Strongest Kingdom: My Op Kingdom Got Transported Along With Me

He reaches into his pocket and flips a silver coin into the air.

The boy catches it with practiced ease, grinning wide. "Smart choice, stranger. Name's Dasdarin."

"Ok," he replies.

Dasdarin jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Come on, then. Stick close. I'll show you the good alleys, the bad markets, and the one bathhouse that doesn't try to rob you while you're naked."

Alix said under his breath. "That's oddly specific."

"Experience, my friend," Dasdarin says, walking backward now, hands behind his head. "And trust me—Vassren looks pretty from up close, but this city's got teeth."

Alix follows him deeper into the winding streets. The crowd thins, the air shifts, and with every turn Kael leads him through, Alix takes it all in quietly—the layers of the kingdom, the tension beneath its golden towers.

As they round a corner into a wider street, the scent in the air changes—no longer just roasted nuts or forge-smoke, but something more acrid, like sunbaked leather and dust rubbed with sweat.

Dasdarin slows his pace, glancing sideways at Alix.

"Wanna see the slave market?" he asks, voice casual—like he's offering a shortcut, not a shock. "It's just up ahead."

Alix pauses for a breath, masking the flicker behind his eyes.

"…Okay," he says. "Let's go."

Dasdarin leads him down a sloping avenue where the buildings shift from polished stone to reinforced iron bars and high wooden fences. There are more guards here—some wearing royal crests, others draped in house sigils or mercenary chains. The air hums with heat and noise.

They pass under a heavy stone arch, carved with old imperial glyphs. Beyond it, the slave market opens up like a festering wound in the city's heart—wide, loud, and alive with bartering.

Rows of platforms are scattered across the square, each with wooden frames or raised cages. Merchants call out over the din, voices booming with pride or mockery:

"Strong arms, reinforced spine—good for labor!"

"Obedient, low mana trace—ideal for indoor work!"

"Fresh-blood beastkin, no known curses!"

Alix slows his steps, eyes flicking from one platform to another.

Most of the slaves are monsters. Some are chained by the neck, others bound by magical collars glowing faintly. A few snarl quietly under their breath, eyes blazing with hatred, but most are silent—expression hollow, resigned.

He spots a drakonid boy no older than Ruva crouched behind the bars of a small cage, one wing broken and dragged awkwardly against the floor. His yellow eyes stare blankly past the crowd.

But not all of them are monsters.

On one platform, a young human girl is being advertised with her price written in chalk behind her. She's pale, bruised around the wrist, and stares at the ground while the merchant beside her boasts about her ability to write, cook, and "keep quiet."

"Yeah," Dasdarin says beside him, hands in his pockets. "Told you this city has teeth."

"You sound used to it," Alix says quietly.

Dasdarin shrugs. "You get numb after a while. Nobody here cares if you're born free or sold off. Half the nobles keep personal stocks. Half the soldiers buy spoils. It's normal."

Alix doesn't respond. He just watches as a beastkin woman—ears drooped, chained at the ankles—is pulled up to the next platform.

Dasdarin leans in. "They say the farther east you go, the worse it gets. Bregion Empire runs half the slave routes. Whole caste system built on who they can break."

Dasdarin barks a quiet laugh. "The city runs it. One of the princes owns a quarter of this district. These aren't criminals—they're merchandise."

Alix is silent again, his storm-gray eyes sweeping over the market.

He watches a merchant shove a chained monster girl to the ground and sneer at her while she winces. Watches the crowd jeer. Sees a nobleman nod once and drop a gold coin into the merchant's hand.

Although Alix keeps his face perfectly calm—cold, unreadable, the face of a quiet traveler passing through—beneath the surface, his eyes flicker with controlled calculation.

A transparent, floating screen only he can see hovers before him, flickering with faint blue light. It follows his gaze silently, shifting each time he looks at a slave. The [Status Screen] function of the system hums softly in his mind.

[Analyzing target…]

[Name: Krezn

Race: Ogrekin

Tier: 1

Condition: Malnourished, Spirit Suppressed

Innate Trait: None]

He blinks once and shifts his attention.

[Name: Nella

Race: Lamia

Tier: 2

Condition: Broken Spirit, Mana Sealed

Innate Trait: None]

He continues walking, letting the screen do its work silently.

Dasdarin doesn't notice a thing.

"See the guy yelling up there?" the boy says, pointing toward a platform where a stocky merchant in green robes boasts loudly. "He's been selling for twenty years. They say if it breathes and bleeds, he's sold it twice."

Alix doesn't answer. His gaze drifts past the platform to a low, shadowed cage near the back. There, almost hidden behind the others, a woman kneels—motionless.

She has long, silver hair matted with dirt, and a single horn cracked near the tip. Her hands are chained in front of her, ankles bound, but unlike the others, she isn't slouched in defeat. She kneels perfectly straight. Silent. Eyes closed. Her breathing is calm.

Alix's gaze lingers—and the system responds.

[Analyzing target...]

[Name: Unknown]

[Race: Oni]

[Tier: 3]

[Condition: Severely Suppressed | Mana Seals: 2 | Physical Degradation: Moderate]

[Innate Ability Detected: Bloodweave Dominion]

[Bloodweave Dominion] — A rare ability, allowing manipulation of blood (self and external) for offensive and defensive purposes.]

[Innate Potential: High]

[Status: Dormant]

Alix's eyes still as the screen fades.

He stands there longer than a moment, expression unreadable, even as the wind brushes past his cloak. His gaze fixes on the woman—not the bruises, not the dirt, but the stillness. There's no fear in her posture. No plea for help. Just… silence.

Dasdarin notices him pause and squints, trying to follow his line of sight.

"That one?" the boy says. "Huh. Weird pick. Nobody touches her."

Alix speaks, voice low. "Why?"

"Seller says she's cursed. Like, real cursed. Few buyers claimed she gave them nosebleeds just by looking at her. One guy swore his heart skipped a beat when she blinked. Literally."

Alix's gaze sharpens just slightly. "Has she been tested?"

"Tested?" Dasdarin snorts. "No one wants to waste a gold coins on a silent freak. Everytime I passed by, they keep her chained and sealed, and she just… sits there."

Dasdarin glances sideways at Alix, then grins as if something just clicked in his head.

"You wanna buy her?" he says, voice low but eager. "I know the merchant that owns her—Jask. He's been trying to get rid of her for a month now. She's scaring off his regulars. I bet I can talk him into a discount if I tell him you're serious."

Alix doesn't answer immediately. His eyes are still on the cage.

Dasdarin nudges his elbow. "C'mon. Let me work the angle. You'd be surprised how cheap people get when they think they're holding poison."

Alix finally gives a small nod. "Go."

"Alright, watch this." Dasdarin cracks his knuckles and strides ahead.

They approach the merchant—a broad-shouldered man in green robes with sweat glistening down his neck. He's arguing with a guard about paperwork when Dasdarin calls out.

"Oi, Jask!"

The merchant turns, frowning. "What?"

"I brought you a buyer," Dasdarin says, motioning behind him to Alix. "He's interested in the cursed one."

Jask blinks, then laughs—short and sharp. "That one? You serious?"

"He's serious," Dasdarin replies confidently.

"He's not from around here. Doesn't scare easy. Said she caught his eye."

The merchant eyes Alix as he steps closer. "Hmph. You sure you're not wasting my time, stranger?"

Alix meets his gaze flatly. "What's her price?"

Jask scratches at his stubbled jaw. "Was five hundred gold. Dropped it to three hundred last week. Still no bites. Too many damn rumors."

Dasdarin jumps in smoothly. "Three's steep for a cursed, sealed, silent nobody, Jask. He's doing you a favor just showing interest."

Jask snorts. "Yeah, yeah. You always talk like you've got coin. Fine—two hundred and fifty gold coins. I'm not going lower than that unless she dies in the cage."

Alix doesn't haggle. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a small pouch. The coins clink with quiet weight as he holds it out.

"Two and a half," he says, voice flat.

Jask snatches the pouch, pops it open with a practiced flick of his thumb, and counts the gleam of gold with a sharp eye. "Hah. Didn't think you had the balls—or the coin. You travelers usually flinch at the first whisper of 'cursed.'"

He stuffs the pouch into his belt, then turns to a small iron lockbox at his side. From it, he pulls out a folded strip of parchment inscribed with runes—a [Control Diagram].

"Hold out your hand," Jask says.

Alix lifts his right hand without a word. The merchant slaps the parchment into his palm—and it instantly dissolves into glowing threads of light. The strands crawl across Alix's skin like ink in water, searing briefly before settling into a black sigil etched onto his palm like a tattoo.

The mark pulses once, then dims.

"There," Jask grunts. "You own her now. The slave seal's linked to you. Don't lose your hand, or someone else might claim it."

Alix doesn't look at the mark. He just closes his hand into a fist and glances back toward the cage.

Beside him, Dasdarin whistles. "Damn. What a steal. If she wasn't cursed, she'd go for double that. Triple, even. Too bad, even by just standing there, I can feel my blood getting hot—like something's pulling at my veins."