Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me-Chapter 195 - 197: Throwing Tier 5 Skills, Left And Right

Their commander is among them. He steps forward without hesitation—tall, lean, hair silvered with age but eyes sharp and calculating. The edge of his cloak catches the wind as he stops a few feet from Alix, gaze sliding over him with mild scrutiny.

His brow furrows. "It's my first time seeing you. Are you a new commander?"

Alix doesn't shift, doesn't blink. His voice is calm but clear.

"What about it if I am?"

The older commander's mouth twitches, not quite a sneer, not quite amusement. He exhales through his nose.

"Tssk. What bad luck."

A nearby soldier winces slightly at the bluntness, but Alix doesn't flinch. Instead, a faint grin pulls at the edge of his mouth—cold and unreadable.

Alix's voice cuts through the mist like a blade.

"Yeah," he says. "It is bad luck to have you here. So just die."

The Astram commander lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

But the sound doesn't last.

His expression never even has time to change. His head is already falling—cleanly severed—before the laugh finishes echoing through the trees. It hits the ground with a soft thump, his body still upright for half a second before it collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.

Silence crashes down like thunder.

Even the birds in the trees seem to hold their breath.

The Astram soldiers freeze—staring at Alix as if they're not quite sure what they just saw. Some blink. One instinctively steps back. Another grips his weapon tighter but doesn't raise it.

Even the Ember Claw soldiers behind Alix look stunned. Their commander just executed an Astram officer with a single movement, effortless and merciless.

One Ember soldier, eyes wide, breathes, "Commander…"

Alix doesn't turn. He speaks without emotion, gaze locked on the remaining Astram troops.

"Kill the rest."

There's a pause. Like the whole forest is waiting.

Then, another Ember soldier speaks—cautious, uncertain. "But… we need everyone we can get to survive the beasts. Even them."

Alix doesn't waver.

"I said," he repeats, voice sharper now, "kill them."

A heavy silence follows.

Then Alix steps forward. Just one pace. That's all it takes.

The message is clear.

Orders, not suggestions.

And behind him, the Ember Claw soldiers move—some slowly, some still hesitant, but they move. Weapons lift. Spells crackle to life. Steel glints in the filtered forest light.

The Astram troops, still reeling, instinctively begin to form up—half defensive, half retreating.

They understand now.

This isn't a misunderstanding. This isn't a temporary alliance.

This is execution.

Alix doesn't draw his blade again.

He doesn't need to.

The Ember Claw soldiers descend like a storm.

The Astram troops are still panicking, disorganized, disbelief clouding their reactions. They shout fragmented commands—some try to cast shields, others raise weapons, but none of it matters.

A fire mage screams as an Ember blade slashes clean across his throat. Another Astram soldier raises his staff—only for an earth spike to erupt beneath him, skewering through his chest. One tries to flee, casting wind to boost his step—but a spear pins him mid-air, nailing him to a tree.

The forest echoes with steel and blood.

Minutes pass.

And then—

Silence again.

The last Astram body hits the ground with a hollow thud, twitching once, then still.

The Ember Claw stand amid the carnage. Breathing hard. Limbs trembling. Many are bleeding. Some are barely upright. But they're alive.

Alix steps over a corpse, calm as ever. Blood spatters his boots, his coat, but his expression doesn't change.

He glances around, then speaks—low but firm.

"Good."

He turns to face his soldiers, eyes sharp.

"I'll take whatever beasts come next. You all stay down and heal."

One soldier, a younger man with a gash across his brow, blinks like he misheard. "Alone…?"

Another coughs from where he sits against a stone, blood on his lips. "Commander, we should set formation—at least cast barriers—"

"I said stay down," Alix says, flatly.

"But sir," the first one insists, "you'll be overwhelmed. You might be strong, but—"

Alix cuts him off with a glance.

A flicker of mana coils around his form like smoke tightening.

"I'm not asking," Alix says.

The weight of his voice drops like a stone in still water. Even the injured stop speaking.

They remember, suddenly.

They remember that Alix had fought Lathar to the ground. A peak Tier 5, beaten—and not barely.

One of the soldiers whispers, almost dazed, "He's… serious."

Then—

The air shifts.

The mist grows heavier. Mana stirs unnaturally, dragging through the trees like invisible tides.

Leaves rustle. Branches snap.

The first beasts appear.

Six-legged, hunched things with bone plating and vertical maws. Their eyes glow faintly, distorted by mana saturation. More follow. A dozen. Then more. Dozens. A full wave.

Snarls echo across the glade.

One Ember soldier starts to push up from the ground.

Alix raises a hand, palm outward.

"Don't."

The beasts roar as one.

Alix steps forward, raising his other hand.

Mana flares to life—raw, vibrant, and overwhelming.

Alix's fingers curl around his sword hilt.

The blade hums as it leaves the sheath, the air warping slightly around it, as if space itself recoils from the mana surging into the weapon.

The beasts charge.

"Tier 5," Alix murmurs, almost to himself. "Let's see how many you can take."

His eyes flash, glowing faintly. He slashes the blade sideways once—clean, controlled.

"[Infernal Crescent]!"

A surge of fire bursts from the arc of his blade, wide and devastating. It doesn't just burn—it consumes, shaped like a crescent moon of molten death. It arcs through the first rank of beasts like a scythe, splitting them open mid-charge. Bodies explode into charred husks, flames clinging to their corpses like hungry ghosts.

The shockwave knocks the others back. Screeches fill the forest. Panic. Chaos.

Alix moves before the smoke clears.

He leaps forward, boots barely touching the ground. Mana gathers at his sword again—this time cold, dense, and crushing.

He spins once in mid-air and plunges his blade into the dirt with force that splits the forest floor.

"[Glacial Burst]!"

The earth erupts upward as jagged spears of ice explode outward in every direction. The frost radiates through the air, freezing limbs, shattering bones. The remaining beasts are caught mid-motion—frozen, shattered, or both. Shards of ice rain down like glass.

The entire first wave is obliterated.

Not one survives.

Silence.

The glade is littered with the steaming remains of burnt bodies and frostbitten limbs.

The injured Ember Claw soldiers stare from where they sit or lie—wide-eyed, stunned. Not a single one of them has moved.

One of them finally breathes, voice soft, almost reverent.

"…He only used two tier 5 skills."

Another mutters, "That's… That's Tier 5? He is using tier 5 skills, like they're tier 4."

The silence doesn't last.

The ground trembles again—heavier this time.

The second wave charges out of the mist with savage urgency. Larger beasts this time—tusked and armored, some with wings that snap like sails above their hunched forms. One screeches, a high-pitched wail that shatters a nearby branch.

And Alix moves.

He doesn't wait. Doesn't hesitate.

"[Storm Fang]!"

A vacuum tears open as he slashes horizontally—wind and space ripping apart. The air itself bends, pulling beasts into the rift before collapsing with a thunderous snap. Bones shatter. Flesh is flayed. The impact is clean and unnatural.

Then—one final flourish.

His sword glows deep gold, radiant with a fierce, searing light.

"[Solar Cleave]!"

He brings the blade down like a guillotine.

A column of pure light erupts forward in a straight line—searing, blinding. It cuts through everything. Trees. Rock. Beast. The path it leaves behind is molten glass and ash.

And just like that—again—the second wave is gone.

The Ember Claw soldiers don't even speak this time. They just stare.

One finally chokes out, "That… that was three more. That's five now. Five."

A woman beside him, shoulder torn and wrapped in bloody cloth, whispers, "Isn't Tier 5s usually only have five."

"They do," another says, voice hoarse with disbelief. "That's how it's always been. Commander Lathar had five. Some commanders had four."

A third roar breaks the air.

The third wave.

Dozens again. More than before. This time they come faster. Angrier. Bigger.

Some crawl along the cliffsides. Some break from the trees with green, glowing eyes. Some fly.

The Ember Claw soldiers look up in horror.

"Gods," one whispers. "There's too many—"

Then they all see him.

Alix steps out alone. No formation. No barriers.

He raises his sword.

And lets loose.

Shortly after, the Ember Claw soldiers stare at the wasteland left behind. Smoke. Ice. Stone. Lightning. Craters.

Nothing moves.

Not one beast remains.

No one speaks for a full ten seconds.

Then someone exhales, shaky and half-hysterical.

"That's ten. He's already used ten Tier 5 skills."

"Impossible," another mutters. "It's impossible. Is he some kind of heir to a powerful force from the main continent?"

"He's not even breathing hard."

Alix stands still, sword dripping faint mana like dew.

His expression hasn't changed.

The silence is broken again.

But this time, it's not from a horde.

It's just one step.

Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.

The trees part, branches splintering under the weight of something massive.

A single beast emerges from the fog—taller than the trees, its body layered in plated obsidian armor that pulses faintly with violet veins. Its maw is split down the center, like a cracked boulder, and each breath it takes warps the mana around it.

Its eyes lock onto Alix.

A peak Tier 5.

The air distorts around it, thick with pressure and barely-contained force.

Alix's gaze sharpens, but he doesn't flinch. He raises a brow, almost bored.

"A peak Tier 5?" he says under his breath.