Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Chapter 257: Chapter 259: End The Imlan Kingdom (part 1)

Velira rounds on him. ”I’m not just arguing, I’m trying. Doesn’t that matter? I don’t want to be protected—I want to do something.”

Solven speaks up next, voice low but steady. ”Sir Hadrik is right, Velira. Our enemy isn’t just dangerous—they’re devastating. You step onto that field, and if one of those Tier 6s finds you—”

”I’m not helpless, Solven!” she snaps. ”I’m Tier 5. I can at least distract them, or defend—”

”You’re not listening,” Hadrik says, voice now like stone. ”This isn’t about what you can do. It’s about what I won’t allow.”

He walks around the table until he’s directly in front of her. His towering presence dwarfs hers, but Velira doesn’t flinch.

”You’re family,” he says, quieter now. ”The only child of my brother. The future of our name. If I lose you out there... I won’t just lose a fighter—I’ll lose everything we’ve built.”

Velira swallows hard.

She looks away, jaw clenched, shoulders trembling with unspoken words.

”Fine. I give up.” she mutters. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Hadrik doesn’t speak right away.

”I’m sorry,” she adds. ”If I’m being stubborn... I just... I hate feeling useless.”

Hadrik’s expression softens, a rare thing on his scarred face. He places a hand gently on her shoulder.

”It’s alright,” he says. ”That’s in the blood of the Ashedge Clan. Being stubborn, I mean. Comes with the name.”

Velira lets out a shaky breath and finally meets his eyes. ”Uncle Hadrik...”

He lifts his brows.

”Promise me,” she says quietly. ”Promise me you’ll come back.”

He freezes.

The tent is silent now, save for the muffled sounds of distant shouting and the clink of armor outside.

”Please,” Velira adds, her voice cracking. ”I don’t care how strong you are. Just... promise.”

Hadrik stares at her for a long moment, then slowly pulls her into a brief but firm embrace. It catches her off guard—but she sinks into it, her face pressed against his chestplate.

”I can’t make that promise,” he says, voice low. ”Not in a war like this.”

Velira starts to protest, but he tightens his grip slightly.

”But I can promise,” he continues, ”that I’ll fight like hell to make it back. I’ll claw my way through monsters, blood, and gods if I have to. That, I swear.”

Velira nods, her hands gripping the sides of his armor.

”...Good,” she whispers. ”That’s good enough.”

He releases her gently, then turns to Gresren and Solven.

”Get her out with the evacuation party. She’s priority one.”

Both nod without hesitation.

Velira doesn’t argue again. But as she’s led out of the tent, she glances back one last time.

Hadrik’s already back at the war table, issuing orders, his back straight as a tower.

She doesn’t say goodbye.

And neither does he.

Because both know—

in this war, goodbyes might never make it home.

-----

One hour later.

A deep, guttural rumble rolls over the land like thunder before a storm.

The air thickens. Soldiers along the ramparts pause mid-motion, eyes turning eastward. Horses whinny. Mages flinch. Archers drop their hands from their bows, breath caught in their lungs.

Something is coming.

Then—

Boom.

The ground trembles as if the world itself recoils.

And from the gray mist beyond the plains, they emerge.

A tide.

An endless, heaving ocean of monsters. Claws, fangs, armored hides. A million-strong army surging forward like a living wall. Their roars shake birds from the sky. Dust and wind rise around them like a second storm.

At the head of this monstrous sea, two titanic figures walk side by side.

Mhazul steps out first.

His footsteps crack the stone beneath him. Twin war axes rest on his broad shoulders, their blades still dark with blood from conquered lands. Crimson veins glow beneath his obsidian skin, pulsing brighter as his aura swells. His eyes burn like molten fire as they scan the city walls—cold, calculating, waiting for challenge.

Flames begin to gather at his feet, licking across the ground. With each step, the temperature rises, sweat beads on every soldier’s skin—and none of it is from fear alone.

Beside him, the air shimmers—

Virela the Stormrend descends from above, wings slicing down like blades of silence.

She lands with deceptive grace, her serpentine form curling slightly as the wind coils violently around her. Her scales shimmer like hammered steel under morning light, and her eyes gleam with eerie intelligence. The very sky seems to shift with her arrival. Clouds churn overhead. A storm brews instantly.

And when she speaks, her voice tears through the wind like thunder from the heavens.

”You smell it too, Mhazul?” she hisses, her tone lazy but lethal. ”Fear. They stink of it.”

Mhazul grunts, cracking his neck. ”Let them. It’ll season their ashes.”

On the wall, Bulad grips the stone railing with white knuckles.

His massive halberd is strapped to his back, and his face is taut with strain. Next to him, Caizie stands frozen, her usually calm face pale.

A ripple of primal dread coils in her gut as she meets Virela’s gaze, even from across the field.

”W-What... what is that?” she whispers. ”I can’t even breathe right.”

The pressure from the two approaching monsters is like standing beneath an avalanche that hasn’t fallen yet—but will. Any second.

Some Tier 3 soldiers drop to their knees. Others stagger backward, eyes wide and wild.

Bulad grits his teeth hard enough to draw blood.

He clenches his jaw. ”Caizie. Shield.”

Caizie flinches, then blinks, snapping out of it. ”R-Right!”

She thrusts her hands forward, and the runestones along the wall flare to life.

With a deep hum and a shudder, a towering dome of energy bursts into existence over the capital—a glowing blue shell of protection encasing the inner walls. Magical sigils twist in the air around it like celestial rings.

The sound of the shield activating echoes like a bell toll.

A line drawn in the sand.

Bulad straightens his back. His voice is iron.

”This city doesn’t fall today.”

From behind them, generals, commanders, and captains call out across the wall. Archers take position. Mages begin their incantations. Soldiers steel their nerves. The fear remains—but now, it has something to cling to.

Bulad’s voice cuts through the chaos:

”Look at me!” he shouts. ”Everyone!”

Hundreds of heads turn to him.

”What you feel right now is real. That fear in your chest? That’s what it means to be human in the face of monsters. But it’s also what gives us our edge.”

”We feel because we live. And that’s why we fight—so we can keep living! For our families, for our names, for this city!”

He gestures at the massive figures approaching.

”Let them see we’re not prey. Let them see what it costs to take this city!”

A roar goes up from the wall—shaky at first, but growing stronger. Louder. Real.

Below, Mhazul watches silently.

Then he lifts his war axes from his back. The flames rise like pillars. The wind dies down for just a moment.

Then he raises his voice, and it crashes across the battlefield like a war drum.

”FOR THE ONE WHO GAVE YOU A SECOND CHANCE!!” Mhazul bellows, his voice booming like a god’s fury.

The horde of monsters stops—just for a breath.

Every clawed foot, every armored hoof halts.

Every staff, every gleaming fang turns toward him.

”FOR THE HONOR OF HIS MAJESTY!!”

His twin axes slam together, sending out a shockwave of molten sparks.

”ATTACK!!!”

The world erupts.

Siege horns scream from the monster ranks like banshees loosed from the abyss. The frontlines surge forward—an ocean of fangs and claws crashing against the earth with a sound like thunder.

Siege weapons, monstrous constructs of bone, steel, and rune-bound obsidian, groan to life. Spikes of jagged black iron click into place as monstrous engineers, hunched and twitching, slam mana stones into glowing sockets. The stones flare—blood-red, blue, sickly green. Magic floods the constructs. The air warps with heat and pressure.

Catapults, ballistae, and tower-mounted arcane cannons lurch up toward the walls.

And then—

BOOM!

They fire.

Searing bolts of enchanted steel and flame scream through the air, crashing into the shimmering barrier around the city. Explosions ripple across the shield, sending shockwaves that rattle rooftops and shatter glass. The city trembles under the weight of their assault—but the barrier holds.

Spells rain from the sky. Lightning, shadowflame, frost spears, curses—hundreds of arcane missiles cast by the monsters’ Tier 3 and 4 mages. Their chants echo like the gnashing of teeth.

But amidst the chaos—

Mhazul steps forward.

His eyes close.

The twin axes drop to his sides, point-down, buried into the earth. The ground steams where they touch. He spreads his arms wide, and the runes carved into his muscles ignite—bright red brands that glow from his throat to his wrists.

From his chest, a burning light begins to pulse.

The monster army doesn’t flinch. They kneel.

They know what comes.

Mhazul opens his mouth—

And roars.

The sound isn’t just a sound. It’s a Tier 6 skill. A nameless wrath given form. It tears across the battlefield, rips through the clouds, and crashes into the city shield like the fist of a god.

A massive spectral effigy forms behind him—a burning titan made of molten war-smoke and flame, mimicking Mhazul’s posture, towering higher than the tallest spire in the capital. It raises its arms in sync with him, then slams both axes downward in a blazing X—

KRAAAAK!!

The city’s shield warps under the pressure, the sky turning blood-orange as the impact flashes brighter than the sun. A shockwave blasts outward in every direction—scorching sand into glass, flipping carts, hurling debris from the outer walls.