Chapter 278: Destroy The Cursed (94)

Chapter 278"Vibrant Thrust!"

Ronan’s voice tore through the battlefield, his dread sword plunging into Magus’s chest.

The sequence.... vanishing, reappearing, striking, it all took less than a heartbeat. One blink. One breath. Yet when the blade pierced through, even Ronan himself could hardly believe it.

The Dark Emissary.

The monster who had crushed them over and over.

The nightmare that seemed untouchable.

Pierced. Just like that.

But he wasn’t dead. Not yet.

The massive sphere of destruction he had been conjuring evaporated into thin air, collapsing as though it never existed. His body dropped like a stone, crashing into the ground with a thunderous thud.

Ronan’s chest heaved. Relief should’ve come but unease gnawed at him instead. His instincts screamed. Any second now, Magus would rise again, laughing, announcing another round.

But nothing happened.

Magus lay there, several meters away. Unmoving. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest betrayed life still clinging to him.

Ronan clenched the hilt of the dread sword tighter and moved forward, step by step.

Behind him, the heroes finally let themselves collapse. Their bodies were battered, shredded, barely hanging together, but for the first time in what felt like eternity, they could rest. Even Shin, who had fought mostly from the rear, sat down with a heavy breath. Energy drained.

The enemy was down.

But no one celebrated. Not yet. Their gazes were fixed on Ronan. On the man who would end it.

Ronan stopped above Magus. His expression was carved from stone, neutral and cold.

Magus, writhing in pain yet still impossibly calm, tilted his head up. His lips curled into a faint, broken smile.

"Do it," he whispered.

Ronan raised the sword. The edge hovered inches from Magus’s throat, then stopped.

Magus’s eyes flickered in confusion.

Ronan’s voice was flat.

"Don’t misunderstand. I’ll kill you. But first... you tell me. Why? Why spare us? Why let yourself fall like this? Why the hell would you willingly sacrifice yourself?"

The words cut sharper than the blade.

The elite heroes, hearing this, froze. Their wounds screamed, but their thoughts screamed louder.

If Magus had truly been holding back... if this was him restraining himself... then if he wanted them dead, wouldn’t they already be corpses?

The idea chilled their blood.

Magus said nothing at first. His silence dragged. His body trembled as he forced himself upright, crossing his legs until he sat in a meditative pose. His face, even now, carried that eerie calm.

Finally, he spoke.

"I didn’t let you kill me. You were simply skilled enough to strike when the chance appeared."

Ronan’s gaze stayed flat. Unmoving.

Magus sighed, voice dropping low.

"My mana is nearly gone. I can force it to hold my heart together, but once it runs dry then i’m finished. Dead, truly. You don’t need to worry about me. My time is over. Focus on Drake... and the others."

Ronan didn’t blink. "That’s not my question. That attack you were preparing.... it would’ve obliterated us all. Yet you canceled it. Why?"

Magus’s face was calm, almost too calm. Then he spoke, voice even, like a man peeling off his last mask.

"Because I’ve decided to stop facing an illusion. For over eight years I told myself what the Cursed were doing was for the greater good. But even I knew,... that was a lie."

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. "Then why? Why join the Cursed at all if your morals run this deep?"

For the first time, Magus’s calm cracked. His gaze wavered, and a small, pained smile tugged at his lips. His eyes that were once sharp like a sage’s.... grew wet. He let out a breath, then whispered, "You might not believe me... but I’m not from your world."

Ronan didn’t blink.

"I came here searching for something that could save my brother," Magus continued. His tone was soft, fragile. "Maybe that’s why I went easy on you. You remind me too damn much of him."

Ronan’s gaze didn’t falter. "You might be vile. Evil. But you still clung to your morals. You chose not to lose yourself completely. I respected that... and I thank you for sparing us. We’ll finish what you couldn’t. We’ll destroy the Cursed."

Magus chuckled, low and weary. "Good luck, then. But if I were you, I’d be careful. The one you’re facing... Drake... he’s a lunatic. A true monster."

With trembling hands, Magus reached into his robes and pulled out a black jade, split in half. Only the head of a dragon was carved into it—jagged, incomplete. He held it out to Ronan.

"Take it. I spent years trying to unlock its secret... wasted decades. In my hands, it’s nothing but a curse. In yours... maybe it’ll be something else. Maybe it’ll help you reach the power you need."

Ronan took it, and for a moment, the weight of it burned against his palm. His chest felt heavy. Strange. He’d buried his elder brothers and sister long ago, yet the way Magus spoke, it dragged him back to those days.

Magus’s breath hitched. His hand pressed against his chest. Pain carved deep into his face.

"Well... I’ll be gone soon," he said. "Find the other half of that jade."

His eyes fluttered closed. Under his breath, words barely slipped out... words not meant for Ronan.

"I’m sorry, little brother. I lost my way... failed to secure what could slow your breakthrough. By now... you might already be at the six-star stage."

A peaceful smile broke across his face. His final words slipped out like a ghost.

"Be safe, Ray."


And just like that, Magus’s battered heart stopped. His body went still.

Ronan stared at him, his face neutral, yet something inside weighed him down. He muttered a quiet prayer. "Rest now, Magus."

His eyes dropped to the half-jade in his palm.

What does this do? And where’s the other half?

—

Far from Earth, in a world beyond worlds, a massive fortress floated in the skies, it was majestic, terrifying.

Inside its grand hall walked a lone figure. Crimson hair fell to his shoulders, every strand burning like flame. His gaze was calm, composed. His steps unhurried, yet each one carried the weight of a king. A long red cape draped from his back, embroidered with nine golden stars, each one tethered by glowing strings.

The young man stopped before a colossal frame dominating the chamber wall.

On the frame... two figures.

One, an older brother with flowing red hair and a warm smile.

The other... a bratty young boy, grin mischievous, eyes full of mischief and fire.

A small smile crept onto Ray’s lips as he stared at the old pictures... him and his brother, ten years ago.

Nine years now. Nine years, and still no trace. His fist clenched, knuckles whitening. He had torn through dimension after dimension, searching, chasing whispers, chasing shadows. Nothing. It was as if his brother had simply vanished into thin air.

"I’m strong already, big brother," Ray muttered, his voice low but edged with steel. Around him, the air bent, the world itself shuddering under his presence. "You were worried about the Mystic Overlords, weren’t you? But you don’t need to be anymore."

His lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace.

"Because I just became the Eighth Mystic Overlord."

He exhaled, slow, calm, but the pain hiding in that voice bled through like a wound that would never close.

"You don’t need to protect me anymore, big brother. I’ll do the protecting now. There’s so much we need to talk about... so much left undone. Just come back home. Just come back."

His hand tightened around the white jade he held. It was split in half. His piece bore the tail of a dragon. The other half... his brother carried that one. If he was still alive.

"Be back soon, big brother," Ray whispered. "Please... come back soon."

—

The battle with Magus had finally ended.

After what felt like an eternity of endless blows, after the kind of hopeless beating that could’ve broken gods themselves, the heroes had done it. Against all odds, they had won.

The Dark Emissary sat lifeless, his face unnervingly calm even in death.

"Finally... we did it."

The smallest of them collapsed onto his butt, laughing through tears, his face a portrait of exhaustion and joy. They’d scraped through by the skin of their teeth. And not one of them had escaped unscathed. Their bodies screamed for rest, for healing. They would need time... time they weren’t sure the world would give them.

By every calculation, only a handful of Dark Emissaries should still exist. Maybe none. Maybe this was the end.

But none of them were naïve enough to believe it.

If fate had taught them anything, it was that it loved to play cruel jokes. That it was unpredictable. That it always struck when hope dared to bloom.

And so, battered and broken, the heroes swore in silence: they would see this through to the very end.

Ronan sank to the ground, his breaths ragged. His energy pool was deep, but his body was wrecked, torn apart from the inside. The fight with Magus had been brutal

... brutal enough to leave him questioning how he’d survived at all.

Then—

Ding!

A golden light burned across his vision.

[Congratulations.]

[The Glorified Roulette can now be activated.]

[Spins available: 3.]

---

To be continued.......

AUTHOR’S NOTE

That’s the Chapter, everyone!

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– Ultra