Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

Her gaze shifts to a fallen bandit, his sword still clutched in his stiffening hand. A practical thought crosses her mind—why not take their weapons? She crouches beside the corpse and reaches for the sword's hilt.

It doesn't budge.

Sorin's brows furrow. She tightens her grip and pulls harder, but the weapon remains stuck, as if welded to the ground.

"What…?" she mutters under her breath.

She tries another body—this one had a dagger strapped to his belt. But no matter how much she pulls, it refuses to come loose. It's as if the weapons are mere props, part of the environment, and not something she can claim.

A cold realization washes over her. 'So I can't loot them? This place is weird?'

Her lips press into a thin line. She doesn't understand the logic behind it, but standing around won't give her answers. Pushing the thought aside, she continues deeper into the cave.

The air grows heavier, tinged with the stench of sweat, alcohol, and something rotten. The flickering torches along the walls barely push back the darkness, casting eerie, dancing shadows.

Then, she hears it—boisterous laughter.

She slows her steps, pressing herself against the rough stone wall as she approaches the source of the noise. Peeking around the corner, her sharp eyes take in the scene before her.

A large cavern opens up before her, wider than any of the previous tunnels. At its center sits a figure on a makeshift throne of wood and bones. His muscles bulge beneath his ragged cloak, scars crisscrossing his exposed arms. A greatsword rests beside him, the metal gleaming dully in the low light.

Surrounding him are more bandits—some sprawled across wooden benches, others drinking straight from barrels of stolen ale. A handful of women linger close, refilling cups and tending to the leader's every whim.

Sorin's grip tightens on her dagger.

Her golden eyes flicker, analyzing the scene. The way the others glance at him, the way no one dares speak too loudly in his presence—there's no doubt. This man holds authority here.

Sorin steadies her breathing, pressing deeper into the shadows, her eyes locked on the bandit leader. He is larger up close, his presence exuding a primal dominance that makes the other bandits unconsciously shrink before him.

Just as she prepares to move, his head suddenly snaps in her direction.

A slow, toothy grin spreads across his scarred face.

"Ohh?" His deep, gravelly voice rumbles through the cavern. "Looks like we have a little mouse hiding in the dark."

Sorin's breath stills. Impossible.

Her stealth is perfect. She hadn't made a sound, and none of the other bandits had noticed her. How did he see me?

Realizing she's been exposed, she steps forward, letting the shadows peel away from her form. Her eyes remain locked onto the leader, scanning him for any hint of how he detected her.

The bandit leader leans forward on his throne, his grin widening.

"Although I can't see your figure under that robe," he says, inhaling deeply, "I can smell that delicious fragrance your body is emitting."

Sorin's expression hardens, but she remains silent.

The four bandits jerk in surprise. One of them, a scruffy-looking man with a chipped tooth, furrows his brows.

"Boss, are you sure it's a woman?" he asks skeptically.

The leader chuckles, his tongue running over his teeth. "Oh, I'm sure." He lifts his hand lazily and gestures forward. "Go and capture her. I'll have my fill first—then the rest of you can take turns."

The bandits exchange eager grins before turning their predatory gazes toward Sorin.

But Sorin doesn't flinch.

If anything, she tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into something cold. Something that sends a chill down their spines before they even take their first step.

A quiet chuckle escapes Sorin's lips, barely more than a breath.

"This is good," she muses. "This human is too cocky."

Her golden eyes flicker over the four underlings advancing toward her. She instantly assesses their strength—Tier 2 warriors (level 200+).

She is a tier 3 assassin (level 300+). A hunter of the dark.

The moment they step toward her, they have already lost.

The first bandit lunges, his blade gleaming under the dim torchlight. His movements are fast—for a human—but predictable. Sorin doesn't move until the last second, her body shifting just enough to let the attack pass through empty air.

Then, she strikes.

A single twist of her wrist. A flash of silver.

The bandit gasps, his eyes widening as his throat opens in a crimson smile. He stumbles back, clutching at his neck, gurgling as blood spills between his fingers.

The second one reacts immediately, swinging a heavy axe toward her side. Sorin sidesteps, her cloak billowing as the axe crashes into the stone floor with a deafening crack. Before the wielder can recover, she moves—her dagger sinking into the gap between his shoulder and neck.

His body stiffens, his breath hitching.

Sorin yanks the blade free, spinning around him like a wraith, and slashes across his exposed side. The man crumples, a ragged cry escaping his lips before he collapses.

The remaining two hesitate.

"Shit! She's too fast!" one of them hisses.

"Surround her!" the other shouts.

They rush her at once, one from the left, the other from the right.

Sorin lets them come.

The moment they enter her range, she vanishes.

For a heartbeat, there is nothing. No sound. No presence.

Then—

A blur.

Sorin reappears behind the one on the right. He barely has time to widen his eyes before her dagger pierces the base of his skull. He drops instantly, his body limp before he even registers the pain.

The last bandit stumbles back in terror.

"Monster…!" he breathes, his hands trembling. He turns on his heel, ready to run—

A cold hand grabs the back of his head.

Sorin yanks him down, her knee slamming into his face with a sickening crunch. Bone shatters. Blood sprays.

He collapses at her feet, groaning weakly before the darkness claims him.