Chapter 236: Destroy The Cursed (53)

Chapter 235Three heroes were locked in a desperate battle against a monstrous abomination.

The creature towered nearly five feet tall, its hunched body covered in a carapace of dark, pulsating scales that shimmered an eerie green, as though alive and writhing.

Eight arms sprouted from its torso, each one ending in razor-sharp blades that glistened with the remnants of blood. Its jagged fangs curved outward like sickle-shaped knives, dripping with venom that hissed and smoked whenever it struck the ground.

Every movement of the beast carried a vicious elegance—too fast, too sharp. The three heroes had been fighting it for what felt like hours, yet they had barely managed to scratch its hide.

The monster wasn’t simply strong—it was intelligent, cruel, and relentless.

Already, each of them bore deep gashes across their bodies. Two of them had burns from the venom where even a single graze had seared flesh like fire.

Their stamina was waning, their energy was nearly drained, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavier with every second. They were at their breaking point.

And yet... they refused to fall.

What kept them moving wasn’t strength nor skill anymore—it was sheer willpower. A desperate determination to live long enough to witness the fall of the Cursed. To prove that their struggle had meaning.

With a collective roar, the three heroes forced their battered bodies forward, charging once more.

Their blades and energy clashed violently against the monster’s bladed limbs. Sparks erupted. Metal screeched. Venom splattered like acid rain.

The clash ended in a brutal instant.

The heroes were sent flying back, their broken bodies crashing heavily into the dirt, groaning as pain flooded through them. Bones cracked, wounds reopened, and even the act of breathing felt unbearable. They tried to stand, but their limbs trembled, refusing to obey.

The monster approached slowly, each step deliberate, savoring their helplessness.

"You damn bastard..." one of the heroes spat, coughing blood.

It was no secret—unlike beasts, who killed out of instinct, monsters delighted in suffering. They tortured, they played, they devoured their prey slowly. The wicked grin stretched across the abomination’s grotesque face said it all: it was enjoying every moment.

One of its bladed arms rose high, gleaming in the dim light, ready to decapitate its victims.

But just as the blade descended—

Slash!

The hero vanished.

The creature’s strike cleaved through empty air, only to strike a floating silver needle that glimmered faintly before dissolving into motes of light.

The monster froze, its venomous eyes narrowing. Then the second and third heroes vanished as well, their bodies replaced by more silver needles that hovered in the air like silent guardians.

"What... is this?" the monster growled, confusion flickering across its savage expression. But the realization dawned quickly—its grin widening into something darker.

A figure stepped forward.

One of the needle flickered and from it a man emerged , cloaked in black, his presence cold and suffocating. His hood cast most of his face in darkness, but his eyes burned with a violet glow—sharp, merciless, unyielding.

The silver needles shimmered, then dissipated into the air, returning to him.

"So... you’re the one who pulled them out," the monster sneered, its voice guttural yet disturbingly clear. The fact that it could speak at all confirmed it—it wasn’t just a beast. This was at least an A-rank monster.

Not that Ronan cared.

Not in the slightest.

The monster lunged, its claws tearing through the air with the weight of an avalanche. But before the strike could even land, Ronan’s foot slammed into the ground—and in an instant, he vanished.

By the time the beast registered his absence, Ronan was already behind it, blade sheathed. The creature froze mid-motion, eyes wide, its expression contorted in disbelief and horror.

A heartbeat later, its head slid cleanly from its shoulders, followed by its body splitting apart in a massive X-shaped slash.

The A-rank beast collapsed in two halves, the ground quaking beneath the impact.

Ronan didn’t even pause to acknowledge his kill. His figure blurred again, slipping back into the fog of battle.

The system’s voice echoed in his mind:

> [Onslaught Skill: Active. Time Limit Approaching.]

He didn’t know the exact duration—but instinct told him it wouldn’t last long. And so, he made his decision: eradicate every beast before the window closed.

Onslaught was more than powerful—it was absurd. Every swing of his blade carried tenfold strength. Every strike was a guaranteed critical hit. Against Ronan in this state, there was no such thing as survival.

One slash felled a charging ogre.

A single draw cut tore through a swarm of lesser A rank beast.

Even the two-headed serpent, notorious for its resilience, collapsed in a single cleaving arc.

With each kill, the battlefield shifted. The heroes—bloodied, exhausted, and cornered—suddenly found space to breathe.

For the first time since the clash began, they could regroup without fearing immediate slaughter. Ronan’s relentless advance bought them time.

But amid the carnage, Ronan slowed. His brows furrowed.

It wasn’t because the Onslaught skill ended.

No—it was something else. Something far worse.

The ground... moved.

At first, it was subtle—a strange sensation of being pulled forward and backward, like standing on waves instead of solid earth. He had ignored it earlier, dismissing it as his imagination. But now, the distortion was undeniable.

Heroes who had been only meters away were suddenly much farther. Landmarks twisted. Distances warped. The battlefield itself was being manipulated.

"...The terrain is shifting," Ronan muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. A cold premonition slithered into his chest.

Some meters away—

A man clad in dark armor suit stepped onto the battlefield. His presence was suffocating, but not with malice—rather, with cold irritation.

Every footfall caused the earth around him to bend and ripple as if the ground itself obeyed his will.

"Tch. So close..." the armored man muttered. His voice was calm, but simmering with frustration.

"I was just about to uncover their location. Just one step away from a breakthrough... and you pests had to invade."

He was none other than Madi.

One of the most dangerous figures alive.

The ground trembled violently as his clenched fist radiated raw force. The battlefield wasn’t just shifting—it was being rewritten.

He wasn’t interested in the weaker heroes. No—his gaze lifted, sharp and unyielding, locking onto the true targets.

"The leaders..." he whispered. "The expedition ends when they die. Especially the Tryst Guild’s master and his elites."

And then, his eyes stopped—fixed upon a girl standing defiantly amidst the chaos. Long blue hair flowed behind her, and arcs of lightning crackled around her body like a living storm.

Madi’s lips curled in a cold smile.

"...Let’s get rid of her first."

To be continued.....

AUTHOR’S NOTE

That’s the Chapter, everyone!

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– Ultra