Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger - Chapter 339

Chapter 339: EX 339. Empty Seat
Leon stared down at the ruined dragon lord. Eragon had seen better days. Now his mind—savaged by the mutation from the implanted cores, had settled into something like fragile balance. He looked at Leon with the pleading of a cornered animal.

“Please… don’t kill me,” Eragon rasped. Each word took everything he had.

It was humbling to watch.

This was the first time Eragon had begged anyone in his life. Born to command, he had always expected submission, not supplication. Pride had carried him until it could not. Now, broken, he begged.

No arms. Torn wings. Missing a foot. He kept begging, each breath ragged.

“Please… don’t kill me.”

Leon cut him off.

“You expect me to listen to your pleas?” His voice was cold.

The dragon’s vacant, defeated eyes tracked him, heart knocking in that same terrified rhythm Leon’s words tightened.

“Did you listen to Elizabeth when she begged you to leave her?” Eragon said nothing.

“Did you listen when you took her cores?” The dragon’s rasp was a wet stutter.

“Did you listen when she cried in pain?”

Tears pooled at the edges of Eragon’s one good eye. He already understood his fate.

“Even if heaven falls,” Leon said, slow and terrible, “I will never forgive you, Eragon. Not in this life. Not in the next. Reincarnation won’t save you. I will find you and kill you. You made a mistake, worse than antagonizing me. You hurt someone I care about.”

Eragon tried to move. His body betrayed him. Broken and useless, he could not.

“Rot in hell.” Leon’s tone was flat.

Void Blade sang.

The horizontal slash was a blur, too fast for Eragon’s ruined senses. The neck was gone before the dragon registered it.

The head collapsed with a small, pitiful thud.

Leon stood over the corpse. The blade shimmered and sank back into the tattoo on his arm. He spoke, not for Eragon but for himself.

“I told you I would have your head.” He let the words hang.

“And I never break promises to my enemies.”

****

Leon stood over the dragon lord’s corpse, the battlefield silent at last.

His breath escaped in a slow exhale, half relief, half exhaustion.

Then, without hesitation, he drove his hand into Eragon’s chest.

Flesh tore, bone cracked, and four glowing cores rose into his palm, their radiance flickering weakly in the blood-choked air.

Three of them pulsed with a familiar rhythm—Elizabeth’s. The fourth belonged to the fallen dragon lord himself.

“Just as planned,” Leon murmured.

He had used Eragon’s own rage to trigger his mutation, driving him from man to beast.

That frenzy had been the only way to preserve the cores; a professional’s core dissolved at death, but a beast’s could endure.

Now, as he held them, Leon could feel the corruption that had once tethered the cores to Eragon, twisting their essence and awakening their dormant power.

Closing his eyes, Leon drew in that corruption— letting it sear through him and letting it fade. When he opened them, the cores had stabilized, pure once more.

He slipped them into his inventory, then glanced down at what remained of the dragon lord.

“Elizabeth would appreciate having a dragon lord as an undead,” he said with a faint, crooked smile. The thought almost amused him.

He sealed the corpse away and rose into the sky.

Below, Dragon Mountain was nothing but ruin. Unlike the other domains, no barrier had been raised here to contain their clash.

What had followed was devastation, mountain ranges torn apart, cities flattened, and countless lives lost.

The scale of it struck Leon as he hovered above the desolation. For a moment, he simply watched the world he’d broken.

He understood now the kind of force he carried.

A power that ignored mortality and mocked ascension itself. It was Divine And dangerous.

“I’ve learned something, at least,” Leon said quietly.

‘Don’t take it to heart, boy,’ Originus’ voice rumbled within him.

‘Such things come with power like yours.’

Leon nodded. He wasn’t a hypocrite, blaming Eragon for the deaths when his own hands were soaked in the same blood.

But would he lose sleep over it?

He doubted it.

With a final look at the shattered peaks, Leon turned east.

In the next heartbeat, he was gone—cutting through the clouds toward the Arman Empire, toward the human domain that awaited his return.

***”

Alexander Arman stood before the vast window of his throne room, the light of the setting sun reflecting across his golden robes and the long banners draped behind him.

His gaze stretched far beyond the capital, toward the distant Dragon Mountains where a faint, dying glow still burned on the horizon.

“So, Eragon has fallen,” he said quietly. The words lingered in the air, heavy with understanding.

He knew what that meant.

The Dragon Lord’s death would leave his dominion fractured, and the three remaining rulers, the elves, the beasts, and the humans—would inevitably divide the spoils of the mountains among themselves.

That was the natural order of things. But this time, Alexander knew better. It was already clear who would inherit the fallen lord’s throne.

A faint smile touched his lips.

“I wonder what wonders the boy will show in the Hallow,” he murmured.

The emperor’s mind shifted to the apocalyptic cluster, an anomaly they were to face in five days.

Losing Eragon should have been a severe blow to their preparations. Yet Leon had proven himself far beyond what any record, any prophecy, or any lineage could predict.

Not only had he survived the Dragon Lord, he had claimed the power to stand in his place.

Alexander exhaled softly, turning from the window.

“Three meetings in such a short time… all because of one boy,” he said, half amused, half weary.

The thought followed him as his figure flickered and vanished from the throne room.

Across Pandora, the domains stirred in the aftermath. The barriers that had sealed the lands were now deactivated, the tension between worlds momentarily eased.

In the Great Tree, deep within the elven domain, Queen Elaine turned from the glowing heart of the tree to her student.

“It is time to awaken your potential, Racheal,” she said, her tone calm yet resonant with purpose.

Meanwhile, in the human capital, the clang of steel filled the imperial training grounds. Lancelot’s voice echoed as he guided Adrian through the intricate movements of the Black Star Art, each strike sharper than the last.

The boy’s determination burned fiercely, spurred by the desire to one day be of help to his captain.

And far beyond the capital walls, two figures—Eden and Blessing, finally crossed the city’s border, their cloaks stained with dust from travel.

Everywhere, those tied to Leon were moving, growing, striving.

Whether by inspiration or compassion, every member of Unit One was changing.

The world had shifted because of one man, and though none said it aloud, they all knew it, Leon’s shadow stretched farther than any of them could yet see.