Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Asdri steps aside and gestures to his companions with a sweeping motion, his voice carrying just enough pride to be felt, but not flaunted.

"Uncle, allow me to introduce my companions," he says. "This is Pyke—our frontline, and probably the only man I've seen break a tier 5 beast's jaw with one swing."

Pyke grunts a casual nod, tapping the handle of his massive greataxe.

"Ingra, our mage. Don't let her silence fool you—she's turned more armies to ice than I care to count."

Ingra inclines her head politely, the crystals in her robe catching the light.

"Famir, our scout and archer. His arrows land before you even know he's drawn."

Famir winks, casually spinning one of his frost-tipped arrows between his fingers.

"And Valia," Asdri finishes, voice softening just a little. "Our healer. She's saved more lives than the rest of us have taken."

Valia offers Zinov a gentle smile, her crescent staff resting lightly against her shoulder.

Zinov's gaze lingers on each of them in turn, reading the calm confidence in their eyes, the weight of power that hangs off their very presence.

"You have such capable companions," he says slowly, almost with a note of awe. "All Tier 5… That's not just rare. That's unheard of."

Asdri shrugs lightly. "We've been through a lot. Strength wasn't optional."

Zinov lets out a low breath, then turns his eyes once more toward Alix, the only one who hasn't been introduced.

"And this," Asdri says, walking over to place a hand on Alix's shoulder, "is Alix. A friend—someone I trust."

Zinov studies Alix carefully, his expression unreadable. There's respect in his eyes… and maybe a trace of curiosity. The kind of curiosity only a seasoned soldier feels when meeting someone he knows is more than they appear.

"I see," Zinov says. "A friend of the prince is a friend of Ordeya. Welcome, Alix. And thank you for being a friend of his highness."

Draya, standing quietly beside him, barely hides the amused smirk tugging at her lips.

He has no idea, she thinks.

The gates finally finish opening. The city of Ordeya sprawls ahead, alive with motion and sunlit grandeur.

As the group steps through the gates and into the bustling heart of Ordeya, the rhythm of the city washes over them—horse hooves on cobblestone, market vendors calling out, banners flapping overhead.

Alix walks a few steps before slowing. He glances toward Asdri.

"Your Highness," he says, his voice calm but firm, "I'll take my leave for now. Looks like you still have things to handle."

Asdri stops, then turns to him with a sigh that's half amusement, half exasperation. "I told you, just call me by my name. No need for formalities."

Alix offers a faint nod. "Force of habit."

"Well," Asdri says, reaching out to clasp Alix's forearm briefly, "see you around then."

When they're far enough from the palace walls and the steady murmur of soldiers and courtiers fades behind them, Alix exhales a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That prince is exhausting," he mutters under his breath.

Draya, walking half a step behind him, smiles dryly. "I agree, Your Majesty. Ever since our journey from Valgros to Ordeya, he just won't stop talking."

Alix huffs a faint laugh, but his eyes remain sharp as they scan their surroundings. "What surprises me is that despite all that talking… I can't get any real information out of him. Not a single useful detail."

Draya glances sideways, her tone shifting as they round a quieter corner. "He's either very good at deflecting… or very practiced at playing dumb."

Alix's expression hardens slightly. "Both, probably."

Then, he shifts the topic. "Is everything ready?"

Draya nods once. "Yes, Your Majesty. Vaelith is already waiting."

"Good," Alix says. "Let's go then."

They turn down a narrower street, leaving behind the polished stone roads and tiled rooftops of the upper districts. The air grows thicker, the chatter rougher. The buildings here are closer together, older—many of them cracked or leaning. Laundry hangs from upper windows. Children dart through alleys, barefoot and quick. The scent of cooked grain, sweat, and old iron clings to the air.

Ordeya's poor quarter.

Alix walks with purpose, blending into the crowd like he's done this a thousand times. His cloak shifts slightly, covering the gleam of the artifact ring on his hand. Draya follows, hood raised, but her eyes remain alert.

They pass a man slumped on the side of a stone step, muttering to himself. Two women argue over a sack of potatoes near a broken stall. Further ahead, a group of teenagers loiter beneath a crumbling archway, eyeing the pair—but one look from Alix, and they look away.

Draya gestures subtly. "There," she says, nodding toward a narrow alley between two leaning buildings.

Alix doesn't hesitate. He turns, his boots tapping softly against the uneven cobblestone. The alley is damp, shaded from the midday sun, and it winds like a snake—twisting, quiet.

At the end of the alley, they reach a small, worn-down house pressed between two leaning structures. Its door is unmarked, save for a faint scratch shaped like an X near the handle—a signal.

Alix pushes the door open without knocking.

The air inside is dry and dim, lit only by the faint rays slipping through a cracked window and the soft glow of a single mana lantern resting on a table. The interior is stripped down—old wooden floors, mismatched chairs, and a thin carpet over uneven boards. But it's not the state of the place that draws the eye—it's the silhouette standing near the back.

Vaelith.

He drops to one knee the moment he sees Alix enter, bowing his head. "Your Majesty."

Alix gives a short nod, stepping inside and closing the door behind them. "Everyone is ready?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Vaelith says, rising to his feet. "All units are in position. The Shadows have confirmed they are waiting for the signal. Also, Gorath is already in Ashlight City."

Alix raises a brow slightly. "Is Gorath alone?"

Vaelith nods once. "Yes. He insisted he could handle it."