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

The battlefield had reached a critical tipping point. Ironically, the number of beasts the allied forces were facing had dwindled considerably. No extraordinary waves, no reinforcements—just the remnants of the horde, scattered and battered.

Yet, despite the reduced numbers, the intensity of the battle had never been higher. The main reason for this sudden escalation was none other than the arrival of the Dreadknights.

True to their name, these monstrous warriors were walking nightmares, radiating a chaotic, almost maniacal presence.

Their numbers were not overwhelming—yet even the lower-ranked heroes didn't stand a chance against them.

In the brief moments since the Dreadknights had entered the fray, several allied heroes had already fallen, a grim testament to their power.

The elite heroes, however, quickly assessed the threat. They were the only ones capable of standing toe-to-toe with the Dreadknights.

Even so, the sheer might of these creatures exceeded expectations, pushing the battlefield into a state of pure devastation.

Across the scorched, battered landscape, the clash of forces tore through the already ravaged land, leaving deep gouges and shattered terrain in its wake.

In the heart of the battlefield, Bron faced a particularly vicious Dreadknight. Two massive, spectral white hands hovered in front of him, poised to crush the monstrous foe beneath their weight.

But the Dreadknight was no ordinary target—it moved with uncanny speed and awareness, evading most of Bron's crushing blows with terrifying precision.

Closing the distance between itself and Bron in mere seconds, it became a blur of dark energy and menace.

Before Bron could react fully, the Dreadknight unleashed a wave of frost-laced dark energy. Recognizing the lethal force behind the strike, Bron refused to meet it head-on.

Instead, he deactivated the massive hands hovering nearby and used his white gauntlet to reshape them into a more versatile form. From the gauntlet, a shimmering barrier emerged, absorbing the full brunt of the attack.

Deep cracks spidered across its surface—just a few more strikes like this, and it would shatter completely. Yet Bron didn't need to fear it just yet; he had another plan.

A dark-pink arrow streaked across the battlefield, aimed straight at the Dreadknight. The monster's massive hand caught it midair, the force propelling it across the ground.

Yet the arrow regained its balance, spinning in a deadly arc. The Dreadknight's visor glowed red as its gaze locked onto Shin, who stood atop a pile of fallen beasts, forming a grotesque pillar of corpses.

Bron tilted his head, trying to read the creature's intent—but with a mind like that of a Dreadknight, no prediction could be trusted.

Time was of the essence. Bron activated the full power of his gauntlet. The white barrier dissolved instantly, replaced by two pairs of colossal hands materializing midair. Without hesitation, Bron formed them into fists and hurled them toward the Dreadknight. The air vibrated with the sheer force of the assault.

Despite the chaos, Bron didn't falter. He pressed forward, driven by focus and fury. The Dreadknight's mind might have been a nightmare of strategy and anticipation.

Bron wasted no time. Channeling the full power of his gauntlet, he deactivated the white barrier, letting it dissolve into shimmering fragments of light.

In its place, two pairs of massive, spectral white hands materialized midair, hovering with menacing precision. Without pause, Bron clenched them into fists and sent them hurtling toward the Dreadknight.

The monster's visor flared bright red as it tracked the incoming fists, then it glanced at the dark pink arrow still clutched in its hand.

A surge of dark energy coalesced around the arrow, causing it to hum with lethal force. With a swift motion, the Dreadknight hurled the arrow directly at Bron.

The projectile struck the first fist with a bone-shattering impact, splintering it instantly. The second fist cracked under the blow, deep fissures snaking across its surface.

Bron barely had a moment to react before the Dreadknight leapt into the air. A shockwave of dark energy radiated from its hand, tearing through the already damaged second fist.

Splinters of the shattered hand rained down around him, forcing him back for just a heartbeat.

By the time Bron readied another attack, the Dreadknight was already upon him. In one terrifyingly swift movement, it grasped Bron, plunging him into the ground with enough force to shatter stone.

Dust and debris exploded in all directions as the Dreadknight rose, its dark armor gleaming under the harsh battlefield light. It lashed out again, this time to catch another arrow shot by a nearby ally. The projectile was paler, less infused, yet still swift beyond measure.

Shin, who had been observing from above the corpses of fallen beasts, saw the arrow hurtling toward him.

Within seconds, it would reach its mark—but he moved instinctively, tilting his head and shifting his body just enough to avoid the lethal strike.

The near-miss sent a chill through him, the raw danger of the Dreadknight pressing in from every direction.

Shin didn't waste a second. He spun, raising his bow to intercept a direct thrust from the Dreadknight's fist, aimed for his head.

The collision sent a jarring shock through his arms; his bones groaned under the impact. Gritting his teeth, he tried to hold his ground, but the sheer power of the blow drove him backward.

Even someone as skilled as Shin couldn't match the terrifying might of this close-combat behemoth. The strike threw him to the ground with a bone-jarring crash.

He groaned, struggling to rise, his side aching, while the Dreadknight's dark, gleaming armor radiated menace above him.

The monster focused on Shin as a more immediate threat than Bron. It moved with terrifying precision, lifting its hands to strike. Two of Bron's spectral hands shot forward from the gauntlet, snaring the Dreadknight's legs.

With a violent yank, they forced the abominable creature off balance. But Bron and Shin weren't done. A third white hand formed a fist midair and slammed into the Dreadknight's face, sending it hurtling backward across the battlefield.

Bron was at Shin's side in an instant, offering his hand. Shin grasped it tightly, rising while holding his aching side. "It's… not down, is it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Bron's face was grim as he shook his head. "Nothing less than dead would stop that thing," he muttered. Even with massive dents and cracks scarred across its dark armor, the Dreadknight's efficiency and lethality were undiminished.

Every movement, every strike, was precise and calculated—a nightmare to counter. Its armor alone was a formidable opponent, and the cracks across its body were not nearly enough to reduce its combat effectiveness.

Bron exhaled, focusing his energy once more. "We have to finish this," he said through gritted teeth.

The Dreadknight wasn't just strong—it was intelligent, adaptable, and relentless. And unless it fell now, the battlefield would continue to be a nightmare for all the allied heroes.

Bron exhaled sharply, the tension of the battle pressing down on him.

He had always known that this war against the cursed forces would be a grueling ordeal, but the sheer ferocity of the Dreadknight and the chaos it brought to the battlefield had pushed even his nerves to the breaking point.

If more enemies like this—monsters of such intelligence, adaptability, and raw destructive power—emerged, he didn't even want to imagine the fate of the allied heroes.

"Hold yourself together… it's coming," Bron muttered to himself, bracing as his gauntlet reshaped the four spectral hands around him. Two of the hands solidified into weapons: one a gleaming sword, the other a heavy shield.

The remaining two fists flexed and hovered, ready to strike. "Come on… damn you!" he cursed under his breath, launching himself back into the fray.

Across the battlefield, the chaos had reached a boiling point. Elite heroes clashed directly with the Dreadknight, each strike sending shockwaves across the already shattered terrain.

Meanwhile, the lower-ranked fighters struggled against the remaining abominable beasts that prowled the area.

In the furthest reaches of the battlefield, no one dared approach; the air was thick with destruction, scorched earth, and the lingering stench of energy collision and blood.

Two warriors, moving as one, engaged in a deadly dance of close-quarter combat.

Their speed and precision turned them into walking agents of doom, leaving trails of dark energy—streaks of black and deep purple—that scorched the ground in their wake.

After a brutal exchange, the pair disengaged, landing a few meters apart, their bodies heaving, but their eyes already fixed on the next threat.

Ronan landed lightly, his expression unreadable, a small wound forming at his temple. His gaze, cold and calculating, locked onto the Dreadlord looming before him.

The towering monstrosity's armor was heavily scarred, its dark plates marred by countless blows—but those marks meant little. The creature wasn't truly wounded yet; it was far from defeated.

Ronan studied the Dreadlord, attempting to predict its movements, but found his efforts futile. Its fighting style was chaotic, unpredictable, yet terrifyingly precise.

Every motion carried lethal intent. To counter it, he would need to learn its patterns, anticipate its strikes, and incorporate them into his own combat rhythm—a task easier said than done.

What made the Dreadlord truly horrifying wasn't just its strength or speed—it was its intelligence. Every movement was purposeful, every attack calculated.

It wasn't merely reacting; it was reading, learning, and countering in real time, adapting to Ronan's techniques as quickly as he could execute them.

Even so, Ronan was no novice; his swordsmanship was a symphony of fluid, intricate motions, each strike and parry interwoven seamlessly. But against a foe of such cunning, even mastery alone might not be enough.

The Dreadlord's claws extended, sharp and gleaming like short blades, aimed directly at Ronan. Its deep, commanding voice reverberated across the battlefield: "You should surrender… or you will die."

Ronan's lips curled slightly upward. This monstrosity thought it could intimidate him, tell him to surrender, as if that were an option. He shook his head slowly, crossing his blades in front of him in a defiant X. His voice was low, steady, and calm, carrying a dangerous weight:

"Why don't you surrender yourself?"

With a blur of motion, Ronan activated his switched skill. In the instant he vanished from sight, a silver needle appeared in his place—a trap set with precision, a silent promise that even against the pinnacle of intelligence and power, he would strike back with unerring skill.

TO BE CONTINUED....

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STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT EXCITING CHAPTER – ULTRA.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

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– Ultra