Chapter 19: The Real Battle Begins

Chapter 19 - The Real Battle BeginsChapter 19

Han felt utterly powerless.

He knew the squad were in danger,but his own body was failing him. Every movement felt like dragging steel chains. His vision swam. His HP: a measly 50/300. Barely alive.

Just when despair was about to claim him, Clara—seated quietly beside him—murmured, "If only you had a restoration skill..."

That single line ignited a spark.

Han's eyes widened. A way...!

With a pained grunt, he forced himself up and dropped to the ground. "One," he said, beginning push-ups.

Clara stared at him in utter confusion.

"Two. Three. Four..." Han kept going.

His muscles screamed. Blood soaked into the ground beneath him. Yet he pressed on. The faster he completed it, the more lives he could save. He did 10,000 push-ups, then moved on to sit-ups. Then squats.

By the end of it, he was gasping, drenched in blood and sweat. Yet there was determination in his eyes.



Clara blinked at him like he had lost his mind. "What now?"

Han wiped his forehead and stood tall. "Now... you fight me."

"What?" Clara asked, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you okay in the—"

She didn't finish.

Han's fist hit her square in the gut, launching her backward. Thankfully, her defensive guard absorbed most of it, but the impact still knocked the wind out of her.

"Han?!" she gasped, rising slowly, pain flaring in her stomach. She saw him approaching with an apologetic expression, and her heart sank. Was he really going to hit her again?

He threw a fist toward her cheek.

"I give up!" Clara shouted in panic, and his fist froze—mere inches from her face.

Not because of her scream.

But because a chime rang in his mind:

[Daily Quest Complete: 2nd Task – Combat Training Partner Defeated]

Han exhaled deeply. Ron should definitely try this method more often, he mused.

Clara, still wide-eyed and disoriented, watched as Han took a familiar stance. Her brow twitched.

"Fourth Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride!" Han declared, then took off like a rocket.

Clara rubbed her temples. He's insane, she concluded. He's not a fighter... he's a full-blown mental patient.

First, he had done a godlike number of push-ups and sit-ups. Then he punched her—her!—without warning. Now he was dashing through the long route toward the goblin fortress with no clear plan. Still, muttering curses under her breath, she ran after him.

When she caught up, Han was on one knee, panting heavily. Blood oozed from reopened wounds, soaking his tattered clothes. Sweat dripped down his brow like rain.

They stood before a massive iron door, radiating pressure so intense it made Clara's legs tremble.

Han opened his palm.

A shining pill appeared.


A restoration pill.

His plan had been simple—insane, but effective: complete his daily quest and claim the reward. One of which... was this.

Without hesitation, Han swallowed the pill.

Instantly, light flowed through his body. His skin regained color. Wounds vanished. His HP soared to full, and his energy surged like wildfire.

He stood tall, revitalized.

Clara's jaw dropped. "That... that level of healing is what only an A-rank healer could do!"

Yet Han had done it with a single pill. One that had simply appeared in his palm.

She shook her head, stunned. "I used to think you were a freak, but now... I think a freak would be terrified of you."

Han rose to his feet, his Analyzer Eye glowing faintly. A quick scan told him everything he needed to know—this door was no ordinary barrier. It was reinforced, dense, and thick layering.

He launched forward, fist clenched, and drove his arm into the door with everything he had. A sharp bang echoed—but the door didn't even budge. No dents, no cracks. It was as if it hadn't been touched at all.

Han blinked. "Seriously?"

Staring at the unyielding door, he already knew brute force alone wouldn't be enough—not with his current stats. So, he turned around and sprinted to the rear of the fortress, where Clara still stood, stunned by the chaos around her.

"If I want to break through that thing... I'll need to go all in."

Han: "Navi."

Navi: "Yes, Hero?"

Han: "Assign all my stored stat points. Focus on strength and speed. Prioritize strength."

Navi: "Confirmed. Distributing stat points now."



A surge of raw power flooded through Han's body like a wildfire. Muscles tightened, senses sharpened—he felt reborn.

He dropped into a familiar stance, arms bent, hands clawed by his sides.

"Fourth Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride."

He rocketed forward, tearing through the distance like a bolt of lightning. As he neared the door, he gathered every ounce of power and roared—fist crashing into it with devastating might.

BOOM!

The door exploded into shrapnel.

The momentum didn't stop there. Bursting through the ruins, Han's eyes widened as a dark goblin stood directly in his path. He didn't hesitate—his fist struck the creature's head dead-on, exploding it like an overripe fruit.

"Fourteenth Jungle Art: Tiger Punch," Han murmured, as blood misted the air.

He quickly took in the room. Nathan lay collapsed, unable to stand. The few survivors clung to life, and Aiden struggled to keep his eyes open. Fourteen goblin corpses littered the floor—but six were still alive.

And then his eyes landed on the one sitting on a crude throne.

"That has to be the portal boss," Han thought grimly.

He looked back to Aiden. "Rest. I'll handle the rest."

Aiden nodded weakly and tried to stand—but stumbled. Clara caught him before he could fall and helped him toward Mia.

"Heal him," she ordered. The healer immediately began working.

Watching Clara walk away from the battlefield, Aiden blinked. "You're not helping Han?"

Clara shook her head. "To be honest... I'd only slow him down."

Is he really that strong? Aiden wondered.

Han now faced the remaining goblins. His expression was cold. "You hurt them... You're doomed."

Unlike with Aiden, the goblins didn't feel threatened. One rushed him, dagger raised with inhuman speed—but Han caught his wrist mid-air without even looking.

He held the goblin aloft, expression unreadable. Then—

Fwip—a flash of white light emerged from Han's body and solidified into a clone—blade in hand. It stood beside him, calmly holding the goblin's severed head in one hand and the glowing white blade in the other.

In the blink of an eye, one goblin was gone.

Gasps echoed. Everyone was stunned—except Clara and the throne goblin, who remained motionless.

The remaining five goblins instinctively backed away, eyes wide with uncertainty. One of them, sensing imminent danger, made a break for it—but before it could even take a second step, it was airborne.

Its eyes widened in pure terror.

Han was already there—both hands gripping his white blades, expression unreadable.

"Fifth Jungle Art: Gorilla Smash."

His blades came down like divine judgment, cleaving the goblin in half. The impact shattered the ground beneath and kicked up a dense cloud of dust, filling the chamber.

The four remaining goblins screamed, stumbling in panic, trying to flee in different directions.

Then—a shriek. Louder than the rest. It abruptly cut off.

The others froze, paralyzed with fear.

They couldn't see. But Han could. Through the dust, his Analyzer Eye tracked every panicked heartbeat, every desperate movement.

One by one, he cut them down—precisely, efficiently, and in the most agonizing way possible.

When the dust finally settled, silence reigned.

Only Han remained standing, clutching the last surviving goblin by the neck. The creature thrashed, suffocating, its body trembling with pain and fear.

Han's bloodstained eyes met its pleading gaze.

"I told you," he said, voice like ice. "You hurt them... you're doomed."

Before the goblin could utter a single word, its head erupted in a spray of blood and bone.



Han let the mangled body fall to the floor.

He stood still, drenched in gore, his breath steady. But something gnawed at the back of his mind.

Something was wrong.

The goblin on the throne hadn't moved.

Not once.

It had watched the slaughter in silence—unfazed, unblinking. Not a flicker of emotion crossed its face.

Until now.

Slowly, deliberately, the throne goblin rose to its feet. With a single motion, it shrugged off the tattered black robe draped over its shoulders.

Jet-black spikes jutted from its arms, shoulders, even its spine. A low hum of power vibrated in the air, sharp and menacing like a predator's growl.

Then the goblin grinned.

"The real battle... begins."

To be continued...