Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Alix’s gaze sweeps the walls, his expression unreadable. His eyes linger on Velira for only a heartbeat—yet in that fleeting moment, her world tilts. It is the same gaze she remembered, calm, unshaken, piercing.

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Velkain’s silence weighs heavy over the battlements. The warriors of the Ashedge Clan stand stiff, their eyes darting between the colossal flying vessel above and the lone figure below who radiates an aura no mortal should possess.

The air itself seems tighter, harder to breathe. The younger warriors shift restlessly, gripping weapons that suddenly feel too small in their hands.

Finally, Velkain exhales, slow and deliberate. His voice cuts through the tense air.

”I have a plan.”

Every eye snaps to him.

He straightens his back, broad shoulders squaring. His tone is calm, but beneath it is a thread of steel. ”I know most of you want to fight. And I know the rest of you cannot stomach the thought of submitting to monsters. I am no different. I intended to fight to the very end.”

A murmur ripples among the warriors, their hearts stirring at the words—but it dies quickly when Velkain’s gaze shifts upward to the sky. His eyes harden as he gestures at the shadow that blots the heavens.

”But after seeing that… and after realizing who stands at its heart…” He shakes his head. ”It is no longer so simple.”

The silence grows heavier. No one dares interrupt him.

Velkain’s jaw tightens, but his voice carries steady. ”Do not forget—it was the same man who helped our clan rise when we were still struggling at the bottom. The same person who gave me the Aetherheart Fruit. The same person who saved my wife.”

The words strike deep. The warriors stiffen, their arguments dying in their throats.

Velira’s eyes widen as she stares at her father. Muv folds her arms, expression tense but unreadable.

Velkain’s voice drops lower, steadier. ”I will offer him a duel. One on one. If I win—he will leave our clan alone. If I lose, and fall…” He pauses, his eyes narrowing, his voice sharp as a blade. ”…then promise me this. Promise me you will submit. Do not let the Ashedge be erased.”

”Father!” Velira bursts out, stepping forward, her voice breaking. ”What are you saying?! You can’t… You can’t seriously think you can defeat him!”

Her eyes shine with a mix of anger and fear. She clutches her chest, her voice trembling. ”I don’t want to lose you… not like this…”

Velkain does not look at her. His eyes stay fixed on Alix in the distance, the weight of his resolve pressing down on everyone around him.

Muv finally speaks, her voice lower, steadier, but no less tense. ”Are you sure about this, Velkain? You felt it earlier, didn’t you? That aura of his… It’s not something any of us below Peak Tier Six can even contend with.”

Her words cut like truth, plain and cold.

Velkain finally looks at her, and though his expression is calm, his eyes burn with something deeper.

”I know.” His tone is grave, but unwavering. ”But I cannot let my clan bow without trying.”

Velkain soars back into the air, closing the distance between himself and Alix. The air trembles with as he got closer, his presence pressing against the silence like a storm trying to break free. He stops only a few meters before Alix, their gazes locking—two rulers standing on the knife’s edge of decision.

”I can’t really submit to you without trying,” Velkain says, voice low but carrying. ”So I challenge you to a duel. If I win, you will leave my clan alone. But if you win… I promise you, the Ashedge will submit.”

A hush spreads over the battlefield. Even the monsters behind Alix grow still, their snarls dying away as if they, too, are waiting.

Alix lets out a long breath.

”Why? Why not just submit? I can help you climb higher. I can help you reach Tier 7. Is it about pride? Or do you simply hate monsters too much to kneel to me?”

Velkain chuckles softly. ”Hate monsters? No. If anything, monsters should hate us. We’ve enslaved them for gods know how long, broke them, chained them, forced them. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you?” His smile fades into something grim, resolute. ”As for pride… perhaps. But I do not want to be the leader remembered for bowing to monsters. My daughter… she can lead them better than me when the time comes.”

Alix shakes his head, a sigh escaping him. His aura dims slightly, as though disappointed but not surprised. ”So that’s it. Then fine. I’ll accept.”

He lifts his hand, calm and deliberate. ”I’ll give you three moves first. As long as you injure me, even a scratch, you win. After that, I will only attack once. If you can withstand it, you win. Does that sound fair?”

Velkain’s brows shoot up. The offer catching him off guard. ”You… you must be so confident in your strength.”

Alix’s lips curve faintly, his eyes half-lidded but steady as mountains. ”It’s not confidence. It’s reality.”

Velkain’s jaw tightens, fire sparking in his chest. He grips the hilt of his sword, its blade humming with power, and his aura swells until the very air ripples around him.

”Then I’ll show you what the Ashedge leader is made of.”

Alix only spreads his arms slightly, scales catching the light like stars in the night. His tone is calm, almost patient.

”Come, Velkain. Make your three moves count.”

The two figures rise higher, wings cutting through the air with effortless strength. Clouds scatter around them, and yet, from below, every warrior and monster can still see them clearly suspended against the canvas of the sky.

The wind howls, stirred not by nature, but by power.

Velkain levels his blade, its edge gleaming like a shard of dawn. His voice resonates across the battlefield, deep and unwavering.

”This is my first attack.”

The sword trembles, then bursts into a storm of light and gale. Runes flare along the steel, feeding into the torrent of energy that gathers at its tip. The air bends, warps—cracks ripple outward, as though the world itself resists what is about to be unleashed.

”Tier Six Skill—Tempest Sever.”

He swings.

The heavens split. A blade of compressed wind, sharp enough to cleave mountains, tears through the air. It stretches for hundreds of meters, a crescent of annihilation that screams like thunder as it descends upon Alix. The sheer pressure rips the clouds apart, sends shockwaves crashing down on the battlefield, forcing even Peak Tier Five warriors to their knees.

The warriors below gape in awe and terror. ”That strike… it could level a city…” one whispers, his voice lost in the storm.

Velkain’s eyes burn with focus, his sword arm steady, his body blazing with will. The tempest closes the distance in a heartbeat—unstoppable, absolute.

Alix does not move.

The storm crashes against him, swallowing his form in blinding light and howling winds. The sky convulses, shattering into rings of energy that ripple outward for miles. The earth below trembles, cracks forming in the distant hills as though struck by an earthquake.

For a moment, nothing can be seen. Only a wall of dust, roaring winds, and the aftermath of destruction.

Then—

The storm clears.

Alix stands exactly where he was, arms folded calmly across his chest. Not a single hair is out of place. His cloak flutters gently behind him, untouched by the chaos that had threatened to erase him.

Velkain’s pupils constrict. His hand tightens around the hilt of his sword. ”Impossible…”

Alix’s gaze is steady, almost bored, but his words carry down like rolling thunder.

”One strike down. Two remain.”

Velkain’s chest heaves as the winds he summoned fade into silence. His knuckles whiten around the hilt of his blade, veins pressing against skin. The disbelief in his eyes flickers only for a heartbeat—then resolve hardens again.

He lifts his sword and points it at Alix, the tip trembling not from fear but from the force of power surging through it.

”My next attack,” Velkain says, his voice deep and sharp, ”will be the strongest Tier Six skill I can muster. The culmination of everything I’ve honed in my life as a swordsman of the wind.”

The air reacts before his blade even moves. A pressure builds, sharp and suffocating, forcing warriors on the battlements to cover their mouths and choke down air that feels like knives in their lungs. The sky above swirls, the clouds twisting into a massive spiral. Lightning arcs within the storm, not of thunder but of pure friction born from wind so sharp it tears the atmosphere apart.