Chapter 148: Infirmary Hero

Chapter 146

The situation had turned dire. The defenders were exhausted, their strength nearly depleted. Their attacks barely scratched the monstrous horde pouring into the city. One after another, the warriors fell—overwhelmed, outmatched.

Then—BOOM!

The heavy steel doors of the infirmary exploded inward, ripped apart like paper. The monsters had arrived.

They were grotesque—humanoid in shape, but wrong in every sense. Their limbs were twisted, with patches of human flesh stitched between reptilian scales. Long, fin-like horns protruded from their heads, and two wickedly sharp fins extended from their forearms, shaped like curved blades. They looked like oceanic nightmares given flesh.

Inside, panic reigned.

The nurses and medics—mostly non-Awakeners—froze in horror. They had no combat skills, no means to fight back. A few among them, known as Jirsedias, had healing abilities, but even their powers was useless in the face of raw slaughter.

A nurse with bright yellow hair—Cynthia—acted on instinct. She dove forward, pushing a petrified staff member out of the way just in time as a fin-blade slashed through the air where the woman had stood. Both tumbled to the ground.

"T...thank you..." the woman stammered, breathless. Then her eyes widened in terror.

"Behind you!"

Cynthia twisted around—and froze. One of the monsters was approaching her slowly, almost relishing the fear in her eyes. The others stood still, watching like predators at a feast. Their eyes gleamed with joy—not hunger, but sadistic delight. Unlike beasts, who fought from instinct, monsters were different. Low-ranking ones—C or D class—acted much like animals. But once they passed that threshold... they were intelligent. As intelligent as humans.



But their minds were twisted.

They didn’t kill to survive. They killed because they enjoyed it. The destruction of human life brought them satisfaction—ecstasy, even.

Cynthia struggled to stand, her knees trembling. She wanted to be brave, to show strength—to be a beacon of hope in this nightmare. But how could she offer hope when she felt none herself?

The monster raised its bladed arm.

This is it, she thought, eyes closing tightly. So this is what dying feels like... or maybe... it’s painless?

"Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to raise your hand against a lady?"

The voice was calm, even a little cocky.

Cynthia’s eyes snapped open.

Standing between her and the monster... was Aiden.

He looked completely unbothered, casually gripping the monster’s bladed arm in one hand. His expression was unreadable.

"Aiden...? You’re awake?" Cynthia gasped, dazed. For a moment, she wondered if she was already dead—and if this was his ghost.

But no... this was real.

Before the monster could react, Aiden’s grip tightened—and with a sickening CRACK, he snapped its arm clean off.

The creature screeched in agony and attempted to flee, stumbling away. But Aiden wasn’t done. His right hand morphed, reshaping into a massive, gorilla-like fist, veins bulging beneath the hardened flesh.

Then—BOOM.

He slammed it down onto the monster’s skull, driving its head into the floor. The creature collapsed, twitching once before going still—dead.

By now, every remaining monster had locked its gaze on Aiden. They recognized him as a threat—and monsters didn’t hesitate when it came to threats.

But Aiden stood tall, unfazed.

Not a flicker of fear crossed his face.

He glanced at the horde, his tone low not loud enough for any one to hear.

"That red-haired bastard roughed me up more than I’d like," he muttered, the memory of Magus—his calm expression, his devastating blows—flashing in his mind. Rage stirred in his chest. He needed a target. Something to release all this pent-up fury on.

And the monsters in front of him were the perfect candidates.

"I’m going to enjoy tearing you all apart," he said coldly, stepping forward.

"Morph."

The word left his lips like a command to reality itself.

His body began to shift and twist. Thick, hardened brown hide crawled across his chest, shoulders, and arms, merging seamlessly with his skin. It looked natural—too natural—like his body was always meant to wear this armor.

From his back, a pair of large, shadowy wings erupted, stretching wide with a bone-snapping sound. His arms transformed—his right becoming a lethal claw, curved and razor-sharp; his left swelling into a massive, gorilla-like fist, pulsating with raw power.

His face, however, remained untouched—calm and human. He had chosen to keep it that way.

The first monster lunged, screeching.

It didn’t get far.

In a blink, Aiden stepped forward. CRACK. A clawed slash tore through the creature’s ribs, followed by a thunderous blow from the gorilla fist that crushed its skull like a melon.

It was dead before it even realized it had been hit.

The entire infirmary fell into stunned silence.

From the moment of the monster’s charge to its lifeless collapse, only seconds had passed. Too fast for anyone to react. Too fast to believe.

The other monsters, for the first time, hesitated. Fear flickered in their inhuman eyes.

But they didn’t retreat. They were intelligent enough to know—turning their backs would only get them killed faster.

Five monsters attacked simultaneously, hoping to overwhelm him with numbers.

Aiden only smirked.

The first claw aimed for his chest, but his wings swept forward like a shield, absorbing the blow. Before the attacker could recover, his gorilla arm swung in a tight arc—CRUNCH—the monster’s head caved in under the force.

The others followed through—but it didn’t matter.

Aiden moved like a storm.

A blur of claws, wings, fists, and death.

In seconds, all five were on the ground, twitching or still.

Now the remaining monsters were visibly shaken. The confidence they once carried had drained from their twisted bodies. But still—they attacked. It was in their nature. To flee was death. To fight... might be survival.

Aiden welcomed their desperation.

Their mistake.

They had numbers, but Aiden had evolution.

His mutated legs gave him bursts of speed no eye could follow. His thickened hide absorbed blows like armor. His wings allowed him to dart, pivot, and dive around the battlefield. And his arms—deadly weapons in two distinct forms—struck down foes without pause.

Coupled with his honed instincts and resilient body, it was a massacre.

Blow after blow, monsters fell like insects under a boot. They couldn’t react fast enough. Couldn’t defend. Couldn’t escape.

The numbers advantage meant nothing.

The infirmary was silent.

Not out of peace—but out of sheer disbelief.

Everyone stood frozen, staring at the battlefield of broken monsters and the lone figure standing tall among them.



"This... this isn’t a fight," one of the nurses whispered, her voice barely audible over the stillness. "It’s a massacre."

"He’s bullying them," Cynthia murmured, eyes fixed on Aiden. Her voice held no mockery—only awe. She was seeing him in a new light.

The battle was over.

Every monster had been dealt with—efficiently, brutally. Aiden stood at the center of it all, breathing evenly, not a single scratch visible under the armor of hide wrapped around his body.

Then, like a wave breaking a dam, the silence shattered.

Applause erupted from the infirmary. Cheers followed. The injured, the healers, the surviving defenders—all clapped, some even crying, overwhelmed with gratitude.

Aiden offered a small nod and a rare smile.

He wasn’t doing this for praise. But somehow, their thanks made the path feel more real—more justified.

After all, he had a goal.

To become a Class S Hero.

To prove to the world that even a Vire—a name feared and hated—could become a symbol of hope.

Without another word, Aiden turned and stepped out of the infirmary.

The chaos outside hit him immediately. Screams, explosions, energy blasts—Maurina City was still a battlefield.

He cracked his neck, eyes scanning the burning skyline.

"So far, it’s been easy," he muttered to himself. "Only C and D ranks... Time to find something stronger."

With a burst of energy, Aiden launched into the sky, wings unfurling behind him. His gaze locked onto the most chaotic part of the City.

Elsewhere in Maurina City...

Seven heroes stood back to back, bloodied and exhausted. Surrounding them were massive, tusked boar-beasts—brutal creatures with more muscle than brains, but dangerously fast and deceptively coordinated.

One hero cried out as a boar charged, aiming to drive its tusks through his chest.

FWIP.

THUD.

The boar’s head landed a few feet away—cleanly severed.

More sounds followed—fwip, fwip, fwip. More thuds.

The heroes looked around in confusion, eyes darting.

Then they saw him.

A man stood ahead of them in a flowing blue robe, twin blue swords in hand. Long black hair danced in the wind, and a calm yet fearsome aura surrounded him.

Their breath caught.

They knew exactly who he was.

Sword Blitz.

One of the elusive Class S Heroes.

They were lucky—beyond lucky—that he hadn’t been sent out with the other three Class S heroes at the tournament.

Sword Blitz had never been much interested in the games or tournament. He had been admiring the cityscape untill the choas erupted. Without hesitation, he had jumped into battle, and in the past hour alone, he’d already slain hundreds of beasts and sealed three yellow portals.

And yet... they kept coming.

"Go," Sword Blitz commanded, voice composed yet firm. "Guide the civilians to safety."

The heroes nodded and took off—but only a few steps in, they froze.

A massive wave of red energy was hurtling toward them.

Their instincts screamed death.

But before the wave could reach them—SLASH! BOOM!

A blue flash split the air as Sword Blitz appeared in front of them, his blades cutting through the wave in a single sweeping strike.

"Take the east route," he said over his shoulder. "Now."

The heroes didn’t hesitate this time—they ran.

Sword Blitz turned to face the source of the attack.

A figure in crimson armor stood across the ruined plaza, twin red swords glowing with destructive energy. His brown hair streaked with grey, and a wicked grin twisted across his face.

Ferris.

He had claimed the lives of countless Awakeners—especially heroes. His kill count dwarfed most criminals combined.

Sword Blitz narrowed his eyes.

"What’s this really about?" he asked, voice low but edged with steel. He had a good idea who stood before him, but one thing remained unclear—were they responsible for this chaos?

If they were...

Then none of them would live to see next week.

Ferris didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped forward, twin crimson blades in hand. The weapons pulsed with violent, oppressive energy—red energy swirling around their edges.

"Well, well..." Ferris finally spoke, a savage grin spreading across his face. "Didn’t think I’d get the honor of facing a Class S Hero today."

He licked his lips, madness flickering in his eyes.

"You’ll make a fine meal for my swords."



Sword Blitz simply exhaled and shook his head.

"Fool."

He raised his right hand.

Click.

The long case on his back sprang open with a metallic hiss—and fifty swords burst into the air, floating in formation around him like a wall of divine judgment. Each one shimmered with raw power, their presence suffocating.

The air trembled.

"You’ve chosen the wrong opponent," Sword Blitz said coolly.

His gaze sharpened.

"Now... you die."

To be continued...

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