NOVEL WEB Chapter 232: Destroy The Cursed (49)
The Dreadlord reacted at the last possible instant, raising four of its six massive arms to intercept the descending blades. Sparks exploded on impact, metal shrieking as steel met the unnatural alloy of its armor.
But then came the impossible.
Ronan's dual swords, burning with the Onslaught's amplified edge, cleaved through the first arm as if it were paper, then the second, then the third, and finally the fourth.
All four limbs fell away in a single merciless stroke, severed clean from their sockets. The momentum of the strike didn't stop there — his blades carved straight through the Dreadlord's shoulder plating, splitting the reinforced armor as though it were nothing more than brittle glass.
The last two arms were severed in the same heartbeat, sheared from its body as though they had never belonged to it in the first place.
The Dreadlord staggered back, crashing to the ground in a shower of sparks and black mist. Its massive frame twitched as its head lifted, crimson eyes glowing faintly through the cracks of its helm.
For the first time in countless battles, it understood something chilling: there was no path to victory. Its body was broken, its arms gone, its strength insufficient. The outcome was sealed.
Yet, it still stared at Ronan — and its voice echoed out, low and venomous.
"I don't know… if any other human is as powerful as you," it rasped. "But it won't matter. You are all already doomed."
" They will come together now. Before, none of us — apart from the Dark Goblins — saw you as a true threat. But once they learn of my death, once they understand what you've done… they will all see the truth."
" Humanity… is a danger to our very existence. And when the monsters unite… when every force of our kind gathers… it won't be a question of whether you survive. It will only be a question of how long you can last."
Its broken frame convulsed as its laughter rattled through the hollow helm.
"Your world was protected for ages by those white-haired lunatics. But they are gone now, aren't they? Without them… what chance do you have? When the allied armies of the monster race descend upon your lands, humanity will be scoured clean. You will be hunted down, one by one. There will be no sanctuary. No hope. No survival. Only extinction."
The Dreadlord's voice deepened into a guttural chuckle, a mocking dirge of doom that echoed across the battlefield.
"You humans… so foolish, killing each other even while greater threats linger in the dark. You have only made their task easier. When they come, your destruction will be swift and absolute."
Through it all, Ronan stood silent, his blades lowered to the ground, his expression unreadable. His purple eyes gave away nothing — no fear, no dread, no concern. Just stillness.
The Dreadlord mistook that silence.
"What is it?" it hissed mockingly. "Are you paralyzed by dread? Does the fear choke you even now?
Do you finally understand that nothing you do, no power you gain, will matter when they come? There is no preparation, no salvation. You are already finished!"
It cackled, dark and hollow — but then froze.
Ronan's expression had changed. Slowly, his gaze lifted, those violet eyes narrowing into something far darker. What stared back at the Dreadlord was no longer cold indifference. It was wrath — raw, unrestrained, overwhelming wrath.
"You think I feel dread?" Ronan's voice was low, steady, but every word vibrated with restrained fury. "No… dread is not what I feel. What I feel right now… is anger.
A fury so sharp it's cutting through my veins. And the only reason you are still breathing is because I was collecting my needles."
As he spoke, the countless silver needles scattered around the battlefield trembled, then began to converge. One by one, they aligned, merging into a single, flawless needle of gleaming silver that floated gently into Ronan's waiting hand.
The Dreadlord's crimson eyes flickered — not with rage, not with mockery, but something else. Was it fear? No… could it truly be dread? The irony was almost laughable.
Ronan's lips curled in a thin, merciless line.
"I don't know who these monsters are that you speak of… but if they dare set foot in my world, then just like you…" His purple eyes burned like a storm as he raised his blade once more.
"…I will make them regret it."
Ronan lifted his blade.
The steel thrummed with power as a deep violet light bled across its edge, the glow pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. For an instant, the battlefield fell silent. Then he swung.
The strike fell like judgment.
The sword carved through the air, landing clean across the Dreadlord's helm. A single flash — critical damage unleashed, multiplied tenfold by Onslaught's wrath — and the head was severed from its body in one decisive stroke.
The Dreadlord's crimson eyes flared wildly for a heartbeat, burning with denial, fury, and fear all at once… then dimmed. The massive body slumped backward, its reign of terror snuffed out in an instant.
The silence that followed was broken by the chime of the system.
> Quest Completed: Kill the Dreadlord and end its reign of terror.
Reward Obtained: Artifact — Dread Crown.
Ronan blinked, his eyes narrowing as the description unfolded before him:
> Artifact: Dread Crown
This artifact can transform into any weapon, armor, or tool the host can imagine.
Its power grows in proportion to the dread it invokes in others.
Dread Accumulated: 0 / 1500
Ronan tilted his head, slightly puzzled. Dread?
Was he supposed to instill fear? Break minds? Crush spirits? The system gave him nothing more to go on. But he dismissed the thought almost immediately.
An S-Rank artifact that could take the shape of any weapon or armor — that alone was a trump card beyond measure. Whatever its condition meant, it didn't matter right now. He had won. He had survived. That was enough.
Closing the system window, Ronan surveyed the battlefield. The ground was torn and scarred, scattered with beast carcasses, the air still thick with lingering threads of dark energy.
Yet monsters still prowled the edges of the field, drawn by the chaos but wary of approaching.
"Better wrap this up quickly," he muttered.
In the next instant, his form flickered — gone in a silver flash.
But unlike before, the space he left behind was not filled by one of his floating needles. Instead, another figure stood where Ronan had been: a battered young hero, barely able to stand, his breathing ragged and shallow.
The youth staggered, confusion etched across his bloodstained face. A moment ago, he had been locked in a desperate struggle against a vicious beast — claws tearing at him, strength failing. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was here.
He turned slowly, his gaze falling on the devastated landscape: the torn ground, the shattered terrain, the residue of a power so immense that even in its fading state, it pressed against his chest and made it hard to breathe.
And there, not far away, lay the head of the Dreadlord — severed, motionless, its crimson glow extinguished forever.
The young man froze, his throat dry.
There was no mistaking it.
A battle of titans had taken place here.
And he had arrived only to witness its aftermath.
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To be continued…...
Author's Note
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– Ultra.