin like a detonation in slow motion—silent but overwhelming. Invisible pressure slams into the room, a gravitational force that makes knees buckle and throats seize. The nearest guards collapse outright, eyes wide with terror, some gasping for air.

The marble beneath Gresvin’s feet cracks in a spiderweb pattern.

Up above, Prince Asdri moves instantly.

Crackling lightning flares from his body as he unleashes his full aura. He plants himself between his father and the blast, arms wide, shielding Rewalt with everything he has.

The impact hits him like a tidal wave.

He grits his teeth. His knees buckle slightly, but he holds.

The weight of a Tier 6’s killing intent is not something even a peak Tier 5 can truly withstand. But he doesn’t flinch.

”Enough!” Asdri growls, his voice strained but clear. ”You were summoned to fight our enemies. Not each other.”

The command hangs in the air.

Gresvin doesn’t respond at first. His gaze flicks to Asdri, studying him like looking at a brave insect.

Then, slowly, the oppressive weight begins to recede. The air lightens. The frost fades. The tension in the room begins to uncoil.

Gresvin straightens his coat calmly, as if nothing happened.

”…Fine,” he mutters. ”For now.”

Medoran, unfazed, scoffs and crosses his arms, his laughter finally dying down.

King Rewalt exhales softly, then steps forward to reassert control.

”That’s enough for today,” he says. ”You’ll both be briefed properly later. For now, you may rest. Accommodations have been prepared.”

He gestures toward one of the side corridors.

Medoran grunts. ”Hmph. About time.” He turns without waiting for further instructions, molten eyes casting a final glance at the cracked marble beneath Gresvin’s feet. ”I’ll burn this place down myself if the food’s terrible.”

Gresvin doesn’t bother with a reply. He gives Rewalt a thin, dismissive glance, then simply vanishes—one step, and space folds around him like paper. In the next blink, he’s gone.

The silence that follows is like a held breath being let go.

Asdri slowly straightens, brushing a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth. His aura fades, but the tension in his body remains.

Rewalt watches the space where the two monsters exited, his face unreadable.

Asdri finally speaks, voice low but firm. ”Father… you didn’t tell me you were asking help from the monsters.”

Rewalt doesn’t respond right away.

He turns toward his son, walking slowly back to the throne, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor. ”Because I knew you’d object.”

Asdri follows after him. ”Of course. You already know I’ve traveled to other continents, and most of the time, humans and monsters are always in conflict. I’m honestly surprised they agreed.”

Rewalt sits down on the throne with a quiet sigh, the weight of the day—and the decision—settling across his shoulders.

He rests one hand on the armrest, eyes focused ahead.

”They agreed,” he says slowly, ”because there are no humans on their continent.”

Asdri blinks. ”What?”

Rewalt leans forward slightly. ”Their world is almost isolated. Separate. That land across the western divide… it’s ruled by strength and fear. No kingdoms. No diplomacy. Just survival. The monsters who live there don’t hate humans as much as those on other continents—because they’ve never had to.”

He glances at his son.

”That’s why we reached out to them. Not because they’re trustworthy. Not because they’re kind. But because they’re distant.”

Asdri frowns, arms crossed. ”And the human kingdoms on the other continents?”

Rewalt’s gaze sharpens. ”I didn’t even try to contact them.”

The prince’s eyes narrow. ”Why?”

Rewalt answers without hesitation.

”Because I don’t trust them.”

”Those kingdoms play a long game, Asdri. They move slowly, behind closed doors, with too many eyes and ears. If word of the Sealed Relic reached them…” He shakes his head. ”They’d either send an envoy with false smiles—or an army.”

He turns back to his son.

”These monsters came from a continent near us. No stake in our politics. And more importantly…” He lets the words hang for a breath. ”They aren’t known for crossing to other continents. They don’t expand outward. They fight each other, mostly. So the chance that they’ll betray us and inform the other continents about the Relic…”

He trails off, letting the implication settle.

”It’s low. Not impossible. But lower than any human kingdom with ambition.”

Asdri doesn’t answer at first. He’s staring at the ground, jaw clenched, brow furrowed in thought.

Finally, he speaks. ”You gambled everything.”

Rewalt nods.

”Yes.”

Asdri looks up, frustration and reluctant understanding mixing in his expression.

”And if you’re wrong?”

Rewalt’s face hardens.

”Then we die. But if I did nothing—we’d still die. At least this way, we have a fighting chance.”