Chapter 10: Misorn City

Words : 1061 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

Chapter 10 of "Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me" starts revealing the story: Once the caravan is a safe distance from the town, the group finally exhales, the... Don’t miss it!

Once the caravan is a safe distance from the town, the group finally exhales, the oppressive atmosphere of the monster settlement left behind. The creak of wagon wheels fills the silence, but it doesn't last long. Lina breaks the silence, her voice sharp and filled with frustration. "Doran, are we really just going to turn a blind eye like nothing happened?" Doran keeps his eyes on the road ahead, his expression hard. "We have a job, Lina. That's all." Tarak growls low in his throat, his grip on the reins tightening. "Captain, I didn't sign up to deliver people—especially women—to those beasts. I thought we were better than this." The merchant riding alongside them sighs loudly. "Everyone, calm down. I understand this might not sit well with some of you, but let's not forget something important: those two women? They're slaves. And you're hired adventurers. Your job is to deliver, not question." Lina's eyes blaze as she whirls on him. "Slaves? Is that supposed to make it better? Being a slave in a human city is one thing, but handing them over to monsters? You know damn well what'll happen to them!" Her voice rises, trembling with anger. "They'll be kept as playthings for that filthy orc!" The merchant holds up his hands defensively. "I don't like it any more than you do, but that's the reality of this world. We're not heroes." The merchant adjusts his hat, his voice firm. "And keep in mind, this order came from the city lord, Vylan. You know how things work in Misorn. Lord Vylan rules with an iron grip, and his word is law. If he says jump, we ask how high." Lina's anger flares again. "Lord Vylan? So, what? Because some corrupt noble says it's okay, we just go along with it? Do his dirty work without question?" The merchant snaps. "You don't understand. Misorn thrives on these deals. The city's entire operation depends on maintaining trade routes like this—goods, information, and yes, even slaves. Defying Lord Vylan isn't just reckless; it's suicide. You think he cares about a couple of adventurers? He'd have us all executed without a second thought." Doran finally speaks, his voice cold and steady. "Enough. What's done is done. We won't solve anything here." His eyes flick to Lina, then Tarak. "Focus on the mission. We're not here to pick fights with the city lords. If you have a problem with the orders, take it up with Vylan when we're back in Misorn." Lina bites her lip, her frustration clear but says nothing more. Tarak grumbles under his breath, but the weight of Doran's authority keeps him in check. Back in town. Alix's sharp eyes catch sight of Gornak with Calak, stands before one of Refu's lackeys, a scrawny goblin with a crooked grin. Gornak holds a bundle of herbs, his thick fingers tightening around it as he thrusts it forward. "These herbs," Gornak says, his voice rough, "are the same ones I traded last time. I got five gold coins for this amount. Why are you only offering two now?" The goblin snickers, flicking a single coin into the air before catching it and tossing it into Gornak's hands. "Old bastard, it's the order of Lord Refu. Prices change. Be thankful I'm giving you anything." Gornak's eyes narrow, his grip tightening on the remaining herbs. "Two coins for this? That barely covers the time it takes to gather them." The goblin shrugs, leaning lazily against the wall. "Take it or leave it, old man. Complain to Lord Refu if you've got a problem. See how far that gets you." Alix stands off to the side, silently observing. His arms are crossed, and a faint smirk plays on his lips. He knows his soldiers well; they won't let this insult slide. Calak, cloaked in a heavy robe to conceal his true form, shifts slightly. "Hey, little goblin," Calak says, his tone almost mocking, "you should hand over five gold coins now, before I pluck your head from your body." The goblin stiffens, his eyes narrowing. "What did you just say, you robed freak?" He steps forward, his hand reaching for Calak's hood. "Let's see who you think you are—" Before the goblin can finish, his head suddenly detaches from his shoulders, rolling to the ground with a dull thud. Blood spurts from his neck, and his body collapses moments later. The silence is deafening. No one even saw Calak move. "What... what just happened?" one of the onlookers mutters, his voice trembling. A murmuring wave spreads through the gathered monsters, their voices low and filled with fear. "No way," a lizardman whispers, his eyes wide. "Someone's challenging Lord Refu? It's been years since anyone dared to oppose him." Another monster, a wolfkin, growls nervously. "Whoever this robed figure is, he's insane. No one defies Refu and lives to tell about it." The tension thickens as two gnoll guards, clad in mismatched armor and wielding crude axes, push through the crowd. Their snarling faces betray their eagerness for bloodshed. "Step aside!" one gnoll barks, his voice guttural. "By order of Lord Refu, anyone who causes trouble dies where they stand!" Calak turns his head slightly toward the approaching gnolls, his movements slow and deliberate. Beneath his hood, his glowing eyes glint ominously. The gnolls charge without hesitation, their axes raised. But before they can even get within striking distance, their bodies jerk violently. In an instant, their heads separate from their shoulders, blood spraying in wide arcs. The crowd gasps in shock as the lifeless bodies hit the ground, their weapons clattering uselessly beside them. A heavy silence falls, broken only by the faint rustle of Calak's robe as he adjusts his stance. Suddenly, a loud, guttural roar echoes through the air, and the ground trembles beneath their feet. From the direction of the fortress, a towering figure emerges, his crimson eyes blazing with fury. It's Lord Refu. His massive frame is clad in spiked armor, his orcish features twisted in a snarl of pure rage. Behind him, more guards scramble to keep up, their weapons drawn.

Chapter 10: Misorn City

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