Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger

Back in the manor, Leon kept eating.

Each bite was casual, almost lazy, as though the food wasn't laced with enough aphrodisiac to make a beast roll in heat.

Racheal's panic, sharp at first, had dulled into disbelief. Her emerald eyes followed every mouthful he took. 'Why isn't anything happening?' She had watched him consume far too much for this to be possible.

'Wait… did I even put it in?'

She second-guessed herself, memory hazy under the weight of shock. But no, she had. She remembered the pinch, the mix, the stir. It was in there. It had to be.

Then another thought struck her like a hammer. 'Is he… impotent?'

She couldn't be blamed. After all, Leon had taken in enough aphrodisiac to send an elf to the brink of madness- hopefully, yet his body gave no response. Not even the faintest stir.

"How are you not affected?" she whispered, the question slipping out before she realized it.

Leon paused mid-bite, holding a tomato-like fruit in his hand. He turned his head slightly, gave her a look that was somewhere between smug and bored, and said, "That's simple. I'm built different."

Racheal blinked.

"…"

'What the hell is that even supposed to mean?'

Her mind couldn't wrap around his nonchalance, but Leon seemed to enjoy the disbelief painted across her face.

Truth be told, he was angry. Angry that he'd been tricked into swallowing something like this. Even with Elizabeth, through all their closeness, their moments, he had never once touched an aphrodisiac. The idea offended him.

But then he noticed something.

The burn that should've been creeping through his body was… gone. Fading before it could even start. His brow furrowed as he scanned himself inwardly, sensing his own condition. That's when realization hit.

'So my body can handle toxins…'

It clicked instantly. The void had replaced his insides, but they still worked, maybe even better than before. Leon hadn't tested his drive yet, hadn't wanted to, but this much was clear: his system had chewed through the drug and spat it out like nothing.

Already, the level of aphrodisiac inside him had dropped. His body had purged it completely.

"At least I learned something new today," Leon muttered, tossing the bitten fruit back onto the plate. Then he turned to her, calm but pointed. "Why did you put it in your food, anyway?"

He wanted to snap, to call her out for being a freak, but the words came measured instead.

Racheal's face shifted, guilt flickering across her features. Her lips parted, as if she would explain, but Leon's eyes narrowed.

And then he was gone.

One blink, and his figure vanished, the rush of displaced air the only proof he'd been there.

Racheal froze, shock striking through her chest. Relief followed quickly after, at least she didn't have to answer him. But it didn't last long. Her expression hardened as she darted after him, though her speed was nothing compared to his.

Outside the manor, Leon stood waiting, his gaze lifted skyward.

Above, a lone figure floated in the air, holding James and his squad like helpless dolls suspended in invisible chains.

Lancelot.

His blue eyes shone with power, cold and merciless.

Leon's grip tightened at his side. He didn't know who this man was, but instinct roared louder than thought. This one was dangerous. A threat. Not small or ignorable.

****

Leon's eyes narrowed as he studied the man floating above the city. Suspicion simmered in his chest. This was different. Since entering the trial, he had faced monsters, beasts, abominations, things that could crush ordinary armies if left unchecked. But this man… this was the first true threat.

The way the air bent around him, the effortless authority in his presence, it set every instinct in Leon on edge. His body itched to move, to be ready if the slightest spark of hostility erupted.

What threw him off was James and his squad. They dangled helplessly in the man's grip, like prey caught in a web. Leon had sent them on a simple mission: scout the forest, find if any cities still had living citizens. Yet here they were, captured, and worse, escorted back by someone who radiated power like the sun.

Leon's jaw tightened. 'My clone isn't with them… was it destroyed?' The thought stabbed deep. If it was gone, then something had gone terribly wrong. I need answers.

Before he could speak, a voice thundered across Shantel, rolling over the broken rooftops and empty streets.

"I am Lieutenant Lancelot of the Imperial Guards."

The declaration shook the air, commanding silence. A pause followed, deliberate and heavy, before the man added, "And I have heard that you people have gotten a new city lord. I wonder who that might be."

Leon's voice cut through the air, cold and steady. "And why are you looking for him?"

The words reached Lancelot as though whispered directly into his ear. His sharp blue eyes shifted, locking onto Leon below. A flicker of recognition flashed across his face.

'So… this is the master of that clone.'

It wasn't hard to piece together. The clone and the man before him were identical, two mirrors of the same being.

"You must be the city lord," Lancelot said, certainty threading his tone.

Leon's mind raced. He had read of the imperial guards before, back in the city's old library. Warriors who stood as the empire's shield, legends dressed in gold. But words on brittle pages and the flesh-and-blood presence before him were not the same. This was no story.

So he chose his words carefully, letting his voice carry strength without recklessness. "Yes, I am the city lord. So release my people, and say what you want."

James's eyes widened in disbelief, his body still suspended in invisible chains. His squadmates hung beside him, too stunned to breathe.

From the manor's doorway, Racheal stumbled out, her gaze darting between Leon and the armored figure above. Her face paled as recognition set in. She looked at Leon with a stare that screamed, Are you braindead? That's an S-rank, clearly!

But Leon didn't flinch. He had never been one to kneel. Not to monsters, not to nobles, and certainly not to anyone who thought power was reason enough for submission. Direct, that was always his way.

And yet, beneath that blunt defiance, his restraint showed. He hadn't spat an insult, hadn't cursed the man for chaining his followers. He was careful. His words carried a blade's edge, but the blade was still sheathed.