Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me-Chapter 358 - 357: Heavenfall Cataclysm, Siege Weapon (part 1)
Stegran’s boots touch the ground without a sound.
The poison mana around him settles, sinking back beneath his skin like a restrained tide. The air immediately feels lighter, yet no one present relaxes.
The command camp stretches around him.
Massive tents reinforced with spell-frames rise in tight formations. Alarm circles glow faintly in the dirt. Medics rush past carrying stretchers slick with blood. Officers bark orders, voices hoarse from shouting over the chaos.
Then—
Four figures move at once.
They rush forward from different directions, each radiating peak Tier 6 pressure honed through countless battles. Their auras flare briefly, then snap shut the moment they reach Stegran.
They drop to one knee.
Armor scrapes against stone.
"Marshal," they say in unison.
Stegran’s gaze shifts to them.
The four generals, veterans who command entire army wings, bow their heads respectfully, not daring to meet his eyes for more than a heartbeat.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair and scarred hands, speaks first.
"Lord Marshal," he says, voice firm despite exhaustion, "what are your orders?"
Stegran does not answer immediately.
He looks past them.
Toward Plison City.
The barrier still gleams faintly in the distance, untouched, serene, an insult carved into light.
He clicks his tongue once.
"We don’t waste mana banging our heads against a wall," Stegran says calmly. "Not today."
The generals exchange quick glances.
Another general, a woman with sharp eyes and a strategist’s posture, asks carefully, "Then... do we maintain the siege and wear them down?"
Stegran finally looks back at them.
"No," he says flatly. "We end this faster."
He turns and walks toward the largest command platform. The four generals rise instantly and follow half a step behind him.
As they walk, Stegran speaks, voice low but carrying unmistakable authority.
"Ready the siege weapons," he orders.
The scarred general stiffens. "Lord Marshal... you mean—"
"Yes."
"We deploy Heavenfall Cataclysm tomorrow."
The name ripples outward like a shockwave.
One general inhales sharply. Another’s eyes widen before she schools her expression. The fourth lowers his head slightly, reverent.
"The Heavenfall Cataclysm..." the first general mutters. "One of the kingdom’s two supreme siege weapons."
A weapon that is not transported openly.
A weapon that is not used unless a city must be erased.
He resumes walking.
"Move it under maximum concealment," he orders. "Also, establish mana dampening arrays across the camp. Triple the guard rotation."
"Yes, Lord Marshal!" all four generals respond immediately.
As they disperse to carry out the order, Stegran stops once more and looks back toward the distant city.
The barrier gleams.
Behind it, monsters move freely. Confident. Unafraid.
Stegran’s eyes narrow.
"Enjoy your wall," he murmurs. "Tomorrow, I drop the sky on you."
----
Dawn comes blood-red.
The battlefield does not reset. It only stiffens.
Smoke still rises from scorched earth. The ground between the human camp and Plison City is a scar of broken terrain—craters, blackened soil, shattered armor, half-buried corpses. Hidden among it all are the traps laid yesterday, some already triggered, many still waiting.
The human army forms up again.
This time, no one charges.
Infantry advances in cautious blocks, shields raised, steps measured. Mages move ahead with probing rods and detection spells, sweat dripping down their faces as they test the ground inch by inch.
A young officer shouts, "Slow! Slow! Don’t bunch up—watch your spacing!"
An adventurer mutters, eyes fixed on the earth, "Damn monsters turned the ground itself into a weapon..."
Behind the lines, spellcasters assemble in disciplined ranks. Circles bloom one by one, layered formations overlapping instead of competing. Countermeasure arrays activate, humming softly as they wait for retaliation.
Above them all, Marshal Stegran floats in silence, watching.
"Proceed," he says at last. "No reckless advances. Grind them down."
The order ripples outward.
Human mages raise their staves.
Spells fly.
Rivers of flame crash against the barrier, spreading like liquid across its surface before dissipating. Spears of lightning strike in rapid succession, their impacts flashing white, but the barrier only ripples faintly, absorbing the force without strain. Tier 6 spells detonate, shockwaves rolling across the plains.
Nothing breaks.
A mage snarls, "It’s still holding!"
"Keep firing!" another barks. "Don’t give them breathing room!"
From within Plison City, the barrier glows brighter, runes cycling smoothly as if pleased by the workload.
On the walls, monsters watch calmly.
"Same as yesterday," Ruk says, rolling his shoulders.
Erel’na narrows her eyes. "No. They’re learning."
Vordon raises a hand.
"Return fire," he orders. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎
The city answers.
Spells surge outward again, less chaotic than yesterday, more precise. Bolts of mana lance through the barrier, aimed not at massed ranks but at spell formations.
A human commander shouts, "Interceptors up!"
Prepared shields bloom into existence, translucent walls catching incoming attacks. Counterspells snap into place, unraveling curses before they can bloom. Arrows slam into overlapping barriers and shatter.
A monster’s corrosive beam strikes a shield and disperses harmlessly.
"Tch," a flying monster clicks its tongue. "They’re ready this time."
From the walls, siege crews unleash enchanted ballista bolts. The projectiles scream through the air, only to be deflected mid-flight by spinning mana plates.
Still, not all attacks are stopped.
A delayed spell slips through, detonating among the mages. The ground collapses suddenly beneath a squad, traps activating in a chain reaction. Spikes erupt, then vanish, leaving screams and blood behind.
A human soldier stumbles back, pale. "It was clear—I checked it!"
His sergeant grabs him. "Nothing is clear out here. Move!"
Back and forth it goes.
The barrier absorbs everything.
Inside the city, monsters fight from safety, their attacks passing cleanly outward. Outside, humans brace, deflect, endure—paying in blood for every mistake.
The stalemate stretches.
Minutes bleed into an hour.
Spellfire churns the air, mana clashing against mana, but nothing truly changes. The barrier stands. The city endures. The battlefield grinds without progress.
Marshal Stegran lowers his hand.
"That’s enough."
The order is quiet, but it carries.
Signal flags snap upward behind the command lines. Horns sound once, low and controlled. Human spellcasters cease their casting in disciplined waves, circles dimming, staves lowering. The sudden reduction in mana pressure makes the air feel hollow.
On the walls of Plison City, several monsters tense.
Ruk frowns. "They stopped."
Erel’na’s eyes flick toward the human rear. "They are not going to retreat again, right?"
Vordon follows her gaze.
Far behind the main army, the ground begins to move.
At first, it looks like a mirage, heat distortion rippling across the plain. Then the earth itself parts. Stone slabs slide aside with grinding force, revealing a massive, circular platform etched with ancient runes.
Something rises.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Layer by layer, spell-forged metal ascends from its concealed cradle. Pillars thicker than siege towers lock into place. Interlocking rings rotate, each ring inscribed with condensed mana formulas so dense the air screams faintly as they activate.
The weapon dwarfs everything around it.
Even at a distance, it feels oppressive—like gravity itself leans toward it.
Vordon’s eyes narrow.
"...That thing," he says quietly, "looks like bad news."
Ruk lets out a low whistle. "Damn, that thing is massive."
Erel’na’s voice hardens. "It’s a high grade siege weapon."
Vordon raises his hand, palm outward.
"Spread the formations," he orders immediately. "Reinforce the barrier core. All tier 5 and tier 6 defenders on standby."
