Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

His eyes widen slowly as he stares at the being on the plains, at the way the air bows around it, at the pressure that feels less like power and more like authority.

”…No,” Hecrad whispers.

Kevom grits his teeth, forcing himself upright. ”My lord…?”

Hecrad doesn’t answer at first.

His lips move soundlessly, words forming from memory.

In the kingdom’s earliest days… before borders were fixed… before crowns were secure…

His vision overlaps with the past.

A painted illustration in faded ink, an enormous winged beast wreathed in calamity. Cities burning. Armies erased. A single line written in red.

The Calamity That Walked the Sky.

Hecrad swallows hard.

”This beast…” he says hoarsely, voice barely audible even with amplification runes still active. ”…It can’t be.”

Kevom turns to him, alarm flashing across his face. ”You recognize it?”

Hecrad nods slowly, dread settling deep in his bones.

”I’ve read about it,” he says. ”In an old book. One that most people think is a myth.”

His gaze never leaves Zevran.

”In the early days of the kingdom,” Hecrad continues, voice tightening, ”before the royal line was established… a disaster descended from the skies. Not a monster raid. Not a war.”

Kevom’s grip tightens. ”What kind of disaster?”

Hecrad exhales shakily.

”A living one.”

The pressure intensifies again, as if responding to his words.

”They called it many things. The Sky Calamity. The Devourer of Armies. The Beast That Could Not Be Killed.” His jaw clenches. ”It wiped out three cities in a single night.”

Kevom’s eyes widen. ”That’s—”

He looks down at his trembling hand.

”The first king himself led the final battle,” Hecrad says quietly. ”Every general. Every elite. Every artifact the kingdom possessed.”

Silence stretches.

Kevom whispers, ”And…?”

”He couldn’t kill it,” he says. ”So he did the only thing left.”

Kevom’s blood runs cold.

Kevom looks at him, waiting.

”At that time,” Hecrad continues, ”the strongest fighter the kingdom had was only a peak Tier Six.” His eyes do not leave Zevran. ”And that beast… was also a peak Tier 6.”

Kevom’s brows knit together. ”Then how did the king—”

”He didn’t,” Hecrad answers quietly. ”Not by strength alone.”

He inhales, slow and deep.

”The first king possessed an artifact,” Hecrad says. ”A relic so powerful that it can kill even a quasi–tier 7 being.”

Kevom stiffens. ”…That kind of artifact actually existed?”

”Yes,” Hecrad replies. ”But it demanded a price no one else could pay.”

His voice lowers.

”The king activated it by sacrificing his life. His soul. His very existence.” A pause. ”That strike should have erased a quasi–tier 7 completely.”

Kevom swallows.

”…And yet?”

Hecrad’s jaw tightens.

”It only injured the beast,” he says. ”Wounded it gravely. Drove it away from the kingdom.” His eyes harden. ”But it did not die.”

Kevom looks back at Zevran, whose massive wings stir the clouds with lazy, slow movements, as if the pressure crushing the battlefield means nothing to him.

”…And now it’s returned,” Kevom murmurs. ”Stronger than before.”

Zevran stretches his neck, bones shifting with a sound like distant thunder, his glowing eyes flicking briefly toward the wall as if he hears everything.

Kevom takes a breath, then asks the question burning in his chest.

”My lord,” he says quietly, ”can we win against this one?”

For a heartbeat, only the wind answers.

Then Hecrad straightens.

”Don’t worry,” he says.

Kevom looks at him in surprise.

”Although this beast has become stronger,” Hecrad continues calmly, ”It’s not as if we haven’t grown too.”

His aura tightens, sharper now, more focused.

”This city is no longer the fragile realm it once was,” Hecrad says. ”We have stronger generals. Better formations. And—” his eyes flick briefly toward the sealed rune embedded in the wall behind them, ”—we still have that trump card.”

Kevom’s grip firms around his sword.

”…So there is a chance.”

”Yes,” Hecrad replies. ”Don’t lose hope.”

He takes a step forward.

”Let’s go.”

Mana erupts beneath his feet.

Kevom reacts instantly, his aura flaring as well. The stone of the wall cracks as both men launch into the air, cloaks snapping violently behind them.

They rise fast, cutting through the pressure, pushing toward Zevran.

Gasps ripple through the human ranks below.

”They’re going up!”

”The City Lord is engaging!”

”Against that thing?!”

Zevran watches them approach, head tilting slightly.

When they are close enough for the pressure to feel personal, crushing, intimate.

He smiles.

”…Oh?” Zevran says, his voice light, almost amused, carrying effortlessly through the air. ”Are you two humans going to be my opponents?”

Hecrad and Kevom stop midair, auras blazing as they brace themselves against his presence.

”If so,” Zevran continues, wings spreading wider, blotting out part of the sky, ”please do your best…”

His eyes gleam with playful cruelty.

”…to entertain me.”

For a heartbeat, the battlefield freezes.

Then murmurs erupt across the walls and streets.

”It talked…”

”Did you hear that?”

”A beast, speaking?!”

Soldiers stare upward in disbelief, fear etched into their faces. Even veteran mages falter, minds reeling.

Kevom’s jaw tightens. ”…This is my first time hearing a beast speak.”

Hecrad doesn’t look away from Zevran.

”Me too,” he says quietly. ”Beasts must gain intelligence once they grow strong enough.”

Zevran chuckles, a sound that carries terrifying weight.

”Humans,” he says lazily, eyes half-lidded as he looks down at them. ”You two aren’t planning to fight me with just your peak Tier 6 strength… right?”

He tilts his head, genuinely curious.

”I mean,” Zevran continues, spreading his wings slightly, the motion sending ripples through the clouds, ”I’m already standing at quasi–tier 7.”

His smile widens.

”Even if ten peak Tier Six humans were standing in front of me,” he says lightly, ”I’d still win.”

The words are not a threat.

They are a statement of fact.

The pressure intensifies for a brief moment, as if to prove his point. Several soldiers below choke, dropping to one knee. Cracks spiderweb across the wall stones.

Kevom grits his teeth, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he forces himself to remain upright in the air.

Hecrad exhales slowly.

Then he smiles.

”Don’t worry, beast,” Hecrad says calmly, his voice steady despite the crushing aura. ”We’re not that foolish.”

Zevran’s eyes sharpen slightly.

”Oh?”

Hecrad turns his head just enough to look at Kevom.

Kevom meets his gaze.

There is no hesitation. No doubt.

Only trust.

”We will give you a good fight,” Hecrad says, turning back to Zevran. ”Even if it costs us everything.”

Kevom nods once. ”We will die defending this city.”

Zevran’s smile fades, just a little.

”…Interesting.”

Hecrad raises his hand.

”So,” Zevran says, watching closely, ”what’s your trick?”

Instead of answering, Hecrad reaches into his spatial ring.

Kevom does the same.

Two identical objects appear in their hands.

They are fragments of the same artifact.

Each piece is half of a crystal medallion, jagged where it was once broken cleanly in two. Ancient runes glow faintly along the edges, pulsing in slow, synchronized rhythms, as if the halves are still aware of each other.

Zevran’s eyes narrow.

”Oh?” he murmurs.

Below them, a murmur spreads through the human ranks.

”What are those?”

”I’ve never seen an artifact like that…”

Kevom looks at the half in his palm, then at Hecrad.

”You sure?” he asks quietly.

Hecrad doesn’t look away from Zevran. ”I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

Kevom lets out a short breath.

”Good,” he says. ”Because neither would I.”

They raise the artifact halves simultaneously.

Hecrad speaks, his voice ringing clear through the air.

”This artifact,” he says, ”can only be used by two people who truly trust each other.”

The runes ignite.

Light pours from the broken edges, threads of mana stretching toward one another, trembling, searching.

”If even a shred of doubt exists,” Hecrad continues, voice unwavering, ”the artifact shatters, and both users die.”

Kevom smirks faintly. ”Sounds fair.”

Zevran watches now with open interest, wings folding slightly as he leans forward.

”…Fusion,” he realizes. ”That’s a unique one.”

The mana threads snap together.

The two halves resonate.

Hecrad and Kevom bring the artifacts together.

The moment mana floods the connection.

The world flashes white.

A deafening hum tears through the sky as the artifact dissolves into pure light, wrapping around both men. Their auras collide, clash.

Then merge.

Wind detonates outward.

The pressure spikes violently, rivaling Zevran’s own.

Below, soldiers scream as the shockwave slams into the wall, banners ripping free, loose stone pulverizing into dust.