Chapter 46: Last Promise

Chapter 46: Last PromiseChapter 46

Somewhere on the Middle Continent...

A lone figure in black moved quietly through a shadowy alley, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Just how many of those damned serums were made? Ronan wondered grimly.

He had been tracking and destroying every trace of the corrupt serum he could find, yet his radar continued to pick up more readings—each one leading him to another dark corner of the continent. As the signal suddenly spiked, he didn’t hesitate. In a flash, he dashed toward the source.

What he found made his eye twitch.

Several children huddled together, trembling in fear. Before them, a grotesque abomination stalked forward, its disfigured body dragging with every unnatural step. But among the frightened children, one girl didn’t flinch.

A young girl—no older than ten—stood still, confused rather than afraid. She had seen this monster before. Each time, it would appear... then retreat. It never attacked her, even though everyone insisted it was dangerous.

"Kira! Don’t go near it!" one of the boys cried, panic in his voice as he saw her step forward.

She ignored him.

Slowly, she approached the monster, step by step, until she stood mere inches from its twisted form.



"It’s okay," she said softly, tilting her head. "Are you hurt?"

The creature let out a deep, guttural noise—some form of language—but no one could understand it.

Then, its clawed hand rose, and from its palm, a blade extended—sharp, jagged, and menacing.

That was enough.

In a blur, Ronan moved. He snatched the girl from harm’s way, placed her behind the others, and turned to face the creature. The monster growled, glaring at him with molten eyes.

"I don’t know why you mutated," Ronan said, voice flat, "but I’ll end your suffering."

He lunged.

Despite not being an Awakened, Ronan moved with blinding speed—faster than most heroes. The secret lay in the weapon clutched in his hand: two sleek black blades coursing with power.

Nathan had called it his finest creation to date—an A-rank power weapon that boosted all stats and came with two active abilities tailored to Ronan’s fighting style.

The mutated creature didn’t back down. It charged.

Steel clashed against bone-blade in a brutal contest of force. But almost immediately, Ronan felt something strange. The monster wasn’t just strong—it was overwhelmingly strong.

With one tremendous strike, the creature sent Ronan flying. He skidded across the ground, stopping just short of a crumbling wall.

He rose slowly, eyes narrowed.

"You’re... strong," Ronan admitted, brow furrowed. Really strong.

---

Meanwhile – Southern Continent

Back in the ruined plaza, tension crackled in the air.

The Red Vanguard man stared at Ron, unimpressed. Sure, he’d landed a hit, but that was luck. He was confident in his strength—more than confident.

Ron, hammer resting across his shoulders, stared back calmly.

Without a word, the Red Vanguard raised his hand. The shattered scythe on the ground suddenly vibrated and reassembled itself, floating back into his grasp.

"You’re with the guild, aren’t you?" he asked.

Ron didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to face the survivors.

"Leave. Now."

Surprisingly, the enemy didn’t block the retreating guild members this time. He simply watched.

Once they were gone, Ron slowly raised his hammer.

Then—BOOM.

He brought it crashing down. The marble beneath him exploded with force, spiderweb cracks tearing through the entire battlefield like a quake had struck.

The Red Vanguard sneered. "Show-off."

He appeared beside Ron, his scythe already slicing toward his head.

CLANG!

The blow was stopped mid-air by Ron’s hammer. Another strike followed in a blur—but this time, Ron’s fist missed as the man teleported away.

In a blink, the attacker reappeared in front of him. Ron reacted instantly, slamming his hammer forward. The impact landed—but nothing. The man vanished again, and the next moment, the scythe came down from above, grazing Ron’s neck. A thin line of blood appeared.

Yet instead of satisfaction, the man looked shocked. He had severed ten necks with a single swing before. This? This should have been a clean kill.

He barely avoided Ron’s counterattack, teleporting again just in time to escape a crushing blow.

Several meters away now, the red-armored man stared in disbelief. "Just what kind of body do you have...?"

Ron said nothing, staring coldly. Apart from Han and Aiden, no one had made him bleed in months. This man—no, his scythe—was different.

Ron’s endurance came from his skill: Stone Body. It let him channel earth essence to harden his muscles, bones—his very skin. But more than that, he trained relentlessly, forging a body like steel.

"Is that all?" Ron asked calmly.

The man grinned. "Hardly. I’m just getting started."

With renewed aggression, he launched a furious assault. His teleportation grew sharper, faster. The scythe tore across Ron’s chest, blood trailing in its wake. Ron swung, but every time, the man vanished—only to strike again.

Slash. Slash. Strike. Vanish.

The torment dragged on. After hundreds of exchanges, Ron dropped to one knee, body slick with blood.

"This," the man said with a sneer, "is why you don’t mess with the Cursed Organization."

Yet inside, panic crept in. Why won’t he fall? What kind of monster is this?

Then, just as he moved in for the finishing blow, Ron smiled.

Boom.

The hammer struck the ground three times. A strange ripple passed through the air.

The man felt it—some shift—but it faded just as fast.

"What was that?"

Ron didn’t answer. He lunged.

The attacker teleported behind him, ready to strike—but froze. Something was wrong.

The gravity... changed.

It was heavy—too heavy.

CRACK!

The hammer smashed into his chest before he could blink, sending him flying. He tumbled across the floor, coughing blood, bones creaking with every breath.

He stood shakily. "What... kind of ability is that?"

But it wasn’t Ron’s ability—it was the hammer’s. Its first active skill could manipulate gravity within a set range, making enemies slower and vulnerable. The second skill was even more devastating: temporarily boosting either offense or defense to overwhelming levels. But activating it required immense endurance energy. seaʀᴄh thё Nôvelƒire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

That’s why they called it the Hammer of Endurance—or so it was named by its creator, Nathan.

The red-armored man prepared to flee.

No point fighting a losing battle.

Just as he tried to teleport again—he froze.

The gravity intensified. Even heavier this time.

Confused, he looked around—Ron wasn’t nearby. Then his eyes landed on the hammer embedded in the ground.

The hammer...? It’s affecting gravity?

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even teleport.

Ron approached slowly, calmly, and picked up the hammer.



"Thank you," he said with a cold smile.

The man blinked. "What...?"

"If you hadn’t pushed me that far, I wouldn’t have been able to trigger this."

Ron lifted the hammer high. "You’ve seen the first active skill. Now, let me show you the second."

BZZZZT!

The hammer surged with radiant energy, heat waves warping the air around it. The man’s heart sank.

BOOM!

The hammer slammed into his chest. This time, the wall behind him shattered. A crater formed where his body landed

The man collapsed. His chest was caved in, heart crushed beyond repair. He wasn’t going to survive. Ron approached him, eyes cold and unwavering.

"Tell me," Ron said, his voice low and filled with weight. "What’s the point of all this? Turning humans into monsters? What’s your real goal?"

The man looked up weakly, blood pooling at the corners of his lips. Yet, he smiled.

"Project Ultimate... must succeed. The dead... were necessary sacrifices," he croaked.

"Necessary—?" Ron’s face darkened. "You’re insane."

But the man kept smiling, even as the life faded from his eyes.

"You’re strong, no doubt," he whispered. "But if you ever meet one of the Dark Emissaries... your death is certain."

With that, his head dropped lifelessly.

"Dark Emissaries..." Ron muttered, eyes narrowing. "Could they be the ones in black?"

He looked around, then sighed. "First, I need to clean up."

---

Meanwhile, on Ronan’s side—

BAM!

A monstrous figure was sent flying, crashing through a building. Dust and rubble clouded the air. But it rose again—bruised, bleeding, but unbroken.

From the haze, Ronan stepped forward. He bore a deep gash across his back, but his face remained blank, unfazed.

"I’ll admit," Ronan said, tightening his grip on his swords, "you’re one of the toughest monsters I’ve faced in a while."

Without another word, he charged.

The monster met him halfway, and the battle reignited with brutal intensity. The creature was fast—faster than most—and absurdly strong. But it lacked skill, precision, experience.

That was Ronan’s domain.

He exploited every flaw, every hesitation. Yet something felt... off. There were moments the creature could’ve landed a killing blow. But it didn’t. It held back.

Why?

After another flurry of clashes, the monster finally crashed to the ground, struggling to rise.

Ronan stepped forward, raising his blade for the final strike—when the creature twitched and growled.

Then... words.

"I... it’s... me... Hero..."

Ronan froze.

That voice. Though twisted, it was unmistakable. There was only one person who ever called him that.

His eyes widened. The kid.

It all clicked—how the creature held back, how the little girl approached without fear. How it never fully committed to killing him.

The monster’s form began to shed, revealing a young boy beneath. But he was far from normal—black veins pulsed across his body, his eyes jet-black with no trace of white.

He looked up at Ronan and spoke, voice trembling.

He told everything—from the moment Ronan left, to how the gang returned and destroyed everything. They crushed his arm... killed his best friend. And then a man with purple hair gave him a vial. A cursed serum. He injected it for revenge.

And became this.

Ronan clenched his fists. Regret surged through him like poison. I should’ve wiped them out completely.

A long silence followed.

Then the boy—Sam—spoke again.

"Hero... I’m going to die, aren’t I?"

Ronan’s voice softened. "You’re still in control. That means there’s a chance."

But Sam shook his head.

"No... I’m losing it. Fast. My memories, my humanity—it’s fading."

Ronan closed his eyes. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel it too. The corruption inside Sam was eating away at his soul.

"Hero," Sam said, voice barely above a whisper, "don’t blame yourself. This was my decision. But... I have one last favor."

Ronan nodded slowly.

"Please... take care of my sister. She’s all I have left."

Ronan looked away, fighting the ache in his chest. Then he nodded.

Sam smiled—genuinely.

"Then... help me end this. The pain, the voices—it’s unbearable. It’s not physical... it’s in my head. And it never stops."

Ronan stood and slowly unsheathed his blade.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

But just as he was about to swing, Sam’s body transformed again and lunged—not to attack, but to pull Ronan out of the way.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A hail of shots rang out.

Ronan turned just in time to see Sam’s body riddled with bullet holes—clean, precise.

The monster form faded, leaving behind the bleeding boy.

Ronan caught him as he collapsed.

Blood soaked through Ronan’s arms. Sam’s eyelids fluttered, his breathing shallow.

"Please... take care of her..."

Then... silence.

His heart stopped.



Ronan stared at the boy in his arms, pain twisting his features. He leaned down and kissed Sam’s forehead.

"I swear... I’ll make sure she becomes someone you’d be proud of."

CLANG— SLASH!

A bullet clanged and split in half mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground. Ronan had sliced it without looking up.

Then his eyes rose, cold and sharp.

Far away, atop a rooftop, stood a woman with bright yellow hair. She wore a red armored suit and puffed on a cigarette. Around her were dozens of elite snipers—every one of their bullets imbued with power.

"Too bad," she muttered. "The kid died for him."

Ronan unsheathed both blades and crossed them in an X across his chest.

"I made one promise to the kid. And now, I’ll make another..."

His voice dropped, murderous intent leaking with every word.

"I’ll make sure you die the most painful death imaginable."

To be continued...