Chapter 205: Destroy The Cursed (22)

Chapter 205 – The Golden Commander

The battle had reached its fever pitch.

The endless tide of beasts was finally beginning to thin, and with them, the Red Vanguards — the murderous faction that had sworn to slaughter every last hero on the field. It seemed the end was in sight... until the ground began to shake.

A deep rumble rolled through the battlefield, heavy enough to make even the most seasoned warriors falter. The vibration grew into a violent quake, and the next sound they heard made every heart seize with dread — the thunder of countless footsteps, charging toward them.

Another beast wave.

Faces paled. Many heroes were already bleeding, wounds tearing at their strength. Others were running dangerously low on energy, their energy cores nearly dry. How were they supposed to survive another onslaught?

Some felt their blood run cold, others felt their hearts sink to the pit of their stomachs. Only a handful of the bravest still stood their ground, not because they believed they would live through this... but because they believed their sacrifice might buy the others a chance to win. If this was their last stand, they would die as heroes, not cowards.

And then—

A blazing golden beam split the sky, crashing down into the incoming horde. Several beasts were vaporized on impact, their charred remains scattering like ash in the wind.

Every head turned in shock.

Through the fading light, a figure descended — clad in an immaculate white combat suit traced with fine golden lines. She landed lightly on the torn earth, her very presence cutting through the despair like a blade.

It was Clara.

Her voice rang out over the battlefield, firm and without room for argument.

"Retreat to the C Squad. They’ll treat your injuries and restore your strength. Once you’ve recovered, rejoin the fight. For now, you are in no condition to stand here."

The battered heroes stared at her, awe and relief washing over their faces. Without hesitation, they began to fall back toward the rear lines, where the support division stood ready.

All except one.

A young man, a deep slash running from his cheek to just below his right eye, remained rooted to the spot. His jaw was clenched, his grip on his weapon tight.

"Go," Clara repeated, sharper this time.

But the man didn’t move. His pride as a hero screamed against the order. How could he abandon someone else to face death in his place? It was unacceptable — dishonorable.

Behind her golden visor, Clara’s lips curved slightly. Amused. Did he truly think she was throwing her life away? She was no fool driven by reckless bravado — she acted on calculation, not sentiment. Every move she made here was already accounted for.

"I’m not alone," she said evenly. "And this isn’t a request — it’s an order from an Elite."

The man’s eyes locked with hers for several long seconds. Then, with visible reluctance, he turned and jogged toward the rear lines.

As soon as he was gone, Clara’s gaze returned to the incoming horde. Her tone was calm, almost cold, as she spoke into her suit’s command channel.

"Bots — activate."

The moment Clara gave the order, her voice steady and cold, the response came almost instantly.

From the distance, the great flagship of the Tryst Guild hovered like a silent guardian over the battlefield. A deep mechanical hum rumbled through the air as a section beneath the ship split open, unfolding like the maw of some enormous war machine.

With a loud ZOM, heavy docking clamps released, and a series of armored silhouettes descended from the hidden bay.

Fifty combat bots.

They hit the air in perfect formation, the blue plates of their armor glinting under the fractured sunlight. White stripes ran along their limbs and torsos, each line glowing faintly as if tracing a battle circuit beneath their frames.

Their faces — smooth, featureless masks — lit up with deep blue optics, each pair of artificial eyes locking instantly on the same target: Clara’s position.

They wasted no time.

One synchronized burst from their thrusters launched them forward, streaking across the battlefield like a volley of missiles. Moments later, they landed behind Clara in a perfect, unbroken line.

Her suit was already humming, golden filaments of power flaring along its joints as her systems came online for full combat output.

"Destroy them all," she commanded, her voice like a war drum.

The bots responded without hesitation.

The ground shook as they launched forward again, slamming into the oncoming beast wave like a tidal surge of metal and fury. Clara moved with them, a streak of white and gold weaving through explosions, tearing through monsters with precision strikes.

Massive detonations thundered across the field as the bots unleashed their payloads — missile barrages, plasma bursts, and brutal close-range strikes. Beasts were flung into the air, torn apart before they could even roar.

Each bot was programmed using the Version 1.0 combat model of Clara’s own suit. While they didn’t possess her full destructive potential, they were still devastatingly powerful in their own right. And with fifty of them working in perfect coordination, the monster ranks began to shrink at a visible rate.

Still, Clara knew better than to believe they could wipe out the entire horde. The sheer number of enemies was overwhelming, and their mission wasn’t to eradicate every beast — it was to buy time. She focused her strikes on the stronger creatures, thinning them out so the allied heroes could handle the rest once they recovered.

Meanwhile, those heroes — what remained of the original two hundred — pulled back toward the rear lines. Only 145 were still standing.

They reached the C Squad’s position, where the support heroes were already waiting. These weren’t front-line fighters; their powers didn’t specialize in killing, but without them, the war effort would crumble.

"Sit down," came the calm but commanding voice of the squad leader.

One of the injured — the same man who had hesitated to leave Clara behind — hesitated again, fists clenched. His intent was obvious: heal quickly, get back to the front, and make sure Clara wasn’t left alone in that storm.

The leader’s tone softened, though her authority didn’t waver.

"If you sit, you’ll join the battle faster."

He turned toward her voice and froze.

Standing there was a young woman with long, flowing brown hair that shimmered faintly in the light. Her skin was porcelain white, her black eyes calm yet unshakable, and her features so perfectly sculpted she looked almost divine.

"Please," she said with a radiant, reassuring smile, "this won’t take long... and it won’t hurt."

It was Mia.

The heroes blinked in surprise but didn’t hesitate. Without a single word, they obeyed Mia’s command, sitting down in disciplined unison like well-trained soldiers. Mia’s warm smile carried both comfort and authority as she spoke softly to her squad, her words flowing like a calm stream in the midst of chaos.

Following her instructions, the healers quickly surrounded the wounded heroes, forming a tight protective circle. Their hands rose in perfect synchronization, faint streams of light flickering from their palms. The glow was gentle at first — a subtle, almost shy radiance — but it began to grow brighter and warmer with every passing second.

Mia closed her eyes, drawing on her deepest reserves. Her breathing slowed, her brow furrowed in concentration, and her entire body trembled as she pushed herself past her limits. She wasn’t just healing — she was amplifying the power of every healer in her squad, weaving their powers together into one unified, radiant force.

The light swelled, pulsing like a living thing, until it was almost blinding. With a sharp inhale, Mia’s eyes snapped open. She thrust her hands forward, directing the accumulated brilliance toward the injured group.

The glow enveloped the wounded heroes instantly. Warmth spread through their battered bodies — not just on the surface, but deep into their bones, muscles, and hearts. Their gashes closed in seconds, torn flesh knitting seamlessly together as if time itself was being reversed. Bruises faded, broken bones realigned, and the exhaustion etched into their faces melted away, replaced by a spark of vitality and strength.

They exchanged stunned glances, unable to fully comprehend what they were experiencing. Healing of this magnitude and speed was unheard of. Even for veteran warriors, such efficiency was something only a peak S-Rank healer could hope to achieve.

Their awe quickly turned toward the healers themselves. Gratitude shone in the eyes of the wounded, but the healers... their expressions were different. They weren’t basking in personal praise. Their admiration was fixed entirely on the woman who had led them — Mia. They all knew the truth: this miraculous result wasn’t just their combined effort. It was Mia’s guidance, control, and sheer willpower that had pushed their healing to this impossible level.

Of course, none of this should have been surprising. She was a member of the Tryst Guild, after all.

Just as the heroes were adjusting to the miracle they had received, something even stranger happened. The ones whose energy reserves had been nearly depleted began to feel a rush — a tide of power surging back into them at an unnatural speed.

"Don’t move. Don’t resist it."

The calm, deep voice came from a short distance away. The heroes turned to see a man in his late twenties, sitting cross-legged on the ground. His eyes were closed, and a vast, shimmering sphere of white energy surrounded his body like a halo. The air around him hummed with raw power.

They didn’t understand why, but somehow, they could feel their stamina, mana, and life force being replenished through him.

Only the members of the Little One Guild recognized what was truly happening. This man was one of their elite, a specialist with a rare and extraordinary skill — the ability to draw ambient energy from the world itself and transfer it directly to his allies. Judging by the sheer intensity of the energy flowing into them now, he must have been gathering it for an incredibly long time before releasing it.

By the time the process ended, the warriors had regained a significant portion of their strength. Not completely — but more than enough to return to the fray.

Mia watched them rise, determination rekindled in their eyes as they charged back toward the frontlines. She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Once, she had believed she had no place on a battlefield — that healers were simply meant to patch wounds from behind. But Clara’s insight and planning had proven her wrong.

"She’s far too smart... the kind of person you’d pray never to face as an enemy," Mia thought, a faint chill running down her spine even as her smile lingered.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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