Emperor's harem: Transmigrated with SSS mana talent
Chapter 104: [Rank 4]

Chapter 104: [Rank 4]

Kael blinked. Coughed. Cleared his throat.

"...Well. Now he’s one with nature."

As the chaos reached its peak—between flying limbs, spellfire, and Kael’s questionable motivational speeches—some people were about to say something.

Maybe curse him.

Maybe praise him.

Maybe both.

But then—

A sound shattered the battlefield.

A deep, echoing cry—so vast and ancient it seemed to come from the bones of the world itself.

Every voice went silent.

Every beast froze.

Even Kael stopped breathing for a moment.

Then came the trembling.

The ground groaned—soft at first, then stronger. Stones rattled.

Flames flickered. Tents collapsed under their own weight.

From the far side of the woods, something moved.

No—tore through.

Trees cracked. Roots snapped. The air itself seemed to recoil.

And then it emerged.

A monster the size of a fortress, twisted and unnatural. Dinosaur-like, but wrong in all the ways that mattered—

Its flesh pulsed with black veins.

Its scales dripped corrupted mana.

Its eyes burned like twin pits of hellfire.

It took one step—and the battlefield sank beneath it.

Then it howled.

Not a roar of rage.

Not hunger.

Something more primal.

A sound soaked in ancient hatred and poisonous grief.

Souls trembled. Knees buckled. A few disciples collapsed, clutching their hearts.

Even the beasts—the mindless, relentless attackers—backed away in instinctive terror.

Someone, barely able to breathe, whispered its name:

"Valrok..."

The name fell like a stone into a still lake.

"Rank... Rank 4..." someone else choked out.

A cold breath spread through the camp—like winter had slipped into their lungs.

"But... that’s not possible," a disciple muttered.

"He should be in hibernation. He never wakes during this time..."

Another voice, almost pleading, "Why is he here?!"

Kael coughed.

I just want to state for the record that I had absolutely nothing to do with this.

Kael slipped away into the shadows, silent as breath.

The bonfire flickered behind him, painting gold on his back as he vanished into the dark.

His mask slid into place with a soft click.

Finally—finally—his tongue curled into a grin behind it.

On the battlefield, Darius stepped forward, his aura rising.

Rank 4. A guardian trained for war.

But before he could act, Eiden snapped, voice low and urgent.

"Don’t. Think. About it."

Darius froze.

"If we even graze that thing... if it bleeds..." Eiden’s eyes narrowed,

"its entire family will come. They can smell there blood from miles away.

Seconds.

That’s all it would take."

Selina, tense beside him, asked quietly, "Should I call the Elders?"

"Yes," Eiden said. "Now. We need to contain it—fast."

She didn’t hesitate. Her form shimmered and vanished as she sprinted to summon them.

Ronan cracked his knuckles, impatient.

"Then can’t we just kill its family too?"

Eiden turned on him, voice sharp with disbelief.

"Are you a complete idiot?"

Ronan blinked, taken aback.

"We’re in their territory. Their domain. Who knows how many are sleeping underground.

Right now, we only have three Rank 4s in this entire damn camp."

Ronan shut up.

Silence settled again—thick, cold, stifling.

Valrok was still standing at the edge of the shattered trees.

Watching.

Not moving.

Just... staring.

Its molten eyes locked onto the camp, unblinking.

Eiden swallowed hard and stepped forward, slowly raising his voice.

"Everyone... listen."

A few heads turned toward him.

"Don’t panic.

It’s... it’s just a child.

A young one. Don’t scream. Don’t attack. Just stay calm and—"

His words caught.

Mid-sentence, his face drained of color. His breath hitched.

His soul—like everyone else’s—slipped.

Because from the shadows of a nearby tree, he saw it.

A massive stone.

Heavy. Cracked. Humming faintly with residual mana.

It hurled through the air like a judgment thrown by a petty god.

Before anyone could scream, it slammed into Valrok’s face.

Right into its eye.

A sickening, wet crack echoed through the camp.

Like a melon splitting under a hammer.

The beast reared back, staggering.

A line of blood ran down the beast’s face.

Stillness.

Horrifying, soul-curdling silence.

Eiden turned slowly, mechanically, to the direction the spell had come from.

There.

Leaning against a tree.

Kael.

Still masked.

Still relaxed.

He raised one hand...

And flipped Eiden off.

Middle finger. Proud. Mocking.

Eiden’s face twisted in pure rage.

"You BASTARD!" he roared.

But it was too late.

Valrok reared its head back—and screamed.

Not a roar.

A cataclysm.

"Grrrrrhhhhhh..."

The kind that shatters reason. That breaks skies. That summons extinction.

And then—it charged.

Straight into the camp.

Eiden slapped his own forehead with a loud smack, teeth grinding.

"That devil... That absolute bastard..." he hissed.

"He’s going to get us all killed."

Beside him, Ronan looked around in panic. "What do we do now?!"

Without hesitation, Eiden turned and slapped him, too.

Hard.

"You idiot—bard—you brainless, muscle-headed donkey," Eiden snapped, fury in every syllable.

"Just kill it! Kill it now! Before its family arrives! We’ve got minutes—seconds!"

Ronan staggered back, stunned.

His pride burned—but he said nothing.

Not now. Not with death stomping its way through the camp.

He’d deal with Eiden later.

Straightening, Ronan roared to the others:

"Kill it! All of you—now! If you run, I’ll kill you myself!"

Chaos answered him.

Valrok was no longer waiting.

It moved.

A single sweep of its tail turned ten men into scattered, broken limbs.

Everywhere it stepped, the ground cratered.

Disciples screamed.

Some ran.

Some fought.

Most died.

Lower-ranked beasts fled—driven off by a presence they couldn’t comprehend, only fear.

They scurried into the forest, whimpering like cornered dogs, abandoning the blood-soaked battlefield.

Amid the screams, dust, and the thunder of collapsing tents, a shadow slipped through the side of the camp.

Kael.

Mask gone. Cloak fluttering.

Moving fast—too fast for someone who supposedly wasn’t involved.

He didn’t glance at the burning trees, or the warriors shouting commands, or even Valrok thrashing in blind rage.

His eyes were locked ahead.

Straight toward Selene and Elara.

He reached them.

"Are you guys okay? We should, uh... leave now..."

Skidded to a halt.

And blinked.

Because they weren’t watching the battlefield.

They weren’t even looking at Valrok.

No.

They were clawing at each other.

Literally.

Selene had a fistful of Elara’s hair, wrenching her head sideways.

Elara had bitten her arm, leaving teeth marks.

They were rolling in the dirt—hissing, scratching, snarling—like alley cats in expensive robes.

Kael stared.

The world shook around them.

And they were biting.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Rubbed his eyes.

Then muttered, flatly—

"...Seriously?"

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