SSS Ranked Awakening: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Leon stood in the fading light, his decision crystallizing with each passing moment. The word "corrupted" next to Garrett's race classification wasn't just concerning – it was potentially catastrophic. He'd seen what abyssal corruption could do, remembered the monstrous king who'd worn human flesh like an ill-fitting costume.

I need to know what he is. What he's become. The safety of everyone here depends on it.

The weight of leadership pressed down on him. If Garrett proved to be a threat, Leon would have to take steps. The options weren't pleasant to consider.

A slave mark would ensure control, he thought, the idea leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. But that's still better than the alternative if it didn't work somehow...

He deliberately didn't finish that thought, his gaze drifting to the blue-haired teenager beside Garrett. She was smiling, chatting animatedly about something from the dungeon, her hand occasionally touching the giant man's arm with casual affection. The word "father" fell from her lips with such easy warmth that it made Leon's chest tighten.

She loves him. Whatever he is now, she still sees him as her father.

The contrast was jarring – this cheerful, vibrant girl treating the emotionally dead giant as if he were any normal parent. Either she didn't understand what had happened to him, or she simply couldn't find anything different about her father.

Leon reached into his spatial storage, withdrawing a familiar artifact that gleamed with subtle enchantment. The Spoon of Infinite Soup – Old Will's had given him back the artifact before going inside the first dungeon.

He handed it to one of the recovered survivors, along with proper utensils from his inventory. "Make sure everyone eats properly. Everyone needs to eat and rest."

The survivor took it reverently, already knowing the spoon's reputation and having seen old Will and a few others use it.

Hot soup would flow endlessly from it – nutritious, filling, exactly what exhausted and traumatized awakeners needed.

Leon turned to Garrett, his voice carrying quiet authority. "Come with me. We need to talk."

The blue-haired girl's eyes lit up with excitement. Their god wants to speak with Father privately! Her expression seemed to say. She clearly interpreted this as recognition of Garrett's power, perhaps even favor.

"Go on, father!" she said cheerfully, nudging the giant's arm. "I'll join the others for food – I'm starving!"

Garrett's head turned slightly toward her – the only acknowledgment he gave – before his dead eyes fixed on Leon. Without a word, he began walking in the direction Leon indicated.

Has he always been this silent? Leon wondered as they moved away from the group. Or is this part of the corruption?

He searched his memory for any time he'd heard Garrett speak. Nothing came to mind. Even before entering the dungeon, the man had been a monument of silence.

Is he mute? Or has the corruption taken even his voice?

They walked perhaps fifty meters from the main group, far enough for privacy but close enough that Leon could still monitor the area through his spatial awareness. With practiced efficiency, he channeled earth element mana into the ground.

The soil responded instantly, rising and shaping itself into a simple chamber. Walls of compressed earth formed a room roughly four meters square, with a doorway but no door – Leon wanted this to feel like a conversation, not an imprisonment, though he was ready to make it the latter if necessary.

Inside, he created two chairs facing each other, simple but sturdy. The earthen furniture was smoother than his earlier attempts, his control having improved even in the short time since he'd made the table for examining skill stones.

Leon took his seat, gesturing for Garrett to take the other.

The giant man moved with mechanical precision, lowering himself into the chair without any of the small adjustments normal people made to get comfortable. He sat perfectly still, hands resting on his thighs, those empty eyes fixed on some point past Leon's shoulder.

The silence stretched between them. The earthen walls muffled the sounds from outside – the quiet conversations of survivors, the clink of spoons against bowls, the blue-haired girl's laughter as she chatted with others.

How do I even begin this conversation? Leon wondered. Do I ease into it? Try to establish rapport? Or just cut straight to the heart of the matter?

Looking at Garrett's vacant expression, he decided subtlety would be wasted.

"Who are you?"

The question hung in the air between them, simple but loaded with meaning. Not "what is your name" – Leon already knew that from his detection ability. Not "what happened in the dungeon" – that could come later. But "who" – the fundamental question of identity, of self, of what remained of the human Garrett might once have been.

Garrett's eyes slowly focused on Leon's face, the movement so gradual it was almost imperceptible. When he spoke, his voice was exactly what Leon expected – flat, toneless, like words spoken by something that had forgotten what emotion was supposed to sound like.

"I am Garrett."

Three words, no inflection, no additional information. Just a statement of designation, like a label on a container.

That's not an answer, Leon thought. That's just a name. A marker. But is there anything behind it?

"That's what you're called," Leon said carefully. "But who are you? What do you remember? What do you feel?"

Another long silence. Garrett's expression didn't change – couldn't change, Leon was beginning to realize. Whatever the corruption had done, it had stripped away the thousand tiny muscle movements that made a face human.

"I remember everything," Garrett finally said in that same dead tone. "I feel nothing."

The words should have been tragic, a confession of loss that demanded sympathy. But delivered in that flat voice, they were simply data points, information conveyed without weight or meaning.

He remembers but doesn't feel, Leon processed. The corruption didn't take his memories, just his ability to care about them.

"The girl – she calls you father."

For the first time, something shifted in Garrett's expression. Not emotion exactly, but... recognition? Acknowledgment?

"She is mine to protect," he said. "That directive remains."

Directive. Not love, not duty, not even habit. A directive. Like programming.

Leon leaned forward slightly. "And if that directive conflicted with other directives? If protecting her meant harming others?"

"Then others would be harmed."

The casual certainty of it sent a chill down Leon's spine. No hesitation, no moral wrestling, just simple cause and effect. If protecting the girl required killing everyone else here, Garrett would do it without a second thought – or more accurately, without any thought beyond the calculation of necessity.

He's not evil, Leon realized. He's something worse. He's amoral. Empty. A weapon that happens to be shaped like a man.

"The corruption," Leon said directly. "You're aware of what it's done to you?"

"Yes."

"Does it bother you?"

"No."

Of course not. Being bothered would require the capacity to feel bothered, and that had been burned away along with everything else.

But he's not actively malicious, Leon noted. He's not seeking to spread the corruption or harm others. He's just... empty. Waiting for purpose.

The question was whether that emptiness could be filled with something dangerous, whether the corruption could spread, whether Garrett was a bomb waiting for the right trigger.

The girl is his anchor, Leon understood. As long as she's safe and happy, he has no reason to act. But if something happened to her...

He didn't want to complete that thought.