E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn’t Exist

Back on the battlefield, chaos reigned.

The war had reached a fever pitch as the allied forces struggled to hold their ground. Explosions rocked the earth, cries of pain echoed through the fields, and monstrous roars cut through the noise like thunder. But amidst the chaos, there was a shift — a faint glimmer of hope. Reinforcements had arrived. Elite heroes, clad in specialized armor, joined the fray. Their arrival brought structure to the scattered defense. Together, they began pushing back the monstrous tide — three-tailed scorpion beasts, deadly and merciless, fell one after another under their coordinated assaults.

But the danger wasn't just from the beasts. The Red Vanguards, elite warriors of the enemy faction, cut through the battlefield like reapers. Swift, silent, and impossibly deadly, they targeted key heroes, trying to turn the tide by eliminating the strongest defenders.

In one corner of the field, two heroes — brothers in all but blood — stood side by side.

Surrounded by the grotesque forms of one-tailed and two-tailed scorpion beasts, the duo fought with every ounce of strength they had left. Their bodies screamed in protest, fatigue threatening to claim them, but neither faltered. Their armor was dented, cracked, and smeared with blood — theirs and their enemies'. Still, they fought on, backs to each other, blades flashing, powers flaring.

The battle was merciless.

One of them, Maz, parried a lunging stinger before unleashing a flame burst that incinerated a one-tailed beast. The other, Rynn, ducked under a leaping scorpion and drove his lightning-charged spear through its underbelly. Again and again, they were attacked, but again and again, they stood tall.

They didn't survive because of luck.

It was their unbreakable synergy, forged through countless battles, and their enhanced gear — armor forged from Aetherium alloy, weapons bonded to their life force. But most of all, they endured because they refused to fall. Their willpower was unyielding, and that, more than anything, was what carried them through.

Finally, with a scream of rage and triumph, they struck down the last of the beasts.

Gasping, bleeding, and barely standing, the two warriors leaned on each other, victorious. Maz gave a weary, trembling smile as he looked at his partner.

"Never thought… we'd be slaying multiple B-rank beasts like this," he panted. "We've come a long way, huh?"

Rynn chuckled hoarsely, nodding. "Too far to die now."

But then, something shifted.

Rynn's eyes widened in horror.

"Maz—RUN!"

Maz turned — too slowly.

Out of nowhere, a thin, obsidian-black blade, gleaming with a sickening light, shot forward like a phantom. It sliced through Maz's midsection with chilling precision. There was no scream. No gasp. Maz's body simply separated into two halves and fell to the blood-soaked earth with a dull, wet thud.

Rynn froze. Time seemed to stand still.

Standing where Maz had once been… was a monster in human skin.

He wore blood-red armor that seemed to pulse with malice. His long black hair flowed behind him like ink in water, his eyes devoid of empathy, compassion, or even acknowledgment. The man didn't speak, didn't smirk, didn't celebrate the kill. It was as if Maz had been nothing but a speck of dust to be brushed aside.

A Red Vanguard Commander.

Rynn trembled as despair overtook him. His rage, sorrow, and heartbreak mixed into something far more dangerous — dread. Utter, inescapable dread. The pressure coming from the red-armored figure was suffocating. Rynn didn't need to be told — he knew. He was no match for this man. None of them were.

"Pathetic," the Red Vanguard muttered coldly, voice like steel scraping stone. "You insects always cower in the face of real power."

He blurred forward in the blink of an eye. One moment he was yards away — the next, he stood directly in front of Rynn, his black needle-like blade arcing downward for the kill.

Rynn couldn't move.

His body was frozen, paralyzed by fear. His heart pounded like a war drum as the blade descended. He saw his death in that glint — his life flashing before his eyes.

But just before the blade could cleave him apart—

CLANG!

A metallic ring tore through the air, followed by a shockwave that sent dust flying. The Red Vanguard twisted midair and was forced to retreat, landing several steps away. His expression shifted, ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing.

Rynn collapsed to the ground, gasping, saved by the narrowest of margins.

Someone… had intervened.

The Red Vanguard face showed a flicker of surprise.

Standing right in front of the trembling, wounded hero was a young man clad entirely in black, his presence silent yet dominating. His sharp, layered coat fluttered faintly in the lingering shockwaves of the clash. In his hand, a sleek blade hummed with a soft, violet glow, crackling with restrained energy. His eyes—an unnatural, glowing purple—locked firmly on the red-armored figure before him. He had appeared out of nowhere, intercepting the fatal blow with a single upward slash that deflected the deadly attack.

Ronan.

The young hero behind him could only gape in awe and relief.

Ronan glanced back with a calm, almost bored expression and gave a terse command. "Get out of here."

The hero didn't need to be told twice. With his remaining strength and adrenaline spiking, he vanished into the chaos of the battlefield like a shadow, too grateful to look back.

Ronan blinked, slightly amused. "That was fast."

His lips quirked almost imperceptibly, then returned to their usual deadpan stillness. His glowing gaze turned back to the red Vanguard, who now stood motionless a few paces away, stunned. A thin line of blood traced down the Vanguard's cheek. He slowly raised a thumb and wiped it off, staring at the crimson smear. If he had reacted even a split-second later, that blade might have split his skull.

"You've got skill," the red Vanguard said at last, his voice low and edged with a rare seriousness. "It's almost a shame I have to kill you. Almost."

Ronan didn't blink. His voice remained flat, but it carried a deadly chill.

"Can't say I feel the same. I've slain plenty of red Vanguards over the past few months. Taking you down…" He paused. A small spark danced across his blade. "Will be particularly satisfying."

The red Vanguard narrowed his eyes. "You heroes are all the same. Arrogant to the end."

But Ronan didn't respond. His glowing purple eyes didn't waver. He simply blinked.

Then he vanished.

The red Vanguard's instincts screamed—he spun around, his thin obsidian blade arcing like a crescent moon toward where Ronan had just reappeared. The weapon sliced through the air with lethal precision.

But something was wrong.

The figure before him wasn't Ronan.

It was one of his own. A red Vanguard—his comrade.

Too late.

The needle-like blade pierced the man cleanly through the neck, bursting out the other side with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed into the air as the slain warrior's body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

The red Vanguard's eyes widened in horror.

He had just killed one of his own.

Across from him, Ronan stood a few meters away, watching with mild interest. His blade was still crackling with energy. Though his expression remained unreadable, something about his posture… the faint twitch of amusement in his brow… it mocked the Vanguard more than words ever could.

"A tooth for a tooth," Ronan said calmly, his voice like held a cool edge. "An eye for an eye."

The message was clear.

You took the life of a hero moments ago… now I've taken one of yours.

"You bastard!" the red Vanguard roared, eyes blazing with fury. "You have no honor!"

He exploded forward with terrifying force, his feet shattering the earth beneath him. The gap between them closed in an instant, and his blade came screaming toward Ronan's chest like a meteor.

Steel clashed with steel.

The force of their collision sent out a violent shockwave that tore through the battlefield. The very air around them howled as the two became a whirlwind of blades and shadows. Sparks flew. Dust swirled. The sound of clashing metal rang out like thunder.

The red Vanguard's technique was brutal—relying on sheer ferocity and speed, his movements were a calculated chaos. Every strike blended unorthodox flexibility with sudden, rigid force, creating unpredictable, devastating attacks that could crush even elite warriors.

But Ronan was no ordinary warrior.

He moved like a ghost. Where the red Vanguard's attacks came with hurricane-like power, Ronan flowed like water—evasive, fluid, and surgical. Every block, every parry was precise, turning the Vanguard's force against him. Ronan's blade, lighter and smaller, glowed brighter with each exchange, absorbing energy and vibrating with deadly resonance.

Their movements were a dance of death—each slash and thrust punctuated by the screech of steel, the crackle of energy, and the harsh growls of exertion.

"You fight like a beast," Ronan muttered mid-clash, his voice sharp over the din. "But beasts fall all the same."

"You'll be the one falling!" the Vanguard snarled, slamming down a heavy strike. Ronan countered with a swift upward slash that twisted his opponent's wrist and nearly disarmed him.

The red Vanguard stumbled back a step, breathing heavily, fury burning in his gaze.

Ronan didn't press forward.

He simply stood still—his blade lowered slightly, his body relaxed, his violet eyes glowing faintly in the darkened battlefield.

Unshaken. Silent.

Waiting for the next mistake.

And the red Vanguard knew… deep down, despite all his power, all his rage—

He was on the back foot.

To be continued...

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