EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC25: EX 25. The Duel
Chapter 25: EX 25. The Duel
The Feran training grounds were a vast open-air arena, an intentional contrast to the elegant, marble-floored indoor training chambers of the Kael estate.
Under a sky streaked with Natural moonlight and artificial floodlights, the arena spread wide—its perimeter lined with runic fencing to contain mana overflow.
At the side of the field, raised a few steps above the ground, was a stone podium reserved for the Rank 2 noble families—lords and ladies seated with barely concealed anticipation. Their gazes were locked onto the two figures standing at the center of the arena.
Seated higher above them, under a sheltered royal pavilion, were the Rank 1 noble families: the Queens, the Kaels, and the Ferans. Their eyes were focused.
All except for one.
Eden Feran, the youngest son of the Feran household, sat with arms crossed and a deep scowl carved into his youthful face.
He didn't hear the murmurs of the crowd.
He didn't see the duelists on the field.
All he could think about was the insult from earlier.
"Did he... call me a piglet?" Eden thought, his fists clenched tight in his lap. "Who does he think he is? If Father hadn't agreed to this stupid duel between him and my brother I would have taught him a lesson myself."
Tears threatened to pool at the edges of his eyes, but Eden blinked them away furiously.
"Fucking bastard," he cursed under his breath, the words a silent vow.
Meanwhile, on the field, the duel had already begun—at least in spirit.
Leon Kael stood a dozen paces across from Dayton Feran, utterly unaware of the emotional havoc he'd left behind in the younger Feran's heart. But even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared.
Right now, his entire focus was on one thing:
Burying Dayton's face in the dirt.
Dayton took a step forward, eyes narrowed, and pulled a sleek staff from his inventory. It gleamed with mana inscriptions—a D-rank Tier III magic staff.
He held it casually and confidently.
"This is your last chance to call off the duel," Dayton warned. "Because I won't be responsible for what happens next."
Leon didn't answer.
Instead, he summoned his sword. The blade shimmered into his hands, and without a word, he shifted his stance—two hands gripping the hilt, blade drawn backward over his shoulder, body coiled like a spring.
Dayton raised a brow, then smiled.
"Suit yourself," he said coolly.
'I swear I'm going to enjoy rubbing that arrogant face of yours into the ground.'
Suddenly, a loud horn blared through the estate, signaling the official start of the duel.
Mana exploded outward from Dayton's body as he lifted his staff, its runes glowing bright blue. Lightning began to crackle in the air, summoned from a rapidly forming magic circle adorned with intricate runes. Energy screamed from the circle—raw, destructive, merciless.
"Blame yourself for your arrogance," Dayton said coldly.
Dayton's Extraordinary talent was called Drunkard's Mana the talent fueled his spells in proportion to his intoxication. It was the reason he was called the "Drunken Mage" on the battlefield.
At that moment the spell activated.
The circle hummed.
As unrestrained Lightning surged forward—a jagged lance of destruction, hurling toward Leon.
And yet...
Leon didn't move.
Not at first.
Only when the lightning was inches away did his eyes flicker with life.
In a split second, Leon burned 20 attack points into Speed. The system silently acknowledged the request—200 temporary stats surged through his body like molten fire.
In that very moment—
He vanished.
A blur of movement cut through the battlefield as he slid past the lightning bolt, the blast exploding behind him with a deafening CRACK raising a dust cloud. But Leon was already gone.
He was too fast.
Dayton's eyes widened in horror.
On the podium, Luke Feran muttered aloud without thinking:
"Is that... the speed of an F-rank?"
Gasps followed.
The weaker nobles strained their eyes, but Leon was barely visible. But just as the dust cleared, he appeared beside Dayton with his sword drawn as he slashed out.
Dayton was to slow to react as his red eyes widened just as Leon's sword came close to his neck but suddenly Leon disappeared.
And in just an instant he appeared behind Dayton, sword outstretched.
BOOM.
The sonic boom from Leon's dash shattered the silence.
The entire training ground went still.
Not a single noble spoke.
Not a single breath was drawn.
The silence was finally broken by a voice from the rank 2 seats.
"That... that isn't the speed of an F-rank."
Another voice followed quickly, stunned:
"I didn't even see him activate a skill. Could this be... his actual stats? But how?"
"Don't be foolish," came a sharper voice.
"It must be his talent. A trial taker can't exceed their stat limits. That's common knowledge."
The first noble flushed red, realizing how absurd his earlier thought had been.
No one believed Leon Kael was an underachiever anymore.
Not after that.
Because in what world does an underachiever accomplish such a feat.
Back on the field, Dayton hadn't moved.
He stood frozen, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly as his staff trembled in his hand. Behind him, Leon stood calmly, sword held at his side.
Then, without a word, his sword returned to his inventory. And the moment it did, the energy in the arena dissipated.
****
As Leon slid his sword back into his inventory, the sleek shimmer of the blade vanishing into thin air, a ripple of confusion spread through the crowd.
Many of the weaker nobles, especially those seated in the lower tiers of the podium, gawked in disbelief.
"Why would he put his sword away?"
"Is he underestimating Dayton?"
"Did he miss?"
Their murmurs echoed softly through the tense air, their eyes darting between Leon's relaxed posture and Dayton's motionless figure.
But the stronger nobles—those with sharper eyes, honed instincts, and years of battle experience—said nothing.
Because they knew.
They had seen it.
They had followed the speed.
And to say they were terrified would be a gross understatement.
In that single flash of motion, Leon hadn't merely closed the distance.
He had struck—not once, not twice, but dozens of times.
A barrage of slashes, too fast for the untrained eye to catch.
Too precise.
Too controlled.
Too inhuman.
Even the nobles that witnessed it felt a chill crawl down their spines.
Dayton stood frozen, his body trembling slightly, his face blank.
Then, finally, his lips parted as he uttered one broken word:
"...How?"
The question hung in the air.
Before blood suddenly exploded from his body.
Dozens of crimson lines opened at once across his arms, legs, chest, and back—clean, shallow cuts, like red ribbons unraveling across his skin. His pristine coat shredded to ribbons as the wounds painted it a gruesome red.
His knees buckled.
His face turned ghostly pale.
His staff slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly onto the ground.
Then—
He collapsed.
His body hit the ground with a wet thud, his blood pooling beneath him in a widening circle. He wasn't dead—Leon had made sure of that—but the pain would haunt him for weeks.
Every cut had been intentional.
Every strike had been perfectly placed.
Not to kill.
Not to cripple.
To humiliate.
And in the end, that was far more terrifying.
The entire field was silent.
Not a whisper from the nobles.
Not a rustle from the wind.
Not even the hum of ambient mana.
Just stunned, breathless stillness—as the realization settled over the crowd.
This was not the power of an F-rank.
This was not the strength of a mere Trial Cadet.
This was a monster in human skin.
And tonight, under the stars and the stone arches of the Feran estate, every noble watching would remember one truth:
Leon Kael wasn't someone to underestimate.
He wasn't a footnote in another family's legacy.
He wasn't a joke.
He wasn't weak.
He was something else entirely.
And the world had just caught its first glimpse.
****
Dayton Feran's stats
[STATS]
Strength: 250
Speed: 200
Vitality: 250
Stamina: 200
Senses: 150
Mana: 450
Talent: Drunkard's Mana(Extraordinary)
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC26: EX 26. Lunatics
Chapter 26: EX 26. Lunatics
Elizabeth's eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the scene unfolding before her.
Leon—her Leon—had just moved like lightning, his sword nothing more than a blur, had defeated a D-rank Taker in seconds. Her lips parted in disbelief as the silence of the training ground stretched on.
"What was that speed?" she whispered, barely hearing her own voice over the racing of her heart.
She wasn't shocked that he had won. No—she knew even if Leon could be hotheaded or reckless sometimes he was not stupid. When it came to those he cared about, Leon could go too far, but he never picked fights he couldn't win. It wasn't because of cowardice no far from it, Leon was just being smart.
But this victory—this—left her stunned.
'How was it so easy?' she thought, brows furrowing as she glanced at Dayton's crumpled, blood-soaked body.
'No matter how strong Leon is, he should have struggled a little. That's just normal.' 'Don't tell me... Dayton was a fake D-rank Taker?'
Her fingers clenched tightly at her side.
She had always thought she knew him—Leon Kael, the boy who made her laugh, who held her hand when the world felt too heavy.
But now... watching him walk away from Dayton like the duel was nothing more than a morning stretch, Elizabeth felt a strange distance form in her heart.
'Was there more to him than he let on?'
But even as that thought twisted within her, she took a steady breath and pushed it down.
'If he's ready to tell me... he will,' she thought. 'And when he does... I won't love him any less.'
By her side, her mother Diana stood frozen in place, stunned by what she'd just seen. A storm of thoughts swirled in her sharp mind, eyes narrowing as she looked at Leon's retreating back.
---
At the Kael family's section, Selena Kael had a wide, tooth-baring grin on her face.
"That's my boy."
The pride in her eyes glinted like a blade unsheathed. Darian and Valeria, seated beside her, gave small nods of satisfaction.
Neither had taken kindly to Dayton's arrogant insults before the duel. Watching Leon shut him up with style and power—it was justice served cold and swift.
None of the Kaels were truly surprised. After all, no one in the world understood Leon's strength better than they did.
And yet... even they didn't know the limit.
Back on the field, Leon turned, walking away from Dayton's unconscious, bloodied form. His pace was calm, almost casual, like the fight hadn't even scratched the surface of his strength.
Then—
A furious voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"How dare you do such a thing to my son!"
A woman landed heavily in front of Leon, the ground cracking slightly beneath her boots. Her crimson-red hair flowed like fire, and her blood-red eyes burned with rage—the unmistakable mark of the Feran family.
She stood tall, her gaze filled with fury.
"You're not going anywhere."
The tension in the air spiked.
As Leon stopped and looked up at her. There was no fear or hesitation in his eyes. Just a calm, narrowed gaze.
"And who's going to make me?" he asked coldly.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—pressure.
S-Rank aura erupted from the woman—Rebecca Feran, Dayton's mother—crashing down like a tidal wave.
Dust kicked up around them as the ground groaned beneath her feet. The pressure aimed to crush Leon, to make him kneel—
But it didn't.
Instead, a greater pressure surged in response, swallowing hers like a stone in the sea.
A heartbeat later, Selena Kael stepped forward, her heels tapping against the stone as she placed herself directly in front of Leon.
Her voice was velvet and venom.
"Rebecca, who do you think you are... threatening my son?"
Selena's own pressure flared—dense, refined, devastating—and Rebecca gasped as her knees buckled, her body trembling under the weight.
As she fell to one knee, sweat beginning to form on her forehead, lips twitching in shock.
****
Selena Kael's eyes narrowed as she stepped forward, her gaze locked on Rebecca Feran with chilling precision. Her presence didn't just fill the training ground—it crushed it.
The pressure she was unleashing didn't come in one brutal wave. No. It was gradual, methodical, cruel in its precision. Like a knife slowly being pushed deeper, inch by inch.
Rebecca's second knee hit the ground with a hard crack.
She let out a ragged breath, her arms trembling as she threw them out to support herself. Sweat pooled at her brow.
Her crimson hair clung to her pale face. Her body was now bowed under the weight of a power she had no hope of resisting.
Yes—Selena's talent might have been healing-based, but that meant nothing in the face of her raw, oppressive might as an SS-Rank Taker.
A mere S-Rank like Rebecca? She wasn't even in the same league.
Leon watched from behind his mother, arms crossed, eyes calm. Not a flicker of emotion passed his face.
He didn't need to lift a finger. Selena was handling it just fine—bit by bit, making Rebecca suffer more with each passing breath.
Then—
A voice boomed out, sharp and indignant.
"That is enough!"
Luke Feran's voice thundered across the courtyard as he stepped out, his SS-rank aura beginning to stir. "Won't you show my family respect in our own home?!"
Selena didn't even turn her head. Her voice, smooth as silk and twice as cutting, answered:
"Did your family show mine respect," she said coldly, "when your drunkard of a son dared to insult us publicly? Or when your concubine attacked my son after a fair duel?"
With those words, her pressure surged again—a final crushing weight.
As Rebecca's arms buckled, her elbows hitting the stone as her body was forced flat against the ground, cheek pressing into the bloodied earth. Her breathing became erratic, her pride trampled beneath Selena's might.
"One good turn deserves another," Selena whispered icily.
Across the field, Luke gritted his teeth, his face twitching with barely contained fury.
He turned to Diana, voice sharp and manipulative.
"Can you see how these lunatics are behaving, Diana?" he snapped. "Attacking someone's wife in their own home—is this the kind of people you want to be allied with? You don't know when they'll turn on you, too."
Diana remained silent for a moment. The tension in the air was suffocating. Even the nobles watching dared not speak.
Then—
"You're right," Diana finally said.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC27: EX 27. Fuck Your Stupid Maturity
Chapter 27: EX 27. Fuck Your Stupid Maturity
A slow, satisfied smile spread across Luke's face.
But it froze halfway.
"It is worth it to be allied with the Kaels."
The smile cracked, then shattered entirely.
"Their son," Diana continued, her voice cool and sharp, "has shown incredible potential. He has the strength to defend his family's name, unlike your son, who was humiliated, or your wife, who lost control and attacked a child. There is no dignity in that. If there are any lunatics here..." she turned slightly, her eyes narrowing—"...they're in the Feran family."
Gasps echoed throughout the crowd.
The Kael family members all smiled. Selena's lips curled in open satisfaction. Even Darian, ever the silent blade, gave a small nod. And beside Diana, Elizabeth grinned, pride swelling in her chest.
'Way to go, Mum.'
Luke's face turned red with rage. But he was stuck. Cornered. And to make it worse—it was happening in his own home.
He might have been an SS-rank, but he wasn't foolish enough to fight Selena, Darian, and Diana together. Not here. And especially not when the law would clearly side with the Kaels. After all, Rebecca had struck first.
Grinding his teeth, Luke turned toward Darian Kael, voice sharp with humiliation.
"Please... tell your wife to let mine go."
Darian looked at him, silent for a moment.
Then he spoke.
"It's not me you should be begging," he said flatly, "but the one your wife tried to attack. After all... it's him who was offended."
Luke stiffened.
His fists clenched. His jaw locked.
To ask forgiveness from a boy? As the patriarch of the Feran family? An SS-Rank Taker reduced to pleading with a youth?
That would make him a laughingstock across the Federation.
And yet—he had no choice.
****
Luke Feran stood frozen for a moment, jaw twitching, the taste of humiliation thick on his tongue. Then, finally—after minutes of silence and agony—he turned toward the boy standing behind Selena Kael.
"Boy," he said through gritted teeth, "why don't you act mature and let bygones be bygones?"
Leon didn't turn. He didn't flinch neither did he blink.
He just stood there, staring forward, ignoring Luke completely.
But inside—
'Matured? You want me to act matured? When you watched your son insult my family or your wife attack me like a thug in the streets you didn't act mature then but you want me to act matured now? Fuck your stupid maturity.'
Leon said nothing.
And Selena, watching from the corner of her eye, understood the answer well enough. Her lips curved upward. Then, without a word—
She increased the pressure.
Rebecca's body jerked violently under the invisible weight, and for the first time—after holding back for so long—a sound escaped her lips.
"Kh—aaAAHHH—!"
The cry tore from her throat, raw and strained, despite all her efforts to hold it in. Her pride couldn't hold against the pain any longer.
"Enough!!" Luke suddenly roared, panic breaking through his fury.
But Selena didn't stop.
She Increased the pressure—again.
"Khh—AAAAAAAARRGH!!!"
Rebecca's screams grew louder, her body arching against the ground as cracks began to spread beneath her, spiderwebbing through the stone under the relentless force pressing down on her spine.
Luke clenched his fists so tightly that his nails pierced into his own palms. Blood trickled down his fingers, but he didn't notice.
Across the training ground, the nobles watched in stunned silence.
From the Queen's Domain, their faces were blank, impassive, detached from the squabble.
From the Kael Domain, joy flickered behind barely concealed smirks. Their heir who was mocked and ridiculed was now the reason the Feran Matriarch was wailing in the dirt.
And from the Feran Domain their eyes burned with a mix of shame and rage as they watched their matriarch humiliated, crushed, screaming.
And still—the cries grew louder.
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"
The echo carried across the training ground, bleeding into the night air.
Luke's pride shattered like glass.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He dropped to his knees. Then—he bowed.
"I apologize," he said through clenched teeth. His voice cracked with fury and defeat. "For how my son and wife acted tonight. I promise it won't repeat itself again. So—please. Let my wife go."
Silence.
Stunned silence.
Not a single noble moved. Not a single word was uttered.
The Patriarch of the Feran Domain—an SS-Rank Taker—had bowed his head to a boy who had only just awakened as a Taker.
It was a scene none of them had ever imagined they'd witness in their lifetimes.
Selena stood there, watching the man grovel. Then she glanced behind her, toward her son.
"Leo," she said calmly, "what do you think? Should we let her go?"
Leon looked down at Rebecca, broken and unconscious on the ground.
'They've suffered enough. No need to drag it further....Not tonight, anyway.'
"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "They've had enough."
Selena nodded, and at once—
The pressure vanished.
Rebecca collapsed fully, her body limp, barely breathing and unconscious from the overwhelming torment.
Selena turned without another glance, and with Leon beside her, the two walked calmly back to the podium.
Behind them, Luke remained kneeling, fists still clenched as his family's guards rushed to carry away his wife and son—both beaten, both unconscious.
Blood dripped steadily from his knuckles, unnoticed.
His shoulders trembled—not from fear, but from rage, shame and disbelief.
'This was supposed to be my family's celebration.
So how...
How did we end up the biggest losers?'
He looked up at Leon—the boy who had turned his evening into a nightmare.
As the Kaels made their way out of the courtyard Luke's eyes darkened.
As He began to think of something.
****
The night had finally drawn to a close.
The once-vibrant celebration, which had begun with grandeur and anticipation, had ended in shame and stunned silence. The name that should have echoed in glory—Feran—was now whispered with discomfort.
Nobles from across the Eastern Sector were now returning to their respective domains, their expressions a mix of satisfaction and contemplation.
Despite the dramatic turn of events, there had still been good food, fine wine, lively music and a duel far more entertaining than anyone had expected.
In truth, most guests left with full stomachs and full gossip columns—a rare blend for any noble gathering.
The only ones who couldn't find a shred of joy in the night were the Ferans themselves—and the nobles from their domain, who wore cloaks of embarrassment as they departed quietly, heads bowed.
Outside the estate, beneath the cool silver light of the moon, the Kael family walked calmly toward their parked limousine, the gold-engraved family emblem glinting under the lamplight. Their personal driver stepped forward and pulled the door open with a respectful nod.
Just as Darian and Valeria were about to enter the vehicle, a voice called out.
"Wait!"
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC28: EX 28. Back To Grinding
Chapter 28: EX 28. Back To Grinding
Leon turned reflexively, brows lifting, only for his shoulders to drop in resignation when he saw who it was.
Behind him, his father chuckled softly as he stepped into the car. His sister followed, eyes sparkling with amusement. Selena gave her son a knowing smile and gently patted his back before sliding into her seat.
Leon watched them enter the limo and muttered internally,
'Why do they always act so strange when it comes to Elizabeth...?:
He didn't have long to wonder.
Elizabeth Queen walked up to him, her Raven hair cascading over her shoulder like midnight as her Ebony eyes scanned him intently.
"Are you okay?" she asked, voice soft, laced with concern as she examined him from head to toe.
Leon blinked, then smirked.
"Don't worry. I'm fine."
Elizabeth exhaled a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing.
"Good... I knew you were going to win," she said with a gentle smile. "But I thought you'd come out with a few injuries. I'm glad you didn't."
Leon's gaze softened as he thought:
'She didn't mention my talent... Mom must have talked to her about it So she's being careful not to bring it up.'
He smiled at her thoughtfulness.
"Well, I'm tougher than I look."
Elizabeth giggled, nudging his arm.
"But you already look tough."
Leon smirked back.
"My point exactly."
They laughed together for a moment, the tension of the night melting into warmth. Then, without a word, Elizabeth suddenly kissed Leon which he kindly reciprocated in return his arm holding her at the waist as their tongues exchanged saliva. Before finally separating.
"Good night Leon." Elizabeth said with a smile as she stepped away and returned to her own car.
Leon just smiled as he watched her go before he climbed into the limo. And immediately he noticed the teasing looks pointed his way.
"What?" he asked suspiciously.
Selena leaned her head against her hand, lips curling into a mischievous grin.
"When am I expecting a grandchild?"
Leon's face flushed red instantly.
"Mom! I'm just 19!"
Selena just giggled, clearly enjoying his reaction far more than she should've.
The engine hummed to life, and the Kael family limousine rolled forward, a convoy of sleek black vehicles trailing behind it as they departed from the Feran estate.
The house they left behind was one of shattered pride and silent resentment.
But for the Kaels, the night had ended in triumph.
And as they drove through the moonlit streets toward their own domain, Leon leaned back into the seat, eyes closed and a small smile tugging at his lips.
****
Night had fallen over the Kael estate, quiet and heavy like the curtain call after a long, chaotic performance.
Leon pushed open the door to his room, the soft click echoing louder than it should in the silence. His shoulders relaxed for the first time all night. The chaos of the duel, the pressure his mother unleashed, and the awkward tension of the Feran family's collapse, it was all behind him now.
Finally.
He shut the door, kicked off his boots, and let his body sink into the edge of the bed. A tired exhale escaped his lips as he reached out mentally, calling forth his system window.
[Status Panel]
Name: Leon Kael
Race: Human
Age: 19
Class: Warrior
Rank: F-Rank
Talent: {Attack} — EX Rank
Status: Normal
Health: 100%
[STATS]
Strength: 572
Speed: 533
Vitality: 515
Stamina: 511
Senses: 478
Aura: 544
[Skills]
[Echolocation]
[Mirror Split]
[Phantom Edge – Form 1: Flicker Fang]
He slid over to the Talent page, eyes narrowing slightly.
[Attack Points: 9980 / 10,000]
"Tch," he clicked his tongue. "I'm not even getting a full stat gain today because of that pig."
His fingers raked through his snow-white hair in frustration, memories of Dayton Feran's smug voice flashing through his mind.
"I used up 20 points on that bastard... and it doesn't even feel worth it."
He let out a breath. "It doesn't matter now anyway. Points wasted were still experience gained. And tomorrow... tomorrow is another day to grind."
After some mental calculations, Leon started distributing the points among his stats.
A series of soft pulses moved through his limbs—like warm threads weaving under his skin, reshaping him.
[STATS Updated]
Strength: 572>595 (+23)
Speed: 533>548 (+15)
Vitality: 515>530 (+15)
Stamina: 511>525 (+14)
Senses: 478>490 (+12)
Aura: 544>563 (+19)
He grinned.
"Steady progress. At this rate... I might be Iron Captain-level before I even get deployed."
His voice was soft but confident. No arrogance. Just certainty.
He stood up, walked to the bathroom, and watched off the day's grime. The hot water hit his skin like a reset button. Twenty minutes later, clean and comfortable in a black tank top and soft pants, he lay across the bed, tablet in hand.
Elizabeth's name blinked on the screen. He opened the chat.
Elizabeth: You good?
Leon: Fine. You?
Elizabeth: Mhm. Just thinking how it's so nice that you didn't get hurt today.
Leon: You shouldn't worry too much you know I'm not that fragile.
Elizabeth: That doesn't stop me from worrying.
He smiled. Even after the chaos of tonight, some things made it worth it.
They chatted for a while. Light banter, soft teasing. Eventually, her goodnight text came.
As Leon dropped the tablet beside him and turned off the bedside lamp.
And as the room darkened, he stared at the ceiling, eyelids growing heavy.
Iron Captain, huh?
A grin crept onto his lips.
Let's see how far I can push it before then.
And with that thought, Leon finally drifted to sleep.
****
The sky was still dark when Leon's eyes opened.
The soft hum of silence filled the room, broken only by the faint ticking of the digital clock: 04:00 A.M.
Like clockwork.
He sat up, muscles responding with ease after last night's rest and moved to the bathroom. Cold water splashed against his face as he leaned over the sink, watching the drops run down into the basin. His silver-white hair clung to his forehead as he stared into the mirror.
No dreams. No noise. Just calm.
By 4:10, he was already gone—vanishing silently from the house and making his way to his favorite training ground within the estate.
The chamber lit up the moment his presence was registered, the glossy floor adjusting for combat mode. Before him stood a sleek, humanoid training bot clad in reinforced alloy plating—programmed to simulate C-rank combatants.
"Let's make it quick," Leon muttered, summoning his sword from his inventory.
The moment it activated, Leon dashed forward.
Strike. Dodge. Counter. Strike again.
Each hit came with weight and precision, the echoes of metal clashing against steel-and-force resonating across the chamber.
And with each strike:
[+1 Attack Point]
[+1 Attack Point]
[+1 Attack Point]
He didn't need to go all out. Just enough to earn the daily quota.
Finally, with one clean arc of his foot and a shattering impact to the bot's neck joint, the machine crumpled.
[Attack Points: 10,000 / 10,000]
Leon exhaled.
"Good that's enough for today."
He rolled his shoulders and made his way back to the mansion. By 6:00 A.M., he was already under the sheets again, body clean, muscles relaxed, the grind complete.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC29: EX 29. Outing
Chapter 29: EX 29. Outing
Two hours later.
The door creaked open with a soft knock. A pair of light footsteps entered the room.
"Young Master Leon, breakfast is ready," came Mary's voice, calm and practiced—though this time, there was no trace of suprise she would have carried when finding him asleep past dawn.
News traveled fast in the mansion of Leon's win against Dayton Feran so she no longer thought that he had given up on his training but instead she assumed that he had been secretly training.
'I shouldn't have doubted him. A stupid ranking won't be enough to make him give up.'
Leon blinked awake slowly, sunlight filtering through the curtains. As he sat up, squinting at her and interrupting her thoughts.
Then, that lazy, half-cocky grin spread across his face.
"Thanks, Mary. You're always so helpful."
His voice was low, smooth—still wrapped in morning haze.
Mary stiffened slightly, trying to keep her composure, but the light dusting of pink rising on her cheeks betrayed her.
'That smile again.'
Even after all these years, she still wasn't immune.
"M-My duty, young master," she stammered, turning away slightly. "You don't need to thank me for anything." She fidgeted with the edge of her gown, flustered. "Your breakfast is ready. You should go while I take care of the bed."
Leon tilted his head.
Then smirked.
"Why don't you take care of the bed... with me in it?"
Mary froze.
Her face turned beet red.
Then she broke.
"B-But I'm just a maid! What about Lady Elizabeth? But if you really want it, I... I won't mind. And if we have children, what should we name them? Maybe—"
"Hahahahaha" Leon burst into laughter, falling back onto the bed.
"Mary, you really crack me up."
Mary blinked—processing—and then realization struck like lightning.
Her face lit up with embarrassment.
"Young Master!" she cried out, grabbing the nearest pillow.
But Leon was already moving.
He dodged the pillow, laughing as he slipped out of bed and sprinted to the door. "Still too slow!" he called out, closing it behind him just before a second pillow thunked into the wood.
Inside, Mary stood there, flushed and fuming—but smiling.
"He can be so annoying sometimes," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
Then she chuckled to herself and began tidying his room.
The dining room was silent.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long golden streaks across the polished marble floor. The table stretched endlessly, yet only a single chair was pulled out—Leon's.
He sat with a fork in one hand, lazily stabbing at his eggs before taking a bite. The food was perfect, as always. Hot, balanced, probably the work of four chefs and a nutritionist.
But the silence? That was normal.
Leon glanced around the empty seats. "Guess everyone's busy as usual."
His voice echoed softly in the vast room.
"Having two SS-rank parents and a sister who's a Crimson Commander..." He chuckled dryly, chewing the next bite. "It's a miracle I even saw them this week."
After finishing the last bite, Leon pushed the plate away and stood up, brushing his white hair back with a sigh. "Might as well head back."
Back in his room, the change was instant.
The space felt immaculate. Floors gleamed, his bed was tighter than military regulation, and even his shoes were neatly lined up with soldierly precision. There was a faint scent of lavender—Mary's signature finish.
Leon smiled, genuinely this time. "She really went all out, huh?"
He flopped onto the bed, arms spread wide. The sheets were still warm from the sun.
"So... now what do I do?"
A pause. The silence returned, but this time it was heavier because it was tinged with boredom.
"If it were before, I'd be training... or meditating... trying to squeeze out stats like some desperate sponge."
He stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
But that was before.
Before My {Attack} talent.
Now, his growth didn't come in drips and strain and sweat.
It came in bursts—every swing, every blow, every impact.
Where others took weeks to gain a few points, he advanced in days.
Training the old way would not be not be cost-effective. Not even close.
"Since training's out... what do I do now?" he muttered, arms flopping down dramatically.
A few seconds passed.
Then his eyes widened as his mouth dropped open.
"Oh my god... it can't be."
He bolted upright.
"I'm a total loser."
He clutched his head, half-joking, half-serious.
"I can't think of anything to do apart from training. My life was literally just grinding and chatting with Elizabeth. That was it. That was the whole damn routine."
He collapsed back onto the bed with theatrical exhaustion, groaning into the pillow.
After a minute of wallowing, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand, swiping it open with hope in his eyes.
Contacts:
Mom
Dad
Big Sis
Elizabeth
He blinked.
Then sighed. "Four. Four people. I'm nineteen and I have four people on my contact list. What is wrong with me?"
With a grunt, he tossed the phone across the bed like it betrayed him. It bounced twice, landing softly on the covers.
Leon stared at the ceiling.
Then—
"Wait."
His eyes lit up as he sat up straight.
"Yes! I know who I can meet."
He sprang off the bed like a man possessed, dashing to his wardrobe. Clothes flew as he grabbed something clean and sharp, practically suiting up mid-stride.
And with that, he left the room as the door shut behind him with a soft click.
****
The ice cream shop was cozy and bright, filled with warm yellow lighting, soft chatter, and the occasional sound of whipped cream being sprayed behind the counter. It was the kind of place that smelled like sugar and nostalgia.
In a corner booth, enclosed in a half-glass cage designed for privacy, Leon sat with one leg crossed over the other, his fingers drumming against the small round table.
He wore a black jacket layered over a crisp white shirt, with tailored black trousers and polished black shoes that gleamed under the table. His snow-white hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, keeping it from falling into his eyes.
In front of him sat a half-finished cup of chocolate ice cream, the spoon sticking out like a lazy flag.
A few girls walked by his table, stealing glances his way. Some giggled softly while others lingered just a bit longer than necessary hoping that Leon would look over so that they could strike a conversation. This usually happened whenever Leon stepped out and Elizabeth was not around to keep other girls away from him, but even without Elizabeth Leon learnt that to handle this situation he just had to ignore them and they would go away.
So Leon didn't pay attention to his admirers as his eyes were constantly on the door.
Ding.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC30: EX 30. What Happened to your Drive?
Chapter 30: EX 30. What Happened to your Drive?
The bell above the entrance jingled as the door swung open and a figure stepped inside, scanning the room.
Leon's eyes lit up as he raised his hand and waved. "Over here!"
The newcomer paused. His gaze met Leon's for a moment before he walked over.
Adrian Peer.
Tall, sharp-eyed and always looking like he was five seconds away from punching something. He didn't hesitate as he pulled out the chair opposite Leon and sat down, arms folded.
Leon grinned.
"You took your time."
Adrian said nothing as he continued to stare at Leon.
Undeterred, Leon glanced at the counter, half-raising a hand to call over one of the workers. "What flavor do you like? My treat."
Adrian didn't blink. "Why did you call me, Leon?"
The words were flat. No curiosity. Just demand.
Leon paused mid-motion, dropping his hand slowly and turning back. His brows rose slightly, and he gave Adrian a look that screamed isn't it obvious?
But Adrian's stare didn't waver. He was serious. Dead serious.
Leon sighed, letting the tension roll off his shoulders as he leaned back, spooning another bit of chocolate ice cream into his mouth.
"I called you out here so we could have some fun."
Adrian blinked.
For a second, it looked like his brain short-circuited.
"...Fun?" he echoed, almost like the word was foreign to him.
Then his eyes narrowed as he gave Leon a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Leon stared back, still chewing on his Ice cream.
"What?" he asked, mouth half-full of ice cream, as he totally disregarded the glare Adrian was giving him.
Which infuriated Adrian the more as he looked like he was about to flip the table.
****
Adrian walked briskly through the mall, the buzz of voices, soft music, and flickering posters barely registering in his mind. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his brows drawn in tight frustration.
'This is the time we should be training more than anything,' he thought, jaw clenched. 'But he wanted to 'have fun'? What kind of logic is that?'
His boots echoed on the polished floor as he passed by clothing boutiques, potion outlets and a weapon display kiosks.
'Was I wrong about him?' he wondered. 'Is that why his ranking dropped so low? Because he's too lax?'
"Hey! Wait up!"
Adrian didn't turn.
Leon's voice rang behind him, cheerful and completely out of place.
"Why would you leave like that?"
Adrian kept walking. Eyes forward. Muscles taut.
"Come on, Adrian! At least say something!"
The footsteps behind him grew louder, until finally they stopped.
Leon gave a hopeful grin. "So, you've changed your—"
"What happened to your drive?"
Leon froze. The smile slipped off his face like a mask.
He didn't respond. Not immediately.
Adrian turned slightly, looking at him not with anger—but disappointment.
"You used to be relentless," Adrian said, voice quiet but sharp. "Always training harder than the rest of us. Always breaking the records we thought were unbreakable. And now... one minor setback after your first trial, and you throw all that away?"
Leon stayed silent, stunned. He hadn't expected this.
"Is that all it takes to break the so-called Golden Child, Leon Kael?"
The words hit harder than Adrian probably intended—but he didn't stop.
"To be honest..." he continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "when I first met you, I hated you. You and every other noble. You had everything. Resources. Tutors. Early training. While I was just a commoner—born to two grounders."
He spat the word like poison.
"But I didn't let that stop me. I trained harder. Ten times harder than anyone else. I fought to break the mold, to stand shoulder to shoulder with people like you, even though you had years of a head start."
Leon opened his mouth to speak but chose to say nothing.
He saw something in Adrian's eyes now. Not just anger but resolve and acceptance.
Adrian looked away for a moment, as though remembering.
"Then I was put into the elite class," he said, voice softer. "A class filled with nobles. I thought I'd finally made it. But that's when I saw it... the real difference."
Leon frowned.
"It wasn't just the early training or money. It was something deeper. Something you all had without realizing. A drive. That need to prove yourself. To stand out. To dominate among peers who were just as privileged as you."
He looked Leon straight in the eyes now.
"You nobles... you were raised with it. Fed it. It was in your blood. And because of that, I came to respect you. All of you."
His next words were quieter. He didn't blink.
"But the one I respected the most... was the one with the most drive."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Adrian's eyes darkened, gaze tightening like a judge delivering a verdict.
"And now, that person is just a shell of who they used to be."
Leon didn't speak. He couldn't because he didn't know what to say.
****
Leon said nothing. Not a word.
He stood still, face unreadable, eyes lost in thought as Adrian's final words hung in the air like a sentence passed down by a judge.
Inside, however, his mind churned.
'How do I tell him... that he shouldn't be worrying about me losing my drive?'
'After all... I'm already stronger. Far stronger than him and all of our classmates put together.'
His fists clenched slowly at his sides.
'But just because I'm ahead... doesn't mean I should hinder someone else's growth. After all not everyone can add points to their stats.'
A perplexed look settled across his face, the kind that blurred the line between guilt and understanding.
And then—
"If you don't have anything to say, I'll be going now."
Adrian's voice cut cleanly through the air.
He turned, footsteps beginning to move away.
"And don't stop me again." His eyes narrowed, sharp and cold. "Because you won't like what I'll do to you if you do."
Leon stayed rooted to the spot.
But then—
BOOOOOM!!!
A thunderous explosion rocked the mall.
The lights flickered, and debris rained down from the floors above as the sound of shattered glass and screaming civilians filled the air.
Both Leon and Adrian snapped into motion, moving toward the source.
From the second floor, just behind the railing, they saw it—the center fountain of the mall, once decorative and serene, now a pile of smoking rubble.
Around it stood fourteen masked figures in black coats and hoods, faces hidden behind bone-like masks. Blood splattered the tile around them. A few civilians lay injured, crying out for help.
Leon's eyes narrowed. Adrian's jaw tensed.
"Demon worshippers," they both muttered at the same time.
But Leon didn't move right away.
A sudden chill pricked the back of his neck.
'Wait...'
His eyes sharpened, as the air shifted and he sensed a presence that wasn't human.
'There's a demon here.'
His demeanor changed instantly. Gone was the lazy, cheerful boy who teased his rival over ice cream.
In his place stood something colder. Sharper. Efficient.
Adrian noticed the shift immediately. The temperature around them seemed to drop a few degrees.
Leon's aura no longer radiated warmth. It had become still—like a blade unsheathed under moonlight.
Chaos broke out below.
Shoppers screamed and scattered, many sprinting toward the glass doors—only to slam against an invisible barrier making the Panic to increase tenfold.
One of the masked men stepped forward, raising a bloodstained hand as he addressed the terrified crowd:
"All of you have been blinded by the lies of the heretics of the Federation."
His voice echoed unnaturally, like a chorus of whispers speaking as one.
"But today... we have come to show you the light."
Some of the civilians stopped moving. Stopped screaming. They listened—hoping. Praying. Pleading for a miracle.
"Submit," the man said, his voice rising like a prophet from the depths. "Submit to the true God... or die."
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC31: EX 31.The Demon I
Chapter 31: EX 31.The Demon I
Chaos gripped the mall.
As screams echoed and people ran in circles, slamming into the invisible barrier that sealed every exit. Making the panic spread like wildfire.
"We're trapped!" someone yelled, voice cracking with terror.
"I don't want to die!" another sobbed, collapsing to their knees.
In the midst of the mayhem, a small girl clung to her mother's coat, her voice trembling.
"Mom... those men are scary..."
The woman knelt down, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter, shielding her from the nightmare unfolding.
"Shhh, it's okay, sweetie," she whispered softly, voice forced but steady. "The Takers will be here soon... They'll defeat the bad people."
A few people around them heard her. And slowly, hope began to flicker again.
"Yes... yes, that's right," a man said, nodding quickly. "They'll come."
"The Federation won't abandon us. They never have," another chimed in, clutching her husband's arm.
One by one, the frightened civilians repeated the words, voices gaining strength, courage returning.
The Takers will come. The Takers will save us.
And in that moment, the demon worshippers—once harbingers of terror—began to feel small. Insignificant. Forgotten.
But the leader of the masked cultists stepped forward again, voice rising with fury.
"You dare... disregard the true God?"
Dark energy swirled around him like smoke it was dense and unnatural. A wave of corruption spread outward, making the ground crack beneath his feet.
Civilians instinctively backed away, shielding their children, clutching their loved ones.
Adrian tensed as the pressure surged.
"We have to do something," he muttered, steeling himself. But when he turned to Leon— he was gone.
"What?" Adrian's eyes darted. "Where did he— Don't tell me he's hiding..."
The cursed wave thickened, crawling up the walls, pressing on Adrian's lungs like poison in the air.
"I don't have time for this..." he growled. "I have to act now."
Suddenly, the demon worshipper lunged—his arms warped, transforming grotesquely into long, jagged claws.
He streaked forward like a beast, aiming directly at the mother and child.
The girl screamed, and the mother turned, shielding her daughter with her body.
And as the claws came down—
CLANG!
A glowing shield blocked the strike in a burst of energy, rebounding the cultist back a few steps.
The mother looked up in shock. So did the crowd.
Standing in front of them, shield raised, sword drawn—was Adrian.
Gasps filled the mall.
"A Taker...!"
"He's a Taker!"
"Thank the stars!"
Hope surged again—real this time, grounded in steel and courage.
The lead cultist hissed behind his mask, glaring at Adrian with disdain.
"One of the heretics has shown himself."
At his signal, the other thirteen worshippers spread out, surrounding Adrian like vultures circling prey.
"You will make a fine sacrifice to our God," the leader sneered.
Adrian didn't flinch. With practiced ease, he slid his foot back, shield forward, sword angled in a sharp arc behind him.
"I'd rather die..." his voice was clear, proud, unwavering, "than become a sacrifice to your worthless god."
The leader's fury snapped like a whip.
"Tear him apart!" he roared.
And the worshippers charged.
*****
While Adrian stood his ground against the cultists above, Leon walked deeper into the shadows.
His boots echoed against the tiled floor of the mall's lower level, the chaos of the first floor fading behind him.
The corridors down here were deserted—lined with cold steel pipes that ran overhead and along the walls, snaking like veins feeding the lifeblood of the building to its many shops.
'Those people aren't strong,' Leon thought, his voice calm in his mind. 'The leader's an E-rank. and the rest are barely F. Adrian can handle them easily.'
He didn't even glance back. He had already weighed the odds, calculated the outcome, and made his decision.
His destination lay ahead.
He stopped before a thick, steel door, the label barely visible through years of wear and tear. "Generator Room."
Leon narrowed his eyes.
'No guards.'
He wasn't surprised.
'The demon must have taken them out early. That must have been how the worshippers got in so easily.'
There was no sadness in his gaze. No grief.
They had died doing what they had chosen—to protect.
And the least Leon could do... was avenge them.
As he reached for the door, he felt it—a mental pressure, like a fog trying to disorient him.
But it was weak. At least, weak against him.
With his heightened senses, Leon blinked once and shrugged it off like dust on his shoulder.
Then he opened the door and stepped inside.
The generator room was wide and dimly lit by flickering emergency lights.
Pipes hissed steam from the corners, and wires hung loose across the ceiling like dead vines. But Leon's eyes locked on one thing.
At the center of the room stood a grotesque creature, humanoid but barely. Its back was turned, muscles gnarled and pulsing beneath blackened skin.
Floating before it was a dark, smooth sphere, suspended in the air—pulsating, as if it were alive.
Leon's expression hardened.
As the demon turned after sensing him.
Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow.
"I don't know how you broke through the illusion," it rasped, voice like broken glass. "But die."
With a lazy flick of its clawed hand, it hurled a crackling ball of energy at Leon.
BOOM!
Flames and smoke surged outward, filling the room. As the demon turned back without looking.
"One hit should be enough."
The demon resumed its chant, eyes locked on the sphere. Dark energy coiled from its mouth like smoke as it spoke in a forgotten tongue.
Then—
cold steel kissed the back of its neck.
The demon's eyes went wide.
It twisted violently—just in time to dodge the blade that sliced through the air where its head had been.
But in escaping death, it exposed what mattered most.
Leon moved like lightning, already at the sphere.
"No—!" the demon howled.
But it was already too late.
SLASH.
Leon's blade cut clean through the sphere.
It cracked—once.
Then shattered.
Glasslike shards of dark energy scattered across the floor like fallen stars, the ambient pressure in the room vanishing in an instant.
Leon stepped back, sword raised, his cold gaze now locked on the demon.
Whatever the demon was doing... if it had completed that sphere, the effect might've been irreversible so Leon descided not to take the risk.
The demon screamed, but it wasn't pain.
It was rage.
A wave of killing intent crashed onto Leon like a tidal wave—not human. It was deeper. Hungrier. Vengeful. Like a thousand damned souls whispering through the cracks of reality.
Leon's grip on his sword tightened.
He welcomed it.
The demon snarled, wings bursting out from its back—bat-like, thick-veined and leathery, the impact shaking the room.
"A vermin like you... dared to go against me?" it growled.
Its claws gleamed like obsidian.
"You're a hundred years too early, boy."
Leon's smile was faint but Icy.
And then—
they charged.
Steel met claw. Demon met sword.
And the underground roared with the clash of two killers.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC32: EX 32. The Demon II
Chapter 32: EX 32. The Demon II
Steel clashed with claw, echoing through the dim generator room like thunder trapped in a cage.
Leon's sword met the demon's jagged talons again and again, each blow sharper, faster, heavier. Sparks flew with every collision, painting flashes of white and gold across the steel floor.
The demon snarled, muscles flexing as it repelled another of Leon's strikes.
But something was wrong.
'Why is he not dead yet?'
They clashed again, blades grinding against claws, their strength evenly matched for a breathless moment before both were pushed back, boots skidding across metal.
Then they charged again.
'He's just an F-rank,' the demon thought, confusion bleeding into its rage. 'How can he keep up with me?!'
Leon's sword came in low, swift as lightning. The demon barely deflected it, but Leon used the opening, pivoting in close to deliver a finishing thrust.
The demon's eyes widened as Its wings flared open in panic, lifting it backward just in time to avoid the killing blow.
But Leon's gaze didn't waver.
He was already moving again, feet light, blade raised, eyes locked on his target like a predator stalking its wounded prey.
'Was it possible?' the demon thought. 'That first attack—I thought it missed... but did he dodge it?'
The realization struck like ice.
And then they clashed again.
The steel of Leon's blade shrieked against the demon's obsidian claws, sparks bursting like miniature suns. They moved too fast for untrained eyes, a storm of violence in a room too small to contain it.
"Enough!" the demon snarled in its mind.
With a roar, it leapt back, raising both arms high.
"Carnival of Shadow!"
Dark mana erupted from its body like a geyser, consuming the room in an instant. Shadows warped, twisted—and then split.
Dozens. No—hundreds.
One by one, mirages of the demon formed, each a perfect replica, until over a hundred identical copies surrounded Leon, circling like wolves.
They raised their arms in unison.
Magic circles bloomed before them, etched in glowing red.
Their voices overlapped.
"Try not to get burnt."
A hundred fireballs ignited at once.
Leon's eyes narrowed.
He could tell that one of them was real. But even with his heightened senses, the illusion was flawless.
Picking the right one would be a gamble. A single mistake meant death.
So he didn't guess.
He acted.
In an instant, Leon burned 300 attack points, flooding his Speed stat with 3000 temporary points.
The world slowed as his body blurred.
The fireballs roared forward but Leon was already gone.
The illusions' eyes widened in sync.
"Where did he go?!" they shouted, echoing across the room.
Suddenly—one illusion vanished, its form dissipating into shadow and smoke.
"Spread out!" they screamed.
But it was too late.
Another vanished.
Then three more.
Then five.
Leon was a phantom—blinking between the copies, his sword a streak of silver death.
The demon's advantage had turned into a liability. The mass of clones became Useless. Each fallen illusion made it harder to hide.
The demon screamed, fury cracking its voice.
"How is this possible?!"
One by one, the clones were cut down.
Until only one remained.
The real one.
Leon stood across from it, breath calm, sword leveled. His eyes—cold and unwavering.
The demon stared at him, disbelief warping its face.
"W-what a mo—"
A single, horizontal slash.
SCHLK.
As the sentence was never finished.
The demon's head slid from its neck, spinning once before hitting the floor with a wet thud. The body stood for a moment longer... then collapsed beside it, lifeless.
Leon lowered his blade, exhaling slowly.
The room was silent again.
The illusions gone.
The demon—dead.
****
Upstairs, the mall's central floor was chaos.
Shattered tiles, flickering lights, and the bloodied remains of failed zealotry littered the path. At the heart of it all stood Adrian Peer, his blade glowing faintly with radiant energy, his shield raised and scuffed from the constant assault.
The cultists surrounded him like hungry dogs, but his eyes never left their leader—the man draped in jagged black robes, his presence more dangerous than the rest combined.
The followers didn't fight recklessly.
They flanked, distracted, and debuffed.
But Adrian was no common Taker.
While they came at him with Tier II weapons and petty tricks, he held in his hands the fruits of his first trial as a taker—a Tier V longsword, heavy and precise, and a Tier V shield, inscribed with runes that shimmered with defensive force.
But more than gear... he also had his talent.
[Extraordinary Talent: Full Counter]
Its first effect: reflect any attack with equal force.
The second: amplify that returned force—randomly and without warning.
A gamble.
A blessing.
A nightmare for anyone foolish enough to strike him.
He stood like a wall as the enemies closed in.
The cult leader narrowed his eyes from the back, murmuring an incantation, while his followers made their move.
Adrian's own eyes burned with calm fury as he stomped forward and activated his Taunt Skill.
"Come face me!" he roared, the power in his voice resonating with force.
The cultists froze for a heartbeat—then turned, eyes hollow, pulled forward by the compulsion.
"No!" the leader shouted. "Don't engage directly—keep the formation!"
But it was already too late.
The first cultist struck—blade singing toward Adrian's ribs.
The second followed, fire magic flaring at point-blank range.
A third leapt for his throat with a curved dagger glowing purple.
Adrian didn't dodge.
As full Counter—activated.
A sharp gleam flashed from his body. The strikes landed—
—then rebounded with twice the force.
The dagger-wielder flew backward, spine shattering against a concrete pillar. The fire mage exploded in his own blaze, screaming as the flames turned inward. The third cultist convulsed mid-air, her own poison blade embedded deep into her chest after a redirected swing.
In the span of a few minutes, Adrian had taken down all the followers.
The air grew still again with only the leader remaining.
Adrian lowered his shield, stepping through the smoke, unfazed.
The cult leader trembled—rage boiling across his twisted features.
"You wretched heretic! May God strike you down!"
Dark, pulsing waves began to rise from the cultist's body, forming a vile aura of corruption. Shadows licked at the tiles.
Magic seethed in his veins. Adrian's eyes narrowed, shield rising his mind calculating the threat.
'What is he doing?'
He took a half-step forward, muscles coiled to counter whatever came next.
But then—
His eyes widened.
As the cult leader turned and charged toward the exit.
"...⊙.☉" Adrian blinked. "...Huh?"
This wasn't a last stand. He was trying to run.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC33: EX 33. Broken Pride
Chapter 33: EX 33. Broken Pride
The cult leader burst through the hallway like a man possessed, his black robes trailing behind him, boots pounding against broken tiles. He didn't look back—not until he heard a furious voice echo behind him.
"Where do you think you're going!?"
Adrian had snapped out of his stunned daze, surging forward with burning resolve. He gritted his teeth, shield clutched tightly in one hand, sword gleaming in the other.
But no matter how hard he pushed, the gap only widened.
'Damn it! He's faster!'
Of course he was. Adrian was still F-rank, and the leader, judging by his presence and control, was at least E-rank. Worse—Adrian had no speed-enhancing skills or movement gear. His build was a Tanker, not a rogue .
'I can't let him get away!'
His muscles screamed as he forced himself to move faster.
Ahead, the cult leader grimaced as he glanced over his shoulder, spotting Adrian still on his tail despite the odds.
'What are these heretics breeding?! Why was a new Trial Taker strong enough to wipe out our entire team!?'
Fear twisted in his gut. Not just fear of death—but of what this boy represented.
'If this one gets the chance to grow stronger... he could ruin everything.'
He turned sharply down a service corridor, aiming for a shimmering crack in the mall's barrier—a hidden escape point created only for him, invisible to all others.
'I have to report this to the higher-ups. This boy... he must be erased before he becomes a threat to the Will of God.'
His hands surged with dark mana as he reached for the glyph controlling the passage.
Just a few more steps—
But the moment he reached it—
the barrier vanished.
Dissolved in an instant like smoke under wind.
The leader skidded to a halt, eyes wide.
"What?!"
Then—
CRACK.
A foot slammed into his skull like a hammer blow, sending him spinning through the air. His body whistled like a missile as it flew backward—straight toward Adrian.
Adrian's eyes widened as he saw the tumbling form hurtling toward him.
"...That counts as an attack," he muttered, setting his shield forward.
And the instant the cult leader collided with the shield, the stored kinetic energy erupted outward—reversing the blow with full force.
The man slammed into the tile floor so hard the ground cracked beneath him. His body convulsed once, then stilled.
His last thought before darkness took him:
'How...?'
Silence returned. Dust hung in the air. As Adrian stood, panting lightly, eyes locked on the unconscious cultist sprawled in front of him.
And then he turned.
His gaze landed on the one who had delivered the kick—
Leon Kael.
For a moment, Adrian blinked, caught off guard—not by Leon's sudden reappearance, though that raised questions.
No.
It was what he carried.
A demon corpse—slung casually over one shoulder.
Its severed head, tied neatly to Leon's belt like a grotesque trophy.
Adrian's mind stuttered.
'Wait...Don't tell me.'
His thoughts tried to form something logical. Something sane. But they just... stopped.
He stared at Leon, at the corpse, at the blood, at the calm expression on his rival's face.
'He didn't go missing during the battle... he was—fighting this thing?'
His mind short-circuited.
'What in the hell did this guy just fight... and how is he still standing?'
****
The cult leader lay sprawled at his feet, unconscious and broken.
But Adrian's attention had already shifted.
His eyes were glued to the thing Leon casually carried over his shoulder.
At first, he couldn't breathe.
Even in death, the demon's presence radiated pressure—a weight that pressed against Adrian's skin like a smothering hand. The sheer malice lingering in its corpse made the air feel heavy.
His instincts screamed.
This wasn't just any demon.
This... thing... had been powerful.
Adrian's thoughts reeled as he unconsciously clenched the hilt of his sword.
No way... That pressure... That's at least—
"D-rank," he muttered under his breath.
Maybe even higher.
His eyes darted to the corpse's warped limbs, the clawed hands, the horns that had cracked against some brutal impact. It was clearly killed in direct combat.
It didn't make sense.
Demons were naturally stronger than humans. Always had been. A demon's rank couldn't be compared evenly to a trial taker's.
'So how—?'
His voice escaped before he could think.
"Where did you go?"
He had to know. Maybe... just maybe, he was overthinking things. Maybe Leon had found the body already dead. Maybe he—
Leon interrupted that last, desperate hope with a shrug.
"I sensed a C-rank demon in the building. So I went to take it out. No big deal."
Adrian froze.
And then—
"C-RANK!?" he blurted, the words cracking in the air like a thunderclap.
His control shattered, composure lost. His thoughts spiraled.
A C-rank demon—killed—by Leon?
How is that—?
His gaze slowly moved over Leon's relaxed posture, the faint cuts on his shirt, the quiet confidence in his tone.
There was no arrogance in his voice. No smugness.
It wasn't a boast.
To Leon, it really wasn't a big deal.
That truth hit harder than any attack.
Adrian stood there silently, looking down, fists slowly curling at his sides. His gaze flicked to the floor, then back to Leon.
'Is this the ability of someone who's lost their drive...? Or is this just raw, monstrous talent?'
He didn't know.
And that frightened him more than anything.
'Will I... ever be able to catch up?'
The thought pierced him deeper than he expected.
His knuckles turned white.
He hated this feeling.
The same feeling that had once haunted him during his first week in the elite class. The feeling of being judged, dismissed, pitied.
He was the only one born without noble blood—without legacy. A Grounder who had clawed his way into the top. He trained longer. Fought harder. Pushed himself further than anyone else.
Except... him.
That stupid white-haired boy who barely seemed to try... and still stood higher.
Adrian buried that insecurity back then, locking it away. But he didn't heal it. He replaced it.
With pride.
With disdain for the weak.
With the sharpness of a blade pointed outward so it wouldn't turn inward.
That's why, when Leon had finished his first trial late, Adrian attacked. Not with weapons, but with words, with fury.
With denial.
Because deep down... he feared this exact moment.
Where the one he tried to bury in his own perception... rose above him so far he couldn't even see his back.
"No."
Adrian snapped out of his spiral.
He looked up. "What?"
Leon stood with the demon still on his shoulder, eyes calm, but sharp as steel.
"That look on your face," Leon said flatly. "It's obvious. You're thinking whether you can ever catch up to me."
Adrian flinched—just slightly—but it was enough.
He hated being seen through. He loathed it.
But the realization began to take hold.
Leon had seen it. Not just his reaction—but his doubt, his fear, his soul beneath the armor.
Before Adrian could speak—
Leon walked past him, the demon corpse still slung on his shoulder like luggage.
Without looking back, he said:
"Just know that no matter what you do... you won't be able to catch up."
And then, with maddening casualness:
"And to make you feel better... you're not the only one."
Adrian stood there in stunned silence.
"..."
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A/N: What do you guys think of Leon's personality.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC34: EX 34. No Credit
Chapter 34: EX 34. No Credit
Adrian didn't move.
Not at first.
Leon's words hung in the air like a lingering echo—quiet but thunderous in Adrian's mind.
"Just know that no matter what you do... you won't be able to catch up."
His fists were clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. His jaw locked. A tremor rolled through his body like a storm waiting to break.
And for a split second...
It looked like he would explode.
But then just as if a switch had been flipped—
He stilled.
His breath evened out. His shoulders loosened. His fists slowly unclenched.
And then—
"Hahahaha."
A laugh.
At first low and sharp, almost bitter.
But then it swelled.
"Hahahahahaha!!"
It was loud, unrestrained and echoed through the mall's broken silence.
Leon stopped walking.
His boots scuffed against the cracked tiles as he turned around, eyes wide with genuine concern. He stared at Adrian like he was a man gone mad.
'Don't tell me I broke him.' Leon thought, bewildered.
"...Are you okay?" he asked cautiously.
But Adrian didn't answer. Not with words.
He just kept laughing, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes—not from sadness or pain, but something else entirely. Something liberating.
Eventually, the laughter gradually faded into the air, quieting into nothingness.
Adrian looked up at Leon.
And smiled.
A real one.
It was not smug, sarcastic or forced.
Just... honest.
"Thank you, Leon."
Leon blinked, unsure how to react.
"...Huh?"
But Adrian had already moved.
He strode toward the unconscious cult leader and hoisted the man over his shoulder with a grunt. Then, without another word, he walked past Leon—his steps lighter, his posture calmer, his presence somehow different.
Like a man who'd finally dropped a weight he'd been carrying for years.
Leon turned slowly, watching him go, the demon corpse still slung over his own shoulder. He squinted after Adrian for a long moment, confused.
'What the hell was that about?'
He scratched the back of his neck.
But after thinking it over for a bit and not coming up with anything, he just brushed it off and went after Adrian.
Leon didn't know it, but to Adrian—
That truth had set him free.
For so long, he had been training to reach something—someone—he could never quite touch. Leon was the mark. The unreachable standard. And no matter how hard Adrian pushed himself, that gap only widened.
He buried that frustration. Covered it in arrogance. Masked it in pride.
But now...
Now there was nothing left to chase.
Because Leon had removed the illusion.
It should've been crushing.
But instead, it was like breathing fresh air after years in a cage.
For the first time, Adrian wasn't training to match someone else's shadow.
He would train to meet his own ceiling.
Not Leon's.
His.
There's no better feeling than giving up, some people said.
But this wasn't giving up.
This was letting go.
And that made all the difference.
Leon had no idea.
But today, with just a few offhanded words, he had changed Adrian Peer more than any battle ever could.
And Adrian...
Was finally free to become his true self.
****
The ruined mall was quiet now.
As Leon and Adrian returned to the first floor, the echo of their boots against the cracked tiles was the only sound that accompanied them. The once grand central fountain, now a pile of rubble and scorched stone, sat at the heart of the floor like a broken monument.
The shoppers were gone they had fled the moment the barrier vanished.
Only silence, dust, and the smell of blood remained.
Leon dropped the demon corpse with a dull thud beside the unconscious leader. Adrian then gathered the cultist bodies.
They had started tying them together using cords from Adrian's inventory.
"The defense military should be here any second," Adrian muttered.
Leon gave a small nod, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek.
But just as he turned to check the mall entrance
They arrived.
A dozen men in matte-black military uniforms marched in with clinical precision. Their gear was light but tactical, designed to be worn beneath the standard-issue armor held in their inventories.
They moved fast, silently forming a tight perimeter around Leon and Adrian.
Leon's eyes narrowed.
His instincts screamed at him.
'That's the defense military—but something's off.'
Then came the final figure.
A middle-aged man with sharp white hair and a squared jaw walked in last, every step deliberate. His uniform bore the insignia of the unit captain, though no name tag was visible.
His icy eyes swept over the two trial takers like they were insects beneath his boot.
He came to a stop in front of them and barked out:
"Contain the demon and round up the heretics."
There was no explanation, greeting or recognition.
The soldiers moved at once.
As they began to drag the restrained cultists toward containment units as well as the demons corpse.
Leon and Adrian cooperated without a word.
But inside?
Leon's mind was racing.
'They're treating us like strangers... no, worse—like liabilities.'
The first warning bell was the delay. The defense military should have arrived much sooner. Not instantly, of course they weren't omniscient. But by now?
It was too slow...
The second?
They hadn't asked a single question. Not about the demon. Not about the barrier. Not about the cultists. Nothing.
'If you can't say thank you at least you can give us some credit points.'
Leon thought unpleased.
He was a noble—sure. But that didn't mean he didn't appreciate getting paid. A C-rank demon corpse alone should've earned him more credits than a week's allowance.
He shifted slightly, about to voice a complaint—when everything changed.
Shrrkk!
In unison, the soldiers equipped their armor and unsheathed their weapons.
Twelve weapons were now aimed directly at Leon.
Adrian tensed beside him, reflexively reaching for his shield.
The white-haired commander stepped forward, now clad in a sleek black armor, and stared at Leon like he was looking at a criminal.
"Leon Kael," he said coldly, voice echoing through the ruined mall.
"You are under arrest. For gross negligence of Federation trial law, and willfully engaging in a trial beyond the assigned trial difficulty."
A pause.
Then—
Leon blinked.
His brain short-circuited for a fraction of a second before it finally clicked .
"...Shit."
****
Demon's Stats
Strength: 550
Speed: 550
Vitality: 650
Stamina: 530
Senses: 450
Dark Mana: 600
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A/N: Mass release today, as thanks for you guys support.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC35: EX 35. Cooperation
Chapter 35: EX 35. Cooperation
The Federation was a military nation—through and through.
After decades of endless war with the demons, anything less would have been foolish. It wasn't just a nation that had an army; the army was the nation.
The endless conflict had shaped every aspect of society—from education and governance to culture and law. But nowhere was this more evident than in the structure of the military itself, which had evolved not for politics, but for pure survival.
Over time, one critical adaptation had emerged: a bifurcation of military power into two distinct branches, each with a singular purpose.
The Attack Military was the Federation's spearhead. They weren't built to defend—they were built to advance.
Their mission was aggressive and simple: expand the Federation's territory, push the frontlines, and strike at the heart of demon-controlled lands. Every forward base, every reclaimed inch of land, every experimental operation beyond the known borders—these were their domain.
They were soldiers of conquest, hardened by blood and ambition.
But more than just expansionists, they had a higher calling:
To discover how to exterminate the demons entirely.
Not contain. Not survive.
Eradicate.
In contrast, the Defense Military served as the Federation's shield.
They were the watchmen of civilization—the ones stationed at borders and key regions. Their goal wasn't conquest, but protection: repelling invasions, monitoring demon movements, and ensuring the safety of every citizen within Federation territory.
But their duties extended beyond the battlefield.
The Defense Military was also the military police.
From demon infiltrations and cultist attacks to internal threats like corrupted trial takers, the Defense branch had jurisdiction.
They enforced the Federation's laws, maintained order, and handled arrests when necessary—even if the target was a noble.
And today, that was why Leon Kael stood surrounded.
He had crossed a line. A trial restriction law—meant to keep lower-ranked trial takers from recklessly engaging in trials they weren't authorized or prepared for—had allegedly been broken.
And because of that, the Defense Military had every right to arrest him.
****
A dozen soldiers still surrounded Leon in a tight, disciplined formation. Their dark uniforms rustled slightly with each breath, their weapons still pointed at Leon.
The atmosphere thick with tension.
The white-haired captain stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he spoke with practiced authority.
"Do not resist. Any defiance will be added to your charges."
Leon didn't respond.
One of the soldiers stepped toward him, carrying an anti-resonance restrainer—a device designed to block a trial taker's talent and prevent any skill activation. But Leon wasn't focused on the restraint.
His mind had shifted into overdrive.
'How did they find out?'
He hadn't told anyone—no one—except his family. And he trusted them implicitly. His parents wouldn't betray him. His sister? She'd punch anyone who even suggested it.
'Then... how?'
The soldier kept walking, closing the distance slowly—his footsteps loud in the quiet plaza—but Leon's thoughts were moving at lightning speed, calculating, sifting, eliminating possibilities.
'Unless... they don't know and they are just acting on suspicion.'
It clicked.
And in that moment, another piece of the puzzle slid into place.
'There's only one family petty—and powerful—enough to orchestrate something like this.'
The soldier's hand was already halfway to Leon's wrist, restrainer in hand, when Leon spoke, voice low—so cold it sliced through the air like a blade:
"The Ferans."
The moment the name left his lips.
All the soldiers felt it as the temperature instantly dropped.
Even the C-rank captain stumbled back half a step as a primal bloodlust saturated the air—thick, suffocating, powerful. It pressed down on their shoulders like the weight of an executioner's blade.
Adrian, standing silently beside Leon, flinched. The pressure wasn't directed at him, but he still felt it.
Felt it and realized—it wasn't even Leon's full killing intent.
Just a taste.
The soldier froze, inches from Leon, his hand trembling as he held the restrainer. His instincts screamed at him not to move.
Then Leon spoke again.
Cool. Sharp. Absolute.
"You don't need to restrain me. I'll cooperate."
The bloodlust suddenly vanished.
As if a switch had been flipped.
Every soldier gasped softly, finally able to breathe again. Even the captain's hand shook slightly. He looked down at his own fingers, surprised. That pressure... It wasn't just killing intent. It felt like death incarnate had been looking straight at them.
The restraining soldier turned, pale, and looked to his commander for guidance.
"Captain... what should I do?"
The captain's lips parted, but no words came out at first. He stared at Leon—eyes narrowed, heart still racing. A single thought ran through his mind:
'What kind of monster was I assigned to arrest?'
He shook off the fear and tried to reassert control. He was a C-ranker. This meant his stats should far surpass someone that was just in F rank.
After using those thoughts to reestablish his confidence he spoke but his voice lacked its earlier edge.
"Let him be. As long as he cooperates, we can escort him without restraints."
The soldier exhaled in visible relief, backing away like he'd just escaped a guillotine.
And Leon?
He didn't even glance at him.
The formation shifted. Two soldiers took the lead, the others forming a loose escort around Leon as they headed toward the armored vehicle parked just outside the ruined plaza.
As they walked, Leon turned over his shoulder, looking at Adrian.
"Sorry the day didn't turn out as planned."
His tone was light, as if they were wrapping up a casual stroll—not facing a military arrest.
"But once I'm done with these imbeciles, we can plan another outing."
The insult didn't go unnoticed by the soldiers.
But none dared to respond.
Adrian blinked. He wanted to say something—anything—but the sheer confidence Leon carried in that moment silenced him. All he could manage was:
"...Alright."
Leon's lips tugged into a half-smile.
"Good."
And with that, he turned and stepped into the vehicle, surrounded by soldiers too afraid to meet his gaze.
Adrian watched him go, the cold still lingering in the air.
And for the first time, he realized something simple... and terrifying:
Leon wasn't just strong.
He was something else entirely.
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EX-RANK AWAKENING: MY ATTACKS MAKE ME STRONGERC36: EX 36. You Owe Me An Arm
Chapter 36: EX 36. You Owe Me An Arm
Leon sat alone in a bare, dimly lit room, his expression blank, eyes half-lidded in disinterest. The soldiers had dropped him off without a word, not even pretending to follow protocol.
The moment the door shut behind them, they left—quickly—like they couldn't get away fast enough.
The room itself was claustrophobic, stripped down to the essentials: four steel-gray walls, no windows, a bolted door, a rusted table, and a single chair placed opposite Leon's.
Above, a single bulb hung from the ceiling on a loose wire. It flickered every so often, casting weak, uneven light that barely counted as illumination, more shadow than glow—like it had long since given up the will to shine.
Outside, muffled screams echoed through the concrete halls—agonized and broken. They were the cries of people mid-interrogation. The sounds were clearly intentional, engineered to crawl under the skin.
The entire room was built with a singular purpose: psychological erosion.
Magic laced into the walls to amplify fear. Soundproofing calibrated to let just enough torment in.
A waiting game designed to gnaw at the nerves. Someone had spent a lot of time perfecting this setup.
But Leon?
Leon was bored.
He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed.
At least they got something right. The boredom was real.
The architects of this room would be crushed if they knew how utterly ineffective their work was. It wasn't that they'd failed—the design was solid, well-crafted, refined for F-rank trial takers.
But putting Leon in here was like locking a predator in a playpen made of plastic bricks.
First, the flickering darkness was completely useless against Leon.
His high Sense stat compensated entirely, allowing him to see more clearly in the gloom than most could in daylight.
Second, the screams?
They didn't disturb him. If anything, they gave the room an ambiance. His Sense stat once again dulled any emotional impact. If these people wanted to affect him, they'd need something beyond recycled terror.
'My Sense stat really does a lot' Leon thought idly, tapping a finger against the steel table. 'Might be worth investing more in it going forward.'
Just then, the door clicked open.
A man stepped in, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a pressed black uniform and an identification card that swung from his neck:
Anthony Gordon.
He carried himself with practiced arrogance, that same overconfidence Leon had seen earlier from the previous captain—before that man's pride crumbled beneath a wave of killing intent.
Gordon closed the door slowly behind him.
Then he walked around the table, not rushing, placing each step like he owned the room.
He stopped beside Leon and stared down at him.
Leon looked up lazily, unmoved.
The silence dragged.
Before Gordon finally said.
"You're a tough one," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Then, without warning, he placed a firm hand on Leon's right shoulder, leaning in slightly.
"But everyone breaks eventually."
Leon's eyes narrowed—not in fear, but in irritation.
He whispered something under his breath, too low for Gordon to hear.
Gordon's brows furrowed.
"What did you say?"
Leon tilted his head slightly and replied, voice calm, sharp, and chilling:
"Get your hand off me... unless you want to lose it."
For a moment, the bulb flickered again—this time not from poor wiring, but as if the air itself had shifted.
And Gordon?
He froze.
****
Gordon stood frozen, eyes locked on Leon.
He hadn't even realized when his hand withdrew from the boy's shoulder—a subconscious retreat, almost instinctual.
It wasn't until the cold air brushed against his palm that he noticed it was gone.
'Did I just... pull away?'
His jaw tightened.
'Am I scared?'
The very thought repulsed him.
He clenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing, his pride flaring like a wounded beast.
'Impossible. Why would I be scared of a brat?'
A flicker of shame turned into anger. Needing to reassert control, Gordon suddenly lashed out—
SLAP.
His palm cracked across Leon's face with a sharp echo, the force snapping Leon's head to the side. The metal table rattled from the motion.
"Just because you're a noble," Gordon sneered, venom curling in his voice, "don't think you can run your mouth however you like."
Leon didn't respond.
He stayed still, his face turned, strands of white hair covering his eyes as silence settled between them.
He wasn't stunned by the strike.
He was restraining himself.
He knew the law—trial takers under investigation couldn't retaliate against enforcement officers, no matter the provocation.
But that didn't stop him from speaking.
Leon slowly turned his head back toward Gordon. His blue eyes, once dull with boredom, now gleamed with a frost-sharp chill.
When he spoke, his tone was calm—but carried the weight of a quiet, deadly promise.
"You're owing me a hand."
Gordon's breath caught in his throat.
For a moment, he almost stepped back.
Almost.
There wasn't even a mark on Leon's face. Not a welt, not a bruise—nothing. It was like the slap had struck stone.
'What the hell...?' Gordon thought, his heart pounding. 'How is he still talking like that?'
And worse—that look.
That detached, unreadable glare that said, you're nothing.
It made something in Gordon snap.
Fury overrode caution as he raised his arm again, ready to strike harder, to make Leon feel it this time—
BANG!
The door slammed open.
A young soldier rushed in, his expression tense.
"Sir!" he barked.
Gordon snarled, arm still halfway raised.
"What do you think you're doing? Interrupting an interrogation?!"
The soldier stiffened, swallowing nervously.
"It's a call for you, sir. it's Urgent."
Gordon exhaled sharply through his nose, the veins in his neck taut with frustration.
He turned, snatched the ringing device from the soldier's hand, and waved him off with a dismissive flick. The door shut quickly behind the retreating soldier.
As Gordon pressed the receiver to his ear, barely restraining his temper.
"This better be good."
****
Gordon had always hated nobles.
But it wasn't the kind of hate born from rivalry or injustice.
It was the kind of hate birthed from wounded pride, from the festering belief that he should have been above them all.
From a young age, Gordon stood out—broad-shouldered, sharp-witted, faster than his peers at everything that mattered.
He was told he was special. He believed it.
And when the trial resonance awakened in him, that belief solidified into an unshakable delusion:
He was destined for greatness.
But that illusion cracked—and then shattered completely—the day he stepped into the one-year training program.
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A/N: Please send power stones and leave reviews.
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