Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Chapter 224: Chapter 226: Quasi Tier 6 Weapons (part 2)

The prince of Qardon sees it.

The instant the weapons are revealed—the white-silver glint of Solven’s daggers, the obsidian-blue shine of Gresren’s shield—his smile freezes.

His eyes narrow, and for the first time... there’s real surprise.

No—a hint of unease.

”That pressure...” he murmurs, voice low.

He doesn’t move.

He just stares, sword lowered slightly, gaze flicking between the glowing weapons now lighting the battlefield like war torches.

”That’s not Tier 5... Also not a Tier 6” he says again, softer this time. ”That’s Quasi Tier 6.”

Velira, panting, nocks another arrow. Blood drips from her temple, but her eyes gleam.

”Oh?” she says with acid in her voice. ”I thought this was boring?”

The prince doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he clicks his tongue once and finally looks at her—not with the amused, superior confidence of before, but with narrowed eyes.

”Your clan is really going all out this time.”

He steps back once.

For the first time since the battle began.

He mutters. ”Even I never touched one. Only seen them from afar—displayed in sanctums, or in the hands of important people in the kingdom.”

Velira doesn’t miss the shift in his expression.

That flicker of disbelief. The tensing of his jaw. The way his fingers grip his blade just a little tighter.

She lifts her bow—her own weapon now glowing faintly, the wood dark as obsidian and pulsing with pale blue lines of mana. The limbs hum softly, like a sleeping beast beginning to stir.

She doesn’t draw an arrow.

She doesn’t need to.

The quasi tier 6 bow drinks her mana, and in a flash—fwoom—a glowing arrow of pure energy forms over the string.

She draws it back. The arrow gleams brighter.

”I guess I need to thank my clan,” she adds, a smirk ghosting her lips. ”I’m important to them.”

She lets go.

FWOOOSH!

The mana arrow flies—faster than sound—a streak of light tearing through the air.

The prince moves.

Barely.

The arrow grazes his cheek—burning a glowing red line across his face before it splinters against a magical barrier behind him. Bark explodes from the tree it hits.

He stands still—expression frozen.

He touches the wound on his cheek.

Then he laughs. Quietly. Low in his throat.

”I see,” he says. ”Don’t think you are now stronger than me.”

He points his sword at her again.

He points his sword at her again.

”No more holding back.”

He vanishes.

Velira’s eyes snap sideways.

She’s already pivoting, spinning back.

CLANG!

The prince reappears just inches from her, blade aimed for her throat—but she ducks and swipes the bow upward, catching his sword mid-swing and pushing it wide.

She kicks off his chest, flipping through the air, lands—

Fires another arrow in mid-spin.

He blocks—barely. The impact forces him back, his boots scraping against the forest floor.

She lands, already charging another shot.

They clash again.

This time—the fight is different.

The prince’s blade is faster, and his attacks sharper—but Velira’s bow is no longer just a ranged weapon. She’s using it like a staff, a blade, a hammer of precision and magic.

He slashes.

She ducks under and drives the tip of her bow into his ribs. A shockwave bursts from the impact, throwing him back two meters.

He recovers instantly, dashing forward again.

Their movements blur—flashes of steel and glowing mana weaving between tree trunks and low branches.

The prince’s sword tears a deep gash through her side.

She grits her teeth, doesn’t cry out, and launches a counter—a triple shot of mana arrows in a fan formation that forces him to roll back behind cover.

Before the prince can rise from his dodge, Velira vanishes.

A gust of wind bursts where she stood—a cyclone in miniature—and she’s gone in a flash of green-blue light.

”Wind Step...” the prince mutters, rising to one knee. His eyes dart across the treeline, tension prickling along his spine. ”A Tier 5 movement skill.”

Leaves rustle overhead.

Too late.

THWIP!

An arrow of wind-piercing mana slams into his shoulder from the right.

CRACK!

The force shatters the protective barrier he’d just begun to conjure. He grits his teeth as his pauldron dents, mana surging to reinforce his flesh.

”Damn—!”

THWIP! THWIP!

Two more arrows come in from the opposite direction, sharp as blades, riding on howling currents of wind.

He spins his sword, blocking the first—but the second slips under, grazing his thigh.

A clean hit.

He leaps back, snapping a defensive glyph into the air—but even as it flares to life, a fourth arrow tears through the side, cleaving through with precision.

Another whisper of wind.

He flinches and slashes to the left—but nothing’s there.

Then—

”Tier 5: Spiral Gale Shot.”

Her voice echoes across the clearing—above him.

His eyes snap up.

Velira drops from the trees, upside-down mid-air, her bow already drawn back. The mana arrow spinning between her fingers grows long and thin like a spear, wrapped in violently swirling wind.

She lets it go.

FWOOM!

The arrow drills downward like a wind-augmented lance—its tail churning the air behind it.

The prince barely raises his sword in time. The arrow strikes it dead-on.

BOOOOM!!

The arrow slams into the prince’s sword with a deafening roar, and the entire forest floor erupts in a gale-force blast. Trees sway. Branches snap. A crater tears open beneath his feet from the sheer force of the wind explosion.

The prince crashes back—hard—his body skidding across dirt and rock. His blade flies from his hand, tumbling end over end into the brush. There’s cracks around his armor, overloaded and faltering.

He lifts his head just barely... blood smearing his lips.

And then—

FWOOSH.

The light.

A column of white energy engulfs him, wrapping around his broken form like a cage of judgment.

”...No...” he rasps.

His body begins to disintegrate into motes of light—teleportation forcefully ejecting him from the field. His voice echoes, twisted with disbelief and fury.

”I wasn’t—done—!”

Then—he’s gone.

Silence follows.

Velira stumbles.

Her knees give out.

She drops to one knee, gasping, the glow of her bow flickering and fading. Her fingers are trembling. Her mana depleted.

The weapon hums low... then goes still.

She looks down at it, murmuring through ragged breath.

”...That... took everything...”

She tries to rise, but her limbs refuse to obey. Her wind aura dissipates like steam.

”I need to help Solven... Gresren—”

She lifts her eyes toward the far side of the woods. Distant crashes echo. Flashes of battle light up the trees.

She wants to move.

But she can’t.

”Damn it...”

Then—

Crunch.

A footstep behind her.

She whips her head around—

And relaxes.

”...Alix.”

He’s already walking toward her, sword sheathed.

He glances toward the spot where the prince vanished, then back at her with an arched brow.

”Oh,” he says casually. ”You won.”

Velira lets out a weak laugh. ”Of course. I told you my clan is going all out this time.”

Alix replies beside her. He scans her injuries quickly. ”You’re out of mana.”

She nods. ”Yeah. That last shot... drained everything. I can’t even lift my arm.”

Velira’s eyes flick toward the distant battle again, pain and urgency still lingering behind her gaze. ”Gresren and Solven... they’re still fighting. Each of them has a Tier 5 on them. Alone.”

Alix stands, following her line of sight.

His eyes narrow.

Through the shifting gaps between trees, he catches brief flashes of movement—Gresren’s massive obsidian shield holding against a barrage of lightning spells, and Solven weaving around a spear-wielding opponent, his dual daggers glinting with quicksilver arcs.

Alix’s gaze sharpens.

He can tell instantly—they’re holding their own.

Against Tier 5s.

”...They shouldn’t be able to do that,” he mutters. ”Not unless—”

Then he sees it.

Solven’s daggers, crackling faintly with unstable energy. Gresren’s shield, the edges flaring like living metal.

Alix tilts his head.

Solven’s daggers, crackling faintly with unstable energy. Gresren’s shield, the edges flaring like living metal.

Alix tilts his head.

”...Tier 6?” he murmurs under his breath.

He steps forward slowly, feeling the residual mana left in the air. Not quite Tier 6... but close. A distorted echo of true tier 6 gear. Tempered but incomplete.

His eyes flick down to Velira’s bow.

Now silent, but unmistakable in make.

She has one too.

Alix exhales through his nose, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

So that’s how they’re still standing.

Alix straightens fully, his cloak fluttering softly as a breeze stirs through the wrecked clearing. His gaze lingers on Solven’s daggers, then Gresren’s shield.

”That’s interesting,” he murmurs to himself, gaze lingering on Solven’s daggers and Gresren’s shield. ”Failed Tier 6... and not just one. Three of them.”

He glances down at Velira’s exhausted form, then at her bow lying across her knees like a dormant beast.

He glances down at Velira’s exhausted form, then at her bow lying across her knees like a dormant beast.

’Her clan’s got a blacksmith who can forged that?’ he thought, almost incredulous. ’That’s perfect. My kingdom lacks a good blacksmith.’ His mind is already working. His kingdom lacks anyone even close to that level right now. His smiths can’t forge Tier 5 gear yet. They need more time.

”I might really need to visit this girl’s clan.”

But right now—he has to act.

A fresh explosion rips through the forest. Solven is forced into a backflip, barely dodging a sweep from his Tier 5 opponent’s spear. Gresren’s shield screeches as it deflects another blast of flame.

Two Tier 5s. Pressing hard. No openings.

And Alix... has to fake being Tier 4.

”Tch,” he mutters, flicking his wrist as if shaking tension from his fingers. ”I can’t just bulldoze them like usual.”