Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Minutes of focused silence, of gritted teeth and white-hot energy surging into the pulsing shard. Mana floods the air—so thick it’s hard to breathe. The stone chamber becomes a crucible, light flaring brighter with every passing second as the crystal absorbs the full brunt of Tier 6 power.

Sweat beads on Rewalt’s brow. His lips move—ancient syllables, a stabilizing chant passed down through centuries. The sigils on the walls begin to shift, threads of light knitting back into broken wards.

The tremors slow.

The cracking walls groan, then… still.

The crypt stabilizes.

A breathless moment passes.

No one moves.

Rewalt finally lets out a long exhale and slumps forward slightly, catching himself on one hand. ”It’s… done,” he murmurs.

Veyrith straightens, but doesn’t relax. His golden eyes bore into Rewalt.

”What now?” he asks. ”Where are they? You said once the crypt was stabilized, they’d be teleported out.”

Rewalt blinks. ”Yes. That’s what should happen. They should start appearing.”

But a minute passes.

Then another.

The air remains still.

No one appears.

No surge of light. No shimmer of displaced air. Nothing.

Astram’s eyes narrow. he says coldly, ” Why haven’t I seen my commanders yet?”

Rewalt opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

He looks toward the sealed altar in the far end of the chamber, then back at the shard—still glowing faintly, now pulsing much slower.

”I… I don’t know,” Rewalt admits, his voice almost breaking. ”It should’ve worked. Unless—unless something interfered.”

Astram takes a step forward. Carwel and Tandu do the same.

Asdri grabs his father’s arm instinctively. ”Father?”

Rewalt turns to him quickly, urgently—voice low, fast, almost a whisper.

”Asdri, listen to me,” he says. ”If any of them start attacking…I will activate the kingdom’s Tier 6 defensive array. It will buy you enough time to run.”

”Run?” Asdri’s voice cracks. ”Where? You can’t mean—”

”There’s a portal chamber hidden behind the ancestral altar,” Rewalt says, gripping his son’s arm tightly. ”It’s connected to an unknown continent. Far from here.”

”No. I’m not leaving you.” Asdri shakes his head. ”We can fight together. We can fix this—”

Rewalt’s gaze sharpens, even as his hands tremble.

”Asdri, promise me,” he says. ”If I die here—if our kingdom falls—I want you to survive. And when you do… take revenge.”

Asdri’s lips part, but no words come.

”I’ve watched you grow,” Rewalt says, softer now. ”And I know you’ll surpass even them. One day. But not if you die here.”

”What are you two whispering about?”

Astram’s voice cuts through the tension like a dagger through silk. Cold. Sharp. Unmistakably dangerous.

Rewalt straightens—but before he can answer—

Astram vanishes.

”Asdri!” Rewalt roars. ”NOW!!”

The ground shakes.

A tremor, violent and thunderous, ripples through the floor and up the walls of the ancient crypt. Outside, the entire capital city of Valgros begins to tremble, as if the earth itself is waking from a long and bitter sleep.

Then—the towers ignite.

Three mage towers, positioned in a vast triangle around the kingdom’s heart, flare to life. Their spires pulse with arcane energy, each beam of magic shooting skyward before curving inward, forming a dome of flickering light above the city.

Arcane glyphs spin in the air around them. Circles upon circles. Ancient and precise.

A boom like a divine drumbeat shakes the air as the three towers sync. Pillars of raw mana crash downward in thick beams of brilliant energy, targeting the crypt’s outer walls—not to destroy, but to contain.

Rewalt spreads his arms wide, his voice rising in a roar as he calls on the towers.

”You monsters think you’re above us!” His voice rings with fury, desperation, and pride. ”You think because we have no Tier 6s, we’re defenseless?! This is my kingdom! You will not break it without a fight!”

He slams his palm into the ground. A pulse of mana erupts from him, linking with the towers. The glyphs around his body shimmer, forming a living diagram between him and the three colossal arcane constructs outside.

The very air grows heavy.

Astram appears again, mid-air this time, weaving between the falling tower beams—too fast to follow. The mage towers adjust, tracking him like divine sentinels. Their beams curve unnaturally, bending space, tearing across the sky like god-forged whips.

Astram narrows his eyes and spins through a midair glyph strike—he barely avoids one tower’s piercing beam, but a second tower locks on, launching a spiral of burning sigils that detonate midair. The shockwave knocks him back, ice forming in the wake of his movement.

”Its impressive that your kingdom have something like this,” Astram snarls, landing in a crouch. ”But it’ll take more than toys to kill me.”

Rewalt lifts both arms, blood running from his nose now. His voice is raw.

”I know this won’t be enough to kill the two of you, but your subordinates won’t be as lucky,” he growls.

All three towers converge their beams into a singular point—aimed not at Astram, but at the heart of the crypt itself. A containment field blossoms, mana walls folding over one another like massive petals of glowing steel.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t warn. Doesn’t hesitate.

In a blink, a spear of condensed arcane energy forms in his hand, shaped like jagged crystal and charged with the fury of the towers above. He hurls it forward with terrifying precision—not at Astram, but at Carwel and Tandu.

Carwel reacts first—his hand comes up in a fluid motion, a barrier of fire forming just in time to catch the incoming spear. It shatters on impact, but the force sends him skidding backward across the stone, boots carving trenches in the floor.

Tandu darts forward, eyes flashing. ”He’s turning on us!” he snarls, and leaps into the air, a huge war axe in his hands.

Rewalt raises both hands.

From the ceiling, a dozen beams of light crash down—each one tracking Tandu like celestial spears.

Carwel curses under his breath. ”Damn using the towers like an extension of his body—he’s synced with the whole city!”

Tandu vanishes in a flash, reappearing just behind Rewalt, axe raised to strike—

But Rewalt smiles.

A glyph flares beneath Tandu’s feet—hidden until now.

”Tier 5 skill: Mirror Reversal.”

There’s a flash of pure light, and Tandu is launched backward, crashing into a pillar as his own attack is redirected into his gut. He groans, smoke rising from his armor.

”I told you,” Rewalt breathes, arcane lines glowing up his arms. ”This kingdom is built on blood and preparation.”

Astram steps forward, cold fury in his eyes. The temperature in the crypt plummets—frost begins to bloom along the edges of the stone walls, creeping like veins of white death.

”Human,” he says, voice low and seething with power. ”After I kill you… I will freeze this city to its bones. Not a soul will remain warm enough to scream.”

Rewalt rises to his full height, unflinching. ”Then I die standing. And you’ll remember that.”

Without warning, Astram lifts a hand. The frost surges outward like a crashing tide.

”Tier 5 Skill: Cryo Lance.”

A spear of pure ice forms in the air, whirling with jagged shards. It tears through the space between them in an instant—but Rewalt twists aside, barely dodging, the spear carving through stone behind him like paper.

He retaliates, palm flashing—glyphs swirl outward as one of the tower beams answers his call.

A massive arcane blast roars toward Astram, radiant gold laced with silver lightning.

Astram lifts both arms.

”Tier 5 Skill: Permafrost Bastion.”

A wall of translucent ice erupts from the ground—thicker than a castle gate, its surface glowing with runes. The tower blast crashes into it, but doesn’t break through. Cracks form—but the wall holds.

Rewalt doesn’t hesitate—he teleports behind it mid-cast.

”Tier 4: Spatial Shift.”

Astram spins to meet him—but Rewalt is faster, thanks to the three tower buffing his peak tier 5 strength. His fist, wreathed in energy, crashes into Astram’s ribs. The impact sends a wave of kinetic force outward, cracking the floor and knocking both Carwel and Tandu back down.

Astram grunts—he’s hurt. Not badly, but surprised.

Rewalt follows up—another glyph lights under his foot and arcs to the ceiling.

”Tier 5 Skill: Heavenfall Array!”

Dozens of radiant bolts rain from above, each one honed by the towers’ power, guided like missiles. They all home in on Astram.

Astram lifts his hand again, cold light swirling around him.

”Tier 5 Skill: Glacial Nova.”

With a flick of his wrist, a blast of cold explodes outward. The bolts freeze mid-flight, halted inches before impact—then fall to the ground in shattered fragments of golden frost.

Rewalt charges through the mist. His sword manifests in his hand—a blade forged of condensed tower energy, humming with layered glyphs. He slashes.

Astram blocks with his forearm—ice encases it mid-swing—but the blade cuts through halfway before stopping. Blood stains the frost.

Astram snarls. ”Enough.”

”Then fall,” Rewalt spits.

They clash again.

Fist meets blade. Glyph meets frost. Firestorms erupt from defensive spells. Ice rains from the ceiling as Astram tries to summon a local storm. The walls of the crypt tremble with every impact, runes flaring and dimming in rapid succession.

The mage towers groan. Their beams sputter. One of them—the eastern one—dims slightly. The field over the capital flickers.

Rewalt stumbles.

His breath is ragged. His face pale.

The glowing lines across his arms are flickering now—unstable.

Astram notices.

”You’re burning through the towers’ reserves,” he says coldly. ”You won’t last much longer.”

”I don’t need to,” Rewalt growls, raising his hands again. Another beam slams into Astram—but this one only scorches his cloak.

Astram wipes away the embers.

Then he exhales, and the air howls.

”Enough games. I gave you the honor of dying as my enemy. Now you die like the rest.”