Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me-Chapter 181 - 183: Tier 6 Skill: Covenant of the Dying Spiral

Without even a word, Medoran hovers above the city like a burning god of fire. His crimson armor glows white-hot at the joints, molten veins pulsing like a second heartbeat beneath the plates. His hand stretches out—open, then closes into a fist. A deep hum echoes across the sky as heat coils around him, air warping violently.

Then, in a single, fluid motion, he releases it.

A Tier 5 skill slams down from the heavens—a roaring fist of flame and force, wrapped in spiraling embers and screaming winds, aimed directly at the center of Braenhall.

But—

Nothing.

No screams.

No running.

No panic.

Not a single soldier flinches.

A split second before impact, a wave of pitch-black energy erupts from the ground, swallowing the attack whole. The flame disappears with a muffled hiss—like a candle snuffed out underwater. Not even smoke remains.

Medoran's brow rises in visible surprise.

And then—

A voice, sultry and amused, threads through the air like silk laced with thorns.

"That's very rude of you," Lysaria says. "Not even a greeting first?"

She steps into view atop a spire, hair drifting in the wind, her body wrapped in flowing battle robes threaded with curse-glyphs. Her eyes glow like twin moons, and the grin on her lips is dangerous.

Gresvin appears behind Medoran, floating without motion, like a shadow that simply decided to exist in the open. His mismatched eyes scan the city below, calm and detached.

Medoran throws his head back and laughs—a booming, guttural sound that rolls across the city.

"Now this is a surprise!" he bellows. "There's two Tier 6s in this backwater continent?! I thought you rats were just playing with stolen power."

Lysaria tilts her head, lips twitching. "Backwater? Funny. Coming from someone who announces himself with fireworks."

Gander rises beside her, his staff in one hand, curses coiling around the other like serpents. He doesn't bother speaking—his presence alone radiates venom and cold calculation.

Gresvin finally speaks, voice low and flat. "Interesting. They're not illusions. They're real."

His gaze lingers on Gander, then shifts to Lysaria. "Her presence is layered… built for pain."

Medoran grins wider, flames licking the edges of his helm. "Doesn't matter. I like this. It's been a while since I stretched properly."

Lysaria licks her lips slowly, deliberately, eyes gleaming with a cruel, delighted hunger. The wind catches her hair, whipping it like strands of shadow in the red-black sky.

"Your life will be my thank-you gift for His Majesty," she purrs. "So try to scream loud enough for him to hear it."

The moment hangs, and then vanishes in a detonation of motion and power.

Medoran roars, igniting the sky around him. Fire blossoms from his body like wings of a phoenix, and in a heartbeat, he's already closed the distance, flaming gauntlet hurtling toward Lysaria's skull.

She doesn't dodge.

Tier 5 Skill: Witherveil Cloak

Black mist explodes from her form, forming a veil of decay around her. Medoran's fist slams into her body, and passes through smoke. A decoy. A curse-layered afterimage.

Behind him, Lysaria hisses. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Tier 5 Skill: Noxious Requiem

A shockwave of violet and green curse energy ripples outward. Medoran's armor screams as the magic eats at the ember-forged steel, black veins spreading along the plates.

Meanwhile, Gander lifts his staff, eyes locked on Gresvin.

"You're standing still. Let me fix that."

Tier 5 Skill: Bind of a Thousand Tongues

Dozens of shadowy cords burst from the ground like snakes, each etched with runes and the echo of screams. They lash out toward Gresvin, who remains motionless.

Then—

Tier 5 Skill: Voidwalk

Gresvin vanishes. Not teleports—ceases to exist for a heartbeat. The tendrils snap through empty space.

He reappears beside Gander, hand reaching for his throat.

But Gander is already chanting.

Tier 5 Skill: Echo of the Dying Curse

A dome of black smoke explodes outward from Gander, filled with whispering voices. Gresvin halts his strike, his arm trembling—his body remembering pain that hasn't happened yet.

His voice is flat, but edged. "You're clever."

Gander smiles without warmth. "You're stalling. Let me guess. He's the hammer, you're the knife."

"Who cares about that bastard, I will kill you, then I will kill that bastard next."

Medoran, enraged by the corrosion on his armor, lifts both arms.

Tier 5 Skill: Solar Devastation

A miniature sun forms in his palm—condensed, writhing fire pressed into the size of a spearhead. He hurls it downward at Lysaria.

She doesn't dodge.

She sings.

Tier 5 Skill: Dirge of the Leper Queen

Her voice vibrates the sky, low and discordant, as necrotic energy coats the battlefield. The sunstrike collides, but instead of a blast, it melts into a pit of black sludge midair, warped by her plague domain.

She twirls once, releasing another curse with a flick of her wrist.

Tier 5 Skill: Abyssal Bloom

A field of ghostly flowers erupts around Medoran, each one draining magic on contact. He flares in resistance, but his aura dims, just slightly.

"You're leaking," she mocks. "Maybe you should've stretched harder."

---

The rooftop trembles faintly beneath their boots, not from impact, but from the sheer pressure of power in the skies above.

Varkas narrows his eyes, watching the explosive chaos unfold. Four figures clash in the air, surrounded by pulses of color and darkness—tiered magic woven so tightly it looks like warping reality.

He clicks his tongue. "Are they really using Tier 5 skills?"

Beside him, Gorath stands with arms folded, his massive frame unmoving despite the distant shockwaves. His eyes track every movement with a predator's focus.

"They are," Gorath replies, voice gravelly. "But it's more proper to call them semi–Tier 6."

Varkas looks at him sideways. "How so?"

Gorath nods toward the sky. "Because it's not just the skill—it's the user. Same reason our Tier 4s are far more powerful than the Tier 4 skills conjured by Tier 4 powerhouses. Power isn't in the tier—it's in us."

Varkas watches as Lysaria disappears into smoke again, her plague-song unraveling Medoran's flames with contemptuous ease. "Hah… fair point. They're weaving those skills like tools, not weapons."

Gorath's eyes glint as Gander counters Gresvin's blade-like pressure with a single chant, unraveling a shadow construct before it finishes forming.

"They've fought stronger," Gorath mutters. "You can see it. That calm."

Varkas watches as Lysaria glides through a slash of flame without breaking stride, her curse aura peeling flesh from steel. "Yeah," he says, smirking slightly. "And they're enjoying it."

The sky rumbles again—another Tier 5 collision. This time, not an explosion, but a collapse, like reality recoiling from the layered curses and elemental fury clashing overhead.

Varkas exhales through his nose. "If this is Tier 5…"

Gorath grunts. "Wait until they actually start using their Tier 6 arsenal."

----

Lysaria growls, flinging another pulse of rot toward Medoran, only for him to detonate it midair with another solar flare. She skids backward across the wind, irritation flashing in her eyes.

Across the sky, Gander slams his staff into the air, chains of runes snapping into existence—but again, Gresvin vanishes, slipping through space like a knife through silk.

Lysaria clicks her tongue sharply, eyes narrowing. "This is getting tedious."

Gander's fingers tighten around his staff, jaw locked in silent concentration as Gresvin dances through space like smoke. Another attack slips past. Another moment wasted.

Then—

A voice slides into his mind, smooth and cold.

"Gander."

"I hear you."

"This isn't working. They refuse to coordinate."

"I noticed." His tone is dry, laced with barely restrained annoyance.

"If they won't fight as a pair…"

He smiles thinly.

"Then we make them." He lifts his gaze, locking eyes with Lysaria across the battlefield.

Out loud, calm and cutting, he speaks. "Then we let them work together."

Lysaria grins immediately, wicked and beautiful. "They're going to hate this."

The air between them twists. Space bends. Light fractures.

Their voices rise in perfect synchrony, ancient syllables pouring from their lips, the chant deeper than sound, resonating in marrow and soul.

Tier 6 Skill: Covenant of the Dying Spiral

A vortex of black and violet light explodes from their palms, spiraling outward like a blooming death flower. Threads of pure mana arc from Gander's staff and Lysaria's fingers, intertwining midair. The moment their energies meet, a shockwave rolls across the battlefield—silent but undeniable.

Every cloud in the sky bends away.

Between them, a spectral sigil spins into being—half curse, half construct. It anchors to their chests with glowing brands, and in the next heartbeat—

Their souls connect.

Gander gasps softly, breath caught in his throat. He feels it immediately. Her madness. Her rot. Her hatred and joy, burning elegance. It coils with his precision, his venom, his cold, patient fury.

Mana roars through their veins like twin rivers crashing into one sea.

Lysaria shudders with delight, a moan escaping her lips. "Gods, yes."

Gander said. "Control yourself."

Medoran halts mid-air, eyes narrowing as he feels the pressure spike.

"What the hell did they just—?"

Lysaria's body rises, slow and deliberate, eyes glowing brighter than ever.

"You're not the center of this battlefield anymore," she purrs at Medoran.

Gander steps forward, staff raised high. "You're the experiment."

They speak in unison, voices echoing as one:

"Let's see how well you work together."

Then they move.

Faster.

Heavier.

Wrong.

Lysaria vanishes into vapor—then reappears behind Gresvin, a curse-spear already forming in her hand. Its tip drips with coalesced entropy, screaming silently.

At the same instant, Gander's staff cracks the sky, summoning a web of anti-space glyphs that lock Medoran in midair for just a flicker of time.

Just enough.

Tier 6 Skill: Malediction Symphony

A field erupts between them, comprised of layered curses, harmonic vibrations of death and rot. Each beat of their linked souls sends a pulse of destabilizing energy across the air. Flames sputter. Shadows recoil.