Chapter 14: The Suicide Squad

Chapter 14 - The Suicide SquadChapter 14

A yellow portal spun wildly in the heart of the forest, its surface flickering with unstable energy. It pulsed, calmed, then flared again. This back-and-forth continued ominously, a warning of what was to come.

"This portal won't hold much longer," a man in a black suit said with panic in his voice. He turned to his partner, who was casually puffing on a cigarette, completely unfazed.

"Don't stress yourself too much," the smoking man said lazily.

"Don't stress—don't stress?! Are you insane?!" the brown-haired man nearly screamed. "That's a yellow-class portal we're looking at! Just one tier below red! Do you know what kind of devastation happens when those break?!"

He was on the verge of losing it. Rightfully so—he had witnessed a portal break before, and the nightmares still haunted him. If it had been a blue-class portal, maybe—just maybe—he would have dared to clear it himself. But yellow? That was no joke.

"To make things worse," he added, clenching his fists, "most of the high-ranking heroes—especially the A-ranks—are too busy right now. So tell me, how the hell are we supposed to deal with this?!"

"I told you, relax. The clearing team is already here," the other man said, nodding ahead.

About fifteen figures approached, boots crunching softly against the forest floor. The brown-haired man let out a long sigh of relief. "You could've mentioned you got high-rankers to help out..."

"I didn't," the smoking man replied coolly. "I just posted the situation on the Heroes Network and said anyone who thought they were up for it should show up."

"You... what?"



Panic surged again. The brown-haired man rushed to meet the group, desperately scanning for any sign of strength or competence. His eyes landed on a man in the center—black gauntlets gleamed on his hands, clearly a power weapon of high grade. His badge read B-Rank. Relief hit the brown-haired man like a wave... until he checked the rest.

C-Rank. C-Rank. C-Rank.

One after another, the others were all Class C heroes.

A headache slammed into him. "This is a disaster..."

Then, tucked away at the back of the group, he noticed someone leaning casually against a tree. White and black hair. Mysterious. Hope sparked.

He rushed over. "You—what's your rank?"

Han blinked at the man's urgency, then calmly showed his badge.

D-Rank.

The man froze. The smile on his face cracked, then shattered. "A D-ranker... entered a yellow-class portal..."

Han simply stared at him with his usual blank expression.

Before the man could vent his frustration, the portal flared again, more violently this time.

"It's about to break!" the gauntlet-wearing man called out, stepping forward. Without hesitation, he entered the portal.

Others hesitated. They all knew this mission was beyond their capability—but they had their reasons.

One by one, they entered. Including Han.

The brown-haired man could only watch in horror. "They're not a team... they're a suicide squad," he muttered.

---

They emerged into a world eerily similar to the forest they had left—but something was off. The air was heavier, thicker. The trees were twisted and blackened, as if scorched by time itself.

"Alright, first things first—introductions," said the gauntlet man with a smile.

Someone raised his hand. Chubby cheeks, a confident smirk, and a long spear in hand. Another power weapon.

"Yeah?" the leader asked.

"I think we should find shelter before introductions. I don't want to be mid-name when a beast eats me."

Awkward silence.

"...Right. Let's find a safe spot first," the leader agreed, rubbing the back of his head.

The group began moving, all except one.

Han's eyes stayed locked on the horizon. With his Eagle Eye skill, he could see farther and clearer than anyone else. Beasts—several of them—stirred in the distance.

This was why he came. Not for teamwork. Not for glory.

But to hunt. To earn as much EP, CP, and resources as possible.

Red-class portals were still out of his league—but yellow? Perfect challenge.

He readied himself to dash off—when a voice interrupted him.

"Hey, you. Join us. It's safer that way."

Han turned to see a grinning blonde youth. Something about the guy screamed trouble.

Han opened his mouth, prepared to explain in perfect detail why he worked alone—but the guy casually threw an arm over his shoulder and started steering him toward the cave where the others were gathering.

"Don't worry, I'll watch your back," the blonde said cheerfully.

Han stared at him blankly.

He had no idea how badly Han wanted to punch that smiling face.

The two of them finally arrived at the cave where the rest of the group had gathered. "Hey, you two, come over," the man with the black gauntlets called out with a friendly smile. Han sat down quietly and noticed that introductions had already begun.

A man with a half-bald head stood up confidently. He had the look of a street punk, but he grinned with pride. "Name's Cain. Class C, Rank 3," he said. While that was relatively high for a Class C, it meant little against the threats of a Yellow Portal.

"Can't you all applaud or something?" Cain asked, his expression turning sour when no one reacted.

"Why should we?" another man muttered. "You're still a C-rank like the rest of us—"

He didn't finish his sentence. His eyes went wide when he suddenly saw a white ribbon wrapping around his face—an attack. His body froze. He was about to die.

But before the ribbon could pierce him, a gloved hand caught it mid-air, stopping it with barely an inch to spare.

"You should control your actions," a calm voice said. It was the man with the black gauntlets—still smiling, but his expression had darkened dangerously.

"Okay, okay..." the half-bald man muttered, withdrawing the ribbon. "I'll let it slide," he said, scoffing before turning toward the guy he nearly killed. Then his gaze shifted to Han.

Wait... am I seeing things? He thought. Just before his ribbon was stopped, he'd seen someone—white and black hair, only for a split second. It was replaced almost instantly by the gauntlet guy. Was it... him? He stared at Han, who sat quietly. Apart from his looks, Han didn't seem remotely dangerous. Whatever. I'll just stay away from him, he decided, walking out of the cave.

Once the tension had cooled, the man with the gauntlets spoke again. "Nathan Russ. Class B, Rank 18," he introduced himself.

One by one, the others shared their names and ranks. Eventually, it was the yellow-haired youth's turn—the one sitting beside Han.

He stood up and cleared his throat theatrically. "Ahem. Class C, Rank 7. My name is Aiden V—"



He paused abruptly, the name stuck in his throat. Before he could finish, Han, having gotten all detailed information using analyzer eye, spoke calmly: "Aiden Vire." Sёarᴄh the Novёlƒire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"He's a Vire," someone muttered—not quietly enough.

The words slithered through the crowd like poison, silencing even the wind. Murmurs followed, laced with contempt.

"I can't believe one of them would show his face in public."

"And this one... actually awakened a skill? What is he trying to do—play hero?"

"A Vire, a hero?" another scoffed, eyes narrowed in disdain. "That's the joke of the year."

Faces twisted with annoyance, distrust, and veiled hostility. Even Nathan's jaw clenched subtly, though he kept his expression composed. But Han... Han didn't scowl. He didn't sneer. He just looked—at Aiden, who stood stiff and silent, his head bowed beneath the weight of every whisper.

Unlike the others, Han's mind wandered elsewhere.

The name Vire wasn't just infamous—it was feared. The family was synonymous with a certain crime, theft. Legends spoke of one Vire who single-handedly drove an entire nation into financial ruin. The most infamous of them, Anthony Vire, had once been the world's most wanted man—a phantom thief who emptied national treasuries like pocket change. To the world, Vire didn't mean a person. It meant a curse.

And now one of their blood dared to dream of becoming a hero?

Aiden's face was shadowed with shame. He knew this would happen. Every time he stepped into the light, the past followed. He expected resistance... but this? This constant ridicule, this choking silence—it pierced deeper than any blade.

Then came a voice—calm, firm, unyielding.

"It doesn't matter if he's a Vire."

All eyes snapped to Han.

He met their stares with composed defiance, then turned to Aiden. "Being a hero isn't about who you are... it's about what you choose to do."

Simple words. But they struck like thunder.

Aiden's eyes widened slightly, unsure if he'd heard right. After all the scorn, someone finally stood up for him. Not with pity, not with grand speeches—but with truth.

Nathan, after a long pause, gave a faint nod. Agreement—silent, but real.

Aiden sat down slowly, lips parting in a quiet thank you. Han only shrugged.

He wasn't trying to be kind. He just wanted to move things along and start hunting. Truthfully, with everything the world knew about the Vire family, not even the gods would believe that one of their blood could ever become a hero.

But that didn't matter to Han.

"I'm Han Trystan. Class D, Rank 5," he introduced himself.

Having jumped up the ranks after killing the Mutated Webmaster, he was already nearing the edge of the next class.

Nathan stepped forward to give a quick briefing. As a B-class hero with some experience in Yellow Portals, he laid out their strategy: "Trying to kill every beast here is suicide. This world is twice the size of a merged city. If we want to survive, we find and eliminate the boss. Once the boss falls, the portal closes."

The group nodded in agreement. It was a dangerous plan—but the only viable one.

Cain rejoined the group just as they set out. They trekked through the jagged forest, the terrain warped and twisted. Soon, they spotted movement—creatures approaching.

"Wildhounds," Nathan muttered, his smile fading. "Fast, vicious, deadly. Not fully grown, but still dangerous."

Ahead of them, seven Wildhounds crouched, growling. Battle was imminent.

Aiden quickly stepped in front of Han, arms spread protectively. "Don't worry, I'll protect you," he said dramatically.

"You sho—"

"I know you're scared, but don't worry. I've got your back!"

Han sighed internally. I was trying to warn him that there are fifteen more behind us, but he just won't shut up...

The wildhounds struck like a wave—snarling shadows with fangs of iron and claws like curved blades. The group didn't flinch. Swords were drawn, attack surged, and boots pounded the dirt as they charged to meet the attacker.

Han remained still for a heartbeat longer, eyes scanning the fifteen at the back. A soft white glow bloomed across his hands. As it faded, two pristine swords materialized in his hand, humming with silent power.

"Let's make this quick," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel.

Then the chaos began.

Metal clashed with claw. The screech of blades cutting through bone echoed through the forest. The wildhounds were vicious—each a blur of muscle and malice, their claws long, sharp, and soaked in death. But the group had numbers. And more than that, they had fighters.

Cain darted between enemies like a dancer, his rapier flashing in tight, precise arcs, each causing a brutal damage. Nathan, the stoic leader, waded through with brute force, his black gauntlet shattering jaws and snapping limbs with bone-crunching power. Then came Aiden—the Vire boy—his arms morphing into jagged axes, shifting into spears and glaives mid-strike, every weapon a natural extension of his will.

Together, with support from the others, they overwhelmed the beasts. One by one, the wildhounds fell, until silence reclaimed the glade—broken only by ragged breaths and dripping blood.

The group gathered the cores from the slain monsters, while Han had quietly dealt with the fifteen behind them .Behind them, nearly fifteen corpses lay with clean, precise wounds—each core already removed.

They rested briefly before continuing on. But Cain had a fire in his eyes. He wanted to lead the group and feel superior.

Few minutes later,

"That's Twelve!" Cain shouted, tossing a core into his pouch.

Nathan arched an eyebrow. "Ten for me."

Cain grinned. "Bet's still on. First to twenty leads."

As they trudged forward, Cain's sharp eyes caught something—just a flicker of brown, a twitching tail in the underbrush.

"Thirteen, coming right up," he muttered, lunging into the bush without hesitation.

A wildhound's pained howl echoed seconds later—expected. But time passed... and Cain didn't return.



"Cain?" someone called.

No reply.

"Cain, quit wasting time!" someone called.

Growing uneasy, one of the younger members stepped in after him—only to stop dead a few paces in. His body stiffened. Eyes wide. Breath shallow.

The others rushed over and froze as well.

Cain's head lay severed at the roots of a twisted tree, eyes staring into nothing. Blood pooled beneath him, slowly soaking into the dirt. Standing above the body was something... wrong.

It was humanoid in shape, but its skin was a glossy black, like oil set aflame. Its eyes glowed with a dim, hellish red—pulsing, not with light, but hunger. In its hand, it held an obsidian dagger, long and curled like a serpent fang, dripping crimson. A wicked grin stretched across its face—cold, malicious... amused.

A shiver ran through the group.

"What... what is that?" someone finally whispered, voice cracking.

Nathan stepped forward slowly, his face darkened.

"It's a Dark Goblin," he said, voice low and tight. "And they are trouble."

To be continued.