Chapter 226: Destroy The Cursed (43)

Chapter 226 – The Battlefield BoilsThe situation on the battlefield had reached a critical and decisive point.

The sheer number of beasts had been greatly reduced, their corpses littering the scorched ground, yet strangely enough, the battle had not eased in the slightest.

If anything, it had grown fiercer, sharper, and more suffocating. The reason was clear to every fighter still standing:

The Dreadknights.

Those towering monstrosities clad in blackened armor were no ordinary foes. They were far more dangerous than the ravenous beasts that had filled the field earlier.

Every clash against them carried weight—shattering earth, uprooting trees, and tearing the air apart with bone-rattling shockwaves.

But that wasn’t the only reason the battle was boiling to such a fever pitch.

The behavior of the surviving beasts had changed. Gone was the chaotic frenzy of mindless killing.

Now, they moved with chilling focus—as if a single, merciless will had gripped them all. They weren’t fighting to survive anymore. They weren’t rampaging without aim. No, they had been given a command.

One order.

One absolute law.

Kill every hero.

No exceptions. No restraint. No retreat.

What the heroes didn’t know was that they were closer to the truth than they realized.

Quint—the dread commander orchestrating this chaos—had initially been weaving complex, layered instructions to his beasts, exploiting their strengths and weaknesses like pieces on a war board.

But when he turned his focus toward the true threat before him, he abandoned intricacy. Instead, he gave them all a single, brutal order that demanded only slaughter.

And the beasts obeyed.

The battlefield had now reached its boiling point, the outcome teetering on the edge of triumph or disaster.

Victory seemed possible—but only if the Dreadknights and their dreaded master, the Dreadlord, could be brought down. Until that happened, the nightmare would not end.

And therein lay the true horror: taking down a Dreadknight was no small task.

These towering juggernauts were terror incarnate, their strength and resilience far surpassing anything an ordinary hero could stand against.

Only the elite heroes, those who had forged their names in blood and fire, had even a faint chance at wounding them. And even then, the cost was high.

At one corner of the battlefield, the clash of steel and black armor shook the ground. A lone figure darted with deadly precision—daggers flashing in arcs of silver.

His black hair whipped behind him, streaked at the tips with a cold, deep blue that caught the light of the burning horizon.

It was none other than Balor, Class A hero rank three.

Every strike he delivered was measured, precise, aimed for weakness. His movements were a dance of speed and lethality, weaving between the crushing swings of the Dreadknight’s bladed limbs.

Sparks erupted as steel met dark armor, shockwaves bursting outward with each collision.

But Balor was not alone.

At his side—almost hidden beneath the clash of titans—a much smaller figure shot forward like a green streak of lightning.

His suit shimmered with radiant energy, arcs of light pulsing across its surface as he gathered power.

Then, with a sharp burst of motion, he released it— a storm of small but devastating green energy blasts.

At first glance, the blasts didn’t look like much. Fleeting, almost insignificant in the chaos of war.

But each one that struck the Dreadknight carried crushing weight. The massive armored giant flinched slightly with every impact, dents forming across its obsidian-black plating.

And those dents weren’t few.

On closer inspection, the Dreadknight’s once pristine armor was covered with them—hundreds of small craters scattered across its surface, each one earned by that relentless little warrior.

Balor’s daggers carved lines of precision into weak points while the green-suited fighter hammered away with relentless blasts, forcing the colossus to stagger and adjust.

The dreadknight’s visor burned with an ominous crimson glow, its eyes flickering with irritation more than outright anger.

The abomination raised one of its massive clawed hands, black energy coiling violently around its armored gauntlet like writhing serpents.

With a guttural roar, it swung the claw in a lethal arc straight for Little One.

But the tiny green-suited hero wasn’t there. He had vanished in the blink of an eye—slipping into his microscopic form so seamlessly it was as if he had never existed.

Balor didn’t hesitate. The moment the gap opened, he lunged forward, daggers flashing with deadly precision.

His blade sought the vulnerable spot beneath the dreadknight’s helmet—a strike that would have ended a normal foe.

But instead of piercing flesh, his weapon met solid resistance. A jarring metallic clang rang out as sparks showered from the contact.

The dreadknight countered instantly, its monstrous claw sweeping back with inhuman speed.

Balor barely managed to block, the impact forcing him several paces backward across the battlefield. His lips twisted into a thin smile—cold, dark, and mocking—but inside, unease gnawed at his chest.

His skillset was worthless here.

Balor was an assassin at heart, trained to exploit weak points, to strike where it mattered most. But this... thing... wasn’t a man in armor.

It was armor without a man. A hollow abomination with no flesh, no life inside—nothing to kill.

The dreadknight’s speed, overwhelming strength, and unyielding armor completely countered Balor’s methods.

He clenched his jaw. If not for Little One covering me, I’d already be dead.

Still, retreat wasn’t an option. Too many had already fallen. If the dreadknights rampaged unchecked, countless more heroes would die. Balor refused to allow it.

"Little One," he muttered.

"I’m right beside you," came the quick reply, a tiny voice resonating directly in his ear. He didn’t need to look—Little One was likely microscopic again, invisible to the naked eye.

"Plan B," Balor said, eyes narrowing.

A heartbeat later, Little One chuckled. "Got it. Time to smash this tin can."

Balor dipped into the void, disappearing into the swirling shadows, while Little One surged forward.

At first, he was just a speck darting through the air, a blur of green energy. Then, as he closed in, his body expanded, rapidly regaining full size.

With a calm but resolute smile, he clenched his glowing fist, green energy gathering like a storm.

"Take this!"

His punch slammed into the dreadknight’s chest, leaving a small but visible dent. The abomination staggered backward, if only for an instant.

Then its burning eyes flared, and it retaliated with ferocity. Dark energy coiled tightly around its armored fist as it hurled a brutal counterstrike directly at Little One’s chest.

The blow landed—or rather, it should have. But the green hero shrank at the last instant, slipping once more into his microscopic form.

To the naked eye, it looked as if he had simply vanished, evading the deadly strike by a hair’s breadth.

The dreadknight’s claws slashed through empty air. If it could speak, it would have screamed in frustration.

Now the rhythm of battle shifted. Little One became the main attacker, darting in and out of sight, weaving between micro and full-size at breakneck intervals.

He bombarded the monster with dozens of green energy blasts, each one leaving fresh dents across its armored shell. It wasn’t enough to shatter it, but it was relentless. For the first time, the dreadknight was forced onto the defensive.

Still, the black armor endured. It absorbed punishment like an immovable fortress, refusing to break. The fight stretched on, seconds blurring into minutes. Yet Little One never lost his grin.

Then, with a mocking chuckle, he said, "Aren’t you forgetting something?"

The dreadknight’s crimson eyes narrowed.

It was forgetting something.

Balor.

The assassin had disappeared into the void earlier and hadn’t resurfaced. But instead of remaining cautious, the dreadknight had dismissed him, believing Balor too weak to be a threat. That arrogance was its greatest mistake.

The moment they disengaged, Little One darted backward, his small frame glowing faintly as he distanced himself from the armored monstrosity.

The Dreadknight stood firm, its obsidian armor glinting under the fading rays of the sun, each flicker of crimson light from its visor piercing through the battlefield haze.

The darkness clinging to its body surged outward, rippling like a living storm. It was waiting—anticipating—ready to crush any assault from any direction.

Then, the air to its right began to tremble.

The space itself distorted, warping violently as cracks spread across reality like shattered glass.

A spiral of pure destruction erupted outward, tearing through the battlefield with raw, unrelenting force.

From within that maelstrom of distortion, Balor stepped out, his cloak whipping behind him as if caught in the pull of another dimension.

His hand sliced forward in one fluid motion, his eyes narrowed with deadly intent.

The space between him and the Dreadknight convulsed, folding upon itself.

In the blink of an eye, a spiraling wave of catastrophic distortion—Balor’s ultimate technique, Spatial Pulse—launched forward, moving faster than any mortal eye could follow.

The Dreadknight reacted instantly. Darkness surged from its frame, condensing into a shield of twisted energy as it raised a clawed hand. The ground cracked beneath its feet as it braced for impact.

But it wasn’t enough.

The Spatial Pulse ripped through the wave of darkness as though it were mist under a hurricane. The battlefield shook violently, the air itself screaming as space bent and snapped.

The Dreadknight’s defenses shattered. Its form, so seemingly indestructible, was consumed in an instant.

One moment, it was there. The next—it wasn’t.

No ashes. No fragments. Not even a trace of its existence remained. It was as if the Dreadknight had been erased from reality itself.

Balor remained frozen in his striking stance, his arm thrust forward, veins bulging across his neck and temple.

QSweat poured down his face, his body trembling under the weight of the attack. His knees buckled, and with a sharp exhale, he collapsed to the ground.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhale like fire in his lungs. The Spatial Pulse had taken nearly everything from him.

It wasn’t just a technique—it was a gamble, a blade that cut both ways. Used imprecisely, it could have torn him apart just as easily as it destroyed his enemy.

He had reserved it for the most harrowing battles, intended to unleash it only against the Dark Emissaries themself. Yet fate had forced him to use it here, against a single Dreadknight.

And it had worked. The abomination was gone.

Still, victory had come at a price.

A green glow shimmered beside him as Little One reappeared in his full size, his energy suit pulsing faintly with residual light. He crouched down, his hand pressing firmly against Balor’s shoulder.

"You did well," Little One said quietly, his usual playfulness gone, replaced by respect. "But it’s not over yet."

Balor could barely nod, his strength failing him.

Without hesitation, Little One hoisted Balor’s limp body, carrying him with surprising ease. His gaze turned toward the battlefield where Shae and the others were still fighting.

The war wasn’t finished—far from it. One Dreadknight had fallen, but the others remained, their presence shaking the ground like approaching storms.

In the distance, Shin and Bron struggled against another armored monstrosity. Sparks of energy and burst of explosions lit the horizon as their battle raged, but even their combined might seemed barely enough to keep the creature at bay.

The Dreadknights were no mere nuisances. They were calamities in armor, walking disasters that could not be underestimated.

As Little One carried Balor back toward their allies, he clenched his jaw.

One monster down. Too many still standing.

The war was far from being over.

To be continued.....

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

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