Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Chapter 250: Chapter 252: Nyssara, Thurn, and Vertha

The clash on the air sharpens with every heartbeat.

Velira ducks under a wide glaive sweep, rolls across scorched tiles, and looses an arrow mid-roll—THWIP!

The shaft whistles past the monster’s cheek, slicing the edge of its jaw. It snarls and leaps back, the momentum shaking the old rooftop beneath them.

Smoke and screams drift upward from the plaza. The sound of ten thousand Ashedge warriors pouring in from the breach below is unmistakable.

The monster turns its head slightly, one eye catching the chaos behind Velira—columns of smoke, monsters in retreat, the line collapsing.

Its face tightens.

”No,” it growls. ”Did that guy died?”

Velira stands fully now, no longer crouched. Her bow glows faintly with residual wind essence. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, never leave the enemy in front of her.

”You’re losing,” she says flatly. ”And you know it.”

The monster bares its fangs.

”I am not finished. My king’s favor still burns in my blood. I can still kill you.”

Velira tilts her head. ”Then why are your feet moving backward?”

For a second, it hesitates. Then it glances again at the battlefield below—its forces splintering, their central command broken, flank surrounded. Even the hulking warbeast that once patrolled the southern line lies crumpled near the old bell tower.

The monster’s grip on its glaive tightens.

Then—just slightly—it relaxes.

It steps back once. Then again.

The storm of battle rages behind Velira, but here, on this rooftop scorched by fire and stained with blood, everything slows.

The monster breathes heavily, nostrils flaring. Its armor is cracked. Its left arm trembles from strain. And yet, its eyes still burn—not with desperation, but with something colder. Something deeper.

Hatred.

”I will come back, human,” it says, voice like a low drumbeat in her chest. ”And that time... I will surely kill you.”

Velira doesn’t blink. Her arrow is already nocked. ”You won’t make it that far.”

The monster doesn’t challenge the words. It simply gives her one last look—a final, slow glance that speaks of memory, not rage. A promise made in silence.

Then, it turns.

Velira steps forward immediately, bowstring pulled taut.

But—

She stops.

Velira lowers her bow an inch.

”Tch,” she mutters. ”Coward.”

Behind her, the plaza erupts in triumph.

The Ashedge war banners rise like flame against the ruin of the old fortress. Their warriors cheer as the final pockets of resistance collapse. Enemy lines disintegrate under the coordinated hammer of spear and spell.

From the distant ridge, horns blow three times in succession.

Victory.

-----

Zark City – Wall District, Eastern Perch

The sun hangs high above Zark, casting clean white light across the stone streets. What was once a bustling human capital now thrives under monstrous rule—quiet, orderly, cleaner even than before. Gone are the market shouts and horse hooves. Instead, rows of disciplined beastkin patrol in shifts. No looting. No fires. The city breathes in cold, measured silence.

Atop the eastern wall, five figures cast long shadows.

Gorath, ten meters tall, leans against a watchtower like a man propped against a tavern post. His mountain-thick arms are crossed over his chest, and the stone beneath his feet has cracked from the sheer weight of him.

”I’m getting bored now,” he rumbles, voice deep enough to shake dust loose from the nearby tiles. His eyes scan the quiet horizon with lazy disinterest. ”How is Gander still not giving us any damn assignments? I heard the humans already started taking back their towns.”

He cracks his neck slowly. The sound is like boulders grinding. ”I want to crush a few just to stretch my legs.”

Varkas sits nearby on a stone ledge, clawed feet dangling. The lycanthrope’s fur is mottled grey with streaks of white, and his eyes gleam. Though one pawed hand constantly drums the hilt out of habit.

”We don’t have a choice. Gander decided to accumulate gold coins first for His Majesty,” Varkas says, licking his sharp teeth with a bored grin. ”I heard our enemy this time has twenty Tier 6s, plus the Tier 6s from their affiliated forces. Around thirty-five in total.”

Thurn leans against the inner parapet, eight legs neatly tucked beneath his torso. His chitin gleams under the sunlight, black and polished like lacquered armor. He taps a finger idly against one of the venom-coated fangs at his jaw.

”Oh, wow,” he mutters, half sarcastic. ”Even with the Caeland continent bolstering our side, even though we’ve got fifteen Tier 6s now... we’re still outnumbered.”

He clicks his tongue.

Nyssara sits perched upside-down beneath a wooden beam, legs folded like a resting predator. Her silver-hued chitin gleams faintly with ore-veined streaks, each one glittering like metal under sunlight. She yawns, stretching lazily.

Nyssara said, smirking. ”Some of us are enjoying the break. This city is clean, quiet, and no human smell anymore. Honestly, this might be the nicest place we’ve stayed in since the first invasion.”

Her long serpentine tail is wrapped neatly around the stone railing. Her upper body—elegant, poised—rests comfortably upright as her forked tongue flicks briefly into the air.

Gorath grins—a deep, earth-shaking rumble of a grin. He pushes off the wall, heavy steps thudding like drums as he turns to look at the others.

”You two want to stay here like you’re on vacation?” he says with a teasing edge. ”I might need to tell Gander about this. Let him know his soldiers are getting a bit too comfortable.”

Nyssara jolts, nearly slipping from her perch.

”What—? No, of course not, sir!” she says quickly, flipping upright with unnatural grace. ”For His Majesty, we won’t rest until this entire continent is ours!”

Even Vertha straightens slightly, arms crossed over her scaled chest, her golden eyes narrowing at Nyssara and Thurn.

Thurn clicks his fangs, stiffening under the sudden pressure. He glances toward Gorath with an unreadable look, half nervous half amused, and then shoots a glare at the two women.

”You heard him,” Thurn mutters. ”We’re not here to enjoy the view.”

But before anyone can speak further, Varkas snorts and raises a clawed hand, waving dismissively.

”Stop scaring them, Gorath,” he says. ”They earned the rest. All three of them helped in crushing those human towns easily. And Thurn... well, you poisoned half a fortress in one night, didn’t you?”

Thurn smiles slightly at that—thin, crooked.

Varkas goes on, voice steady. ”Your guy’s strength are rising fast. Wouldn’t surprise me if all of you surpasses us in the next few years.”

Nyssara hums, pleased. ”I wouldn’t mind that.”

Vertha leans her arms on the railing, her long tail curling behind her. ”We only get stronger because of His Majesty’s gifts,” she says softly. ”We’re not rushing ahead. Just following the path he cleared.”

Gorath lets out a low chuckle, folding his arms again.

Nyssara tilts her head thoughtfully, then smirks. ”Speaking of getting stronger... isn’t Princess Ruva already at peak Tier 4 now? I heard she can fight a Tier 5—and probably win. That little psycho’s catching up.”

Vertha nods, her gaze fixed on the clouds drifting lazily beyond the city walls. ”Also that new girl. The Oni His Majesty brought in. The one who manipulates blood.”

”Karnessa,” Thurn says quietly. ”That’s her name.”

”Right,” Vertha continues. ”Her strength is rising just as fast. Last I heard, she absorbed the blood of five tier 4 commanders during that mountain siege. The way she fights... it’s not normal.”

Nyssara’s smirk fades slightly. ”Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If His Majesty even remembers us anymore.”

The silence that follows is short, but heavy.

Varkas turns his head, eyes narrowing. ”He does,” he says firmly. ”His Majesty doesn’t forget his subordinates. Not the weak ones. Not the strong ones. Everyone has a place. Everyone has a chance.”

”You want to stay in His shadow? Then try your best to grow stronger. That’s all he asks. Nothing more.”

The trio go quiet.

Because they know—deep down—they’re different.

They can grow. They’re evolving, faster than ever.

But Varkas and Gorath...

They’ve been the same for years now. No changes. No rises. No gifts. As if they’ve already reached the ceiling of what they can become.

They never talk about it. And no one asks.

Maybe it’s because the others are afraid of the answer.

So instead, they just stand there, watching the horizon.

The wind shifts, carrying the faintest scent of battle smoke from the west. Somewhere, another battle brews.