Chapter 169: Real Friends

Chapter 169

Ronan stared blankly at the cold, silver floor beneath him. It was over. He had done it—he had finally taken his revenge. Buster was dead.

The man who had slaughtered everyone Ronan had cared about was gone. Justice had been served. So why did he feel... nothing?

He should’ve felt relief. Triumph. Maybe even joy. But all that filled him now was a deep, suffocating emptiness.

So what now?

The question echoed endlessly in his mind.

His life had revolved around vengeance—every step he had taken, every breath he drew, all for this moment. And now that it was done... he had no family, no home, no purpose. No reason to go on.

No one—

Wait.

Friends.

The memory hit him like a spark in the darkness.

Images of Han and the others flickered through his mind. He remembered Han’s words vividly, the way he’d smiled and said: "We’ll be your family. Serenya will always be your home."



For a brief moment, warmth stirred in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t truly alone.

But then, a darker thought crept in—twisting that spark into dread.

Why would they still want him?

Soon, the entire world would know what he had done. That he had killed a Class-S hero. To the public, he would be seen as a monster. A villain. The most hated man alive. And if Han and the others stood by him, they’d fall too.

A part of him wanted to believe they would come for him. That they’d stay true to their words.

But the logical part—the broken part—whispered that they wouldn’t. That they shouldn’t.

They’ll come.

They won’t.

They’ll come.

They won’t.

The thought warred in his mind, until the sound of distant clashing broke through the silence. It didn’t last long. Then came the mechanical click of the containment cell’s lock.

The door opened.

Ronan slowly lifted his head, his heart pounding. And there they were—Aiden and Clara. His eyes widened in disbelief. A surge of warmth rushed through him, pushing back the cold inside.

They came.

They really came...

He recalled his master’s last words:

"Ronan, get yourself some friends. People you can rely on."

Tears stung his eyes. I have friends now, Master, he thought. Real ones.

Clara quickly disabled the suppressor chains, while Aiden helped Ronan to his feet. He was pale, still weak from blood loss, but he’d recover. His body had long since surpassed normal limits.

Without a word, they moved quickly, heading for the back exit. Clara, using the mountain of intel she’d gathered and her sharp intellect, had crafted a plan—one that might get all three of them out of ARC without a scratch.

As they moved through the dim corridors, Ronan’s voice came out, hoarse and uncertain.

"...What about Han?"

Aiden’s expression turned unreadable. That cold silence made Ronan’s chest tighten. Something had happened—he just knew it.

"...Did something happen?" he asked again, his voice laced with worry.

Aiden glanced at him, his face still grim—then, unexpectedly, he burst into laughter.

"I can’t believe you still have emotions left in you," he teased.

Ronan scowled. "What the hell’s that supposed to mean?" he growled, though with his current weakened state, the threat didn’t carry much weight.

Aiden wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. "Nothing, nothing. Just... looks like this place changed you a bit."

Then he shrugged. "Han’s fine. Honestly, I bet he’s off somewhere having the time of his life right now."

Back in the massive corridor, bodies littered the floor like discarded dolls. Though none of them were dead, many were barely conscious—groaning in pain with bones broken in multiple places. The luckier ones had suffered only two to five fractures. The less fortunate? Dozens. It was chaos... beautiful, brutal chaos.

"Fourth Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride—One," Han murmured calmly as he appeared before another enforcer in a blur. Without hesitation, he struck.

BAM! THUD!

The enforcer crumpled like a sack of rice, hitting the floor hard.

Across the corridor, five identical versions of Han were engaged in a relentless, coordinated assault. Each clone fought with surgical precision, weaving through enemy defenses, landing devastating blows. Their every strike carved chunks out of the opposition.

These enforcers weren’t weak—far from it. Equipped with high-grade combat suits and trained for war, they should’ve put up a decent fight.

But this was different.

Han wasn’t just strong. He was on a whole different level.

A few minutes later, it was over. The clones stood tall while their enemies lay scattered and broken. No enforcers remained standing.

Han exhaled slowly. The battlefield fell quiet.

With a wave of his hand, the clones vanished. Maintaining them drained a decent amount of energy, and now that the trash had been cleared, there was no need to keep them active.

He turned toward the entrance—and froze.

His smile faded slightly.

Eight figures stood before him.

Each exuded a pressure far denser than any of the enforcers before. These weren’t foot soldiers. They were the Head Executives of ARC—all of them top-tier warriors, each comparable to an A-rank elite.

But Han didn’t feel fear.

No—he felt thrilled.

He wouldn’t need clones for this. For this... he would fight alone.

The eight advanced, slowing as they got a proper look at their opponent. Confusion flickered across their faces. This wasn’t who they expected. Not at all.

Where was the monstrous fugitive? The brute?

Instead, they found a young man standing tall—lean, graceful, and exuding confidence. His half-white, half-black hair shimmered under the corridor lights, accentuating his sharp, sculpted features. His flawless skin and piercing blue eyes made him look more like a celestial being than a hardened criminal.

"Hey... you’re the one from earlier, aren’t you?" said the massive man leading the group—a black-skinned giant built like a tank. He was the First Head Executive, the one Han and the others had barely slipped past earlier.

Something about that seemed to gnaw at the giant’s pride. His expression twisted in rage.

"What the hell are you all waiting for?! Attack!" he roared, lunging forward with thunderous steps.

The others followed suit, forming a deadly formation as they closed in on the lone fighter.

Han didn’t move. He stood in place and lowered his stance.

No fear. No hesitation.

Only calm.



"Analyzer Eye: Activate."

"Eagle Eye: Activate."

This wasn’t a battle to kill. Han had to hold back—no lightning, no flames, and definitely no elemental fusion with the Jungle Arts. If he used his full strength, the ARC executives wouldn’t survive.

He’d have to rely purely on technique and control—on skill.

The black giant charged first, his momentum rattling the walls. Han met his eyes without flinching.

"Thirteenth Jungle Art: Rhino Charge."

Suddenly, an immense pressure burst out from Han’s frame. His muscles tensed, and in an instant, he rocketed forward.

BOOOOOOM!!!

The two collided like titans—and the result was immediate. The black giant was sent flying backward, smashing through the entrance and rolling across the floor in a cloud of shattered stone and debris.

Han straightened, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

The First Executive lay dazed, disbelief etched across his face. He hadn’t expected to lose the first exchange—much less be blown away.

Han knew why.

Rhino Charge. One of the most destructive forms among the Jungle Arts. It was raw power incarnate—perfect for head-on attacks. But it had a flaw: it could only be used in a straight line. If your opponent dodged, you were left vulnerable from behind.

That was why Han rarely used it.

But in this moment—when his opponent charged straight at him without caution—

It had been the perfect response.

"We can’t be scared of a damn kid! Everyone—attack together! He can’t hold out forever!"

One of the Head Executives roared, trying to rally the others with false bravado.

Han met his gaze with a smug smile and a slight shrug.

"Go ahead," he muttered under his breath. See for yourself if I’m as weak and inexperienced as you think.

The executives didn’t hesitate. They surged forward as one, aiming to overwhelm him with sheer numbers and precision.

But things... didn’t go as planned.

Han moved like a phantom, weaving through attacks, blocking with pinpoint accuracy, dodging blows with the grace of a dancer. Then—he struck back.

Every one of his counters hit like a hammer. His raw strength far exceeded theirs, forcing them to band together just to hold their ground. But even united, they were barely keeping up.

The corridor trembled under the intensity of the fight.

Han was dominating.

"First Jungle Art: Wolf Clutch."

He twisted through the chaos, catching an incoming fist midair. In one smooth motion, he flipped his opponent and slammed him into the floor.

BOOM!

The man didn’t get back up.

But Han didn’t pause. The thrill of battle burned in his veins. He was enjoying this—exhilarated by the challenge, even as his enemies fought with everything they had.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

The remaining executives pressed on, not because of honor, nor pride, nor duty.

But because of something far more terrifying.

Fear.

Fear of what a certain someone would do when he found out that an intruder had broken into ARC headquarters—and they hadn’t stopped him.

That very thought made most of them flinch, involuntarily glancing toward the door as cold sweat trickled down their backs.

Han noticed. His brow furrowed.

Something’s off...

He turned his head toward a nearby security camera, sensing an unseen presence watching.

That single moment of distraction was all they needed.

The executives struck in unison, closing the gap.

Crash!

But Han didn’t fall.

He stood his ground—unmoved.

---

Meanwhile, deep within ARC HQ...

A dark room lit only by monitors hummed quietly. The air was thick with tension.

A man sat watching the feed—wild, black hair hanging loosely over his eyes. His expression was unreadable, his aura... feral.

"Sir, if this keeps up... the executives won’t last," whispered one of the lower-ranked officers nearby.

The man didn’t respond at first. His sharp gaze remained fixed on the screen. Then, with a scoff, he stood and turned away.

"Cut all feeds. Disable every CCTV in that section. No one else needs to see this."

The officer hesitated. "B-But sir, what if—"

"I said I’ll handle the intruder," the man interrupted coldly. "No one follows."

He walked to the door and paused.

"And don’t mention anything concerning this."

The door closed behind him with a final click.

---



In another part of the facility, two lower-ranked staff members whispered among themselves.

"You think Crimson Scale will finally show how strong he really is today?"

"I doubt we’ll even see the fight," the other replied with a nervous chuckle. "But I feel sorry for that black-and-white-haired guy."

They both nodded in grim agreement.

"After all... Lord Crimson is rumored to be the most brutal, most feral of all the S-Class heroes. Not someone you want to face alone."

---

Crimson Scale walked in silence, the weight of the facility pressing around him. A storm was brewing in his eyes.

Let’s put this kid in check, he thought coldly, his footsteps echoing through the hall.

Let’s see how long he lasts...

---

Han was about to face wrath incarnate.

To be continued...