Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Chapter 249: Chapter 251: Taking Back The Zugan Town (part 3)

It lifts the glaive higher, the blood on its armor steaming in the air.

”A benevolent king,” it says, voice rising, ”who gives freely to those who believe! Who arms even the lowest among us with strength to stand against your cruelty.”

”Cruelty?” Velira’s voice sharpens.

She draws back her bow.

”I’ve seen your kind tear through villages where no soldiers stood. I’ve seen mothers buried under their homes, their children butchered for sport. You call that justice?”

The monster’s eyes burn with intensity. ”They are savage beasts. The ones who serve my king... are something else entirely.”

Velira exhales once, calm and centered.

”Then let’s see if your king’s favor is enough to keep you alive.”

THWIP.

The next arrow looses—silent, blinding, sharper than thought. The moment it leaves the string, the sky howls, and the air bends around its path.

While Velira duels through storm and fire, and Gresren leads the charge through the breach, Solven’s blade dances in the dark.

He moves like a shadow gliding across the battlefield—swift, surgical, quiet. One enemy drops with a slit throat, another with a dagger buried under the chin. His scouts follow his lead, spreading through the gate’s outer defenses like a tide of death.

They’re close. Just twenty meters from the internal lever tower that controls Zugan’s eastern gate.

Then—

A ripple of killing intent flares across the trench.

”—Stop.”

The voice is low. Calm. But wrong. The kind that doesn’t need to shout to freeze a man in place.

From the side corridor of the outer wall, something steps into view.

A beast. Humanoid in shape.

Its body is wrapped in sinew-tight black muscle, skin stained with soot and dried gore. The thing’s eyes glow a molten yellow, not with rage, but awareness. A long obsidian blade rests loosely in its right hand. Its steps are smooth. Silent.

Solven sees it instantly.

”Shit,” he mutters, signaling a halt with a raised fist.

The creature sniffs the air like a predator that already knows the outcome.

A raspy voice echoes from its chest. ”Ohh... someone’s close. I can smell them.”

The beast tilts its head, sniffing again—slow, deliberate.

”You smell like wind.”

Its molten eyes scan the trench ahead but don’t settle on anything. Its senses are sharp, but not precise. Not yet.

Solven doesn’t breathe. He remains crouched low in the shadows, cloaked by smoke and stone. One dagger in each hand, both humming faintly with wind essence, their curved edges sharpened to a near-molecular edge. The air around him stirs unnaturally, muffling sound, blurring his shape just slightly—Whisper Veil, a Tier 4 skill unique to his fighting style.

He glances at his second-in-command—two fingers raised in a flicking motion.

Go.

The man nods once and vanishes into the shadows with the rest of the scouts, moving wide around the flank. The mission continues.

Now it’s just Solven and the monster.

One breath. One strike.

He shifts his footing slowly, silently. The dagger in his right hand flares with concentrated wind, invisible but felt—a vibration in the air like tension before a storm.

Solven narrows his eyes.

One shot. That’s all I get.

The creature steps forward again, still scanning the trench. Its voice, now low and almost amused, floats outward.

”I can’t see you, human. But I know you’re there. Closer than you should be.” A faint smile twists across its face. ”Come. Let’s see what tricks you have.”

Solven exhales.

Then he vanishes.

Tier 4 Skill: Gale Blink.

Wind explodes beneath his feet in absolute silence—a compression burst that rockets him forward in an instant. Not even dust stirs behind him.

He appears directly behind the monster mid-lunge, both daggers raised in a cross pattern above its nape.

”Found you,” he whispers.

Tier 4: Razor Vortex.

He slashes downward in an X, twin blades spinning with wind-edge that spirals as it lands—shredding through the air with a shriek like rending metal.

SHHHRRRRKKK!

The strike lands hard. The monster stumbles forward with a shocked grunt, back arcing, cloak and sinew tearing as blood sprays into the trench wall.

But—

CLANG!

The obsidian blade flashes backward, faster than expected. The flat of it slams toward Solven’s side like a hammer.

He twists, barely catching the blow on his offhand dagger. The impact jars through his arm, sending him flying back through the trench.

Solven rolls with it, absorbing the impact, then skids to a stop—knees low, one hand on the dirt. Blood trickles from his lip. He’s already back on his feet.

Solven rises slowly.

Every rib screams. The strike cracked something—probably more than one thing—but he doesn’t falter. He doesn’t have time to. The mission is still moving.

He tightens his grip on both daggers, the wind around his arms coiling tighter now, responding to his resolve. The hum turns into a low whine as air pressure builds. His eyes sharpen, locked on the beast stepping out of the crater.

It rotates its neck with a pop of bones. Blood seeps from its back, but it doesn’t seem to care. It lifts the obsidian blade in one hand, dragging it across the ground lazily as it walks forward.

”You move well,” it says. ”But you bleed too easily.”

Solven breathes out through his nose.

”That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

The creature lunges.

No roar, no warning—just a blur of black steel slicing horizontally with impossible speed.

Solven dives under, barely ducking the slash, and slashes upward with both blades—left for the ribs, right for the wrist. Wind flashes like a whipcrack.

The creature pulls its arm back just in time, but the left dagger slices deep into its flank. Blood spills, but the monster headbutts forward without hesitation.

CRACK!

The impact jars Solven’s vision. He stumbles back, vision flashing white—but not before slashing out in a sweeping arc, kicking up a blade of compressed wind between them.

Tier 4: Cross Shear.

The wind slice connects, hurling the monster back a few meters. It lands on its feet, barely, a red gash across its chest now widening. It growls, crouching low as its healing slows.

Solven pants, lips bloody, body aching.

I need to finish this. Now.

He closes his eyes for a split second. Feels the air shift around him. Feels the pull of the storm waiting to be unleashed.

He grips his daggers tightly.

”Let’s see if your lungs strong enough for this.”

The wind howls.

Tier 5: Wind Burial.

Solven vanishes again—no flash, no warning. Just gone.

Then a roar of slicing air from above.

He comes down like a spear, both blades aimed directly for the monster’s shoulders.

The creature raises its blade to block—too slow.

CRUNCH!

The daggers sink in, piercing muscle and snapping collarbone. Solven twists, and the wind explodes outward like a detonation.

The trench shudders. Dust and gore scatter in every direction.

The beast screams, its blade flung from its hand, landing yards away. It falls to one knee, snarling, one arm limp.

Solven lands hard, coughing, nearly collapsing from the force of his own strike.

The monster stares up at him, wheezing, molten blood dripping from its mouth.

”You... bastard...” it growls.

Solven wipes blood from his mouth and straightens, breathing raggedly.

”Still standing?”

The beast tries to rise, but its leg buckles. It snarls again—feral, pained—but then suddenly freezes.

Shunk.

A wind-forged dagger is embedded in its throat.

Solven stares, unmoving. He doesn’t even remember throwing it. Just acted on instinct.

The monster gurgles, eyes wide in disbelief.

Then it slumps forward, dead.

Solven lowers his daggers at last.

-----

Shortly after, the iron groan of ancient mechanisms echoes through the trenches.

KRRRNNNNK-THUNK!

The massive eastern gate of Zugan creaks open at last, chains rattling, gears grinding against years of disuse. Dust spills down from the gatehouse, and the towering slabs of reinforced steel part just enough, and ten thousand soldiers waiting surge through like a crashing wave.

”For the Ashedge clan!” roars the vanguard commander, his voice swallowed by the thunder of boots and war cries.

Ten thousand Ashedge warriors surge through the breach like a flood loosed from a dam.

The sound is deafening—boots pounding, metal clashing, banners whipping in the wind. Tiered formations pour in with precision honed over years of reclaimed battles: shieldbearers in the front, spearmen behind them, and squads of mages preparing to unleash their opening salvos.

The defending monsters don’t realize the breach until it’s too late.

Near the plaza—where Gresren’s forces have held the enemy’s focus in a brutal tug-of-war—an explosion of horn blasts rings out.