Chapter 48
Just how many freaks are hiding in this Tryst Guild?
First was Han, who appeared to be an S-rank, yet what truly set him apart wasn't just his strength—it was his ability to use multiple skills simultaneously, something long thought to be impossible.
Then there was Clara—her technological prowess was on a whole different level, creating gadgets and systems even top-tier engineers would struggle to comprehend. Nathan, the weaponsmith, had forged Ronan's twin blades—masterpieces that had saved his life and secured his victory. And Aiden... though Ronan hadn't seen him fight, he could tell. The guy was strong. Annoying as hell, but strong.
For a moment, a strange thought crept into Ronan's mind.
Should I join them?
---
Western Continent
Heavy footsteps echoed in the metallic hallway, the sharp bang of gunfire and the distant cries of dying men chasing close behind.
He's here. The white black-haired demon... the man thought, terror pumping adrenaline through his veins.
He sprinted through the corridor, heart thundering, and reached a large steel door. Quickly punching in a code, it slid open with a hiss, and he slammed it shut behind him. Without wasting a second, he ran to a control room and grabbed a compact phone, frantically dialing a number.
The line rang once before a voice answered, cold and tense.
"Dreg. What is it?"
The man didn't care for the other's tone. "He's here. The white black-haired guy—he's tearing through my men like paper!"
A silence, then an angry scoff. "You're lying. He was just spotted here, across the region. Stop wasting my time with your paranoia."
Click.
The call ended. Dreg stared at the phone in disbelief. That man hadn't forgiven him since their fallout weeks ago. He tried again—another number. And another. Thirty calls later, his face had turned ghostly pale. Every response was the same.
"He's here."
"He's with us right now."
"He's tearing down the whole place!"
That's impossible, Dreg thought, panic setting in. How can he be everywhere at once?
Suddenly—
BOOM!
The steel door exploded inwards.
Smoke swirled. Through the dust, a figure stepped out—calm, white-haired, eyes glowing faintly. Han.
Dreg dropped to the floor, frozen in fear.
"W-What do you want?" he stammered.
Han stared down at him. He had wanted to ask about the purple-haired man, about the location of the cursed serum's core hideout—but one look told him Dreg knew nothing.
"I'm just a guy who hates the cursed serum… and those who make it," Han said flatly.
Then, he delivered a casual punch.
To anyone else, it might've looked harmless—but Dreg dropped unconscious instantly. A moment later, he was hanging by his feet on a tall pole, alongside his fallen men. It was up to the Hero Association now to clean up the trash.
As sirens approached, a car screeched to a halt nearby. Two agents stepped out, mouths agape at the sight.
"This… This keeps happening all over the continent," one of them muttered. "Big-shot criminals being exposed, arrested—or knocked out cold. Every. Single. One."
"Could it be a Class S hero?" the other whispered.
"I don't know… but whoever it is—they're doing the world a damn favor."
They hauled the bodies into the vehicle and drove off.
High above, atop the shattered structure, a radar blinked one last time—before dissolving into smoke.
Han's clone faded. Then another. Then all of them.
High in the sky, the real Han opened his eyes, hovering above the clouds, the wind fluttering his coat.
The radar had gone silent.
The mission was complete.
"All cursed serum caches in the western continent… eliminated," he whispered.
Then he vanished.
---
Back in the Middle Continent
Soft sobs filled the quiet, rain-drenched air.
Inside a small, battered house, a young girl sat beside the lifeless body of her brother—Sam. Her small hands trembled. Tears mixed with rain on her cheeks. They had no one else. Sam had been her everything.
At the door, Ronan stood silently, eyes closed, brows furrowed.
He knew this pain. The hollow, gnawing ache of loss. He let her mourn.
Hours passed.
When the time came, Ronan buried the boy. The rain poured harder, as if the sky itself wept with them.
Ronan looked down at the little girl—Kira.
He wasn't alone anymore. He had someone to protect.
"We're going to avenge him, right?" Kira asked quietly, her eyes red and swollen.
Ronan looked her in the eye and nodded. "Yeah… I'll wipe them out. Every last one of them."
In his heart, a name was etched into a new list.
The Cursed Organization—
was now officially on Ronan's hit list.
_ _ _ _
A few weeks later — back in Serenya
Inside a chamber reserved for the Guild's elite, five figures sat around a long obsidian table: Han, Clara, Ronan, Aiden, and Ron, along with the aged Elder seated at the head. They had completed their mission — wiping out all known traces of the Cursed Serum across the western continent. Though they had lost a few members along the way, the casualties were minimal, and those who fell were honored and buried.
Now, they were focused on their next move.
"We've confirmed two threats from the information we gathered," Han began, tapping through the glowing display hovering above the table. "First, a group called the Red Vanguard—their members have power levels comparable to high A-rankers. Then, there's the Dark Emissaries. We know almost nothing about them. Their abilities are unknown. Their location? Completely off the grid."
Aiden leaned forward, frowning. "Yeah... and all of this seems to tie into something called Project Ultimate, or something along those lines."
"Project Ultimate..." Ron muttered, recalling his encounter with a red-scythe-wielding man. "I remember that name."
"What the hell is Project Ultimate?" Clara asked sharply, scanning their faces, but no one had an answer.
Han turned toward the man in a white lab coat standing silently at the corner. "Dr. Matzo, I heard you've uncovered something?"
The scientist nodded and stepped forward. "Yes. Based on our experiments and analysis of the serum samples we recovered, we discovered that the cursed serum is primarily composed of two components: beast core essence and... a type of cell."
"Cell?" they all echoed in confusion.
Dr. Matzo continued, his voice steady but grave. "Roughly 60% of the serum is made from refined beast cores. That part was expected. But the remaining 40% comes from a cell—and this cell is the real problem. It's the key catalyst that mutates the mixture, making it injectable and triggering the transformation process."
"So you're saying," Ronan said slowly, "that this cell is the true cause of the cursed serum's effect?"
Dr. Matzo paused, clicking the screen. "When we examined its structure…"
The image of a jagged, glowing cell spun midair.
"It didn't match anything known."
Clara leaned forward. "What do you mean? Like… mutant beast?"
"No," Matzo said, eyes grim. "Not human. Not beast. Not even monster. This—this came from something else entirely."
A cold silence followed. Even Han narrowed his eyes.
A heavy silence fell over the room.
One chilling question echoed in each of their minds:
What kind of creature has that cell?
A dry cough broke the silence. The Elder leaned forward, his tone gentle but firm. "I know this is important—and stopping the Cursed Organization is our priority—but we're not going to solve everything in one day."
He glanced at each of them. "Have you forgotten what today is?"
Everyone blinked, then slowly nodded. Of course, they hadn't forgotten.
Today was Serenya's 76th Anniversary, and outside, the entire city was already celebrating in the Prime Hall.
---
To be continued...