Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Chapter 248: Chapter 250: Taking Back The Zugan Town (part 2)

The sky opens.

Hundreds of wind-forged arrows rain down like a divine tempest, screaming through the air with piercing shrieks. They slam into the outer ring of Zugan Town—rooftops shatter, watchtowers collapse, monsters are impaled mid-step. A row of armored figures vanishes in the blast as wind detonations ripple outward from each impact, throwing debris and limbs skyward.

Panic erupts inside the perimeter.

Screams. Alarm horns. Shouts in monstrous tongues. Formation lines crumble. Patrols scatter to react—too late.

From the ridge, Gresren sees the opportunity and doesn’t hesitate.

”Shield wall! MOVE!”

He roars the command, and ten thousand boots thunder into motion behind him. The first five lines bring their tower shields to the front, snapping into a tight formation with a boom of steel against earth.

”Break their footing!” Gresren yells, his sword rising high. ”Tier 5: Earthline Surge—go!”

Brown-gold light bursts beneath his boots as he slams his shield into the ground. A rolling wave of stone and dirt erupts ahead of them, tearing a narrow path through broken terrain and into the chaos-stricken perimeter of Zugan. The soldiers behind him channel the same skill in sequence, the earth itself shifting and slamming forward like a tidal wave of solid rock.

The shockwave crashes through the smoldering enemy line just as the final wind arrows strike.

Gresren bellows as he charges, shield raised. ”No mercy! Drive straight through the breach!”

The Ashedge soldiers follow without hesitation, pouring into the fractured southern ring like water down a broken wall.

The Ashedge line crashes through the smoldering breach with brutal force, shields forward, blades drawn. Screams and steel fill the narrow lanes of Zugan’s southern ring as disciplined lines of human soldiers engage the monsters head-on.

But then, a change.

The ground trembles—not from the charge, but from above.

A gust of wind stirs the smoke, and a massive winged figure emerges from the ash-laced sky, its outline blotting out the moonlight like a vulture over carrion. Clad in dark crimson armor lined with jagged bone plating, the monster’s commander beats its wings with thunderous force, rising high above the burning rooftops.

A mid-level Tier 5, its presence alone presses down like a storm.

It raises a jagged glaive in one hand and snarls through a helm shaped like a predator’s skull. Its voice carries over the battlefield like iron dragged across stone.

”Human.”

Its red eyes narrow, locking onto Gresren below.

”Prepare to die.”

Gresren halts mid-charge, lifting his gaze to meet the descending shape. ”Well. I’ve always been prepared to die.”

The monster dives, glaive poised like a harpoon, screaming toward Gresren with killing intent.

But—

WHHHSSSST!

A single arrow whistles through the air, glowing pale green, faster than sight. It slams into the monster’s chest with a burst of compressed wind. Not strong enough to kill—but more than enough to stop the dive cold.

BOOM!

The commander is flung backward mid-air, tumbling once before stabilizing itself with a snarl. Smoke trails from its chestplate where the arrow struck.

It scans the battlefield.

High on a nearby rooftop, cloak fluttering in the chaos, Velira stands with bow raised and fingers already drawing another arrow.

Her voice cuts cleanly across the roar below.

”You don’t touch him.”

The monster’s voice is venomous, livid. ”Another insect with a toy.”

Velira’s next arrow is already glowing, sharper this time. ”You picked the wrong sky to fly in.”

Gresren smirks from the ground, lifting his shield again. ”Appreciate the save, Commander.”

Velira doesn’t look at him. Her eyes stay locked on the airborne threat. ”Don’t thank me yet. That one’s mine.”

Then—she fly.

Wind bursts at her heels and launches her into the air, bow trailing light behind her like a comet’s tail. The Tier 5 commander roars and flies to meet her mid-sky, wings wide and glaive raised.

While chaos tears through Zugan’s southern ring, a different storm begins to brew in the shadows of its eastern gate.

Beneath the veil of smoke and sound, Solven slinks along the inner trench, crouched low, barely a whisper in the dark. Around him, dozens of Ashedge scouts mirror his movements—hoods drawn, faces smudged with ash, blades sheathed in cloth. Their formation is a ghost net, woven tight through the rocky slopes and burnt brush around the fortified main gate.

Through a gap in the crumbled wall, Solven surveys the area ahead.

At the front gate, just over a hundred armored enemies hold a tight perimeter—disciplined, patient. Their armor gleams dull grey in the moonlight, their formation rigid and still. No calls, no chatter, no signs of disarray despite the distant explosions. They’re not reacting to the storm. They’re waiting.

Solven crouches behind a collapsed stone pillar, eyes narrowing as he watches the enemy formation. Sparks of firelight from the burning rooftops flicker behind them, casting jagged shadows over the waiting guards. He doesn’t flinch. Just observes—steady, calculating.

Then he exhales.

Quiet. Controlled.

He turns to his scouts—three dozen elite shadows at his back, each one trained for this kind of moment.

”Alright,” he says, just loud enough for the nearest to hear. ”This is it.”

He shifts his stance, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his dagger.

”There’s about five a hundred of them between us and the gate. That means every single move we make counts.”

The scouts tighten around him, listening closely.

”We go in quiet. We go in quick. No unnecessary noise. No wasted motion. If we’re not fast, the other side starts bleeding.”

He jerks his chin toward the distant screams and clashing steel echoing from the southern ring. ”Velira and Gresren are already drawing the worst of it. That gives us this window. But if we don’t move now, and clean, then we’re done. They’re done.”

He gives a final glance to his second-in-command, a scarred man with a dagger in his both hand.

”You get that gate open no matter what.”

The man nods, dead serious. ”Even if I have to burn through it.”

Solven smirks faintly. ”That’s the spirit.”

Then—he rises, low and steady.

”Let’s move.”

---

Above the battlefield—

Velira and the winged commander clash mid-sky like gods of war.

The air between them twists and booms with each strike. The monster’s crimson glaive cuts arcs of shrieking pressure through the night, meeting arrow after arrow that bursts with elemental force. Each exchange is brief, brutal—a series of flickers and detonations across the smoke-lined sky.

Velira ducks under a horizontal swing, her boots barely brushing the air as wind magic coalesces beneath her. She flips backward and fires point-blank—an arrow tipped with compressed gale.

CRACK!

It slams into the commander’s helm and ricochets with a burst of sparks. The monster barely flinches.

Her eyes narrow.

”That should’ve cracked the skull of a low-level Tier 5...”

She pivots midair and flies back, pulling distance with a hard burst of wind at her heels. As she floats backward, bow already drawing again, she analyzes.

The armor—tier 5. The way the wind dispersed instead of piercing.

The glaive—it sings with aether when it swings. Velira can feel it every time they lock: sharp, greedy, and thrumming like a dragon’s fang in motion. Another tier 5.

But then she sees something else.

Just beneath the monster’s ribs, tucked behind a set of plated ridges—a glint. Not armor. Not steel. A dull, violet gemstone bound into a wrist-length shackle.

A charm? No... a reactive field.

Her eyes widen for just a second.

”That’s a Tier 4 defensive artifact.”

She banks hard as the glaive cuts toward her neck. It misses by inches, singing past her shoulder.

”Who the hell gave this thing three artifacts?”

She looses another arrow mid-spin—this one laced with vibration force. It shatters the air around them, aiming for the monster’s wing joint.

But again—

THOOM.

The glow from the violet gem pulses, and a transparent hexagonal barrier flickers just long enough to absorb the blast. The monster growls, barely staggered.

The monster halts mid-air for just a breath, teeth bared in a grin behind its jagged helm.

”Human...” it growls, voice slick with mockery. ”Getting tired, are we?”

Velira doesn’t answer, but the edge of her breathing has changed—slightly sharper, her shoulders tighter.

The monster chuckles darkly. ”Hah! I see it in your eyes. You’re thinking—how does he have these artifacts? How does a lowly monsters wear three artifacts?”

Its wings spread wide, stirring the smoke with an upward gust as it floats back, theatrically raising the cracked glaive.

”Let me enlighten you.”

Its voice shifts—less mocking now, more fanatical. There’s a flicker of almost holy reverence behind the crimson glow in its eyes.

”It’s all thanks to Him—our godly king. The one who saw what your kind has done to us for centuries. The one who raised us from the dirt and filth you forced us into.”