Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger - Chapter 322

Chapter 322: EX 322. Chaos in the Mountain
In the great hall of the Dragon Mountains, the air was heavy with power. Majestic pillars carved from black obsidian rose to the high ceiling, each etched with runes that pulsed faintly with ancient draconic energy. Around a massive round table sat figures whose very presence distorted the air, Rank 8s and Rank 9s, the ruling forces of dragonkind.

At the head of the table sat a man with long crimson hair that shimmered like molten lava. Two curved horns jutted from his head, faintly glowing at the tips. His sharp golden eyes carried a weight that made even the strongest hesitate to meet them. This was Eragon, Lord of the Dragon Mountains, the Red Tyrant.

One of the dragons present, a muscular man in black robes, rose from his seat and began speaking. “Regarding the tournament scheduled for tomorrow,” he said, voice deep and formal, “we’ve strengthened patrols around the mountain. Newly advanced Rank Sevens have been dispatched for the task, operating under the command of higher Rank Sevens.”

Eragon nodded slightly, fingers tapping the armrest of his throne. “Who are those you assigned to command?”

The speaker opened his mouth. “We have the likes of Reudeus, Johnathanus, and—”

He never finished. As a deafening whump-whump-whump echoed outside the hall, shaking dust from the pillars. A moment later, the great doors burst open, and a young man stumbled in, his green hair tangled, his chest heaving, twin horns rising sharply from his forehead.

Every gaze in the room turned toward him. The sudden intrusion sent a wave of irritation through the gathered dragons. One of them, an elder with dark purple scales faintly visible under his human guise, hissed, “The mountain must be under siege for you to barge in during a gathering, whelp.”

The young man dropped to both knees, bowing his head so low that his horns scraped the polished floor. “Forgive me, my Lord Eragon,” he said quickly. “But—the mountains… are under attack!”

Silence fell.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The same elder who had spoken earlier frowned, as if unsure whether he’d heard correctly. When he’d mocked the idea moments ago, he hadn’t actually expected it to be true. Because who in their right mind would attack the Dragon Mountains, the heart of dragon territory?

Eragon’s golden eyes narrowed. The temperature in the hall dropped, and faint wisps of red flame began curling around his chair. “Explain,” he said, voice calm but threaded with restrained fury.

Luke’s shoulders trembled as he kept his head low.

****

The hall fell silent.

Luke’s words hung in the air like a curse no one dared to believe.

A Rank Four human, barely nineteen—had taken down dragons of Rank Seven. Dozens of them.

The gathered dragons, ancient beings whose pride reached as high as their power, stared at Luke in disbelief. Some frowned. Others scoffed under their breath. To them, it sounded impossible some even took it as an insult.

Luke felt their eyes on him, and a cold shiver crawled up his spine. His voice trembled, but he forced himself to speak. “There is no falsehood in my words, great dragons. I swear it on my flame.”

That declaration drew a ripple of surprise. To swear upon one’s flame was no trivial thing; it meant death if a lie was spoken. The tension in the room deepened.

Luke’s fists clenched tightly. He had no choice but to come here. Normally, such disturbances were handled by the patrol leaders, the Rank Sevens. But the human had crushed every one of them. Greg. Reudeus. Even their replacements.

And what terrified Luke most was that the human wasn’t even killing them.

He was holding back.

Only the Rank Eights could intervene now.

The gathering’s disbelief began to waver. Murmurs spread around the room as the weight of Luke’s words sank in. Then, slowly, their gazes shifted toward the head of the hall Eragon.

The Red Tyrant sat motionless, his golden eyes fixed on the floor, unreadable. For a moment, none could tell what he was thinking. Then, to their surprise, a faint look of shock crossed his face, raw and unguarded.

“My Lord, could what the youngling said… truly be possible?” one of the Rank Nines said cautiously, his tone hesitant,

Eragon’s gaze lifted. The faint glow of his horns intensified, and the flames that surrounded his chair flared brighter. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the elder dragon who had spoken.

“Do not leave the hall,” Eragon said quietly. His voice was low and calm but the power behind it made the walls tremble. “I will handle this myself.”

Before anyone could respond, fire erupted around his form. In an instant, the Red Tyrant vanished in a burst of crimson flame, leaving the gathered Rank 8s and 9s in stunned silence.

For the first time in centuries, the great dragons of the mountain felt something foreign crawl up their throats.

Fear.

****

Eragon already knew the boy was coming. Alexander had told him Leon would travel alone. But Eragon expected Leon to arrive at his palace, even if he would be dragged there. He would just rub it off as him forgetting to inform those in patrol, and no harm would be caused. That was what he expected, not chaos.

Flames licked the corners of his sight as he cut through clouds. The dragon mountains sprawled below, jagged and silent. Then the first sign of wrong: a broken patrol standard. Then another. Then bodies.

Dragons lay scattered across the slopes. Broken wings. Cracked scales. Blood like dark rubies on volcanic rock. Some were barely breathing. Others were already on deaths door. The sight punched the Red Tyrant in the gut.

Eragon’s golden eyes narrowed until they were thin slits. Rage cooled into a measured, terrible thing. He thought of the council, of the emperor’s petition, of the arrangements he made and how a boy had shredded his borders and left his kin as trophies.

“I swear, when this Hallow is done, I will have his head.”