Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

He raises both arms. The air around him freezes solid—then shatters into dust as magic surges.

”Tier 6 Skill: Absolute Silence.”

The world blinks.

Rewalt’s ears pop—sound vanishes.

Then, from every corner of the room, ice spears form out of nothing. A dome of frozen death collapses inward, completely silent. The very concept of sound is removed from the space.

Rewalt’s eyes widen. He tries to summon the towers again, but the glyphs on his arms shatter like glass. One of the towers flickers—then dies.

He raises his sword one last time.

The ice spears pierce him from all sides.

His body jerks—once.

Blood splashes the frost.

The towers fall silent.

Astram exhales, and sound returns like a roaring vacuum.

Rewalt crumples forward, the light fading from his eyes, one hand still reaching toward the altar—as if trying to push Asdri away.

Astram stands over the fallen king.

Astram looks down at Rewalt’s lifeless form, his eyes cold and unfeeling. He raises his head, his gaze sweeping across the room, the power of the Tier 6 skill still lingering in the air. His voice is low, dripping with contempt and anticipation.

”Next,” he says, turning to face Tandu and Carwel, ”let’s destroy this kingdom.”

Tandu, his armor scorched and dented from the earlier battle, grins wickedly. His eyes flash with excitement. ”Yes, Lord Astram. It will be... a pleasure.”

Carwel steps forward, his fiery aura still burning hot, though his expression is colder than usual. ”We’ve already broken the heart of this kingdom. Now let’s shatter the rest of it.”

Astram smirks, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. He takes a step toward the door, his presence overwhelming. The air around him grows even colder, frost creeping up the walls. But before he moves, Veyrith steps into his path, blocking his path.

Astram’s eyes narrow. ”What is it, Veyrith?” he asks, his voice sharper than ever.

Veyrith stands tall, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t move or flinch, though his tone carries a heavy weight. ”Astram,” he begins, his voice calm but filled with years of unspoken pain, ”do you really need to kill all these innocent humans? They’ve done nothing to us.”

Astram’s lip curls in disdain, the air around him growing even colder. ”Why not?” he sneers. ”They’re just humans, Veyrith. Weak, fragile, nothing more than pests. And right now, I’m in a bad mood. I need to vent it, and they’re the closest thing to a target.”

He steps forward, but Veyrith doesn’t budge, his gaze steady. ”Is that really the reason? You’d destroy them all just to release your anger? You’ve been at this for years, are you not tired?”

Astram pauses, his expression hardening. ”What are you talking about?” His voice is low and dangerous.

Veyrith’s eyes flicker with an emotion that’s hard to place—sorrow, perhaps, or resignation. ”I’ve seen it all, Astram. Your endless quest for destruction. Your desire to burn everything down. But it’s time, don’t you think? Time for us to end this fight—for the lives we’ve taken, for the people we’ve lost… for the destruction we’ve caused.”

Suddenly, light streaks through the shattered remains of the crypt’s ceiling.

Two figures descend.

One cloaked in dusky silver, eyes sharp as moonlight—Alix. The other armored in deep blue, his lance strapped across his back—Lathar.

They land at the far end of the chamber, the wind from their descent scattering frost and ash. Silence floods the space again, this time tinged with tension.

Veyrith turns sharply, his eyes widening as he sees them. For a second, his composure breaks.

”…Alix? Lathar?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. ”You’re alive?”

His breath catches in his throat. The disbelief slowly gives way to something else. Relief. ”How did you two survive? Are… are you the only ones left?”

Alix doesn’t answer immediately. He steps forward, calm and poised, his eyes gliding over Astram’s blood-soaked form, the frozen remains of Rewalt, then back to Veyrith.

But before he can speak, Astram’s voice cuts in—sharp, commanding.

”Where are my commanders?” Astram demands, his voice echoing with icy fury.

Lathar steps forward. His tone is formal, steady.

”Lord Veyrith,” Lathar says, his voice firm but respectful. ”I came here to tell you something… Everyone—including Astram’s commanders—are already under His Majesty Alix’s banner.”

Veyrith’s expression twists in confusion. ”What?” he breathes.

Across the room, Svira recoils like she’d been slapped.

”What are you saying, Lathar?!” she snaps, fury flashing in her voice. ”Are you out of your mind? And why are you calling him His Majesty?”

Lathar sighs, running a hand through his hair. The weight of everything they’ve been through sits heavy in his voice.

”I’ll explain,” he says quietly. ”Something went wrong inside the crypt. Terribly wrong. The entire place tried to erase us.”

His eyes flick to Veyrith, earnest.

”If it wasn’t for his majesty, none of us would’ve made it out.”

Astram scoffs—mocking and cold.

”Do you hear yourself?” he says. ”Are you saying my commanders betrayed me? You expect me to believe that?”

Lathar’s voice tightens as the memory surfaces. ”He didn’t just fight alongside us—he saved us. The crypt awakened something. Something ancient. A Tier 7 monstrosity buried deep in its heart. It wasn’t just a trap—it was a purge. One meant to kill everything inside.”

Astram scoffs, the sound sharp and disbelieving.

”You’re telling me,” he says slowly, ”that this guy killed a Tier 7?”

He turns his gaze on Alix, contempt flickering behind his icy eyes. ”That this is the one you now serve?”

Carwel spits to the side. ”Ridiculous.”

Tandu laughs—short and ugly. ”That thing inside would’ve annihilated even us. There’s no way a all of you will walked out alive.”

Astram’s lips curl. ”And you’re saying my commanders… betrayed me? Just like that?”

”They saw the truth,” Lathar says. ”The kind of leader they wanted to follow. One who stood between us and certain death, even when he didn’t have to.”

Alix finally steps forward, his presence unnaturally calm amidst the storm of disbelief and fury swirling in the chamber. His cloak rustles lightly, untouched by the chill.

”I suppose I should introduce myself properly,” he says, his voice smooth, clear, yet carrying a quiet weight that stills even the breathing in the room. ”You’re all here to help this human king, right? To annihilate his enemies.”

His gaze lowers, falling upon the crumpled corpse of King Rewalt. There’s no emotion in his face—just cold observation.

”I guess you already handled that part,” he says dryly. ”But it doesn’t matter.”

His eyes lift again, and this time his aura surges. Thick, oppressive. Ancient.

”Because you’re still my enemies,” he says. ”Which means… I’ll have to kill you.”

The room tenses—Svira steps back instinctively. Even Astram subtly shifts his footing.

But then Alix raises one hand slowly, palm open toward them.

”That said,” he continues, almost casually, ”if you join me—pledge yourselves fully and prove your loyalty—I might give you what you’ve always wanted.”

A flick of mana dances at his fingertips.

”Power,” he says simply. ”Strength. A path to Tier 7.”

Tandu stiffens slightly. He leans toward Astram, whispering just loud enough for his voice to carry. ”My lord, I remember now… That’s the one we told you about. Even when he has only Tier 5 strength… his aura—it was heavier than ours. That’s why we retreated back then.”

Astram’s jaw tightens.

Veyrith narrows his eyes. ”Wait. What do you mean… achieve Tier 7?” he asks, voice slow, wary.

Alix glances at him.

”Isn’t that why you came here?” he says. ”The Tier 7 skill book hidden in this crypt. That’s what you were all chasing, wasn’t it?”

There’s a pause—just a breath.

Then four books materialize in Alix’s hand.

Not scrolls. Not illusions. Books.

Bound in strange, otherworldly materials, each pulsing faintly with layered magical circles far too complex to be Tier 6. The pressure they emit is suffocating—like the presence of gods watching from a mountaintop.

”Unfortunately,” Alix says softly, ”you were never going to find it. The crypt has already been destroyed.”

Carwel’s eyes widen. Svira actually gasps. Even Tandu’s grin slips.

Astram—he takes half a step forward before catching himself. His eyes fixate on the books like a starving man eyeing meat. But he stops.

Because even he knows…

Someone who can casually display four Tier 7 skill books in front of a group of elite monsters without fear?

That’s no ordinary monster.

Astram’s thoughts race. ’A descendant of a royal bloodline in the main continent? A hidden heir from one of the main continent’s superpowers? Maybe even... a son of a Tier 7 powerhouse?’

His gaze locks with Alix’s, searching for an answer. But Alix’s face reveals nothing.

Veyrith breaks the silence again. ”And… what do you want from us in return?”

Alix’s eyes turn to him, unreadable. His voice drops slightly, darker now—like a blade being drawn.

”Prove yourselves,” he says. ”Stand with me, or stand against me. I won’t ask again.”

Veyrith’s voice cuts through the silence, low but urgent. ”Are you sure… all my commanders and soldiers are safe?”

Lathar nods firmly, stepping closer to him. ”They’re safe, Lord Veyrith. I give you my word. Alix made sure of it. Every one of them made it out alive.”

Veyrith exhales, a tension in his shoulders easing, even if only slightly.

Then, without warning, Astram speaks.

”I will join you.”

The words drop like a hammer.

Lathar blinks, stunned. ”What?”

Even Veyrith turns, eyes narrowing with disbelief. ”You… will?”

Astram doesn’t hesitate. ”On two conditions,” he says calmly. ”First—I retain command of my own commanders. Second—I continue to rule over my land in Caeland Continent.”

Lathar shoots a glance at Alix, as if trying to gauge his reaction. Veyrith’s expression is unreadable, but his eyes are sharp, wary.