Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Chapter 284: Chapter 283: Red Ember Clan

The shock of their breakthroughs still hangs in the air when, only days later, the five rulers gather their councils and armies.

In each hall, murmurs ripple among nobles and elders.

Some protest, their pride clinging to the empire like a rotting chain.

But the rulers, now peak Tier 6, silence them with presence alone.

Wesia, Royal Council Hall.

A noble slams his fist on the table. ”This is madness! To strike at the top rank. Do you intend to drag us all into the abyss?”

King Ravok rises slowly, his aura leaking into the chamber like a crushing tide. The nobles stagger, their voices choking in their throats. His eyes narrow.

”Treason?” His voice is calm, iron-heavy. ”No. Treason was the empire abandoning us. What we do now... is survival. And survival means victory.”

The nobles fall silent. None dare argue further.

Raedel Clan Keep.

Selira sits at the head of a long table, her voice cool, her gaze sharp.

An elder leans forward, voice shaking. ”Matriarch, surely there must be another way. To fight against the empire’s top allies is to invite destruction.”

Selira’s aura sharpens, slicing through the air like glass. The elder gasps as if his breath is cut away. She speaks softly, but each word lands like a hammer.

”If you cannot stomach His Majesty’s way, then you may leave. But know this—Raedel does not bow twice. Our clan follows my decision.”

The hall goes still. One by one, the elders lower their eyes in silence.

Ironfang Clan Arena.

Warriors gather, shouting in uproar. One tier 6 warrior said. ”We have fought for the empire for generations! To turn our blades now—”

Gorvak raises his hand. His aura slams into the ground like a quake, silencing the arena. His voice rumbles, deep and unyielding.

”The empire denied me power. His Majesty gave it freely. Who among you dares call that betrayal?”

No one answers. The warriors lower their heads, fear and respect twisting into something else—loyalty.

Blackspire Kingdom.

King Malrik listens as his ministers argue, their voices sharp and frantic. ”We cannot match the empire! Even with your breakthrough, Majesty, their strength is too vast—”

Frost creeps across the table, spreading under their hands. The room falls into silence as Malrik’s cold aura settles over them like a noose. His eyes gleam, hard as ice.

”Who said we fight alone? His Majesty will send aid to stand with us.”

No minister speaks again.

Calon Fortress.

Lord Kaelen stands before his generals, his voice booming like thunder. ”The empire is weak. Their chains are rusting. Do you think I would risk this if His Majesty had not proven his strength?” Lightning crackles along his arms, the scent of ozone heavy in the air.

One hesitant general speaks. ”And if the empire retaliates?”

Kaelen smiles, aura flaring like a storm breaking over the mountains. ”Then we show them our new strength.”

His warriors roar their approval.

And so, within mere days, the five rulers move as one.

Armies march, banners rise, war horns echo through valleys. Monsters—discipline forged under Alix—march beside them.

The night is quiet around the Ember Clan’s territory.

A pale moon hangs above, its glow catching the edges of the watchtowers that circle the city. The air smells faintly of ash and iron, the natural scent of the clan’s lands.

Inside one of the small towers on the outer ring, two Ember warriors—both Tier 5—lean against the wooden railing, their spears propped beside them. Their armor glimmers faintly in the firelight of the braziers below.

One scratches his chin, breaking the silence.

”I heard a rumor... that the five traitors are planning to attack us.”

His companion snorts, spitting into the dirt below. ”I know. And guess who drew the short straw to be stuck on duty tonight? Us. Unlucky bastards.”

The first warrior chuckles dryly, though his eyes linger uneasily on the dark forest stretching beyond the walls. ”Those traitors aren’t much to be afraid of, though.”

The second warrior shakes his head, a shadow crossing his face. His tone lowers. ”The traitors don’t worry me. It’s the monsters. I heard whispers... they don’t get tired. They move like one too.”

The first scoffs, though his hand drifts to his spear, gripping it a little tighter. ”Fairy tales to scare us. If they do come, we’ll—”

His words stop.

The brazier’s flame flickers, though there’s no wind. A sudden, unnatural stillness settles over the night.

Then, from the corners of the watchtower, shadows ripple like spilled ink.

Figures emerge—silent, cloaked in black. Their blades glint for the briefest instant, moonlight catching on steel before the strikes land.

The two warriors don’t even have time to shout. A thin line of red blooms across their throats, breath dying in silence. Their bodies slump against the railing, eyes wide, as the shadows slip past them like smoke.

Across the outer ring of the city, the same scene unfolds.

Dozens of watchtowers, dozens of Ember warriors—Tier 3, Tier 4, even Tier 5—stand guard. None raise an alarm. None even realize the danger until their vision goes dark.

The Shadows of the Monster King move as one, emerging simultaneously across every post. Not a whisper escapes. Not a single horn is blown.

By the time the moon reaches its peak, the entire first line of defense around Ember City lies silent, every warrior dead where they stood—unaware their city’s doom has already begun.

Even in the dead of night, Ember City is far from quiet.

The clan knows the monsters may strike at any moment, and as the rank ten, they are the likeliest target. Torches burn along the walls, patrols march in tight rotations, and at the very heart of the defenses, in a reinforced chamber, the Shield Control Room hums faintly with power.

A lattice of runes spreads across the chamber’s floor and walls, glowing with ember-red light. This formation powers the great barrier that blankets the city. At its center stands a lone warrior of the Red Ember Clan—a Tier 6 guardian, armored in obsidian-etched steel, his eyes never leaving the flow of energy around him. His task is simple: protect the heart of the shield, no matter the cost.

But he is not alone.

From the corners of the chamber, the shadows ripple like living tar. Two figures step out as if peeled from the darkness itself. Cloaked, silent, their eyes faintly glowing violet beneath their hoods. Grell and Tarven from the Umbral race, both newly risen to Tier 6.

The hum of the barrier fills the control room like a heartbeat, steady and unbroken. The guardian keeps his eyes on the formation, unaware that death already coils around him.

From the walls, Grell and Tarven peel free of the shadows, their chitinous exoskeletons absorbing the light until they look like living voids. Their voices are low, more felt than heard.

”We end this quickly. No noise.”

”The plan holds. We use it.”

The two Umbral stalkers move like liquid night. Their claws slide along the stone without a sound, their eyeless faces twitching slightly as the sensory pits along their heads register the guardian’s steady movements, the flow of heat and mana within his body.

The guardian shifts, muttering under his breath, unaware.

”Hmph. Quiet tonight. Too quiet. Maybe the rumors were just fearmongering.”

He adjusts his gauntlet and leans against his spear. The barrier pulses, casting ember-red reflections across his armor.

From opposite sides of the chamber, Grell and Tarven exchange a glance—or what passes for one between their kind.

Grell’s whisper crawls through the shadows.

”We begin.”

Tarven nods once. His claws flex, and his mana flares in perfect synchronization with Grell’s.

Dark runes coil up their limbs, feeding into one another until a single sigil forms in the air between them—Shadow Convergence. The joint skill they purchased with the military points.

The chamber seems to inhale.

The barrier’s glow dims for an instant as the room itself bends, shadows stretching unnaturally. From the fused sigil, a blade of absolute darkness begins to form—long, jagged, writhing with tendrils that eat away at the light. The weapon hums with killing intent, a spear forged to pierce not just flesh but spirit.

The guardian stiffens. His instincts scream.

His head jerks toward the shifting air. ”Who’s there—?!”

Too late.

Grell and Tarven move as one, their bodies dissolving into streaks of black fog. They reappear beside him, the fused shadow-spear thrusting straight toward his heart.

The impact is devastating.