MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 1020: Combat Healer

Without hesitation, the Twelve-Winged Angel pointed forward with majestic ease. The moment the signal was given, the Eleven-Winged Angels immediately tore forward in golden blurs, their radiant wings beating powerfully through the air as they rushed toward Irene like moths drawn irresistibly to a flame.

Irene stood with indifferent calmness as she watched all of them close in on her position. The moment the first Angel reached her, a sword swung toward her neck with lethal force and terrifying speed. She did not panic. She simply stepped to the side, dodging the attack with a single fluid motion that seemed almost effortless.

The moment she evaded that strike, another attack closed in from her flank. Irene’s speed skyrocketed once again, her body turning into a faint blur as she dodged yet again, her footwork and movement technique both remarkable and exquisite in their precision. But the Angels cared nothing for her elegance or technique; their weapons simply filled the air as they launched endless attacks from every direction.

At that moment, Irene looked far less like a healer and far more like a martial goddess that had descended upon the battlefield. She moved without the slightest change in her expression, without strain, without hesitation, with ease, with confidence, and with a grace that bordered dangerously on insanity. Every attack missed her by the narrowest margin imaginable, barely grazing past her by a single hair’s breadth. Her white robes flowed and fluttered rhythmically with the wind as she moved, almost as though they were dancing along with her.

Eventually, she came to a stop several kilometers away from her original position, having evaded all twenty incoming attacks in succession. The Angels frowned, frustration and faint surprise appearing across their faces. They had not expected her to dodge so effortlessly. After all, according to the information they possessed, she was merely a healer, and everyone knew that healers possessed the weakest battle prowess among all types of power systems.

Crimson Irene stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her posture calm and composed as she appeared almost like a master guiding a group of stubborn and unruly children. Her crimson pupils shifted toward the garden where she had once been sitting peacefully, and all her eyes could now see were damaged flowers, scattered petals, and ruined flora that had once been beautiful and charming.

She had cultivated them with her own hands. She had not used mana or any form of technique. Instead, she had planted and cared for them like a true farmer and gardener, willingly dirtying her hands with soil and sand.

And now, years of careful work had been erased in mere moments by the chaos of battle, but she was not angry. Anger was the last thing anyone should carry onto a battlefield; it clouded both emotions and judgment. They were only flowers, after all. She could plant new ones later... if she survived.

Without missing a beat, the twenty Eleven-Winged Angels rushed toward her again, their bodies tearing through the air like bullets fired from a divine weapon. Irene did not remain passive this time. Instead, she stepped forward, and with that single step, she too shot forward like a projectile launched from a cannon.

With a titanic impact, her fist collided directly with the divine armor of one of the Angels. The Angel’s body was violently torn away from the point of impact and hurled backward through the air. Irene did not even bother to check on him. She simply moved toward her next victim, her elbow snapping outward toward the temple of another Angel with lethal precision.

But the Angel reacted instantly, dodging the attack by stepping backward with remarkable speed, but the moment the Angel stepped back to evade the elbow strike, Irene halted the motion midway. Her second hand surged forward with the force of a cannon blast, detonating violently upon contact with the Angel’s waist.

’A feint,’ the Angel realized in shock.

But it was already too late. He had no choice but to endure the impact directly with his armor. Before the Angel could even be launched backward properly like the first Angel had been, Irene abruptly halted his momentum by catching him by the ankle. The sudden grip erased his backward motion completely. Without missing a beat, she swung the Angel forward like a whip, smashing his body directly into a third Angel. As the second and third Angels collided, both were sent flying backward due to the tremendous force.

Crimson Irene did not even spare them a glance. Her senses and instincts were already screaming at her to move again. Without hesitation, she obeyed those instincts. She did not even turn her head. Instead, she shot sideways as though she possessed eyes at the back of her skull.

At the exact moment she moved, a golden arrow tore through the air with deadly accuracy, piercing through the precise spot where her forehead had been only an instant earlier. But even as she dodged, the arrow suddenly changed direction and immediately pursued her once more. Irene’s crimson eyes flashed as understanding dawned upon her. She had already grasped the nature of the arrow after seeing it only once. After all, such an ability was not particularly rare; it was a fairly common technique among highly skilled archers.

Without hesitation, her hand blurred forward. She caught the arrow mid-flight just as it aimed for her head again. Without pausing even for a fraction of a second, she hurled it toward another Angel. The Angel reacted instantly, raising his broadsword to block the incoming projectile.

Irene did not allow herself the luxury of thought. She simply acted with mechanical efficiency, her movements guided purely by instinct, speed, and precision, a level of combat skill that should have been impossible for someone of her... status... for someone of her awakened class.

Yet here she stood, seemingly holding her ground against twenty Eleven-Winged Angels while the older generation, warriors who had only just finished fighting brutal invasion battles, were struggling to kill even one of them.

A thrust suddenly tore toward her head from the front. She simply tilted her head sideways, allowing the weapon to pass harmlessly beside her face. Without missing a beat, the fingers of her left hand clamped down on the Angel’s wrist. At the same time, her right palm snapped upward from below, crashing violently against the Angel’s elbow and snapping the bone cleanly in half.

Before the Angel could even scream in pain, Irene tightened her grip on the wrist and flung the Angel forward as though he were nothing more than a discarded pebble. The Angel’s rapier slipped from his grasp due to the shattered elbow.

But before the weapon could even touch the garden of ruined flowers beneath them, Irene kicked the hilt with explosive force using the tip of her foretoe. The rapier shot through the air toward another incoming Angel, forcing that Angel to immediately abandon their attack and shift into a defensive stance.

But the moment that Angel focused on blocking the incoming weapon, Irene was already standing directly before them, having taken full advantage of that fleeting gap in their attention.

Her left foot left the ground, and with vicious force, her knee slammed into the Angel’s throat, crushing and tearing it apart with lethal speed and terrifying strength. Golden blood exploded into the air as the Angel’s body was violently hurled backward by the impact, obeying the Newton’s laws of motion, despite being Angels.