The Evolution Of A Goblin To The Peak

Chapter 1188: Secret Realm Battle II

Raven exhaled slowly, wiping the blood from her fingers. "I don’t like this. They fear us, yet they’re still willing to die."

"I know..." Vashno replied quietly. His gaze swept over the remaining enemies—men trembling, yet still glaring at them with fanatic resolve. "They’re insane."

Raven’s expression hardened. "Let’s clean this up."

Vashno nodded and lifted his hand.

Boom!!

A wave of power erupted outward.

The enemies screamed and then fell silent.

Moments later, the fog began to settle again, and the entire forest grew eerily quiet. A thick, metallic scent of blood drifted through the air, coating everything like an invisible film.

All the attackers were dead.

Raven and Vashno stood side by side, surveying the aftermath. Mangled bodies, shattered armor, and ruined earth stretched across the clearing.

"The locals are hostile... I don’t know why, but this is going to be troublesome," Raven muttered.

"There’s something wrong with this place," Vashno added, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the fog-drenched landscape.

They pressed forward, guiding the Lion’s Fang deeper into the continent. More of those strange, unknown creatures ambushed them along the way. Each time, the group cut them down without losing any members but injuries began to accumulate.

By the time an hour passed, the once-confident procession had grown slower. Several warriors bled from gashes and claw marks left by those creatures.

Raven finally raised her hand. "We’re stopping here. Everyone, rest."

The group settled into a defensive formation.

Healers moved quickly, glowing hands pressed onto wounds. Others uncorked the potions they had brought, the liquid shimmering faintly as it mended flesh and restored mana.

The forest remained silent around them...

Too silent.

Vashno sat down beside Raven, his gaze fixed on the resting members of Lion’s Fang. The healers’ lights flickered gently in the fog, illuminating tired faces.

"Those monsters all have different levels of strength," Vashno murmured. "Some are weak... but some are frighteningly strong. If we run into something even more powerful, the losses could be severe."

Raven glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "If that happens, there will be casualties—everyone knows that. They’re prepared."

She paused, then added, "But what about you? You still haven’t told me everything. Since the day you joined us, you’ve never spoken about your past. Care to share what happened?"

Vashno shook his head, expression unreadable.

"Well... I don’t want to drag anyone in this group into my problems. And like I said before—I’ll be leaving sooner or later."

Raven exhaled softly and shrugged. "Fine. I won’t pry."

Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant crackling of healing spells.

Vashno closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the camp fade as old memories surfaced. He had joined Lion’s Fang only two months ago, yet in that short time, he had fought in countless battles. Each one had pushed him to grow stronger, faster than he ever imagined.

He stayed with them for a reason.

The secret realms.

They kept appearing with increasing frequency and intensity. And he needed them. Needed the opportunities inside, needed the power they offered.

He had already explored four secret realms.

This one... was his fifth.

And something about it felt more ominous than all the others combined.

Ohm!!

A sudden vibration rippled through the air.

Vashno’s eyes snapped open. Raven immediately stood, instincts flaring as she scanned the fog-choked surroundings. Around the camp, the Lion’s Fang members stirred in confusion—then alarm—as a powerful surge of energy swept across the area like a shockwave.

"Energy fluctuations..." Raven muttered, her expression turning grim. "Those creatures we fought earlier didn’t possess any energy at all. This is different... dangerously different."

And the aura wasn’t small.

It was overwhelming.

Stronger than the Fifth or Sixth Shackle Realm.

This was the presence of a Seventh Shackle fighter—no, not one.

Several.

"Prepare for battle!" Vashno ordered.

In an instant, the fog tore open.

Figures stepped out, shadows materializing into men, each one radiating terrifying power equivalent to Sixth and Seventh Shackle Realm experts. Their bloodlust was palpable, staining the air.

"Kill them all!!" a scarred man shouted with a wicked grin, his murderous voice booming across the camp.

Vashno’s eyes sharpened the moment he saw him.

"It’s Verto... from the Blood Hunters." His voice dropped into a cold growl. He rose to his feet as his aura exploded outward like a tidal wave, shaking the ground beneath him.

He took one step forward.

"Raven," he said without looking back, "don’t let anyone die."

"Are you sure? I can handle them if you want," Raven said, a faint smile playing on her lips as the wind rustled her cloak.

"I’ll deal with them," Vashno answered, his voice steady.

Raven flicked her hand. "Alright... then they’re yours. Don’t keep me waiting."

Vashno leaned forward, and the ground cracked beneath his feet.

Swoosh!!

Verto, the scarred warrior, felt it before he saw it: a crushing wave of energy tearing through the air. His eyes widened as a figure blurred into existence right in front of him. Instinct screamed. He swung his massive sword on reflex.

Boom!!

The impact erupted like thunder, hurling Verto through the shattered remains of a tent. Dust and debris exploded outward as he skidded across the ground, carving a deep trench.

He forced himself up, trembling. What... what is he?

His gaze locked onto the man standing calmly in the smoke.

"You—!"

He didn’t even finish the word.

Vashno vanished.

A heartbeat later, he reappeared right in front of Verto, golden-purple wings unfurling behind him in a burst of radiant force. The wings stretched wide—majestic, deadly.

Then the air split.

Golden lines shot outward in every direction, tracing luminous arcs through the sky like divine brushstrokes. They chased Verto’s subordinates with impossible precision. The soldiers scrambled, shouting, scattering too slow.

One by one, the lines detonated.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Explosions rippled across the battlefield, engulfing bodies in blinding light. Shockwaves rippled through the camp as the screams and blasts blended into a single roaring symphony of destruction.

Vashno didn’t even look back.

He stepped forward—toward Verto—his wings burning like judgment descending from the heavens.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The explosions tore open the battlefield, spraying dirt, smoke, and shattered debris into the air. Before the echoes faded, the warriors of Lion’s Fang lunged forward like a pack of starved beasts unleashed from their chains. They saw the opening Vashno created and they pounced.

Weapons gleamed. Skills ignited. Killing intent flooded the air like a rising storm.

"Our enemies are the Blood Hunters!!"

"Don’t hold back!!"

"Kill them all!!"

Their voices merged into a single war cry that shook the ground. Then steel collided with steel—hard and merciless. Sparks burst with every impact, flickering like fireflies in a violent tempest. Blades carved flesh. Elemental power detonated across the field in red, blue, and gold arcs, illuminating the battlefield with bursts of lethal color.

The Blood Hunters.

To survive between the territories of angels and fallen angels was to survive constant slaughter. In this blood-soaked strip of land, the weak vanished like dust in a hurricane. Armies, guilds, sects—countless organizations had been wiped out over the years, erased so thoroughly not even ruins remained. Only the ruthless, the merciless, and the truly powerful endured.

Lion’s Fang and the Blood Hunters existed because they had no choice but to kill their way through.

Bang!!

Vashno flickered forward, his speed tearing the air apart. He left a trail of distorted afterimages—phantoms of himself still frozen mid-motion. His golden wings snapped outward, each beat generating a blast of radiant energy. The rays shot down like divine javelins, slicing through the battlefield.

Verto’s eyes widened. He raised his massive sword and met the attack head-on.

Boom! Boom!!

The impact crushed the air. The ground beneath Verto cratered, then exploded, sending chunks of earth flying. Even blocking with everything he had, the force hurled him back like a rag doll.

He smashed through tree after tree—wood splintering, trunks exploding outward—until he finally slammed into the ground, carving a long gouge through soil and roots.

"Argh!!"

He gagged, coughing out blood that splattered onto the dirt. His vision swam, but he forced himself upright, every bone screaming.

Then he saw it.

Vashno hovered above the chaos, wings blazing with golden-purple light so intense it distorted the air around him. His aura rippled outward in violent waves, bending branches and scattering loose stones.

Before him, Verto’s two strongest subordinates—both Seventh Shackle Realm elites, men who could level hills with a single strike—were locked in combat with him.

And they were losing ground fast.

Every time Vashno swung his arm, the air itself shredded. Every time his wings beat, shockwaves rolled across the battlefield, flattening anything too close. His opponents staggered with each exchange, blood spraying from their wounds, their movements turning frantic under the relentless onslaught.

They weren’t just being pushed back.

They were being overwhelmed, crushed by a force that felt less like a warrior...

...and more like a calamity descending from the heavens.