Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

As they move deeper into the village, the destruction shifts—less random, more violent. Not just fire. Not just panic. The ground is scored with claw marks. Stone walls are dented inward, blood smeared in streaks. A broken spear lies half-buried in the mud. The remains of some creature—twisted, too many limbs—are crushed under a collapsed roof.

Alix narrows his eyes.

This wasn't just a raid. It was a battle. A real one.

His gaze traces the shattered remains of stone, the deep gashes in metal, the faint traces of lingering mana scorched into the ground like scars.

"Tier 3," he murmurs, crouching near a split beam, then frowning as his fingers brush a groove carved straight through it. "No… Tier 4."

Ruva doesn't respond. She's gone quiet again, taking it all in with wide, numb eyes. Her hands tremble, and her steps are hesitant, like her body knows what her heart refuses to believe.

They round a bend, and the largest building comes into view.

Or what's left of it.

The great hall at the center of the village—once a gathering place, maybe a place of pride—now leans crooked, its roof caved in, walls split open like something tore its way straight through. The ground outside is scorched and cracked, like someone detonated magic mid-fight.

Alix's brow tightens. He steps forward slowly, scanning the wreckage.

Then Ruva gasps.

Her hand slips from his.

"Papa!" she screams—and bolts.

"Ruva—!"

But she's already running, bare feet slapping against the scorched earth, straight toward one of the broken walls.

Alix surges after her.

And then he sees it.

Half-buried in the collapsed structure, pinned beneath the debris—there's a man. A Felinari, striped like Ruva, broader in frame. His body is slumped, still. Blood darkens his side. His arm is flung outward, claws dulled and coated in soot. His eyes are half-open, unseeing.

Ruva crashes to her knees beside him.

"Papa…?" Her voice breaks. "Papa, no, no, no—wake up—please—!"

She shakes him. Once. Twice. Her claws grip his tunic, and she buries her face against his chest.

He already knows. There's no breath. No pulse. Just the scent of dried blood and the lingering tension of a warrior who never had the chance to finish his last fight.

"Big Brother…" Ruva sobs. "He was trying to protect the village. I know he was. He—he always said he would…"

She leans forward again, curling beside the body, her small frame shaking with grief. Alix stays by her side, silent but solid—his presence the only thing anchoring her in the moment.

The wind stirs through the ruined walls, carrying the scent of ash and memory.

Alix closes his eyes briefly.

Ruva sits with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes are red and swollen, but dry now. The grief hasn't vanished—it never does—but it's no longer a tidal wave. Just something heavy. Settled.

Alix watches her, arms folded loosely across his chest, and says nothing. She needs this moment. To breathe. To stand back up.

Slowly, Ruva rises to her feet, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her voice is hoarse, but steady when she speaks.

"…Big Brother."

Alix lifts his gaze.

"I want to find my mama," she says. "And… and bury them all together. Please."

Alix straightens, his expression softening. She's fifteen, and yet—she's facing this like someone twice her age. He nods once, firmly.

"Let's do that then."

Ruva blinks, surprised by how fast he agreed.

"No one should be left alone," Alix adds. "And your dad would want that, wouldn't he?"

Alix walks over and places a hand on her shoulder. "Lead the way, Ruva. I'll be right behind you."

She looks up at him, then turns toward the rest of the ruins, scanning what remains of the village. Her eyes settle on a smaller path—partially blocked by debris.

"She… she always liked to sit near the old garden," Ruva says quietly. "She said the flowers made the food taste better when she cooked…"

"Then we start there," Alix replies. "Let's bring her home."

The old garden is barely recognizable—most of the herbs have been scorched to ash, and the fence is shattered. But the stones are still there. The path. And by one of the overturned benches, they find her.

Ruva doesn't scream this time. She just drops to her knees beside the still form, brushing soot and debris from her mother's fur. There's blood, dried around the edge of her clothes, and the peacefulness on her face only makes it worse.

"She must've been trying to get to the shelter…" Ruva murmurs, voice tight.

Alix kneels beside her and lowers his head for a moment of silence. Then he rises, and raises a hand.

Soft blue light begins to glow at his fingertips.

"Gathering Wind," he whispers.

The wind stirs, swirling with purpose. It moves like a current through the ruins, sweeping gently through the village. Ash and debris shift, then lift—clearing a path. From every corner of the village, broken bodies begin to rise, cradled in streams of magic.

One by one, the lost are gathered.

Ruva watches, wide-eyed, as Alix brings them together in the clearing beside the village's old shrine—a small, half-burned structure still standing, like it had weathered the storm for this very purpose.

Together, they dig.

It takes time. Alix uses magic to shape the earth. Ruva insists on placing the bodies herself—her mother, her father, the twins, her neighbors. All of them. Carefully. Respectfully.

And when it's done, they stand in silence.

The wind stills.

"…Thank you," Ruva says quietly, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Ruva," he says, voice gentle, "is there another village nearby? One you were on good terms with? Somewhere safe?"

Ruva nods slowly, her ears flicking once.

"Yeah…" she says. "It's northeast, near the river bend. About half a day if we walk steady."

She looks up at him, brushing a strand of ash-smeared hair from her face. "Their whole village is Lamari. You know, the horned ones? Real quiet but strong. They used to trade with us all the time—fruits, dried roots, even medicine sometimes. My mama liked them. Said they were honest folk."

Alix watches her for a moment, then asks, "So your village and theirs… allies?"

Ruva nods again, firmer this time.

"Yeah. Not just friendly. We looked out for each other," she says. "When the winter hit hard last year, we shared grain. And when they had a fire—small one—we sent wood and blankets. It's not official or anything, but it's real. You know?"

Alix nods, his gaze turning briefly toward the treeline, the fading sunlight casting long shadows over the graves.

"Good," he says. "We'll head there next. If they're the kind to share food and trust, they're the kind who might help you."

Ruva tilts her head. "And what about you?"

Alix glances down at her. "I'll stay long enough to make sure they open the gate. After that… we'll see."

"Okay, but..." Ruva doesn't finish her sentence. She lowers her gaze instead, the rest of the words caught in her throat, and just nods.

They walk in silence after that.

And by midday, the trees thin again, revealing carved wooden totems lining a narrow path. Strange but elegant designs—horns spiraling upward, woven into symbols of the moon and river.

Ahead, built into the gently rising hills, the Lamari village finally comes into view.

It's quiet. Watchful. The buildings are shaped from smooth stone and pale timber, rounded like shells, nestled into the land. A stream runs through the center, feeding small gardens.

As they step onto the main path, a figure drops from the nearest ledge—tall, broad, and unmistakably Lamari. Curved horns sweep back from his head, and his dark eyes narrow as he holds up a hand.

"That's far enough," he says, voice calm but firm. "State your name and—"

His words cut off mid-sentence.

"Wait. Is that…?"

His eyes widen as he steps closer, peering at the girl beside Alix. His mouth opens slightly, like he doesn't believe it.

"Little Ruva?" he says, breath hitching. "By the river spirits—you're alive?!"

Ruva blinks, startled. "… Big brother Miro?"

Before she can say more, the Lamari lets out a shout, turning his head toward the village.

"She's alive! There's a survivor from the Felinari tribe—Ruva's alive!"

Voices rise in the distance. More Lamari begin to appear—some from the homes, others from the upper paths. All of them turn toward the sound, and when they see Ruva standing there, the quiet village erupts in movement.

A pair of older Lamari rush down the path. One of them, an elder with moss-green robes and a carved walking staff, pushes forward.

"Let them through," he says sharply. "That girl has seen fire and ruin. We welcome her, as we did before."

Miro nods and steps aside, his expression still stunned. "Of course, Elder. Sorry."

Ruva clutches the edge of Alix's cloak.

The village welcomes them in silence and warmth—no loud cheers, no questions—just quiet, knowing glances and gentle hands that reach out to touch Ruva's shoulder as she passes. She's offered food, a place to sit, blankets. But she doesn't let go of Alix.

Not until night falls, and the village elder invites them into his home to speak in private.

After a long conversation—one filled with careful questions, quiet nods, and promises of protection—Alix makes his decision.

Outside, under the silver light of the moon, the wind is soft. The trees hum with distant insects. The village is calm now.

She stands beside Alix at the edge of the elder's home, her hands clenched at her sides. Her eyes are red again.