Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Then he leans back, resting against the tree's pulsing root as the potion burns through him.

The healing is slow. Painful. Not clean. It has to be that way—his body is stitched, broken, rebuilt a dozen times over. The potion knits together torn muscle, reinforces fractured bones, and tamps down the spreading corruption from his last battle.

A tremor runs through Gander's limbs as the potion finishes its grim work, leaving behind a throbbing ache deep in his joints. He doesn't move for a moment. Just breathes. The green orbs in his eye sockets dim, then flare again—steady now.

He mutters to himself, voice low and rough like dry bark scraping stone.

"I'm really lucky to be alive."

The statement hangs in the air, bitter as blood. He reaches beneath his tattered robes, pulling out a small object from a hidden inner pouch—a warped silver locket, dull and scorched at the edges, its clasp fused shut. Arcane sigils are etched deep into its frame, faintly pulsing with residual light.

The fail-safe.

"If not for this…" he exhales, shaking his head slowly. "I'd be nothing but ash."

His fingers curl tightly around the locket as he stares into the middle distance, where violet fog curls like fingers beyond the alcove's mouth.

"It was my lapse of judgment," he says, almost spitting the words. "I got overconfident. Thought I could read him."

His fingers twitch, counting invisible numbers in the air. Weighing. Measuring.

"In my estimate," Gander murmurs, "Astram's level… 660. Maybe higher."

Gander's jaw tightens beneath the seams of his mask. His voice lowers, more to himself than to any unseen listener.

"But I was holding my own."

He lifts his hand, the faintest spark of cursed mana dancing across his fingertips. His eyes, burning green, narrow slightly.

It wasn't one-sided. Even with his level—Astram had the upper hand, sure—but he wasn't overwhelmed. Gander matched his tempo. Forced him to dodge more than once

"I had a plan. A rhythm. I just needed a moment—one slip, one mistake—and I could've turned it."

The mist stirs slightly around him, agitated by the low hum of his mana.

"But then…"

"Two Tier Six monsters, just appearing mid-fight like it was nothing. Their presence alone bent the leyline currents. I felt it—like the weight of another world dropped on the field."

Suddenly Gander freezes.

His head snaps toward the edge of the alcove. The fog shifts unnaturally—no breeze, no animal. Just pressure.

Then he feels it.

Two signatures—sharp, heavy, cutting across the leyline threads like knives. Skills, aimed, incoming.

He doesn't hesitate.

"Mark shift." The cursed glyph ignites beneath him with a sharp hiss.

A blink of green fire—and he's gone.

Crack—the place he stood erupts, shattered by twin impacts. Mana surges explode against the half-dead tree, ripping bark and root in an upward spiral.

Then—

High above the ridge, a new shimmer in the air—space warps, and Gander reappears, standing calmly on a jagged stone outcrop. His robes flutter in the heat left behind.

Below him, Carwel rises first—levitating with unnatural grace, golden runes orbiting his armor like lazy stars.

He smiles faintly. "Finally found you."

Gander tilts his head, a crooked smirk pulling at the stitched edge of his mouth. "Congratulations, I guess."

Tandu appears beside Carwel, a low hum of power vibrating from his stone-forged frame. His eyes narrow. "The Plague."

He crosses his arms. "How about you come with us peacefully? Lord Astram wants to talk. He won't even mention your earlier little scuffle."

Gander lets out a dry chuckle. "Ohhh… how merciful."

He takes a slow step forward, letting the cursed air ripple around him. "So tell me—does your lord want to make me his subordinate now?"

Tandu says nothing, eyes unreadable.

Gander's tone sharpens, voice carrying through the Hollow like a blade dragged across bone.

"Then I'll decline."

His eyes flare bright green, defiant.

"I already have someone I serve. For the rest of my life."

The Hollow seems to inhale.

Tandu's jaw tightens. "Then we do this the hard way."

Gander grins beneath the seams of his face.

"Good."

The cursed winds scream—and the fight begins.

Carwel launches first, his body becoming a blur of crimson light as he vanishes from sight. The air superheats in an instant.

Tier 5 Skill – Blazing Rift Step.

A flaming shockwave tears the ground as he reappears directly in front of Gander, sword cleaving through the air like a falling star.

Gander vanishes just as fast—his body disintegrating into a smear of green smoke.

Tier 5 Skill – Wraith Shell.

The blade cleaves into the outcrop, and the entire ridge disappears—not crumbles, not cracks, but vanishes, atomized by the residual force. A portion of the mountain behind it begins to split under the aftershock.

Carwel growls, spinning.

"Behind!"

Gander reappears, hand outstretched.

"Cursebrand: Decay Spiral."

A glyph pulses under Carwel's feet—thorned runes that lash upward, wrapping his limbs in writhing green-black chains. The moment they touch his armor, it begins to rust and splinter, the mana inside flickering.

But Tandu slams down between them, axe raised.

Tier 5 Skill – Continental Sundering.

The entire Hollow shudders. His axe hits the cursed tendrils—and the land underneath erupts. A semicircle of terrain hundreds of meters wide vanishes in an explosion of stone and golden mana. Jagged tectonic scars race outward like claws.

Gander barely escapes—barely. A sleeve of his robe is vaporized, and the cursed runes along his shoulder flare wildly as they struggle to regenerate.

He lands on a fractured pillar, breathing hard, eyes glowing like lanterns.

"So that's how it is."

Tandu rises, eyes burning green light. "We're not here to entertain you."

"Shame," Gander rasps.

He slams his staff down.

Tier 6 Skill – Hollow Curse: Thousand Mouths of Xhar.

A rift splits the sky above them. From it descends a tide of screaming black energy—shapes with jagged teeth and coiling limbs shrieking in eldritch tongues. Each one explodes on contact, warping the world like oil on water.

They descend.

Tandu's expression hardens. He lifts his free hand, slamming it into the ground.

Tier 6 Skill – Verdan Bulwark.

A dome of compressed earth and sigils bursts upward, sealing him and Carwel inside with a flicker of golden light.

The curse storm crashes down.

The entire mountainside is devoured. Everything within five hundred meters is gone. Trees, stone, even mana itself is eaten, leaving behind only warped air and whispering void.

Inside the bulwark, Tandu pants slightly—his armor hissing steam. Carwel slams his fist into the wall.

"Let me out! I'll burn him to ash!"

Tandu exhales. "We do this together."

The shield drops.

Carwel bursts forward, blade blazing.

Tier 6 Skill – Solar Rend.

The sword ignites like a miniature sun. Every swing leaves trails of plasma that slice the terrain apart. Entire ridgelines collapse into glowing canyons, and the sky darkens under the weight of the power unleashed.

Gander moves with ghostly precision, dodging left, blinking right, cloak torn and burnt.

"Cursebrand: Rot Inversion."

He catches the plasma slash with a cursed glyph.

Time seems to bend—then the slash reverses direction, screaming back toward Carwel. But the man is already mid-spin.

Tier 5 Skill – Infernal Shell—

Flames erupt in every direction, forming a cocoon of compressed fire that detonates outward. The inverted Solar Rend hits it—and both annihilate the plateau beneath them.

Massive chunks of mountain collapse. Tandu and Gander leap, meeting midair.

Tandu's axe crashes down, guided by molten earth runes.

Tier 6 Skill – Titan's Verdict.

A single blow, but the force punches a hole through the Hollow, straight down like an abyss. The shockwave sends Gander flying.

He crashes through three rock pillars, bones snapping—before he catches himself, barely upright.

----

In Dosgir city.

The ground quakes.

Again.

A merchant stumbles as crates of dried herbs tumble off his cart. His donkey shrieks and bolts. Near the center plaza, stone dust shakes loose from carved temple spires as the cobblestones groan under the strain of distant impact.

Boom.

Another tremor rolls through like thunder trapped underground.

"What the hell is happening?!" a young adventurer cries out, clutching the edge of a fountain to steady himself. His armor rattles with the vibrations.

The sky remains deceptively clear—but the air carries a strange pressure, like the breath of a storm held too long.

"It's coming from the Verid Hollow," an older rogue mutters, stepping into the open with narrowed eyes. His voice trembles with awe, not fear.

A third adventurer, his robe flaring with wind magic, stares at the western horizon—where faint pulses of red, green, and gold flicker like distant lightning.

His voice is low. Reverent. "Is this the work of Lord Carwel and Tandu?"

Someone scoffs behind him. "Tier Six?" the voice is hoarse. "If that's what a Tier Six is capable… then we're ants."

The ground rumbles again.

This time, a fissure cracks open just outside the east gate. Not wide. Not deep. But it wasn't there five seconds ago.

And in the far sky, too distant to see clearly—but unmistakable to anyone with mana sense—a disaster is falling.

High above the trees, Alix pauses.

He hovers midair, a faint golden aura swirling around his boots, cape flaring behind him. The Hollow sprawls far below—twisting, ancient, alive with cursed energy.

Then—

BOOM.

His pupils narrow.

The second pulse follows. Something darker. Eldritch. Twisting. The aftermath leaves a blackened void in the distance.

Gander.

Alix doesn't wait.

With a roar of wind and mana, he surges forward—blasting through the Hollow's canopy in a golden streak. Trees bend in his wake. Leaves scatter like sparks. The leyline currents churn in response.

He feels the pressure rising with every kilometer he closes—like wading through layers of heat and gravity. The kind of pressure only Tier 6 combatants generate.