Chapter 242: Destroy The Cursed (59)

Chapter 242"And which fool thinks they have outnumbered the enemy?" Little One muttered, though the truth was ghostly clear in his heart.

That fool was himself. He had believed—perhaps too optimistically—that if the three of them struck together against the Dark Emissary, they might stand a chance. Three against one. On paper, it should have worked.

But that fragile plan had shattered the moment they saw the battlefield before them. What stood at Madi’s command was not one enemy but over a hundred.

A hundred earth warriors, each radiating a menacing aura, their armor glowing with the eerie yellow light of earth essence. And at their front, standing like a shadow of doom, was the Dark Emissary himself.

This was no battle of equal footing. It was slaughter waiting to happen.

Madi’s lips curled in a faint smile as he studied the trio.

"Since you’ve said your last prayer, what remains is your death."

He raised a hand—and as his fingers snapped, every earth warrior moved as one. The yellow light in their visors flared brighter, and the ground trembled under their synchronized charge.

"Kill them. Cut them down!" Madi ordered.

The earth warriors surged forward, weapons raised like a tidal wave of death.

Ronan did not flinch. He turned his glowing purple eyes to Balor and spoke in a calm, commanding tone.

"Attack me the moment I take a step."

Balor blinked in surprise but nodded. He didn’t need to question Ronan—there was always a method in his madness.

Ronan’s twin blades gleamed with an otherworldly purple hue, swirling with an ominous energy that seemed to bend the very air around him. Then, without warning, he stepped forward—

—and vanished.

In his place, an earth warrior appeared, its visor flickering with momentary confusion. That was all the time Balor needed. His daggers flashed like silver lightning, plunging into the warrior’s head.

The yellow glow in its visor instantly dimmed to nothing as the creature collapsed back into lifeless clumps of dirt.

Balor exhaled sharply. No core. Of course not. These weren’t beasts; they were conjurations, fragments of the Dark Emissary’s power. Extensions of his will.

"Balor... am I seeing things?" Little One rasped. His voice was strained, as though even speaking was an effort.

"What is it?" Balor asked, daggers dripping with earthen dust.

Little One pointed ahead, his hand trembling.

Balor followed his gesture—and froze.

Far in the distance, beyond the chaotic charge, an eerie storm of flashing purple light carved through the battlefield. The sound of steel meeting stone echoed like thunderclaps.

Earth warriors’ limbs flew into the air, their bodies shredded apart before they could even mount a counterattack.

Ronan. Alone.

He was holding them all back.

"Don’t tell me..." Balor whispered, his disbelief almost choking him. "He’s fighting all of them on his own?"

He remembered the earlier exchange, how Ronan had swapped places with the warrior. That wasn’t mere teleportation. Space distortion energy—delicate, dangerous, and precise.

If Ronan hadn’t applied it perfectly, the warrior would have resisted and countered. These warriors weren’t weaklings; each of them radiated power at least on the level of high B-rankers, maybe even A-rankers.

Their combat instincts were terrifyingly sharp, their movements refined, their battle IQ flawless. Fighting one was already troublesome. Fighting a hundred should have been suicide.

But Ronan was tearing through them like parchment.

Purple arcs of energy sliced the battlefield, each strike forming crescents of destructive power that sheared stone and flesh alike.

His movements were mercilessly efficient, every swing of his dual blades carving an X of death across his enemies. Warriors that should have required ten men to restrain were dismantled in the blink of an eye.

Little One stood stunned, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. His eyes narrowed, filled with both awe and something darker.

"Is it just me," he muttered hoarsely, "or are the Tryst Guild’s members growing stronger by the day... as though the world itself bends for them?"

Balor didn’t answer. His own disbelief mirrored Little One’s words. He had been a hero far longer than most, a man who carried the weight of decades despite his youthful appearance.

Yet these young heroes were growing stronger at an alarming pace—faster than anyone could have expected. Their rise was like an unstoppable tide, and it unsettled even the most seasoned of foes.

"Hey, what are you muttering about?" Balor asked, his voice rumbling as he stepped directly into the void.

Little One shook his head, pushing away his own troubled thoughts. "You’re right... he’ll need support. Who knows what kind of ace that dark emissary has hidden up his sleeves?"

With that, his body began to shrink—smaller, smaller, until he was no bigger than an insect. Then, without hesitation, he dove headfirst into the heart of the battle.

Meanwhile, Ronan’s clash with the Earth Warriors raged on. The fight was brutal and unrelenting, each strike shaking the battlefield with explosive force.

Ronan’s Onslaught Skill still burned brightly, his twin blades carving arcs of purple light that shredded through armor and stone alike.

Every swing was devastating—so overwhelming that none of the Earth Warriors could afford to meet his blows head-on. To do so was nothing short of suicide.

But even for him, the danger was immense. He was surrounded, engulfed by warriors who were no mere beasts but veterans trained in discipline and teamwork.

Against ordinary monsters, Ronan’s rampage would have been ingenious—cutting them down before they could rally.

But the Earth Warriors moved with precision, covering each other’s blind spots, their formations tightening like an unbreakable wall.

So Ronan changed tactics. Instead of charging recklessly, he fought with cold calculation.

Each time he landed a brutal strike, he shifted position with almost uncanny timing—maneuvering so that another Earth Warrior’s attack would crash directly into the comrade Ronan had just crippled.

In the confusion, he struck them both down, his blades cleaving through stone and flesh alike.

The style was erratic, irrational even—but it worked. Warriors fell in pairs, collapsing under the chaos Ronan himself created.

His strategy was reckless, but it became the perfect counter to their discipline, leaving broken bodies in his wake.

Still, despite his victories, a heaviness grew in his chest. The more he fought, the stronger the feeling became—that the true battle hadn’t even begun yet, that the worst was still waiting.

And then, like a storm breaking through the clouds, Balor and Little One joined the fray. Balor’s daggers flashed through the enemy ranks, carving precise and deadly arcs, while Little One struck with surprising force despite his diminutive form.

With their support, the crushing pressure on Ronan’s shoulders eased, and the tide began to shift. Together, the trio tore through the Earth Warriors with terrifying efficiency, reducing the enemy’s disciplined formation into scattered chaos.

At last, the last of the Earth Warriors crumbled into dust and rubble. The battlefield fell into a rare moment of silence, broken only by the ragged sound of breathing.

Ronan stood at the center, his dual blades lowered but still gleaming with violet energy. His purple eyes burned fiercely, like twin flames that refused to fade.

Yet despite the fire in his gaze, the faint tremor in his chest and the shallow rise and fall of his shoulders betrayed his exhaustion.

Balor landed beside him, his body swaying slightly as he exhaled heavily. He was trying to maintain composure, but the fight had drained him just as much.

And then there was Little One—who, with a groan, collapsed straight onto his backside, gasping as though the air itself had turned against him.

"Next time... if you two ever plan on some suicidal mission like this again," he panted between breaths, "don’t... even think about calling me along!"

Balor chuckled, wiping the blood from his dagger. "Funny. If I recall, you were the one who volunteered in the first place."

Little One flailed a hand weakly, still slumped on the ground. "Details! That’s beside the point!"

The brief exchange almost lightened the tension, but the truth was undeniable—none of them had expected the Cursed to be this troublesome.

The Earth Warriors had been relentless, their strength and discipline pushed to terrifying limits under the command of the Dark Emissary.

And Ronan... Ronan wasn’t listening to their banter. His violet eyes were fixed on the figure standing in the distance. The Dark Emissary. Silent. Motionless. Watching.

Why then... did his heart still pound with this unease? Why did every instinct scream that the battle wasn’t finished?

Across the field, Madi—the Dark Emissary—smiled faintly, as if he could read Ronan’s very thoughts. So... they managed to handle my warriors.

These heroes have surpassed what I first thought of them. But... His smirk deepened. They are not yet beyond what I can crush.

He raised his hand lazily, his voice carrying across the broken battlefield like a death knell. "You’ve rested long enough."

The ground answered his command before the heroes could. It trembled violently, a deep quake that rattled their bones. Dust split into the air as cracks spiderwebbed through the earth.

Ronan’s blood ran cold. Balor’s body stiffened. Little One let out a despairing groan, clutching his head as if cursed by fate itself. "Not again... why is it always me..."

They all knew what this meant.

"The second wave..." Ronan muttered grimly. His grip on his blades tightened. He raised his voice, sharp and commanding. "Both of you—prepare yourselves. They’re coming."

And then, with a roar of stone and fury, the earth split apart. From the shattered ground rose another horde of Earth Warriors—larger, fiercer, and far more menacing than the first.

Their eyes glowed with malice as they charged forward, the earth trembling with their steps.

Ronan stepped forward without hesitation. His body glowed faintly, a purple aura shimmering around him. Then, in an instant, his form vanished.

In his place floated a single, gleaming silver needle—its presence radiating killing intent.

The next act of carnage was about to begin.

To be continued...

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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