NOVEL WEB Chapter 199: Destroy The Cursed (16)
Across the war-torn battlefield, the air trembled with the clash of steel and the roars of feral beasts. Screams echoed, blades sang, and monstrous howls filled the sky. Despite being vastly outnumbered, the guild members stood their ground. The sheer number of enemy beasts was overwhelming, yet they didn't falter. Not easily.
A few heroes had already fallen, their blood painting the cracked earth. But for every hero who died, a hundred powerful beasts were sent to the grave in return. Their sacrifices were not in vain. The elite guild warriors moved like shadows through chaos, slaying with precision and fury—especially against the deadly three-tailed scorpions whose venom alone could melt through steel. With their support, the tides initially favored the allied forces.
But in a world like theirs… victories were never permanent.
From the far end of the battlefield, a presence stirred—a force that had remained ominously still until now. The Red Vanguards, a merciless group draped in crimson armor, had watched silently from the shadows, their movements unreadable… until now.
As the next wave of beasts thundered toward the already strained heroes, the Red Vanguards finally moved. In perfect formation, they surged into battle like a blood-soaked tide, shifting the entire momentum in an instant. Unlike the beasts, the Vanguards were strategic. Intelligent. Ruthless. Well-equipped and battle-hardened, they attacked with vicious precision, exploiting every crack in the heroes' defenses.
The exhausted warriors, drained from endless waves of beasts, barely had time to react. Struggling to breathe, many fell under the cold blades of the Red Vanguards. The weaker members of the alliance were the first to perish—slain after only a few desperate exchanges. The stronger ones clung to life, teeth gritted and weapons trembling. But even they knew… their resistance wouldn't last much longer.
Amidst the blood and smoke, a figure emerged from a heap of fallen Red Vanguards. Towering and radiant, he wore a gleaming silver armor that shimmered under the dying light. In his hands, he held two elegant, curved blades, each pulsing faintly with ethereal energy. His silver hair, long and wind-tossed, matched the color of his sharp, piercing eyes. From his back unfurled magnificent silver wings, glowing softly as if defying the darkness itself.
Silver Wing—one of the Guild's most powerful warriors—stood amidst the chaos, his expression hardened as his gaze swept over the carnage. His fists clenched.
So… this is their move.
If the Red Vanguards were choosing to strike now, when the heroes' forces were at their weakest, then the allied army would be decimated. Unimaginable losses loomed just beyond the smoke and death.
Grinding his teeth, Silver Wing launched himself into the air, soaring high above the battlefield. Wind howled past his ears, and he closed his eyes, the din of war fading slightly behind him. Memories flashed—his desperate battle in Serenya against the first Cursed invasion, the near-death encounter with a Dark Emissary. Those experiences had pushed him to the brink, taught him to master his inner energy, to listen to his instincts… and evolve.
He had been working on something—an evolution of his cloning ability. It was supposed to be a last resort, a trump card against a Dark Emissary… but now, with countless lives hanging in the balance, there was no time to wait.
He focused.
The wings on his back shimmered, then slowly began to dissolve into a thick, liquid-like silver substance. It spiraled outward, forming floating orbs that pulsed with energy. Dozens of them. Dozens of tiny suns ready to birth something greater.
One by one, they started to shift—morphing and elongating. Silver strands formed flowing hair. Muscles took shape, sculpted like marble. Twin pairs of wings sprouted. Faces—his face—twisted in brief agony before calming as life was breathed into them.
Clones. Not just puppets, but living, breathing warriors born from his essence. Unlike his previous attempts, these weren't fragile imitations. They were stable. Flawless. Perfect.
Silver Wing opened his eyes and stared at his new army—an army of himself. A weary, almost broken smile formed on his lips.
Unlike the earlier clone technique he possessed—where the duplicates appeared merely as energy-based silhouettes—these new clones were nothing short of extraordinary. They weren't just hollow reflections or spiritual constructs; they were physical manifestations forged entirely from solidified silver essence. Not only did they possess tangible form, but their very structure gleamed like living metal, giving them a mechanical, almost divine aura.
Previously, Silver Wing had to expend vast reserves of energy to create clones that merely resembled his outward appearance. But this breakthrough technique was far more refined. It consumed significantly less energy, could be sustained for longer durations, and their density made them vastly more durable than before. Their silvery, metallic sheen gave them enhanced resistance against physical attacks. In terms of defense and endurance, they had evolved beyond his former limitations.
He couldn't unleash their full potential yet—this battlefield lacked sufficient metallic elements to fuel their advanced combat techniques. But even now, their presence was enough to shift the tide. With a silent thought, he issued mental commands to all ten of them. In unison, they shot off like silver comets, scattering in different directions toward the Red Vanguard troops, who were still wreaking havoc across the battlefield.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the chaotic war zone, a figure plummeted from the sky at blinding speed and crashed into the ground with a resounding boom. The earth cracked beneath the force, kicking up clouds of dust and debris. When the dust finally cleared, a man sat cross-legged amidst the rubble. His hair was split perfectly in two colors—white on one side, black on the other. His eyes remained closed, his breathing calm, but the faint grimace on his face betrayed the pain he was enduring.
"Damn that cursed beast…" Han muttered under his breath, the frustration in his tone unmistakable.
He had taken out the enemy with a decisive final blow, only for the monster to self-destruct—releasing a storm of dense, corrosive white particles that had pierced into his body like venomous needles. Anyone else caught in such a blast would have had less than a ten percent chance of survival, but Han was far from ordinary. His skill set provided high resistance to toxins and corrosive energy. On top of that, he possessed a reinforced superhuman physique—one amplified even further by his system's augmentations.
Still, the foreign particles were relentless. Though he was confident in surviving, he knew purging his body of this corruption wouldn't be a quick process. While his internal energy worked overtime to fight the invasion, Han remained seated, conserving his strength and focusing on recovery.
Suddenly, a glowing spear whistled through the air, aimed directly at his head. Just as it was about to strike, Han's hand shot up like lightning. With two fingers, he effortlessly caught the weapon mid-flight.
His eyes snapped open—cold, sharp, and brimming with deadly intent. He turned slowly to look at the attacker. Standing barely a meter away was a Red Vanguard soldier, clad in blood-red armor. His face was pale, his stance rigid. Fear oozed from his body like sweat.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Han asked, his voice deathly calm but laced with menace.
The soldier flinched. He recognized the man before him—the leader of the Tryst Guild, the one responsible for the collapse of several high-profile missions. The same man labeled as the greatest threat to their plans. The Red Vanguard had set the black beetle monster as a trap, hoping to gravely weaken him. And if it had been anyone else, it would've worked. But Han had survived.
The plan was to ambush him while he was weakened. Eliminate him before he could recover. But now, seeing the terrifying ease with which Han had caught his weapon… the soldier realized just how badly he'd miscalculated.
"You thought you could finish me off while I was down?" Han's voice was like thunder restrained behind a thin veil. There was no sign of fatigue in his tone—only seething rage and overwhelming pressure that pushed down like a mountain.
"You overestimated your chance," he growled. "And underestimated me."
To be continued.....
Here Is The Chapter Guys, Don't Forget To Vote And Comment.