Chapter 241: Destroy The Cursed (58)

Chapter 241"Vibrant Slash!" Ronan muttered, his dual blades glowing with a violent surge of swirling purple aura.

The light carved the air as he brought his weapons down in a deadly cross-shaped strike aimed straight for Madi’s head. It was certain death—an attack no one should have been able to evade.

"Why don’t you die first?" Ronan hissed under his breath, his blades descending like a judgment.

But then... something felt wrong. Terribly wrong.

In one instant, his strike was cleaving toward Madi’s skull. In the next, the blades struck nothing but the shattered ground with a thunderous crack. The shockwave split the earth, dust spiraling into the air, yet Madi’s head was untouched.

Ronan’s normally blank expression flickered with confusion. Impossible... I missed? His eyes narrowed sharply, tracing forward—and there, about ten meters away, stood Madi. Calm. Composed. His piercing gaze locked directly onto Ronan.

"How the hell... did you move?" Ronan muttered, his grip tightening on his blades.

Madi, however, betrayed only the smallest crack in his mask of calm.

His hands clenched ever so subtly at his sides. Inwardly, he knew—had he not reacted at the very last moment, that strike would have ended his life right then and there. The weight of it lingered in his chest.

He’s dangerous, Madi admitted to himself. His eyes gleamed coldly. But it doesn’t matter. Things are just beginning. I’ll crush all of them here and now.

A pained groan suddenly echoed from the debris, pulling both warriors’ attention. Ronan tensed, ready to strike again—but what crawled out from the mountain of shattered stone was not an enemy. It was a figure Ronan knew all too well.

"Damn, that really hurt..." the man grumbled, brushing dust off his body. "Anyone ever tell that cursed bastard not to go so far? You know, my bones were almost crushed back there."

"Little One..." Ronan blinked, his eyes narrowing. Who in their right mind complained about "going too far" in the middle of a war to the death? To Ronan, this wasn’t strategy—it was madness.

Little One met his gaze, scoffing. "Tch. You’re too cold to understand. Anyway..." He straightened his battered suit with exaggerated motions before glancing around.

"Where’s Balor? I think he got smashed away too. Poor guy probably has a few ribs broken by now."

Though he tried to sound worried, the small smirk tugging at his lips shattered the act. He wasn’t worried. If anything, he looked almost gleeful that he wasn’t the only one to be humiliated by that dark emissary.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

The voice drifted out of the void, calm yet cutting. Little One stiffened, his grin faltering for just a second.

From the swirling darkness, Balor stepped forward—his expression as cold as iron. Aside from a few bruises across his chest, he was largely unharmed.

Little One’s grin immediately returned. "Well, isn’t that great, buddy! I’d have felt really, really bad if you’d gotten your ribs broken. Truly."

Balor’s mouth twitched, his tone flat and accusing. "Really? Or are you just angry you didn’t get to see me crushed, since that would have made you happy?"

Little One staggered back a step, placing a hand dramatically against his chest. "Oh, oh, oh! Why would you even think such a vile thing? I’m a very caring friend!

Do you think I’d ever wish that on you? Maybe the void messed up your hearing—you’re hearing the opposite of what I’m saying."

Balor stared at him, unamused. His voice dripped with cold skepticism. "So you’re saying the void is to blame?"

Little One nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly! The void! Definitely the void!"

"If you still don’t believe me," Madi sneered, "then ask Ronan himself. He was here when I said it."

He jabbed a finger in Ronan’s direction.

But Ronan wasn’t paying them the slightest attention. His gaze remained locked forward, sharp and unyielding.

"I hope you two are done with your bickering," Ronan said evenly, though there was a flicker of tension in his voice. "Because he’s preparing something... something big."

Balor frowned, the seriousness in Ronan’s tone cutting through his usual bravado. "Alright, alright. Enough. Dark Emissary or not, we’ve got three against one. That’s more than enough."

"Don’t underestimate him," Ronan replied without looking back. "From the very first exchange, it was clear—this isn’t a foe we can take lightly."

Balor still scanned the battlefield, eyes darting. "Where’s Elexa?"

"She’s safe," Ronan answered curtly. "For now. But in her current condition, she can’t fight. Which means it’s up to us to take him down."

Balor and Little One both nodded, embers of determination sparking in their eyes. Three against one. They could handle it. Or so they believed.

That fragile confidence shattered when Madi crouched low, pressing his palm against the ground. His lips curled into a twisted grin.

"Terra Warriors... ascend."

The earth convulsed. A deep rumble spread through the battlefield, violent tremors shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the earth, splitting the surface apart. A massive hand, carved from soil and stone, thrust upward through the dirt.

The creature began to rise.

An armored knight of pure earth towered before them, its design impossibly intricate, as though sculpted by divine hands. Plates of stone interlocked like ancient armor, polished by some unseen will.

A perfectly carved helm sat upon its massive head, glowing yellow eyes burning beneath. In one hand, it carried a spear taller than a man. In the other, a broad, round shield gleamed with earthen weight.

Balor felt his throat tighten. Even without words, the knight radiated power.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed, his system window confirming what his instincts already screamed: High B-rank... maybe even close to A.

Little One snorted, trying to mask his unease. "That’s it? This is what we’re supposed to fear?"

But before he could laugh again, the earth shuddered a second time. A deeper quake. Stronger. The kind that made even his knees buckle.

Ronan’s expression hardened. He tightened his grip on his blades, irritation mixing with dread. His voice dropped low, almost a whisper.

"...There’s more coming."

And then the ground burst open.

Dozens of new cracks tore through the battlefield. From each fissure, more warriors emerged—one after another after another. Some were knights like the first, wielding spears and shields.

Others bore massive greatblades, or long swords, or bows of hardened stone. An army of sculpted terrors, each one radiating the same deadly aura.

Hundreds.

Little One’s smirk faltered. His lips curled into a dry, pained grin as his voice came out hoarse.

"...You’ve got to be kidding me."

Madi marched confidently to the front of his earthen legion, the ground crunching beneath his boots as the massive stone warriors loomed behind him like an unstoppable wall of death.

His eyes gleamed with cruel arrogance as he stretched out a hand, finger pointed directly at Ronan and his companions.

"Say your last prayers," he sneered, his voice echoing ominously across the battlefield, carried by the rumbling tremors of the earth still quaking beneath them.

Ronan didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His silence was heavier than words, his grip tightening around his dual blades until the purple glow in his eyes flared like a burning star.

Energy rippled off his body in faint waves, the oppressive aura thickening with every heartbeat.

Beside him, Balor unsheathed a pair of short daggers, their silver edges catching the glimmer of the battlefield’s distorted light.

His expression was tense, jaw locked, but his eyes held a sharp determination—like a predator bracing for a fight it couldn’t afford to lose.

Then, from behind them, a pained chuckle broke through the grim air.

Little One staggered slightly, a hand pressed against his chest to stop his risen panic , his face pale but still carved with a crooked grin.

He raised his voice just enough to be heard, forcing a mocking tone into his words despite the obvious strain.

"Last prayers?" he muttered, the corner of his lip twitching as he suppressed a groan.

"Tell me... which fool out here actually thinks they’ve outnumbered the enemy?"

TO Be Continued...

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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– Ultra