Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Grell returns to his territory late in the afternoon, his carriage rolling past the outer checkpoint as guards salute sharply. The moment he steps down, several stewards rush forward to relieve him of his coat, scrolls, and travel bags.

He waves them off.

”No need. I won’t be resting.”

The courtyard of his manor is lively, soldiers training, servants carrying crates, blacksmiths hammering repairs late into the evening. Two banners bearing his crest flutter in the wind, marking the seat of a baron who governs not one, but two cities.

Grell lifts his chin with renewed confidence.

Inside the main hall, his trusted knight Sir Randon waits in full armor. A middle-level Tier 6, his presence carries the weight of a veteran who’s seen countless battles. He kneels on one knee the moment Grell enters.

”My lord,” Randon says. ”You summoned me.”

Grell walks past him, pouring himself a fresh cup of tea before sitting down. Only then does he gesture for Randon to stand.

”I met with Duke Charles,” Grell announces, voice steady but edged with pride. ”And I succeeded.”

Randon straightens, eyes sharp. ”You have His Grace’s favor, then.”

”More than that,” Grell says, tapping the wooden table. ”He entrusted me with a mission. I am to gather information about Nam City—its… new inhabitants.”

Randon’s jaw tightens. ”The monsters?”

”Yes,” Grell replies. He leans back, expression hardening. ”The Duke wants a full assessment, numbers, strength, possible leaders. With the kingdom in chaos and factions sharpening blades for the throne… every piece of information is leverage.”

Randon nods slowly. ”Then we must act carefully.”

He sets his cup down, his tone shifting to command.

”Randon. I want you to send messengers to both of my cities. Immediately.”

Randon clasps his fist to his chest. ”Who am I calling, my lord?”

Grell says. ”The city lords.”

Randon’s brows lift. ”Both city lords are low-tier Tier 6s. If you gather them here, the cities will be left under weaker officers.”

”I’m aware,” Grell responds. ”But this is worth the risk. I govern two cities—forty thousand soldiers under my authority. And if Duke Charles rises…” He lowers his voice. ”We rise with him.”

Randon’s eyes sharpen in understanding.

Grell continues, ”Tell City Lord Halven of Eastmarch and City Lord Druvan of Redfield to bring their soldiers. I want them in this manor within three days.”

”That will be done, my lord,” Randon says with a firm nod.

”And warn them,” Grell adds, voice lowering, ”this matter concerns the power struggle for the throne. Loose tongues will be punished.”

”Yes, Baron.”

Randon salutes and turns to leave, but Grell stops him with a slight motion of his hand.

”Also… prepare discreet scouts. I’ll need them soon.”

----

Alix’s study is quiet except for the faint scratching of a quill gliding across parchment.

Stacks of reports sit on both sides of his desk, monsters being assigned shifts, trade proposals between monster families, construction plans for reinforcing the walls, tax ledgers rewritten to match the new system he created.

Alix signs another document, flips it over, then reaches for the next one without even looking tired.

The door knocks twice.

A light, polite knock but hurried.

Alix doesn’t look up.

”Come in.”

The door opens, and Vordon steps inside with measured calm, but his eyes reveal urgency. Ruk follows right behind him, ducking slightly out of instinct even though the doorframe is tall enough.

Both immediately place their right fists over their hearts and bow deeply.

”My lord,” Vordon says.

Ruk mirrors the gesture. ”Your Majesty.”

Alix sets down his quill and leans back in his chair. ”Report.”

Vordon straightens, but the respect in his posture remains absolute. ”Our spies have returned just now. Baron Grell… is preparing to invade.”

Ruk clicks his tongue softly, arms folding. ”Tch. The human sure moves fast.”

Alix lifts an eyebrow, more curious than concerned. ”Oh? Already?”

He flips one of the documents closed. ”Do you need the help of Morgro?”

At the mention of the Tier 7 monster, both Vordon and Ruk stiffen slightly. Reverence flashes in their eyes. Morgro’s presence still weighs on them from yesterday— the moment they realized their king commands a being out of legends.

Vordon shakes his head quickly. ”We don’t need it, my lord.”

Ruk steps forward, chest puffing with confidence. ”Let us handle this, Your Majesty. Me and Zevran together will be enough to crush anything that Baron Grell sends.”

Vordon nods firmly. ”Their elites are only low- to mid-Tier 6. They cannot match us.”

Alix studies the two for a moment, then gives a faint, approving smile.

”Very well. I’ll leave it to you.”

Both kneel as one, fists to the floor.

”We will not fail you, Your Majesty,” Vordon says.

Ruk’s voice rumbles low and determined. ”Anyone who threatens your territory… we will turn them to ash.”

Alix dismisses them with a nod. ”Go.”

----

Baron Grell stands at the head of the marching column, his crimson cloak whipping behind him as the wind sweeps across the open plains. The ground trembles under the synchronized steps of tens of thousands of soldiers armor clanking, banners snapping, beasts snorting as they haul war wagons.

Fifteen thousand from his own domain.

Forty thousand brought by City Lord Halven and City Lord Druvan.

Fifty five thousand soldiers in total.

Grell sits atop his armored warhorse, smiling to himself as he watches the unified force cut across the land like a blade.

”This is it,” he mutters. ”This is the chance I’ve been waiting for.”

Sir Randon rides beside him, helm under his arm, expression hard. The older knight glances sideways. ”My lord… we were only instructed to gather intelligence. Nothing more.”

Grell waves one hand dismissively. ”Yes, yes. But the Duke will thank me for initiative.”

Randon frowns. ”And if he doesn’t?”

”Then he’s a fool,” Grell snaps lightly, as if the idea is beneath him. He lifts his chin toward the horizon. ”Think about it, Randon. If I deliver Nam City—cleansed of monsters—into his hands, do you truly believe he will not reward me?”

Randon stays silent.

Grell’s grin widens, ambition burning brighter than the sun above them.

”He might even grant me a new title,” he says, voice brimming with excitement. ”Viscount Grell… yes. That has a ring to it.”

Behind them, the two city lords ride in closer.

City Lord Halven, thin, stern, and sharp-eyed guides his horse forward. ”Baron Grell,” he calls, ”my scouts report we are halfway to Nam City. At this pace, we will reach its outskirts by tomorrow morning.”

Grell nods approvingly. ”Good. Keep the formation tight.”

The army continues its march.

The plains are wide, open, almost peaceful. The only sounds are footsteps, armor, steel, and the distant cries of birds circling overhead.

Randon narrows his eyes upward.

”…Birds don’t usually flock like that over empty plains.”

Grell scoffs. ”You’re being paranoid.”

Randon does not reply, but his hand drifts toward the hilt of his sword.

Then—

A sharp whistle cuts through the wind.

”—Wait,” Randon breathes.

A second whistle follows.

Then a third.

Then a hundred.

FWSSSSSHHHHHH!!!

Grell’s eyes widen. ”What—”

The sky darkens.

Thousands of arrows and glowing spells descend like a waterfall crashing from the heavens.

”AMBUSH!!”

”SHIELDS! FORM DEFENSE!” Halven roars.

”BARRIER! BARRIER NOW!!” Druvan shouts at the mage squads.

The captains react instantly.

Shields slam into place, forming overlapping walls.

Mages chant in unison, mana swirling into a thick, translucent dome.

”Hold it! HOLD IT!” a captain yells.

The first wave hits.

THRUM! CRACK! BOOOOM!

Arrows shatter against the barriers.

Fireballs explode, scattering embers across the formation.

Ice shards slam into shield lines.

The human ranks shake violently under the impact.

But then—

Another wave comes.

Then another.

And another.

Hundreds of arrows per second.

Dozens of spells at once.

Too fast. Too many.

”THEY’RE TEARING THROUGH!” a mage screams as cracks spread across the barrier.

”REINFORCE IT!” Druvan orders, panic in his voice.

”We CAN’T—!”

SHATTER!!

The barrier collapses like glass.

A rain of steel and mana slams down into the packed formation of soldiers.

”AAAHHHHH!!”

”M-my arm!—”

”HELP!!”

Bodies fall in seconds, skewered, burned, torn apart.

Grell’s face drains of color. ”Wh–what is this!? Who dares attack—!”

Randon grabs his arm roughly. ”My lord! We need to retreat or regroup! We are sitting targets—”

The third volley lands.

BOOOOM! FWSSSH! THUDTHUDTHUD!

A thousand screams fill the air.

A thousand soldiers fall.

And the rain of death still hasn’t stopped.

Halven grits his teeth. ”T-this isn’t a normal ambush, who has this much firepower!?”