Chapter 172
A lone figure streaked through the streets of Velmora, leaping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop like a blur of motion. His speed was nothing short of incredible—so much so that pedestrians below stopped to gawk, so even snapping photos. Cheers broke out from a few onlookers, mistaking the figure for a hero on a mission.
But the man they were cheering for had no ti for celebration.
"Faster... I have to move faster," Ron muttered through clenched teeth, his face grim and filled with urgency. He didn’t spare a glance for the crowd. His eyes were locked on the horizon—toward Serenya, the neighboring city.
Minutes passed, though to Ron they felt like hours. As he approached Serenya’s massive entrance, he skidded to a stop, heart dropping.
The city’s tallic gates were gone—ripped clean off their hinges like paper—and the ground before them was littered with mangled corpses clad in guild uniforms.
Ron’s fists tightened. His eyes darkened.
He entered Serenya.
What greeted him inside was a vision of utter devastation. Buildings lay in ruins, entire blocks reduced to rubble. The streets were stained red, littered with the bodies of fallen heroes. And still, in the distance, explosions echoed—sharp, deafening booms that told him the battle wasn’t over.
He broke into a sprint, pushing his body to its very limits.
When he finally arrived at the scene, the sight made his blood boil.
Nathan and Bron were down—too injured to even crawl—while Laura knelt nearby, clutching her bleeding side. Two figures were closing in. One charged her head-on with a weapon raised high; the other perched atop a crumbling building, preparing to strike from above.
Ron had less than a second to react.
Without hesitation, he hurled his massive warhamr toward the attacker on the rooftop and shot forward like a cannon, his fist aid squarely at the man charging Laura.
BAM! BAM!
The warhamr crashed into the rooftop figure, sending him flying, while Ron’s punch landed cleanly on the ash-haired man, knocking him off his feet with bone-cracking force. Both enemies were thrown backward, colliding with the ground in twin crashes.
In one fluid motion, Ron reached up and caught his returning warhamr with practiced ease, resting it across his shoulders.
Laura stared at him, tears brimming in her eyes.
"So... you really did co, Ron."
A part of her had hoped he would—but another part hadn’t. He deserved peace. Ti with his wife. Ti with his unborn child. He’d earned it.
Yet, here he was.
Ron’s gaze shifted to her pale, bloodied face. He growled softly, his voice calm but firm.
"Get Nathan and Bron out of here. I’ll handle the rest."
Laura hesitated. Two dark emissaries... and Ron planned to face them alone?
He was strong—there was no denying that—but this was suicide.
Seeing the doubt in her eyes, Ron smiled.
"Young miss... you can trust . Thanks to the young master, I’m stronger than you think."
There was no arrogance in his tone. Only quiet confidence.
After a tense mont, Laura nodded. She moved to help Nathan and Bron, but didn’t go far. She couldn’t—not when her instincts scread that this fight might go horribly wrong. If things turned dire, she’d return.
No matter the cost.
Creak. Creak. BOOM!
A deafening crash shook the earth as a figure rocketed into the sky before slamming down with explosive force. The ground shattered beneath him, forming a crater where his feet landed.
tallo stood at the center, eyes blazing crimson with unfiltered rage.
"Why can’t you all just give up and die already?" he snarled. "I’ve tolerated your insolence long enough!"
With a growl, he surged forward, charging straight at Ron like a missile.
Ron didn’t flinch.
Instead, he hurled his massive warhamr straight at tallo. The weapon spun through the air with violent montum—but tallo simply sneered.
"Attacking with a tal weapon? Foolish."
He extended a hand, and the warhamr halted mid-flight, suspended in the air just inches from his face.
"Now suffer for your ignorance," he spat, preparing to redirect the weapon back at Ron.
But before he could strike—
CRACK!
A pressure unlike anything tallo had felt before descended on him, pinning his body like an invisible mountain. His smirk faltered. His breathing hitched.
"W-What... What is this...?"
Too late.
Ron was already in front of him.
In one seamless move, Ron seized the floating warhamr, spun, and drove it into tallo’s chest with devastating force. The sound of impact echoed like thunder. tallo’s eyes widened in agony, and blood erupted from his mouth.
Only his reinforced chest—layered with tallic shields—saved him from having his ribcage turned to dust. Even so, the pain was overwhelming.
Ron didn’t let up.
He followed with a brutal upward swing, slamming the hamr directly into tallo’s face. There was a sickening crack as the emissary’s head snapped back and his body was hurled across the battlefield like a broken doll. Ron was certain he saw at least two teeth fly through the air.
Still, he didn’t relax.
That blow only worked because of the elent of surprise. He knew tallo wouldn’t fall so easily.
Ron stepped forward, cautiously heading toward the half-destroyed building tallo had crashed into—but suddenly stopped. His instincts scread at him.
CLANG!
He swung his hamr just in ti to intercept an incoming strike.
BAM!
The force sent his arm jolting back violently, nearly making him stumble. He gritted his teeth, glancing at the warhamr’s surface.
A dent.
Small, but unmistakable.
His warhamr—crafted with peak A-rank materials, nearly unbreakable—had actually dented from that block.
Which ant...
That strike could have crippled him if it landed.
His gaze snapped toward the attacker—and his expression darkened.
The second Dark Emissary had risen.
Aside from a bleeding lip and a trail of blood running from his forehead, he looked virtually unscathed.
Ron barely had a second to process before a massive tremor shook the earth.
BOOOOOOOM!!
He turned, eyes widening.
tallo was back on his feet—head bowed, fists clenched so tightly veins bulged from his arms. His hands slowly rose to the sky, trembling with fury.
At first, Ron didn’t notice anything strange—until he looked up.
Then he froze.
Above tallo floated ten massive, spinning tallic spheres. Each one radiated with concentrated destructive energy, enough to flatten city blocks.
"You damned Trysts... you’re like cockroaches. No wonder you drove Drake to his limits," tallo hissed, finally lifting his head.
His eyes locked on Ron’s.
"You’ve provoked long enough. Now... let’s see if you can withstand my wrath."
Ron’s jaw clenched. This had escalated far beyond what he expected.
He gripped his warhamr tightly with both hands and exhaled slowly.
"This... is going to be hell."
---
anwhile, back in ARC...
The corridor looked like a battlefield from a nightmare.
The walls, ceiling, and floor were torn as if locked in a vicious war. Deep claw marks—each several inches thick—scarred the tal walls, cutting through reinforced steel like it was paper. Anyone seeing the destruction would wonder what kind of beast could leave such a trail.
"Fourteenth Jungle Art: Tiger Punch!"
The shout echoed through the corridor, followed instantly by a thunderous BOOM that shook the entire structure. The ground trembled as a body crashed into it with terrifying force.
Farther down the corridor—several ters from the wreckage—stood the two combatants responsible for the chaos.
One was a young man with perfectly split white-and-black hair. His piercing blue eyes glowed with restrained power, and he exhaled sharply as he tried to steady his breathing.
The other was an older man, kneeling, coughing blood that dripped freely from his lips. His short, wild hair was damp with sweat, and his dark eyes were locked onto the youth in front of him. Crimson scales shimred faintly across his arms and shoulders, rising with each ragged breath.
"You’re... ridiculously strong," the older man muttered, wiping blood from his chin.
Han didn’t respond.
He had always wondered how he’d fare against an S-rank hero. So far, he’d only fought two.
The first was that red lightning maniac from Cursed—a brutal fight where Han barely ca out on top, and the bastard had managed to escape.
The second... was this man in front of him—Bloodreaper.
Crimson Scales, as he had been known before, wasn’t as publicly famous as the other Class S heroes. He rarely appeared in battles or dia. Many, including Han, believed him to be lazy or overrated.
But that assumption was dead wrong.
Bloodreaper was the lead executive of ARC, the prison fortress built to hold the most dangerous criminals on the continent. He was the silent blade that ensured nothing ever left this place alive.
Even after landing a powerful blow using multiple Fla Style Jungle Arts, Han felt sothing off. The battle was tough, sure—but it felt like Bloodreaper wasn’t even going all out.
As if confirming Han’s suspicions, the man casually cracked his knuckles and stood.
"You’re a hell of a fighter," he said calmly, eyes gleaming. "But if you don’t start taking this seriously... you might die."
Han blinked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.
He could guess that Bloodreaper had seen the footage of his fight with the Null—the part where he’d summoned and rged with Ifrit.
Han gave a calm, mocking smirk.
"I’m not the one eating the floor right now, am I?"
Bloodreaper’s eye twitched.
This kid was underestimating him. Big mistake.
A devilish grin split his face.
"Alright then. Bla your luck—and your mouth—for what happens next."
He tore off his upper garnt, revealing his scarred torso. Then, without hesitation, he dragged his clawed hands across his own chest, slicing deep into his flesh. Blood gushed from the wounds—but instead of spilling uselessly, the crimson liquid hardened in mid-air.
Han flinched.
"Is he insane—?"
Then his eyes widened in disbelief.
Bloodreaper’s black hair began to turn crimson, deep and dark as fresh blood. The bleeding slowed—but only because the blood itself was transforming. It solidified, creeping across his skin like living armor.
Layer upon layer of thick, blood-forged scales spread across his chest, arms, and neck, until his entire upper body was encased in crimson plating. Only his head remained bare—though his hair now burned like bloodfire. His claws, once white, now glead a dangerous red.
The power radiating from him was suffocating.
Han’s instincts scread. This wasn’t the sa man he had been fighting monts ago. This... was sothing else entirely.
Bloodreaper scoffed and raised one claw, pointing it directly at Han.
"Hold back now, and you won’t even realize how you died."
A sharp grin cut across his face.
"Let show you why they call —
Bloodreaper."
---
To Be Continued...
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