Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Hecrad swallows, his usually steady voice catching as he whispers, almost to himself, ”So it’s true… the army of humans, led by the marshall himself, actually lost to these monsters. They even brought this siege weapon…” He pauses, eyes flicking to the advancing cataclysm sphere in the monster formation. ”…and still lost?”

Hecrad straightens abruptly.

”All mages!” he roars, his voice carrying across the wall through amplification runes. ”Use everything. Everything. Push the shield to maximum output!”

There is no hesitation.

Crates are ripped open. Mana stones, high grade, emergency reserves, are slammed into conduits by shaking hands. Arrays flare to life one after another, overlapping layers snapping into place like closing plates of armor.

”Secondary barrier online!”

”Third resonance circle stable!”

”Mana draw exceeding safe limits—!”

”Keep it there!” Hecrad snaps. ”If the array burns out after this, so be it!”

Kevom draws his blade halfway, knuckles white. The other four peak Tier 6 generals spread out instinctively, anchoring key points of the wall, their auras flaring as they prepare to reinforce the barrier directly if needed.

They all know this weapon.

Everyone in the kingdom does.

The Heavenfall Cataclysm is not a siege engine.

It is an execution, for the shields.

On the plains, the monster army falls unnaturally still.

The siege weapons lock into their final configuration. Rings align. Pillars sink deep into the ground, drinking from ley veins beneath the battlefield. Runes shift from crimson to blinding white, stabilizing, compressing.

At the center, Vordon stands unmoving.

His halberd hums.

The earth beneath him sinks half a foot as gravity bends inward, mana density climbing so high that even sound begins to warp. Dust lifts, not blown away, but pulled upward, orbiting an invisible core.

Kevom’s throat works. ”My lord…”

”I know,” Hecrad says quietly.

Then Vordon speaks.

”First strike.”

The sky answers.

It does not roar.

It descends.

A colossal column of compressed mana forms above the battlefield, not summoned from above but dragged down, as if the heavens themselves are being seized and crushed into a single point.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, everything goes silent.

Then—

The Heavenfall Cataclysm strikes.

The column slams into the city’s shield dead center.

There is no explosion.

There is impact.

The barrier caves inward like struck glass, light folding, screaming as layers compress against one another. Shockwaves ripple through the city, shattering windows, cracking stone, sending soldiers stumbling to their knees.

WHOOOOOOOM—

The entire wall shudders.

Mages scream as feedback surges through the arrays. Several collapse instantly, blood pouring from their noses and ears.

”Shield integrity, sixty percent!”

”No, fifty!”

”Stabilize it, stabilize it!”

Hecrad plants his feet, aura flaring as he pours his own mana into the array. Kevom and the other generals follow, veins glowing as they reinforce the shield directly.

”Hold!” Hecrad roars. ”Hold it!”

The column fades.

The sky releases its grip.

For a moment, just a moment, the shield holds.

Cracked.

Warped.

But standing.

On the wall, ragged cheers break out.

”We—”

”We survived—!”

Hecrad does not smile.

His eyes are locked on the plains.

”Again,” he whispers.

Vordon lifts his halberd a second time.

”Second strike.”

Panic ripples through the wall.

”Mages, faster!”

”Mana stones—use the high-grade ones!”

”We’re overheating the core!”

”We don’t have a choice!” Kevom shouts. ”If it breaks—!”

The second Heavenfall Cataclysm forms faster.

Heavier.

Denser.

This time, the air itself fractures, visible lines spiderwebbing through the sky as gravity collapses inward. The light bends so severely that the column appears curved, reality struggling to accommodate it.

A veteran mage drops to his knees, staring upward in horror. ”This… this isn’t a weapon… it’s divine punishment…”

The heavens fall again.

The second strike hits.

The shield does not ripple.

It shatters.

Light explodes outward as the barrier fractures into countless shards of mana, screaming as they evaporate. The shockwave slams into the wall proper, stone disintegrating, battlements collapsing, soldiers thrown like dolls.

BOOOOOOOOM—

A section of the outer wall caves in completely.

The barrier array dies in a cascade of sparks and imploding runes.

Silence follows.

Not victory.

Not relief.

Just stunned, horrified quiet.

Dust rolls across the city like a living thing.

On the wall, Hecrad stands frozen, staring at the empty space where the shield once was.

”…Two,” Kevom whispers. ”It only took two.”

On the plains, the monster army does not cheer.

They simply advance.

From the carriage, The lattice of light fading back into dormant runes. He studies the shattered wall, the drifting dust, the exposed city beyond, as if evaluating a finished experiment.

”Good,” Alix says calmly. ”That’s not bad at all.”

Zevran stretches lazily beside him, wings rustling as he lets out a wide yawn, utterly unimpressed by the devastation below. ”Mm. Not bad, I guess.” He tilts his head, glancing at the ruined barrier. ”Though honestly, Master, I could’ve destroyed that shield with a single breath attack.”

Mero snorts, floating a little higher. ”We already know that, lizard. Stop bragging.”

Zevran grins, sharp teeth flashing.

Mero ignores him and looks back toward the city, eyes glowing faintly as he analyzes the broken arrays, the scattered mana residue still flickering in the air. ”Still… it is quite impressive. These humans lack the resources, infrastructure, and advanced knowledge comparable to the central region. Yet they managed to build something like this.”

Alix raises an eyebrow slightly. ”You make it sound like the central region is leagues above this place.”

Mero lets out a short, dry laugh. ”Master, if you compare this kingdom to the central region as it was in my time…” He pauses, gaze distant, voice turning reflective. ”This place wouldn’t even qualify as a city. More like a village. A fortified one, maybe, but still a village.”

Zevran whistles softly. ”Harsh.”

Mero shrugs. ”That’s just how vast the gap was. Mana circulation alone, what they call a ’high-density array’ here would be considered crude scaffolding there.”

Alix folds his arms, eyes still on the battlefield as the monster army advances in perfect order. ”You said in your time.”

”Yes.” Mero nods slowly. ”Thousands of years have passed since then. Civilizations rise, collapse, reinvent themselves. Who knows?” His lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. ”Maybe the central region is even more terrifying now.”

Zevran chuckles. ”Or maybe it burned itself out.”

Alix’s eyes narrow slightly, calculating routes, resistance points, resources yet to be claimed.

Alix says quietly. ”Now the real siege begins.”

---

The humans move.

Not in panic, but in grim, drilled precision.

Horns blare across Plison City, sharp and urgent. Signal flags snap upward along the broken wall. Command runes flare as officers relay orders through the chaos.

”One hundred thousand soldiers,” Kevom mutters, forcing his voice steady as he surveys the streets below. Infantry flood toward chokepoints. Pike formations lock shields. Archers climb shattered ramparts, arrows already nocked. ”Plus fifty thousand adventurers…”

Hecrad clenches his fist. ”We have the number advantage.”

Across the plains, the monster army surges forward.

They do not march.

They charge.

The ground trembles as claws, hooves, and talons tear into the earth. You can see it on their faces, snarling maws split wide, eyes burning with anger, muscles coiled tight with anticipation. This is not a cautious advance. This is a release.

Then Mero raises one hand.

The air changes.

Mana pressure crashes outward like an invisible wave, rolling across the monster ranks. Runes bloom beneath their feet, ancient and layered, far beyond the crude buffs humans are used to seeing.

”What was that…” Hecrad eyes widened. ”the power on that spell so unfamiliar…”

The monsters roar as one.

Their bodies swell subtly, muscles tightening, bones reinforcing, hides hardening to near-metal density. Eyes sharpen. Movements become unnaturally precise.

The roar rolls across the battlefield like thunder.

Not from spells.

From throats.

The monster army slams to a halt just outside bow range, claws scraping stone, hooves digging trenches into the dirt. They snarl and stamp, restrained only by discipline. Siege towers remain idle. No ladders rise.

They are not here to climb.

They are here to break in.

On the wall above the main gate, human soldiers pack in tight, shields overlapping, pikes angled downward. Adventurers take position behind them, weapons glowing faintly with activated skills.

”Gate squad, ready!” a commander shouts. ”If it breaks, we funnel them! Don’t let them in!”

On the plains, the monster formation parts.

Something massive steps forward.

Each footfall sends a tremor through the ground.

Ruk emerges from the ranks.

He is enormous, even for a minotaur. Nearly five meters tall, his body is a wall of scarred muscle wrapped in crude but heavily enchanted armor. His horns curve forward like twin siege rams, etched with glowing runes that pulse in time with his heartbeat.

He exhales.

The breath comes out hot, steaming the air.