Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Chapter 368: Chapter 367: Battle Of Siege Weapons

Runes buried beneath the soil flare in defensive patterns, trip sigils, collapse glyphs, spatial snares waiting to fold inward and erase anything reckless enough to step forward.

Ruk, Erel’na, Varesh, and Vordon do not move.

They stand well outside the kill zone.

Erel’na clicks her mandibles softly, four insect-like arms unfolding from her sides. Each limb elongates, chitin flowing like liquid as the tips sharpen into thin, curved blades. Veins of sickly green light pulse along them.

”Trap density is high,” she says calmly. ”They even have poison arrays too. Nasty ones.”

She flicks one blade forward.

A crescent of translucent green arcs through the air, spinning silently. It doesn’t explode, it seeps.

The moment it touches the ground, the poison skill activates.

Mana-binding toxins flood the soil, corroding enchantments rather than flesh. Runes flicker, distort, then rot away as if infected. Several hidden sigils collapse at once, unraveling into harmless sparks.

On the wall, a mage shouts, ”The traps are being neutralized, by poison?!”

Ruk snorts.

The massive minotaur plants one hoof forward, muscles bulging beneath thick hide. His halberd hums as he channels mana into it, the weapon sinking slightly into the earth as if gravity favors it.

”Too many,” Ruk rumbles. ”I’ll peel them.”

He swings.

The halberd doesn’t cut air, it pulls it.

A wave of compressed earth mana surges forward, the ground bulging and rolling like a living thing. Stone plates hidden beneath the dirt are forced upward, cracking apart as their formation collapses.

Boom—

Boom—

Trap pylons snap. Pressure mines detonate harmlessly above ground, their energy dispersing uselessly into the air.

Varesh laughs sharply as lightning crawls over his arms.

”Humans love their toys,” he says, flexing clawed fingers. ”Let’s see how long they last.”

He crouches, then vanishes in a crack of thunder.

A heartbeat later, lightning spears down from the sky, not random, but precise. Each bolt strikes a glowing node barely visible to the naked eye, detonating the control points of chained traps.

The plains light up like a shattered constellation.

On the wall, Kevom’s eyes widen. ”They’re targeting the anchors...!”

Vordon steps forward at last.

Unlike the others, he moves slowly.

Deliberately.

His full-body armor groans as he raises his halberd, earth mana condensing around him so heavily the ground beneath his feet fractures. He plants the weapon down and speaks a single word.

”Suppress.”

The earth answers.

A wide field of brown-gold light spreads outward, pressing down on the battlefield. Traps relying on kinetic triggers falter, their activation thresholds crushed under overwhelming pressure.

Of course, the humans do not just watch.

The moment the outer traps begin to fail, horns blare from the walls.

”Waiting orders!” a voice shouts from a mage tower.

”Fire at will!” Kevom roars.

The sky answers.

Circles of light bloom above the walls as battlemages release prepared spells in synchronized waves. Lances of fire streak outward, followed by spiraling wind blades and dense bolts of condensed mana that scream as they cross the distance.

Boom—

Boom—

Explosions tear through the monster ranks.

Shields rise instantly. Heavy infantry lock formations, interlocking barriers of bone, steel, and hardened mana absorbing the brunt of the assault. The impact still throws bodies backward, monsters skidding across the ground, armor dented, limbs numb.

A wolfman staggers, smoke curling from his shoulder. ”Tch, burned clean through the outer layer!”

”Hold formation!” another growls, dragging him back into line.

On the wall, mages chant again, sweat already beading on their foreheads.

”Ice barrage, release!”

A storm of jagged ice rains down, hammering into monster shields, pinning limbs to the ground, freezing joints mid-motion. Lightning follows from enchanted ballistae, bolts thick as tree trunks slamming into clustered units.

Cries of pain ripple through the army.

No one dies.

But blood is spilled.

Erel’na clicks sharply, her compound eyes narrowing. ”They do have good things.”

Varesh bares his teeth as lightning crawls along his spine. ”Annoying.”

”Expected,” Vordon says calmly. ”They say Bakwell’s defenses are second only to the capital.”

Behind the monster lines, massive shapes begin to move.

Siege weapons, towering constructs of bone, metal, and enchanted wood, lumber forward, crews of monsters working in disciplined silence. Runes ignite along their frames as mana cores awaken.

”Siege line, advance,” Vordon orders.

With a deafening crack, the first projectile launches.

A sphere of compressed stone and mana slams into the city’s outer shield.

WHOOOOM—

The barrier ripples violently, light distorting like water struck by a boulder. Several nearby mages stumble, coughing as backlash rattles through the array.

”Shield integrity down one percent!” someone yells.

Another siege engine fires.

Then another.

The bombardment becomes rhythmic, measured, relentless. Each impact sends shockwaves through the wall, dust raining from battlements as ancient stone groans under the strain.

On the wall, Hecrad watches without flinching.

”Hold the line,” he says evenly. ”Rotate mana stones supply. Don’t overcommit.”

Kevom clenches his jaw. ”They’re not rushing us.”

”No,” Hecrad agrees. ”They’re bleeding us slowly.”

Outside, monsters continue to take hits, burns, shattered armor, broken bones, but discipline never breaks. The wounded are pulled back. Fresh units step forward. Shields never drop.

From the carriage, Alix observes it all in silence.

Zevran’s grin widens slightly. ”Heh. They’re trading blows already.”

Mero crosses his small arms, floating higher. ”Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen such a primitive battle.”

Alix watches the exchange of fire for a long moment, expression calm, eyes coldly analytical.

If my builders were here, he thinks, this city would already be mine.

Without them, the system’s hands are tied. It can construct, yes, but only if the builders are present, only if they go through the motions. Hammer strikes, scaffolds, false effort. The illusion of labor to anchor reality.

A small device slides into his palm, black metal, rune-etched, humming faintly. It is not flashy. It does not need to be. The moment his mana brushes against it, the device wakes, projecting a thin lattice of light that locks onto a distant signature.

Alix speaks casually, as if ordering a meal.

”Vordon,” he says. ”Use the Heavenfall Cataclysm.”

Vordon does not question it.

The brown-gold pressure field around him tightens for a brief moment, then withdraws, collapsing inward as his halberd lifts from the ground. The fractured earth knits itself back together beneath his boots as if afraid to remain broken.

”As you wish, my lord,” Vordon says.

Behind the monster lines, crews move with sudden urgency. Horns change pitch. Signals flare, short, sharp pulses of mana that ripple outward in tight, disciplined sequences. Units peel away, opening a vast circular space at the center of the formation.

”Clear the radius!” a monster commander bellows.

”Minimum five hundred meters!”

Heavy infantry retreat in perfect order, shields raised not toward the city—but inward, bracing for something far worse.

On the wall, Kevom frowns. ”Why are they pulling back?”

Hecrad’s eyes narrow. His hand tightens on the stone railing.

”They are preparing something big.” he murmurs.

Hecrad’s eyes widen, and for the first time since the alarms sounded, a flicker of disbelief crosses his face. He leans closer to the edge of the wall, gripping the stone railing as though to steady himself against the impossible sight.

Kevom and the other four peak Tier 6 knights beside him exchange stunned glances. One of them finally mutters, voice low but shaking, ”...That can’t be... only two of these exist in the entire kingdom. The Heavenfall Cataclysm...”