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

Any regular swordmaster facing the Red Vanguard would've been in serious trouble. His mastery of the blade, his movements that danced between calculated chaos and controlled brutality, were enough to overwhelm most opponents. But Ronan wasn't just any swordsman—he was a monster in his own right.

With every slash and clash, Ronan adapted fluidly. His mind worked like a puzzle master, effortlessly reading the flow of battle and slowly decoding the rhythm of his opponent's attacks. Though the Red Vanguard pressed the offensive, Ronan didn't just block—he struck back with precise, probing attacks that forced his foe to reveal even more of his style.

The battle raged on, a blur of black and red steel. They moved so fast, the ground beneath them was torn apart, and winds surged around them from the sheer force of their footwork and swings.

Then, in a heartbeat, Ronan vanished.

Where he once stood, a glinting silver needle now floated in midair. The Red Vanguard's eyes widened for a moment—but not in fear. He spun, instincts razor sharp, and his blade whipped behind him just in time to clash with Ronan's sudden reappearance. Sparks flew. But Ronan was already gone again, crouching low and shooting forward like a shadow in the wind.

He appeared at the Red Vanguard's left, his blade aiming straight for the man's temple with lethal precision.

But the Red Vanguard wasn't a leader by chance.

With a flick of his wrist, the thin, needle-like blade in his hand bent unnaturally—like a whip—and lashed toward Ronan's head. A shrill, piercing sound split the air, followed by the unmistakable splatter of blood gushing violently.

The Red Vanguard smirked as he turned to his right, confident he had landed the fatal blow. His smile, however, faltered... and then completely vanished.

Standing where Ronan should've been was another Red Vanguard soldier—one of his own men. A massive, smoking hole bored clean through the center of his forehead told the story: the leader had mistakenly killed his own ally.

The Red Vanguard's expression contorted with disbelief and fury, veins throbbing at his temple. His blood-red eyes now burned brighter, seething with rage.

Some meters away, Ronan stood calmly, unfazed, his purple-glowing eyes staring with icy indifference. Though his face remained mostly expressionless, there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes that only served to further enrage his opponent.

Then Ronan did something unexpected.

He raised a single finger toward the Red Vanguard.

"You remember what I said earlier?" Ronan asked in a low, almost mocking tone. "A tooth for a tooth, an eye for an eye?"

The Red Vanguard said nothing. His jaw clenched tightly, lips pressed into a bitter line as fury continued to boil inside him.

"Well," Ronan continued, his voice calm as he raised a second finger. "I've changed my mind."

His eyes narrowed slightly, glowing ever so faintly.

"I think two eyes for one is fair... and maybe two teeth too. Just to make it balanced."

The Red Vanguard's face darkened even more. His already crimson eyes seemed to bleed with wrath, staring at Ronan with undiluted hatred. He had underestimated this man, and now he was losing more than just the battle—he was losing his composure, his men, and perhaps soon, his mentality and then, his life.

Ronan's blade lifted, his stance relaxed yet razor-sharp.

The Red Vanguard's crimson eyes seemed to deepen in color, darkening with rage as he stared at Ronan with pure hostility.

"Bastard… how am I supposed to believe anything you say?" he spat bitterly, gripping the hilt of his thin blade.

Without waiting for a reply, he shot forward with blinding speed, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His needle-thin blade gleamed menacingly as it descended toward Ronan's skull—but Ronan, calm and unreadable as ever, shifted his stance and parried it aside with effortless precision.

He let out a light chuckle and replied, "Don't worry—you can trust me. I'm quite the honest guy. But if you ever meet my partner—blond hair, sly grin—don't believe a single word that comes out of his mouth. That guy's a walking lie."

Normally, Ronan would've ended the fight without much talking—his blade was usually more expressive than his tongue. But lately, he'd been following Aiden's advice:

"If you want to blend in more, make your enemies talk first. Learn to pull words from their mouths before you take their lives. It makes talking to allies less awkward too."

Still, that wasn't the real reason Ronan had suddenly become chatty. He was curious. He wanted to understand what Aiden felt in those moments—when he played with his opponents, teasing them, pushing them to their breaking point. Was it joy? Satisfaction? Excitement?

He looked at the fallen Red Vanguards, their bodies torn apart… by their own leader.

His expression didn't change, but deep inside, a conclusion echoed in his mind:

"I get it now. Aiden might feel something… but me?"

He clenched his sword tighter. "I feel nothing. No joy, no thrill. I would've preferred to kill them myself. That would've been more satisfying."

Just as the thought passed, his instincts screamed. From all four directions—left, right, front, and rear—blades came slicing toward him.

In a blur, Ronan reacted. But instead of blocking any of the incoming slashes directly, his sword shot upward above his head—

CLANG!

A sharp, metallic clash echoed across the battlefield. Sparks flew.

The real attack had come from above.

"That won't work on me," Ronan muttered, his tone colder than before.

The four versions of his opponent—illusions—vanished, confirming his suspicion.

The real Red Vanguard landed some distance away, exchanging another brief set of attacks with Ronan before leaping back to reassess. His red eyes narrowed into slits.

"I'm done playing around," he declared, voice sharp.

The ground beneath him cracked as he braced himself.

Then, his body vanished. So did his blade.

The air rippled as his stealth technique activated, cloaking him in invisibility.

Finally using your skill, Ronan mused, his gaze calmly scanning the surroundings. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Sincerely… you're not the only one who hasn't been fighting seriously," he said aloud. "Same goes for me."

Then his eyes flashed—a deep, menacing purple.

He raised his blade.

"But let's end this here. I've got more cursed ones to kill."

With a single step, Ronan dashed forward.

---

Meanwhile, across the chaotic battlefield, Shae was locked in a duel of her own against another Red Vanguard.

Their swords had clashed dozens of times already, neither giving the other a clear edge. Despite the pace of the battle, Shae had to admit—this man's swordsmanship was superior to hers.

She had only managed to stay unscathed by relying on her unique skill set and the fundamentals she had managed to absorb from Ronan's sparring sessions. It wasn't perfect, but it gave her enough to stay alive.

Blades rang, sparks danced, and finally the two combatants separated once again.

They stared at each other, chest heaving, exhaustion etched into their eyes.

Shae stood tall, determination burning in her gaze. She gripped her glowing blue sword with both hands, her stance ready for another round.

But something had changed.

Looking closer, she realized the Red Vanguard's armor was torn in several places. Deep gashes across his body leaked blood. His shoulders were slumped—his breath labored.

He had been the main aggressor from the beginning, constantly pressing the assault…

Yet ironically, Shae had inflicted more damage.

Maybe it was the nature of her blade. Or perhaps the skill she possessed was too troublesome to counter. Maybe her armor was simply more durable.

Whatever the reason, one thing was clear:

If they continued like this… he would lose.

"It's been an honor fighting you," the Red Vanguard said, voice heavy with mock respect. "Had this been under different circumstances, I would have spared your life. But you're part of the invading force… and there's only one thing you deserve—"

His crimson eyes glinted.

"Death."

Shae stared him down, her expression utterly unmoved. No fear. No tremble. Just cool defiance.

This fool really thought her fate was sealed?

Let him dream.

The Red Vanguard raised his massive greatblade and twisted the hilt. In response, a violent spiral of red-hot flame erupted along the sword's edge. Using his skill, he compressed the flames, forcing them into thin, deadly lines of concentrated energy that wrapped around the blade like glowing veins. The heat intensified—redder, hotter, more ferocious.

He planned to end it all in one overwhelming blow.

And he wasn't bluffing.

With a thunderous burst of power, he launched himself forward, feet ripping into the ground, blade raised high, roaring as he came for her like a meteor.

But Shae didn't just stand there waiting for death.

No.

With a sharp breath, she brandished her blade—its surface shimmering with ethereal blue light. It thrummed with energy, alive with a force far older than flame. Without hesitation, she dashed forward, her eyes locked on his.

Their blades met in midair—one blazing with fire, the other glowing with an icy radiance.

Sparks exploded.

The Red Vanguard smirked mid-swing. "Foolish hero," he muttered under his breath. "You dare stop my red-hot energy head-on? With that frail little sword?"

He expected her to be blown back. Expected her blade to shatter. Expected her to fall.

He was wrong.

There was no resistance.

None.

His smirk faltered. Confusion flickered in his eyes.

Then—realization struck.

Danger.

He tried to disengage—but it was too late.

Shae's sword slid effortlessly through his blade—then straight through him.

A clean, perfect cut.

The impact came a heartbeat later. His body froze, and in one blinding flash, he split clean in two.

His smirk was gone now.

His eyes wide.

He couldn't even scream.

He just fell.

Two halves crumbling to the ground, steam rising from the glowing gash that cut him from shoulder to hip.

Silence.

Shae stood tall, sword still humming in her grip, hair rustling in the hot wind.

She exhaled, barely sparing the corpse a glance.

Then she muttered under her breath, eyes calm:

"Impressive speech. Pity it ended like this."

To be continued…