Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

A heartbeat later, they arrive.

Dolblas City unfolds before them like a painting brought to life—stone roads set in perfect symmetry, towers of white steel and blue crystal rising in the distance, and massive banners fluttering above the plazas, each marked with a different sigil: wings, swords, dragons, crescents. Every corner of the empire represented.

The sky above is clear, but dozens of magical constructs and aerial beasts soar between the spires. Cheers echo from nearby arenas, and the streets are packed with nobles, soldiers, and commoners alike, all flowing in the same direction.

Karnessa stares in awe. "This city… it's like something out of a legend."

Alix gaze sweeps over the crowd—warriors in ceremonial armor, scholars in deep discussion, scouts from border territories, and cloaked observers who say nothing but see everything. Everyone is watching. Measuring. Judging.

As they walk deeper into the heart of Dolblas City, Alix begins to notice something curious.

Lining the avenue are several grand buildings—each unique in design, yet all opulent, towering, and guarded. Massive banners hang from their facades, bearing different crests: a silver lion on blue silk, a coiled serpent of flame, twin crescents over a black sun. In front of each building is a long line of people—young men and women, some armored, some robed, others plainly dressed, all waiting.

Karnessa tilts her head. "They're all lined up for something…"

Alix veers toward the nearest building, where a crimson banner depicting a howling wolf sways gently in the breeze. The line stretches out into the street.

He taps the shoulder of a young man standing near the back. "Why are people lining up?"

The man turns, clearly irritated. He looks Alix up and down. "You serious?" he scoffs. "What else would they be lining up for? To be chosen."

Alix's brow furrows faintly. "Chosen for what?"

The man exhales sharply, like he's talking to a child. "To join the participants' team. You really are new."

Alix's silence prompts a sigh, and the man waves his hand toward the building. "Look, I'll make it simple. Every representative—every noble brat sent by their kingdom or clan—has to recruit two outsider. It's a rule. Part of the empire's tradition."

Karnessa blinks. "They have to?"

The man nods. "Yeah. Some say it's to prove they can lead anyone, not just their own trained dogs. Others say it's just to make things interesting. Either way, the rule's the same: two member of their team has to be a random hire from the public."

Alix hums quietly, gaze sharpening with interest. "So… these people are here, hoping to get picked."

"That's right." The man grins now, more amused than annoyed. "Most of us don't stand a chance, but if you do get picked, you're part of the Selection team. And if your team wins?" He whistles low. "Titles. Land. Even empire citizenship."

Alix thanks him with a nod and steps back, looking toward the rows of buildings, each brimming with hopefuls.

His eyes track a group exiting one of the buildings—young elites, powerful, but also arrogant. Entitled.

He smiles faintly.

'I wasn't planning to be part of this game,' he thought, 'but if they're handing out a seat at the table…'

---

Alix keeps walking, Karnessa silent at his side, her eyes flicking around nervously at the towering buildings and their endless lines. She doesn't ask questions—she's learned not to when he wears that look.

They pass building after building. Twenty in total. Twenty banners. Twenty forces.

Alix counts them quietly as they go. Twenty representatives…

"That means twenty major powers under the empire," he mutters under his breath, tone unreadable. "So that's the size of the empire's leash."

Deep inside, he understands something critical—with his kingdom's strength right now, they couldn't swallow this empire whole. Not yet. Even in the worst-case estimate, twenty elite forces backed by an empire of this scale is no small matter. Not without preparation. Not without information.

But this Selection?

This is a door.

Then he sees it.

One of the buildings near the far edge of the plaza. Its banner is silver—simple, unadorned—just a narrow vertical slash over a black field. Unlike the others, there's no grand fanfare. No nobles lingering nearby. Only a short, quiet line of youths, no more than ten of them.

Most of them are Tier 3. Barely awakened. A few with decent posture, but no pressure. No edge.

Karnessa blinks. "That one… isn't very popular."

"Exactly," Alix murmurs.

He moves toward the building calmly. His presence doesn't even draw much attention from the others in line—just a few glances, then they go back to waiting.

Alix stops a few paces behind the last person, scanning the scene. The air is quiet here. Detached from the excitement of the other houses.

Karnessa leans closer. "Isn't this too… small?"

"That's the point," he says simply.

Then, with a quiet breath, he lets his aura shift.

Not all of it—just enough.

A slow, rising pulse of power spreads from his core. Measured. Controlled. Tier 4. Level 450.

The effect is immediate.

The nearest few youths glance over—first out of idle curiosity, then with startled recognition. One of them, a girl with short dark hair, actually takes a step back, eyes wide. Another youth frowns and subtly shifts away, his posture tightening.

Even the guards near the entrance glance up.

Karnessa, beside him, stiffens in surprise at the sudden pressure—but she says nothing.

The guards at the door part without a word as Alix steps forward, the subtle gravity of his presence now undeniable. Karnessa follows closely, head lowered but eyes sharp, her tier 3 aura quiet beside the weight of his.

Inside, the building's interior is stark and disciplined. No lavish decor, no crowds or music—just a central chamber where three figures wait.

Two men, one on either side, stand straight-backed in modest but well-kept armor. Both are clearly trained, their posture practiced—but they don't carry the same prideful air that many of the other forces do. Between them stands a woman, a few inches shorter than Alix, dressed in a dark-gray sleeveless coat stitched with silver thread. Her long black hair is tied back in a sharp braid, and a thin scar traces the curve of her left cheek. She watches him approach, arms loosely crossed, eyes cool and assessing.

She speaks first.

"Welcome," she says. Her voice is calm, smooth—but not soft. "Didn't expect to see a Tier 4 walk through this door."

Alix stops a few steps away, unfazed. "I go where I'm needed."

The woman smile. "People at your level usually go where the banners are bigger. Where the crowds cheer louder." She steps forward slightly. "We don't get many of you here. Just Tier 3 hopefuls looking for a miracle. But we will gladly take you with open arms."

One of the men beside her suddenly steps forward, his presence sharp and untrusting. He's broad-shouldered, with close-cropped hair and a jagged scar running across his left bicep. His aura pulses—strong and steady. A peak Tier 4.

His eyes narrow on Alix. "Hey, Are you sure, you're not one of them?" he says slowly, voice low and edged, "Sent by those bastards from the others to sabotage us again?"

Karnessa tenses beside Alix, and even the other man—leaner, with silver-threaded tattoos on his forearms—gives his companion a glance of warning.

Alix meets the hostile gaze without blinking. "If I were here to sabotage you," he says evenly, "I wouldn't have walked through the front door."

The tension stretches for a breath too long.

Then Velira sighs, lifting a hand. "Stop it, Gresren."

Her voice carries enough weight to silence the room.

She turns to him with a raised brow. "Are you really going to bark at the first Tier 4 who's ever volunteered to join us?"

Gresren holds Alix's gaze for another second, then exhales through his nose and steps back. "Apologies, young lady," he mutters. "Just being cautious. Too many knives in the dark lately."

Velira nods curtly, then gestures between the two men.

"This," she says, motioning to the larger one, "is Gresren. Our shield and hammer."

Gresren gives Alix a short nod, his arms crossing over his chest. Still wary, but less aggressive now.

"And that," she continues, turning to the more relaxed man beside her, "is Solven. He's our scout, tactician, and second sharpest blade."

Solven gives a small, lopsided smile. "Only second?"

Velira smirks. "Until you prove otherwise."

Solven shrugs, then glances at Alix. "Tier 4… you'll get a lot of stares. Especially if you join us." He studies him for a moment. "You a swordsman? Mage? Or something stranger?"

Alix glances at Solven, then answers plainly, "I'm a swordsman."

A brief pause. Then, calmly, he adds, "But before I agree to join—there's something I need."

Velira tilts her head slightly, cautious but open. "What is it?"

Alix steps aside, just enough to gesture to Karnessa, who has remained respectfully quiet beside him. "I want her to join as well. She's my slave."

The room stills.

Gresren's brows pull together sharply. "Your slave?" His voice drops, tension flickering back into his tone. "Young lady, if a monster slave joins our team, we'll become a laughingstock before the event even begins."

Velira's expression hardens, though she doesn't look away from Alix. "I won't lie—that would raise more than a few eyebrows. Even if she's Tier 3… I've never heard of a monster slave being accepted into the Selection. Not once. Not even as a footnote."

Alix's voice remains calm. "Are there any rules against it?"

Solven leans back slightly, arms folding. "Technically? No. The empire didn't prohibit it. They just never expected it." He eyes Karnessa thoughtfully. "As long as the slave has a contract, is registered, and under twenty, it should be okay."