Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger - Chapter 352

Chapter 352: EX 352. Princess?
He flicked his hand toward the colossal floating arena.

“The rulers require only one hundred soldiers. One hundred who will march into the Hallow without causing instability. That is the limit.”

Silence clamped down for a heartbeat.

Then his voice boomed like a war horn.

“You all understand what that means!”

The crowd erupted as the meaning clicked into place.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly.

“Only the last hundred standing…”

Leon nodded.

“A brutal way to sort them. Effective, though.”

Down in the arena, divine-stage contestants squared their shoulders, eyes sharpening, stances settling into readiness.

A thousand tiny killing intents bloomed at once.

The goat-man’s grin stretched into something wild, almost feral. His goat horns gleamed under the sunlight as he shot his arm skyward.

“So let it be known!”

His voice cracked the air.

“THIS TOURNAMENT—”

He paused, savoring the tension. The entire Crucible leaned forward.

“—WILL CONTINUE UNTIL ONLY ONE HUNDRED REMAIN!”

The explosion of noise that followed shook dust from the rafters.

And then, with a sharp inhale, he brought the crystal mic to his mouth one last time.

His shout thundered through the arena—

“FIGHT!!!”

The stage detonated into chaos.

And the royal rumble began.

****

Light burst across the arena in a blinding torrent as a thousand divine auras ignited at once.

It rolled through the Crucible like a living storm, shaking the stands and sending a sharp tremor up Leon’s arm where Elizabeth held him.

The divine stage wasn’t just strength. It was an elevation of existence itself. Every fighter down there radiated a presence that could level a city if they lost control.

And yet, this wasn’t even chaos. It was precision. Talent. Refinement.

These weren’t ordinary divine-stage contenders; they were the handful chosen from millions who clawed through preliminaries.

Every one of them carried something rare, something dangerous.

That was why rank 7s held their ground against rank 8s and 9s—arts honed to perfection, awakened affinities, strange physiques that bent the rules of the world.

Every clash felt like a duel between minor gods.

Near the center of the arena, a bear-sized man hammered down with gauntlets that warped space.

Each swing twisted the air, pulling everything toward the collision point like a miniature singularity.

His opponent—an elf—didn’t draw a bow. Instead, a thin rapier glimmered in his hand.

The moment the gauntlet dropped, the elf vanished in a flicker of silver light.

On the spectators’ screens, slowed to a crawl, the rapier flashed so fast the image blurred into white streaks.

The elf cut across the giant’s arms, his legs, the joints in his armor and every vital point in the span of a breath.

Then he reappeared behind him, calm, composed, blade resting at his side.

But the bear-man didn’t fall.

His chest burned red, then erupted in a surge of power that sent cracks spiraling under his feet. He roared and barreled forward, swinging both reality-warping gauntlets at the elf in a vicious counterattack.

All around them, other battles flared—meteors of mana colliding, lightning carving through shockwaves, illusions twisting whole patches of the arena into distorted mirages.

Even slowed down, the screens struggled to track them.

Most of the spectators simply screamed in awe.

Elizabeth watched with wide eyes, trying to follow pieces of the chaos. Leon, though, saw everything. Every movement. Every flaw. Every hidden ace.

And yet his gaze slid past all of it, drifting to a corner of the arena where the crowd paid little attention.

A hooded figure stood alone.

Surrounded by a dozen rank eights.

A dozen hungry eyes. A dozen killing intents tightening like nooses.

The hooded fighter didn’t move.

Leon’s lips tugged into a slow smirk.

He leaned back slightly in his seat, arms folding, as if he already knew what was coming.

Elizabeth glanced at him.

“What is it?”

Leon’s gaze stayed on the hooded figure.

“Watch closely,” he murmured.

That faint smirk remained.

****

The lights of the arena pulsed again as a fresh clash ignited near the northern edge of the stage.

Twelve figures tightened their circle around a lone hooded silhouette. Up close, they weren’t ordinary fighters.

Each of them carried the predatory stature of hyena-born beastmen, their postures slouched forward, jaws set, eyes gleaming with the hunger of those who only respected violence.

One of them stepped forward, voice rough enough to scrape stone.

“If you know what’s good for you, hand over the gem.”

The hooded figure didn’t answer.

A soft glimmer rose instead, a green gem appearing in her open palm.

The beastmen’s eyes followed it instantly. She flicked her wrist, sending the gem arcing high into the air.

Every head tilted up.

By the time the first hyena beastman dropped his gaze, she was already gone.

She reappeared in front of the closest one, her hand shifting mid-motion into clawed gauntlets that gleamed like forged night.

Her slash tore toward his throat.

The beastman didn’t even flinch in time, his body vanished in a flash of protective arena light before a drop of blood could fall.

Eleven left.

Two more beastmen lunged for their weapons, but she was already in motion.

Her figure blurred and split like afterimages tearing through space.

Both men disappeared just as fast, erased from the stage before their blades cleared their sheaths.

Nine.

These ones finally understood the threat. Weapons snapped free.

Arts lit across their bodies like cascading storms. They braced together, a defensive wall of steel and killing intent.

The gem continued its graceful climb, still rising into the air.

Gauntlets folded fully over her arms, metal plates locking into place with a soft click.

She dashed.

One beastman aimed a dagger at her chest. She caught his wrist mid-thrust. Bone cracked. His scream didn’t make it out before her kick caved into him, sending him off the stage in a burst of protective light.

Eight.

Three more attacked her at once. Their blades and fists cut a storm around her, but her movements stayed crisp and precise.

She blocked each strike in turn, then slipped between them and delivered three rapid blows that sent the trio bursting into light.

Five left.

They hesitated.

Their confidence wavered. The disbelief on their faces said it all, each of them was a rank eight combatant. She was only rank seven. None of them could understand what they were facing.

“How—” one began.

He never finished.

She stepped into them like a shadow slipping through cracks.

Each movement was silent and decisive.

One after another, the remaining beastmen vanished in flashes of white until only empty space stood where they had been.

Above, the gem finally reached its peak and began to fall.

She raised her hand.

The green gem dropped neatly into her palm as her hood blew back in the returning gust.

Across the stadium, Elizabeth froze, eyes widening.

Leon didn’t need to see her expression to know she’d recognized the face revealed beneath the hood.

He leaned back in his seat, a faint smile forming.

“We finally found you, Princess.”

The hooded fighter—now unmasked—stood beneath the arena lights.

The Supreme Heir.

Nikko Yamamoto.