CHAPTER 183: HAN’S AND DRAKE’S PROMISE

Chapter 183

Han stood motionless before a tall containment tube glowing with an eerie blue light. Suspended within the swirling liquid was the frail figure of a woman—his aunt. Her face, once so full of warmth, was now contorted in silent agony. Her condition had worsened with time, and watching her like this made Han’s chest tighten painfully.

His eyes dimmed.

He had entered the Tournament of Power with one goal: to obtain the Evol Shard—a rare item able to delay the effects of the cursed serum spreading through her veins. But thanks to the interference of the cursed organization, the tournament was cut short before he could get it though. Worse still, the city of Maurina had been annihilated in the crossfire. The Evol Shard had disappeared. No one knew where it was now.

Han’s fists clenched as his gaze lingered on his aunt’s twisted expression of pain. Earlier that day, Dr. Matzo had given him the crushing news: she had three days left at most before the cursed serum took her life.

Three days.

That was all the time Han had to find the antidote. No more delays. No more second chances.

This wasn’t just about revenge anymore.

This was a race against death.

With a calm, burning resolve in his eyes, Han whispered, "I promise, Aunt... I’ll save you. No matter what."

In a blink, he vanished.

---

Seconds later, Han appeared in the command chamber of the Tryst Guild. The room fell quiet as he entered, the soft hum of machinery the only sound. Everyone present gave him a respectful nod. He returned the gesture with a subtle one of his own and moved toward the center.

Around the table sat his trusted allies: Aiden, Clara, Ronan, and Silver Wing. Also present were members of the elite—Shin, Bron, Shae, Jim, and the remaining operatives of the elusive A6 unit. There were only four of them left now. Blazer was dead, and The Null—as always—was missing.

The elder hadn’t shown up either, likely preoccupied with the city’s reconstruction and diplomatic tasks.

Han exhaled quietly and stood.

"Now that everyone’s here, I’ll lay out the plan," he said, his voice calm but firm.

"I won’t demand that any of you follow me. What I’m about to do... is personal. But I’ll say this—leaving the cursed organization unchecked has already cost us too much. They’ve struck twice. Maurina is gone. Countless lives were lost. This ends now."

His voice turned cold, sharp as steel.

"I’m going to wipe them out—every last one of them."

The room remained still.

"I won’t lie to you," he continued. "We’re not just facing a group of thugs. We’re walking into a storm. The cursed organization still holds power we barely understand. The Dark Emissaries are out there—multiple S-rankers whose strength is unknown. And then there are the Red Vanguards. They may not match the Emissaries individually, but they’re dangerous, organized, and many."

Han’s expression darkened.

"There’s a high chance they have hidden cards we’ve never seen before. This won’t be easy. In fact, it may be the hardest battle we’ve ever fought."

He scanned their faces one by one—friends, warriors, survivors.

"But if no one is backing out..." Han paused for emphasis, "then prepare yourselves. We move out in one hour."

"Wait... I have a question."

Elexa raised her hand, her voice uncertain.

Han turned his calm gaze toward her, and she instinctively tensed. The memory of him in his rage form—terrifying, nearly unstoppable—was still fresh in her mind. That Han had nearly killed her without hesitation. But the man standing before her now was different. He radiated serenity, control, and focus. She reminded herself that this was the real Han—the one who protected, not destroyed.

Steeling her nerves, Elexa voiced her concern.

"I’m not worried about our fighting strength. With most of your guild’s elites joining us, we’ll have the firepower. But... no one has ever found the cursed organization’s base. Not even close. How are we supposed to strike them if we don’t know where to hit?"

The room fell silent.

Han slowly turned his eyes to Clara, who offered a reassuring smile toward Elexa.

"Who told you their base hasn’t be found?" Clara said softly.

Then her expression darkened.

"In fact... I know exactly where their damned base is."

Her voice was calm, but Elexa could hear it clearly—the buried anger simmering beneath the surface. Clara, like the others in the room, wasn’t just determined—she was furious. The cursed organization hadn’t just crossed a line; they had become a plague. A relentless disaster.

And everyone here had reached the same conclusion.

The cursed must be destroyed.

---

Meanwhile...

Far across the sea, hidden beneath the colossal vines of a remote island, a tunnel stretched deep into the earth. At its end lay a sprawling underground facility—twisting, humming, and alive with dark intent.

Dozens of figures in lab coats hurried through the corridors, flanked by Red Vanguard operatives clad in crimson armor. The guards stood like sentinels, watching over the lab techs as they conducted volatile experiments on a swirling black serum laced with threads of green. The substance pulsed as though it were alive.

This was the true base of the cursed organization—a place lost to the world, pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the surface.

Inside a dim chamber, lit only by a sickly green glow, a man in red stood alone. His violet hair drifted gently, untouched by wind. He was beautiful in an eerie, regal way. Smooth features, scarlet eyes, and a quiet menace in his stillness.

Drake.

A glass of dark wine hovered in his hand, which he sipped from occasionally as he studied the creature floating in the containment tube before him.

The being inside was... wrong. Humanoid, but not human. Its DNA had fooled even the most advanced scans. But Drake knew better. Whatever it was, it wasn’t of this world.

It was because of this creature—this green anomaly—that the cursed serum even existed. No matter how many tests he ran, no matter how deep he probed into its genetic structure, the truth remained buried.

Drake was still lost in thought, eyes locked on the green-lit chamber and the strange entity floating within it, when the heavy doors suddenly burst open.

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

"What is it, Striker?" he asked, his voice calm and unbothered.

A tall man in black combat armor stepped forward. His long crimson hair swayed behind him like a burning thread, but the usual cheerful smirk on his face was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was grim—his tone even graver.

"Drake... bad news."

Drake didn’t react, merely swirling the wine in his glass.

"The Tryst Guild... they’re preparing for an attack."

Still unfazed, Drake replied coldly, "Let them prepare. They won’t be able to find this place anyway."

But Striker shook his head rapidly, urgency building in his voice.

"No... they’re not guessing anymore. They know exactly where we are. And the worst part? They’ve joined forces with the A6. Their top guild members are all mobilizing."

That made Drake pause.

His eyes slowly turned toward Striker, and for the first time, his expression shifted—sharp, calculating.

"Explain. Everything."

Striker relayed all the gathered intel without hesitation. The allied forces. The named elites. Their approach.

Drake listened in silence, then took a slow breath—inhale, exhale—before casually turning back toward the green-lit containment tube.

He sipped his wine once more, as if none of it mattered.

"Then we follow protocol," he said coldly.

"Release the mongrels first. Let them bleed against the fodder."

"If they get past that... unleash the captured beasts and mobilize the Red Vanguards. I doubt they’ll survive that far."

His voice dropped, now like a blade wrapped in silk.

"But if by some miracle they do... gather the remaining Dark Emissaries. We’ll finish them ourselves."

Striker gave a firm nod and swiftly exited, leaving Drake alone once more in the dim, humming chamber.

Drake raised his glass again, the green light flickering across his smooth, expressionless face.

He remembered the reports—Metallo and Freak Eye were both dead. There was a momentary silence in his mind at the thought, a passing pang of loss.

But nothing more.

"Their deaths serve the greater purpose."

He muttered, almost to himself.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.

"So... Han. You’ve finally decided to make your move."

"Took you long enough."

He tilted his glass, letting the wine slide past his lips with elegance and menace.

"I don’t know how strong you’ve become... but if you come here..."

His eyes narrowed.

"...you won’t leave alive. That—I promise."

Meanwhile... somewhere far away...

The skies thundered as several massive battleships tore through the clouds at blinding speed, their destination clear:

The Cursed Base.

At the head of the formation was the ZOM, the flagship of the Tryst Guild—a colossal white vessel streaked with blue linings and glowing engine trails that lit up the sky.

Standing atop the deck of the lead ship, wind whipping fiercely around him, was a lone figure.

He wore a long blue sweater coat, jet-black trousers, and kept his hands buried in his pockets. His hair, half white and half black, parted cleanly down the middle, flowed with the rushing air as the fleet stormed ahead. His blue eyes shimmered, catching the sunlight like a blade reflecting its first blood.

Han turned his head slightly, glancing back at the long line of guild airships following close behind. The sky was filled with them—a small army.

Apparently, everyone wanted in.

Everyone wanted revenge on the cursed. After everything that had happened... no one could sit back any longer.

Behind him, they had the full support of the Elexa Guild, Balor, and even the unpredictable Little One Guild. With the combined might of all these factions, Han now led an entire assault force.

And yet... his face remained cold.

Expressionless.

Out of all the Tryst Guild elites, only Nathan had remained behind—tasked with completing his Armor– Project Nova.omi

Han’s fists clenched tightly in his coat pocket, a faint tremble of anger pulsing through his arms.

His eyes gleamed with a chilling glow, full of silent fury.

"I’m coming for you, Drake," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but sharp enough to cut steel.

"I promise you... by the end of all this—"

"You and every last member of your cursed organization..."

"Will. Cease. To. Exist."

His gaze fixed forward, piercing through the clouds toward an unseen target.

"I will end you all."

He said it with terrifying calm, the kind of calm that came just before a storm tore the world apart.

That—I promise."

---

TO BE CONTINUED...

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