Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Velira looks at Karnessa now, her gaze lingering on the subtle marks of the collar, the posture of obedience. "And her age?"

"She's nineteen," Alix says. "Tier 3, level 340."

Velira doesn't speak for a moment. Then she draws a slow breath and exhales.

"Well…" She glances toward the two men. "They did say we needed outsiders. And the Empire didn't prohibit having a slave monster. We'll just be the first—and see what happens."

Gresren makes a face but doesn't argue. "This is going to make waves," he mutters.

Solven chuckles lightly. "Waves keep things interesting."

Velira finally nods. "Fine. She'll be your responsibility. If she causes trouble, it reflects on you."

"She won't," Alix replies without hesitation.

Karnessa lowers her head quietly, but her eyes burn with something fierce—determination, pride, maybe gratitude.

Velira steps forward and offers her hand once more.

"Then welcome to the Silver Shadows," she says. "Both of you."

Velira turns toward the doorway, her voice sharp and clear. "We're done recruiting. No more interviews."

The guards stationed outside nod and move to close the entrance. The faint murmur of the city beyond is cut off as the heavy doors begin to swing shut.

Alix quietly observes the room again, then speaks.

"I've seen the name above the gate—Ashedge Clan." He looks at Velira. "How strong is your clan, compared to the others?"

Velira's expression doesn't shift immediately, but her eyes tighten just a bit. "In terms of prestige? Strength? Standing under the empire?" She exhales through her nose. "We're the weakest."

Velira crosses her arms. "We've placed dead last in the Selection for three years running. That means the empire barely gives us anything—no decent resources, no funding, no favors. Every year, it's harder to even keep our name above the gate."

Gresren lets out a short grunt. "They don't say it out loud, but we're basically here as filler. Background noise for the real contenders."

Solven adds with a shrug, "Half the nobles don't even remember we exist. The other half expect us to be eliminated by the second round."

Velira jaw sets. "I don't plan to be a shadow forever."

There's a steel behind her words now. She straightens, and the flicker of frustration in her expression gives way to resolve.

"This year, I'm getting us into the top ten," Velira says. "I don't care how many monsters we have to face, or how many alliances stack against us. I'm done with pity. And I'm done with losing."

Gresren glances at her, then nods once, slow and firm. "She means it. We all do."

Alix offers a faint, unreadable smile. "Good."

Velira gives Alix a look of approval, then turns slightly to address both him and Karnessa.

"You'll stay here with us for now," she says. "The competition starts tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Better to be settled in and ready than scrambling at the last hour."

Alix nods. "Understood."

She gestures toward one of the side halls. "We've already cleared a few rooms on the second floor. Nothing extravagant, but they'll serve. You can rest, eat, prepare. Whatever you need."

Karnessa gives a slight bow, her tone respectful. "Thank you."

As they begin to walk, Alix pauses for just a moment. His senses have been quietly active since the moment he entered the building—and now, with the background noise gone, he narrows his focus.

There it is.

Two presences.

Distant but not far—one above, the other perhaps just behind a reinforced wall. Both are restrained, controlled, but unmistakably powerful. Peak Tier 5. Silent. Watching.

Velira might call herself the weakest, but she's still a noble. Still an heir. And heirs don't walk into imperial competition unguarded.

The morning sun casts long shadows through the high windows of the Ashedge Clan's building. The air is tense, but focused. Footsteps echo down the halls, armor clicks and cloth rustles as each member prepares—quietly, deliberately.

Alix stands near one of the side balconies, dressed in simple dark leathers, his sword belted to his side. Karnessa stands behind him, a step to the right. Her hair is tied back, her posture disciplined. She's armored lightly—nothing flashy, but enough to show she's ready to fight.

Downstairs, Gresren tightens the straps on his gauntlets, while Solven checks a scroll tucked into his sleeve. Velira enters from the main chamber, already in her formal battle coat, a silver insignia pinned near her shoulder. She glances around, satisfied.

"Everyone's ready," she says.

A moment later, the front doors open with a resonant clang.

A figure in red-plated armor steps in—tall, sharp-eyed, and flanked by two junior guards bearing the empire's crest on their cloaks. His armor gleams, polished to imperial standards, and a gold sash crosses his chest.

He stops just a few steps inside and announces clearly, "I've come to escort the Ashedge Clan to the Selection Grounds."

Velira steps forward, nodding formally. "We're ready."

The royal guard surveys them quickly—lingering only briefly on Alix before his gaze moves on to Karnessa, brows faintly twitching at the sight of the collar. He says nothing.

Alix notices, but remains silent.

"Good," the guard says at last. "The others are already en route or assembling at the main plaza. We'll move in formation. Don't wander, don't cause delays."

Velira nods curtly. "Understood."

The group begins to move. Gresren falls to the rear with two other clan hopefuls. Solven takes the side. Velira leads the front, and Alix walks just behind her, Karnessa at his right.

As they step outside, the crisp morning light hits them fully. A faint breeze lifts the edge of Karnessa's cloak. The street is cleared, the path secured—lined with a scattering of onlookers, lesser nobles, servants, and hopefuls from smaller factions. Whispers ripple through the crowd at the sight of the Ashedge Clan.

Some are surprised.

Others amused.

A few just shake their heads.

"Hey," someone in the crowd mutters, not bothering to lower their voice. "Why am I seeing a monster slave walking with the Ashedge Clan?"

Another scoffs from just beside him. "There's no way they actually let that thing enter the Selection. That has to be some kind of joke."

A third voice joins in with a weary sigh. "They're gonna be last again. Might as well not even show up. Same sad clan, new embarrassment."

Laughter ripples through a few of the spectators, quiet but cruel.

Velira hears it, but doesn't break stride. Her shoulders remain squared, her eyes fixed forward.

Solven murmurs without turning his head, "You hear that? We haven't even crossed the gate and we're already the underdogs in everyone's mouths."

Gresren grunts from the back. "Let them talk. They'll choke on those words soon enough."

Alix speaks low, just for her. "Ignore them. Their noise won't matter once we step into the arena."

Velira glances back for a moment, meeting Alix's eyes with a faint smirk. "Let them laugh. The more they look down on us, the easier it'll be to make them look up."

The road widens as they near the outer gates of the imperial stadium—an enormous, fortress-like structure built into the slope of the mountain wall. The path leading in is lined with black stone and engraved sigils that pulse faintly with protective magic. Towering gates swing open ahead of them as they approach, escorted by their royal guard.

And then they step inside.

A wave of noise slams into them.

The coliseum is vast. Circular, tiered, and impossibly high—layer upon layer of audience seats stretch upward in every direction, filled to the brim. Flags bearing each of the twenty great clan emblems flutter from the upper arches. Imperial horns blare overhead, accompanied by magical echoes that ripple through the air.

Over a hundred thousand spectators are watching.

Alix doesn't flinch, but Karnessa stiffens beside him, her breath catching at the sheer scale. She instinctively edges closer to his side.

"This place…" she whispers under her breath, eyes wide. "It's like a kingdom in itself."

"Welcome to the heart of the empire," Solven mutters dryly, glancing around. "All this fanfare just to watch us suffer."

Velira slows slightly as they reach the staging ground—a wide, open platform behind the main arena, where the nineteen other forces are already gathered in loose formations. She turns to face her group.

"Eyes forward. Heads high," she says. "We may be the smallest, but we walk like we belong here."

Gresren huffs. "Even if we're surrounded by vultures."

As they step into position, a murmur begins to spread through the surrounding participants.

One of the younger warriors from another clan snorts aloud. "Is that the Ashedge Clan? I thought they'd disbanded already."

Another, leaning on a spear, squints toward Karnessa. "Wait… Is that a slave?"

"Yeah," someone answers nearby, amused. "A monster slave, no less. What are they trying to prove? That they're desperate?"

"More like delusional," a girl in silver robes says, laughing. "Might as well lie down now and save everyone the time."

Karnessa keeps her eyes down, jaw tight.

Alix steps a little closer, shielding her slightly with his body. His expression doesn't shift, but the look in his eyes is sharp now—cold.

Velira hears every word, but she doesn't turn. Instead, she raises her voice just enough.

"They'll remember our names after this," she says.

Alix's gaze lingers on the jeering competitors, then shifts to Velira. He steps forward until he's walking beside her, his tone light but laced with quiet amusement.

"So," he says casually, "can you tell me why you're so confident, leader?"

Velira arches a brow but keeps her eyes ahead as they continue walking across the platform.