NOVEL WEB Chapter 200: Destroy The Cursed (17)
"Fool... what do you think you're doing?" Han's voice was devoid of fatigue—no tremble, no weakness. Instead, it carried a heavy weight, brimming with seething anger and suffocating pressure that made the very air around him feel heavier. He hadn't moved from where he sat cross-legged, but the aura he released was enough to make even a confident warrior flinch.
"I can still do this… he should be weakened," the red Vanguard muttered, gripping his weapon tighter. "If I just—"
He stopped cold.
It hit him then.
Not only had Han caught the incoming spear between his fingers effortlessly, but now arcs of violent lightning began crackling around his body. Furious, wild, and untamed—each spark hissed with bloodlust, dancing over his shoulders, wrapping around his arms, and trailing off his back like phantom wings of pure thunder. It was as if a god of lightning had awakened within him, ready to reduce everything in its path to cinders.
The Vanguard's confidence shattered. His eyes widened, pupils shrinking in fear. His instinct screamed louder than any rational thought could. Without hesitation, he turned to run—darting into the forest's edge in a blind panic. But fear had robbed him of his direction, and desperation had made him careless.
Seconds later, a wet thud echoed across the battlefield.
His lifeless body slammed into the mud. His neck had been cleanly slit—blood seeping into the dirt in a widening pool. The kill had been swift, efficient, and almost emotionless.
Yet Han hadn't moved an inch.
The one who delivered the killing blow now stood amongst three towering beasts. Ronan, eyes glowing a deep, spectral violet, didn't even glance at the corpse he'd just created. He had bigger problems to deal with.
Facing him were three monstrous, three-tailed scorpions—each over five meters tall, each armored with metallic exoskeletons that shimmered in hues of obsidian and scarlet. Their tails twitched with lethal intent, dripping with venom potent enough to melt through steel.
Despite their terrifying presence, Ronan remained calm. Focused.
These beasts weren't ordinary cursed creatures. They were elemental variants—one wielding fire, another ice, and the last lightning. The synergy between them made them nightmarishly difficult to deal with. Any lesser warrior would've been overwhelmed in seconds. But Ronan was no ordinary warrior.
He was an elite slayer—possibly one of the few capable of standing his ground against them.
The battle had been fierce. Blades had clashed, tails had lashed, and the air had been painted with destruction. Yet Ronan showed no signs of injury. The same could not be said for the beasts. Their carapaces were cracked and bleeding; black ichor oozed from deep gashes across their bodies. Their movement had slowed, their attacks becoming more sluggish.
They were nearing their end.
Ronan tightened his grip around the hilt of his glowing purple blade. With a single step, he launched himself into the air. Time seemed to slow. The blade above his head shimmered with power, pulsing like a heartbeat. Then—
He brought it down.
The moment the sword tip kissed the earth, a spiral of barely-visible energy blades erupted in every direction. The air screamed. The beasts froze, spasming violently, before collapsing—lifeless.
Dust settled.
Ronan stared at their corpses without emotion. His only thought: The cursed… they've become far more dangerous than anyone had anticipated.
The idea that they could now command high-rank beasts—coordinated, elemental variants, no less—was terrifying. It was a strategic shift. One that implied this war was evolving fast… and not in their favor.
Without wasting time, Ronan blurred from view, reappearing in another corner of the battlefield where a horde of abominations awaited. Screams soon followed, and with them, the sound of carnage.
Meanwhile, back where Han still sat unmoved, his eyelids finally fluttered open.
A system message echoed in his mind.
> "Corrosive White Dust neutralized. Host vitality restored. System efficiency: 100%."
Han exhaled deeply. Relief washed over his features, if only for a moment.
"That… was close," he muttered.
Some minutes ago, the white, corrosive particles from the beast's self-destruction had invaded his system. Despite his powerful resistance and high-tier physique, even he had been overwhelmed. At one point, the system had reported his capability had dropped by over 90%. It had taken everything he had just to keep the corruption from spreading deeper.
And it had been at that very moment the red Vanguard attacked.
Han recalled the spear. The foolish rush. The look in that man's eyes—one of desperation disguised as confidence. And then the blinding panic once the truth became apparent.
"Coward," Han muttered, brushing dust from his robes as he slowly rose to his feet.
A few minutes earlier, when Han had first been attacked by the Red Vanguard, his body was still engaged in a desperate internal battle—fighting off the powerful toxin that threatened to completely shut down his systems. The corrosive white dust had seeped deep into his muscles, trying to paralyze his cells and tear his vitality apart from within. He had barely managed to hold himself together.
And yet, despite the chaos raging inside him, Han wore an imposing, unflinching facade. A bluff.
He acted like an unshakable force in front of the Red Vanguard, projecting calm and confidence, buying time—gambling. In truth, if the Red Vanguard had gone all-out, unleashing every ounce of his power, Han might have sustained critical injuries… or worse. Luckily, the poor fool had believed the act.
Of course, Han wasn't completely helpless. He still had access to his two spirit summons—Ifrit and Thunderwrath—terrifying elemental beings of fire and lightning. But he chose not to summon them. Not yet. Han understood that the true battle had yet to begin, and wasting those two at this stage could leave him exposed when the real monsters came knocking.
Stretching his still-aching body, Han surveyed the battlefield. On the surface, it seemed balanced—neither side fully gaining the upper hand. But Han knew better. The tide could change at any moment, especially if the Red Vanguard reinforcements weren't stopped. If they broke through, even briefly, hundreds of heroes might not survive the next wave.
His gaze shifted to the far left flank, where a cluster of allies struggled to hold their ground. Han felt the itch to unleash Lightning Force: Thunderclap, one of his most devastating AOE skills—but he held back. The collateral damage might be too much. It could obliterate enemy lines… but it could just as easily kill half their own.
Grinding his teeth, Han steeled himself. Fine. I'll deal with the Red Vanguards myself.
Just as he bent his knees to launch forward—he froze.
His expression darkened. Something had triggered.
It was Danger Sense—an old skill, one of the first Han ever developed when he awakened. At the time, it formed instinctively, more like a survival reflex than a trained ability. Over the years, it had saved his life more times than he could count, even if he often forgot it existed. It hadn't been upgraded past B-rank due to neglect, but it still maintained a detection radius of over five kilometers.
And now—it was blaring.
The danger it sensed wasn't close. Not yet. But it was massive.
Han slowly turned his gaze to the coastline behind them… to the open sea.
The ocean's surface had turned violent.
Just a few kilometers out, the waves were boiling—roaring as if the ocean itself had become enraged. Something vast and ancient was approaching, faster than reason allowed. Han blinked—and suddenly, in a split second, he was standing at the shoreline, his cloak fluttering in the salt-stained wind, his face grim.
He expected a sea beast, maybe a mutated whale or an Octina—those weird tentacled monsters he'd fought before. But what approached was far worse.
His vision, enhanced by Eagle Eye, locked onto the oncoming threat:
Name: Morbid Batscales.
Rank: C.
Trait: Grows stronger the more enemies it kills and consumes.
Han didn't frown because of their rank, nor their grotesque appearance—bat-like creatures with hard scale-covered wings, rows of jagged teeth, and eyes that glowed red with hunger. No, what made his expression turn ice-cold… was the number.
They were in the thousands.
Thousands of Morbid Batscales, flying in synchronized formation, approaching like a death cloud. Their coordination wasn't natural—they moved like trained soldiers. Disciplined. Programmed.
They're tamed, Han realized instantly.
Just like the abominations the allied forces were already struggling to repel… these monsters weren't wild. They were part of something much more terrifying.
The cursed did this. They've tamed all of them.
Han's fist clenched at his side.
The scale of the attack was staggering. This wasn't an ambush—this was a planned, overwhelming assault. The enemy was playing with cards no one even knew existed, and they hadn't run out yet.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Just how many insane cards do the Cursed hold…?"
TO BE CONTINUED.....
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