Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

He closes his eyes for a heartbeat.

Then they snap open—burning faintly red.

Tier 4: Ember Mirage.

He doesn't move toward the fight.

He erupts.

From the trees, ten burning afterimages of Alix split outward in a flickering ring of flame—illusory clones, each moving at a believable Tier 4 pace, darting in all directions, some charging directly into the Tier 5s' peripheral vision.

Flames trail behind them like fire wisps. Real enough to draw attention. Each one with enough weight behind its aura to be mistaken for a genuine assault.

The forest lights up with streaks of fire.

One of the Tier 5s—a red-armored spearman facing Solven—whirls as two of the clones rush him from opposite angles.

"What—?!"

He stabs through one, and it explodes in a burst of flame, harmless but bright.

That's when Solven dashes forward with both daggers.

CLANG—CLANG—!

The enemy stumbles from the flash, barely getting his spear up in time.

Meanwhile—

Gresren's boots dig into the soil as another crackling bolt of lightning slams into his shield.

CRACK-BOOM!!

A thunderous roar shakes the air as the Tier 5 lightning mage floats ten meters above the ground, wrapped in arcs of flickering purple-gold current. Her eyes blaze as her staff pulses with electricity.

"You're still standing?" she snarls, voice shrill and sharp like a storm. "You should've melted by now!"

Gresren grits his teeth behind his shield, arms trembling.

"She's fast," he mutters under his breath. "Too fast for a counter."

Another bolt hurls down.

KRAKOW!!

He slides back two meters, boots furrowing the dirt, but holds.

Then—

A shimmer of heat.

The temperature rises subtly—like the breath before a wildfire.

Gresren feels it before he sees it. A pulse of fire. Not destructive… but deliberate.

In the corner of his eye, flaming silhouettes streak across the treeline, weaving between trunks, climbing trees, sprinting toward the mage.

The woman narrows her eyes, spinning mid-air.

"What now?" she hisses.

She lifts her hand and sends a forked bolt at one of the illusions.

BOOM!

It explodes in a puff of flame.

She spins again—blasts another. The forest lights up in orange and red.

Gresren sees the opening.

"Now!"

He charges—not directly, but angling to the mage's side.

She notices too late.

Alix, standing far behind the trees, watches carefully. He keeps his own mana signature muted, letting the clones carry the false pressure. He knows exactly what he's doing: not fighting, just creating chaos. Making the enemy split focus.

And it works.

The mage turns her head for half a second—tracking a clone overhead.

And that's all the time Gresren needs.

He slams his shield into the ground—

BOOM!!

Mana ripples outward.

Tier 4: Shield Pulse.

A shockwave bursts in a cone—rock and dirt erupting under her feet.

She loses balance mid-air.

Gresren leaps.

"YOU'RE OPEN!"

He hurls his entire weight behind his shield.

CRACK!!

It collides with her torso, shattering the lightning barrier surrounding her.

She coughs blood, spinning mid-air, crashing through two tree branches before hitting the forest floor in a burst of sparks.

Before she can rise—

White light engulfs her.

"No—!"

Gone.

Ejected.

Silence.

Gresren lands with a grunt, breathing hard, his shield steaming.

Then—

"Nice hit," Alix says behind him, emerging from the smoke as the last illusion fades.

Gresren turns, chest still heaving. "You gave me the opening."

"I just threw some fire around," Alix shrugs. "You're the one who finished it."

"Still—without that distraction…"

A moment later, Solven jogs up, wiping blood off his cheek.

"Mine's out too," he says. "Thanks to you, Alix."

Alix's expression doesn't change. "Simple fire trick. Draws attention but can't hurt anything."

Gresren hesitates for a moment. His shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths.

"…Thank you," he says at last. His voice is rough—low with pride still clinging to the edge. "I owe you one."

Alix doesn't make a big deal of it. He just gives a small nod. "Don't mention it."

Before anything else can be said, Velira steps out from the brush—still pale, but standing. Her movements are stiff, but she holds herself together.

"We should leave," she says quickly. "We got a thousand points defeating them. Laying low until the stage ends is the smart call."

Gresren nods immediately. "No argument here. My mana's gone."

Solven flicks blood from one of his daggers. "We've racked up enough to stay in the top ten," he says. "Trying to chase more would just invite teams to target us."

The group doesn't waste time.

They retreat deeper into the forest, moving cautiously but quickly—Velira guiding them by instinct and memory. After half an hour of weaving through thick underbrush and silent groves, they find it: a narrow rocky ridge hidden by a low canopy, accessible only through a small crevice between two moss-covered boulders.

Perfect.

A natural blind spot. Hard to notice. Harder to reach.

They settle in.

No fires. No lights. Just silence and breath. Everyone takes turns keeping watch while the others rest.

The hours stretch on.

Night falls.

The sky above the canopy dims to a deep, dusky blue, stars barely visible through the leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a beast cries—a sharp, guttural sound—quickly silenced by something larger.

No one comments on it.

They just wait.

Alix leans back against the rock wall, arms folded. His eyes stay half-lidded but alert. Every few moments, his gaze flicks to the others—Velira curled up with her bow against her chest, Solven resting with one dagger in hand, and Gresren sitting cross-legged beside his shield, still steaming faintly.

Then—

A hum in the air.

Faint. Subtle. But growing.

Alix's eyes open fully. "Here it comes."

Solven stirs. "Yeah. I feel it too."

A low pulse shakes the air—like a distant bell tolling underwater. One… two… three beats.

Then—

FLASH.

White light surges from beneath their feet.

Everyone tenses on instinct, but there's no danger.

Only warmth. And weightlessness.

A moment later, the forest is gone.

In a blink—they're standing back in the central arena.

Stone beneath their boots. Marble pillars all around. Massive sky overhead. And a roaring audience watching from every side.

Alix exhales slowly as the light fades.

Velira squints into the brightness, shielding her eyes. "…We're back."

Gresren looks around, blinking. "Felt longer than a day."

Solven cracks his neck. "We're still in one piece. That's what counts."

A moment later, a booming voice echoes across the coliseum.

"Stage One—Complete! Welcome back!"

Cheers erupt from the stands.

A giant panel of light appears high above the arena, displaying team rankings.

The rankings flicker into view—glowing letters shifting rapidly as names and numbers rearrange themselves. The crowd hushes, all eyes fixed upward.

The announcer's voice booms again, excitement crackling in every word.

"Now… behold the top ten teams of the first stage!"

With a dramatic hum of magic, the final list locks into place:

TOP TEN RANKINGS – STAGE ONE

1. Kingdom of Tous – 4,020 points

2. Nighthorn Clan – 2,310 points

3. Kingdom of Kareth – 1,980 points

4. Stormveil Sect – 1,740 points

5. Ashedge Clan – 1,530 points

6. Kingdom of Hrelm – 1,400 points

7. Frostpine Clan – 1,290 points

8. Kingdom of Myren – 1,080 points

9. Duskwatch Clan – 1,050 points

10. Red Ember Clan – 1,010 points

The crowd erupts.

Gasps ripple across the coliseum like wildfire.

"Wait top 5— The… the Ashedge Clan?" someone blurts aloud.

"They were ranked near the bottom last time!" another cries.

"…Incredible," he says, recovering quickly. "A stunning upset! Led by the Ashedge Clan's own Velira, has climbed all the way to the top five with a staggering 1,530 points!"

Velira blinks up at the projection in the sky, sweat still drying on her temple. "...Fifth?" she mutters.

Solven lets out a short laugh, half-disbelieving. "They didn't expect us."

Gresren stares at the glowing number beside their team. "Neither did I," he mutters.

From across the arena floor, teams begin to murmur.

Some stare.

Others frown.

Standing tall and confident in the center ring, Crown Prince Caldre watches silently.

He's a tall man—armor pure black trimmed with gold, long golden hair tied back, and a sword longer than most men are tall resting against his shoulder. His presence is like cold steel—calm, sharp, unshakable.

His expression doesn't shift, but his eyes rest on Velira for a long, quiet moment.

Then—

He smiles.

It's small. Subtle.

But it's not kind.

Velira stiffens, a chill crawling down her spine despite the warmth of the arena light. She doesn't even realize she's holding her breath until his gaze slides away, unconcerned.

She exhales shakily.

"That smile…" she mutters under her breath. "It felt like being hunted."

The announcer's voice booms once more, carrying over the arena with theatrical weight.

"Congratulations to the top ten teams!"

The crowd erupts in another cheer, but the announcer continues, louder now to cut through the noise.

"Only these ten teams will move forward to Stage Two!"

That silences the lesser-ranked groups. The reality of elimination hits hard. Murmurs rise from the lower platforms. Some shout in frustration. Others just stand stunned.

The announcer presses on. "Stage Two will begin tomorrow morning. Rest well. You'll need every drop of strength you have."

A pulse of magic echoes outward from the center dais, and the light screens begin to fade.

Velira glances at the others. "Tomorrow, huh…"

"We'll be targeted," Solven says plainly. "Every team's seen us now."

Velira nods slowly, then exhales through her nose and straightens her back. "All the more reason to be ready."

She turns to face the others, her voice steady now.

"Alright—let's go back and get some rest," she says. "We'll need every bit of it for tomorrow."