Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger - Chapter 362

Chapter 362: EX 362. Blueprint
Although primal energy belonged to the beast men, Leon still intended to learn it.

His plan was the same one he used when he learned the dragons’ speciality—he would create an art for it.

He had formed the Primordial Dragon Art from Elizabeth’s black dragon art with help from his Extreme Art, but this time he didn’t feel he needed an existing framework.

A clean slate and a real fight would be enough. Sparring with Malachi while his Extreme Art studied every detail? That was more than enough.

Originus broke into his thoughts.

‘Then why not spar with the princess?’

Leon pushed the primordial dragon out of his mind and focused on Malachi instead.

“Come at me.”

Malachi didn’t hesitate. Primal energy surged through his body, boosting his speed until he blurred across the hall.

But to Leon, it moved like a slow ripple in water. He raised a hand almost lazily, and his right fist dug into Malachi’s gut.

The impact sent the monkey man crashing into the far wall, stone cracking on impact.

Originus let out a long groan.

‘What primal energy? You just wanted to beat the youngster up.’

Leon ignored the dragon’s commentary. Malachi was still embedded in the wall, dust raining down around him.

“I suggest you take this seriously,” Leon said. “That blow wasn’t my all. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back. Give everything you’ve got.”

The dust clearing suddenly was the only warning before a heavy wave of primal energy rolled across the hall.

Malachi stepped out of the crater, aura flaring like a wildfire. His armor had been blasted off, and the metal band that held his hair had fallen, letting blood streak down the side of his face.

None of it seemed to bother him.

Originus’ tone shifted sharply.

‘It can’t be…’

Leon’s smile tugged wider as primal power coiled off Malachi like a storm.

“Now that’s more like it.”

****

There was a reason Leon had ignored everything Originus had been saying earlier.

First off, he wasn’t petty enough to beat someone up just because they’d fought his woman.

Malachi had no malicious intent.

The man wanted a good fight, nothing more, and Leon wouldn’t hold that against him.

No—the reason was exactly what he’d said.

He intended to create an art to use primal energy.

Originus muttered in his mind, unsettled.

‘How can one have so much energy and still be able to move?’

Leon answered with a small smile as Malachi continued his slow walk forward, primal energy rolling off him like heat from a furnace.

Leon had noticed something during Malachi’s final clash with Nikko before the tournament ended.

Back then, Malachi hadn’t gone all out.

There had been a moment—a brief flicker—where Leon saw something he hadn’t seen before.

Nikko had her trial-taker awakened talent, a gift that let her handle primal energy.

Malachi, however, was a natural-born beast man. His talent wasn’t given.

It was inborn, trained into usefulness and beaten into shape from childhood until it reached this point.

That was why such a massive reserve of primal energy made sense.

Malachi understood its workings at a fundamental level.

And because of that, Leon had chosen him as the blueprint for the art he planned to create.

Malachi finally stopped in front of him, primal energy erupting harder, thickening the air around them. Leon didn’t flinch.

The beast man’s eyes burned with a wild thrill.

“I’ve been looking for who to test this on,” Malachi said.

“And it is my honor to test its effects on the strongest person in Pandora.”

Leon nodded once.

“Alright then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Malachi’s hand blurred.

Leon moved to meet it, matching his speed, matching his strength—holding himself back on purpose so he could get the proper feel of the primal energy flooding through Malachi’s arm. Their fists collided.

A thundercrack tore through the training hall. The ground trembled.

Dust vibrated loose from the rafters.

And then both men vanished.

Countless clashes echoed through the vast hall, each impact a heavy boom as primal energy and raw power tangled again and again, shaking the entire chamber while Leon mapped out every pulse, every current, every secret hidden in Malachi’s force.

****

Malachi and Leon collided again in the training ground, the impact rolling through the hall like a drumbeat.

Malachi’s thoughts scattered in every direction, but his body moved on instinct—sharp, wild, and honed by years of fighting his way through the world.

Primal energy pulsed through him in thick waves, each surge louder than the last.

He had been born with this affinity. A natural attunement that let him feel primal energy the way others felt breath in their lungs.

With it, he had climbed to this point using the Journey’s Art.

A basic art, meant to carry a professional only to rank five because it held only five forms.

But Malachi had gone further. His compatibility with the art was so high he forced three extra forms into existence, pushing himself to rank eight on sheer talent and instinct.

Even so, a wall stood in front of him.

The ninth form.

The final step.

He couldn’t see it. He could only sense the edges of what it might be.

The primal energy he was releasing now was only half of what he imagined the full form required. The rest of it felt like a locked door he couldn’t find the keyhole for.

His staff cut through the air toward Leon’s head. Leon slapped it aside with casual precision—almost gentle, as if he wanted to feel the shape of Malachi’s power rather than break it.

Malachi stretched out a hand. Psychic force rippled from his fingertips, dragging the staff back into his grip with a metallic hum.

They crashed together again.

There was something beautiful in the exchange. Neither of them used a single form.

No neat sequences, no structured techniques. Just raw movement—fists, steps, instincts, and power—both of them choosing to rough it out. Both chasing the same goal for different reasons.

Leon sought to dissect primal energy piece by piece, to taste its structure and rebuild it into an art of his own.

Malachi fought to uncover the missing half of the ninth form, the final shape of the power he had spent his life mastering.