NOVEL WEB Chapter 237: Destroy The Cursed (54)
Madi was not the only Dark Emissary moving into play.
Far from the chaotic battlefield, in a barren stretch of desolate land where even the wind carried whispers of dread, another figure sat in stillness.
A massive magic array glowed faintly around him, carved into the ground with eerie precision.
His dark cloak rippled against the dry gusts, his eyes closed, his posture calm—yet the space itself seemed to bend in submission around him.
If Aiden had been present, he would have recognized the figure instantly. This was none other than Magus, the same man who had nearly ended Aiden's life back in Maurina City.
Magus sat cross-legged, his breathing steady, his aura hidden but heavy. Set into the lines of the array around him were dozens of beast cores, pulsing faintly as though on the edge of detonation.
Each core radiated tremendous energy—most harvested from A-rank beasts, and among them even one taken from an S-rank creature.
It was clear: what Magus planned to do was no ordinary ritual.
He exhaled slowly, weaving mana with surgical precision, guiding it into the beast cores. The glowing orbs vibrated violently, cracks spiderwebbing across their surfaces. Then—
Crack. Crack. CRACK.
One by one, the beast cores shattered.
With every burst, torrents of raw mana exploded outward, flooding the magic array. The air shook, distorting like heated glass.
The released energy was overwhelming, but Magus's mystic core inside his body began to absorb it with ravenous hunger.
His chest heaved slightly, his calm exterior cracking under the storm within. His core pulsed violently, shaking as the torrent forced its way inside.
Then came the pain.
Cracks split across his mystic core. He gritted his teeth, his face tightening in silent torment. The fractures spread wider and wider until the core was barely holding together.
A grunt escaped his lips as the core finally shattered, sending shockwaves of pure mana ripping through his body.
The agony was unbearable—yet Magus did not falter.
Instead, he focused, gathering the swirling storm inside him, forcing the scattered fragments of his broken core to converge. The energy spiraled, condensed, and reforged itself. Slowly—painfully—something new began to take shape.
Where once there was a broken shell, a new mystic core emerged, gleaming brighter, heavier, and far more potent than before. Its presence alone radiated authority, its pulse like a second heartbeat.
Magus's eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes that glowed faintly with renewed power. He inhaled deeply, then let out a long sigh of relief.
"It's done," he muttered, his voice hoarse yet steady.
"I've finally reached… the Six-Star Stage."
For a brief moment, he allowed himself the luxury of relief. But when he lifted his gaze to the setting sun, his expression hardened once more.
"It's time to end this. The destruction so far is already enough. No more needless deaths… The only ones who must fall now are their elites. Once they're gone, the battle is decided."
Resolute, Magus rose. Energy coiled around his body like serpents, lifting him effortlessly into the air. His crimson hair whistled through the air as he shot forward, streaking across the horizon toward the battlefield.
The time for silence was over.
Magus had joined the war.
—
And yet, high atop a cliff overlooking the chaos, another presence stirred.
Garvin's eyes twitched open, a smile curling his lips as though he had been waiting for this very moment.
"It seems… the time has finally come."
Without hesitation, he stepped off the cliff.
The fall was immense, but Garvin landed with eerie grace, his body absorbing the impact as though the earth itself bowed to him.
He looked down at his palms—two small, circular indentations marked them, almost as if something had drilled straight through his flesh. But there were no wounds, no blood, not even pain.
He clenched his fists, his grin widening.
Something unfathomable lingered beneath the surface.
If anything, the two circles were abyssal—dark, endless voids that seemed to devour everything in their path.
"Come on, let's get you fed," Garvin said casually. He strolled forward as though he wasn't stepping into a battlefield drenched in blood, but rather taking a walk through the garden of his own home.
Meanwhile, far below the carnage, the last of the Dark Emissaries moved in silence. Striker's steps echoed faintly as he descended deeper into the underground fortress.
He passed by rows of trembling scientists—men and women who had been captured and forced to labor on the cursed serum. Their hands never stopped moving, but their eyes betrayed their unease.
They weren't trembling out of fear for their lives—at least, not directly. What truly haunted them was the outcome of the war above. If the cursed were defeated, their cooperation would surely doom them to execution.
But if the cursed triumphed, then they would be shackled here forever, never knowing if freedom would ever come. Either way, they were already condemned.
Striker, however, paid them no attention. His mind was elsewhere. He passed through reinforced floors, shadowy corridors, and even what looked like a massive training hall before stopping before a set of towering double doors. He pushed them open.
Inside stretched a chamber that resembled a throne room—not regal or luxurious, but oppressive. The air was heavy, the stone walls radiating a sinister aura that seemed to crawl under the skin.
At the far end, lounging in an ornate red sofa that served as a throne, was Drake. A wine glass rested between his fingers, the crimson liquid swirling lazily as he took an occasional sip.
Despite knowing the island was under attack, Drake looked strangely calm. Detached. Almost amused.
"What is it, Striker?" he asked, his gaze never leaving the glass.
Striker stepped forward, his boots echoing in the vast chamber, before stopping a short distance away. He gave a respectful bow.
"According to your orders, the time has come. The Dark Emissaries are ready to join the battle. I believe Magus and the others are already on their way to add to the chaos."
Drake listened in silence, then gave a slow nod. "Good."
Striker lingered for a moment, then spoke again, hesitation laced in his tone.
"Drake … why not simply let her handle everything?"
His eyes flicked toward the shadowed figure standing silently beside Drake. He had only seen her fight once, but the memory was burned into his mind like a scar.
Her presence alone was enough to twist the air. Striker knew—if Drake unleashed her, every hero on the island would already be dead.
TO Be continued.....
AUTHOR'S NOTE
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