Chapter 257: Destroy The Cursed (73)
Chapter 257
Garvin’s instincts had been correct.
Jay wasn’t using any energy in his attacks—not because he was hiding it, but because he couldn’t. His body had never awakened. Unlike the countless gifted who had absorbed essence and transcended their limits, Jay’s physique rejected it entirely.
To most of the world, such people were labeled zeros—mundane, powerless humans doomed to remain weak for life.
But Jay was anything but powerless.
Where others relied on energy, he relied on blood, sweat, and pain. He had trained endlessly, breaking his body and rebuilding it countless times.
Martial arts became his only weapon, discipline his only shield. From the time he was young, he had faced obstacles that would have crushed ordinary men—starvation, life-and-death duels, beast hunts gone wrong, betrayals that left him bleeding in the dirt.
Every scar etched into his body had been a lesson, every near-death encounter a step forward.
Piece by piece, he had forged himself into something no "zero" was ever meant to be: a warrior so sharp and unyielding that even without essence, his strikes tore through awakened foes like paper.
Garvin, still shaking from the last exchange, spat out blood. His eyes narrowed in disbelief as he muttered, "...How? How do you fight like this without energy?"
Jay raised a hand to his mouth, as if trying—and failing—to stifle a chuckle. The sight made Garvin’s blood boil.
"Oi, moron!" Garvin barked, his voice thick with rage. "Are you laughing at me?"
Jay tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not really. It’s just..." His eyes narrowed with mocking amusement. "I’ve always heard the cursed elites were supposed to be terrifying. Forces of nature. Nightmares that made even heroes tremble."
He paused deliberately. "But standing here, looking at you? You’re pathetic. Is this really the best they could send?"
The words hit Garvin harder than any punch. His face tightened, pride wounded deeper than his flesh.
He had built his reputation as an emissary feared across nations, his devouring palm a legend that turned battlefields into graves. And yet, here was this nameless young man, dismissing him as though he were a child.
"You..." Garvin growled, fists trembling. His eyes reddened with humiliation and fury. "You’ll regret that."
"Enough spacing out," Jay said calmly, stepping forward. "I’m not here to waste time."
This time, he didn’t call upon the Jungle Arts—they were too taxing for what he considered a warm-up. Instead, he dipped into the countless martial forms etched into his bones, techniques refined through endless hardship.
His body became a blur. Jay darted forward, dropping into a sudden slide across the blood-soaked ground. At the last moment, he kicked off, exploding upward with raw force. His fist rocketed toward Garvin’s skull like a hammer.
Garvin snarled and opened his palm again, determined to prove that the first failure was a fluke. This time... this time I’ll drain him dry.
But fate mocked him.
Jay’s fist slammed straight into his cheek. The world spun, and for the first time in years, Garvin tasted iron.
"Ghkkk!" He staggered, head snapping to the side, blood flying from his mouth.
Jay didn’t relent. His right leg rose high, then came crashing down like a guillotine. Garvin threw up both arms to guard, but the sheer weight of the kick drove him to his knees with a resounding boom. The ground cracked beneath him.
Before he could recover, Jay twisted and unleashed another swift kick that caught Garvin across the ribs. The emissary’s body rolled violently across the battlefield, crashing through debris before finally skidding to a halt.
Jay straightened, exhaling softly as though he were sparring a trainee rather than clashing with an elite. His head shook slightly, eyes filled with disappointment.
"This is even simpler than I expected," he muttered. "If this is all you’ve got, then once I’m done with you, I’ll just move on to the rest of your cursed friends. Maybe they’ll at least give me a challenge."
Garvin pushed himself up, face twisted, eyes burning red with fury. His pride was in tatters.
"You bastard," he hissed.
Jay turned his gaze back toward him, nonchalant as ever. "What’s the matter? Ready to get another beating?"
His tone was calm, almost bored, as though fighting Garvin was nothing more than a passing distraction.
Garvin staggered to his feet, fists trembling, eyes burning with humiliation. By now, he was certain—this young man truly wasn’t awakened. Not a trace of essence flowed through him.
In all his years, Garvin had never faced such a situation. But fear? No. He didn’t feel fear.
His ability—his devouring palm—was a weapon that many called unfair, a parasitic skill that let him absorb energy from others and turn their strength against them.
To most of the world, it was the only reason Garvin could stand toe-to-toe with foes stronger than himself.
But those who had ever fought him seriously knew the truth: Garvin was more than just his ability.
"I really wanted to end this easily... without stress," he said, his voice carrying a dangerous calm. Then his hands moved to the dark armor he wore.
Piece by piece, Garvin began unfastening the heavy plates. At first, it seemed reckless—removing protection in the middle of battle. But Jay’s gaze sharpened the moment he realized what Garvin was doing.
The suit wasn’t just armor. It was a burden.
When the last piece fell away, it hit the ground with a thunderous crash that echoed like a mountain collapsing. Dust rippled outward. The sheer weight of the dark armor left deep cracks in the earth.
And Garvin’s true body was revealed.
His frame was carved with layers of muscle, built not for show but for violence. Every vein, every scar spoke of years of war and slaughter. His body was that of a predator honed by endless battlefields—raw, brutal strength in human form.
Jay’s eyebrow lifted slightly. So he does train, he thought, mildly impressed.
Garvin rolled his shoulders, stretching as though shedding chains, then cracked his knuckles one by one. The air around him felt heavier, his presence sharper, more primal.
"Listen well," he growled. "We dark emissaries are not foes mortals should ever hope to defeat. If you thought me pathetic before... then let me educate you with brute strength and combat skill alike."
His foot slammed into the ground, and in the next instant he blurred forward, closing the distance between them with explosive speed.
Jay smirked faintly, as though he had been waiting for this. He dropped low, body twisting. One roll. Two. Three.
With each movement, his muscles coiled, gathering momentum like a winding spring. At the last instant, his fist rocketed upward, imbued not with essence but with sheer perfected technique.
Their fists met.
BOOOOM!
The impact didn’t send Garvin flying as Jay expected. Instead, the collision detonated like a bomb. Shockwaves tore across the battlefield, ripping up stone and soil, knocking down debris and scattering broken weapons. For the first time, Jay felt the sting in his knuckles.
The two disengaged, each sliding back across the ground.
Jay lifted his fist, brows furrowing. "...He’s strong."
From just this single clash, Jay understood. Without his armor, Garvin was faster, sharper, more dangerous. He wasn’t simply a parasite. He was a warrior in his own right.
---
Meanwhile—
On another part of the battlefield, a sharp crack split the air. The ground trembled violently before erupting into a storm of shattered stone.
Standing amidst the raining debris was Han. His black-and-white hair whipped wildly in the wind, his blue eyes gleaming cold. In his hand dangled the severed head of an earth warrior, stone dust dripping from its crumbling helmet.
He had already destroyed the third wave of these creatures... yet they kept coming.
The earth rumbled again. Wide fissures split open across the land, stretching like spiderwebs. From the glowing cracks, more warriors began crawling out—hulking figures clad in earthen armor, their yellow visors glowing with killing intent.
Within seconds, Han was surrounded, encircled by dozens of the towering constructs. The battlefield itself seemed to bend to their will.
Han clicked his tongue in annoyance, his expression darkening. His cold gaze swept across them, then locked onto a figure in the distance.
Madi.
The dark emissary met his gaze calmly, his expression unreadable, as though the army was nothing but a distraction.
Han’s irritation finally boiled over. His voice carried across the battlefield, sharp as a blade.
"...Aren’t you damn tired of all this?"
TO BE CONTINUED...
AUTHOR’S NOTE
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– Ultra