Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger-Chapter 110: EX . True Force

Leon sat in stillness, eyes half-lidded, his breathing slow and even as he turned his focus inward. Not to his body, no, this was something deeper. It wasn’t about muscle or stamina. It was his spirit he was reaching toward. The core of his being, where his talent dwelled... and now, where his newly awakened Affinity stirred.

He didn’t have to strain. All it took was a thought.

As a subtle pulse answered his will.

Suddenly, a thin, transparent aura-like energy shimmered faintly around his fists, barely visible to the naked eye. It wasn’t glowing or crackling like fire or lightning, it simply was. Subtle and Controlled. But powerful.

Leon blinked. "Interesting..."

Out of instinct, he raised his hand, slowly, just to get a closer look.

But even that slow movement caused the air around his hand to compress violently, a wave of displaced pressure blowing through the room like an invisible shockwave.

He froze mid-motion, stunned. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"...What the hell was that?" he whispered, eyes wide as he stared at his own arm.

"I barely moved."

His mind raced. The possibilities began to flash one after the other. Amplified strikes. Compressed bursts of force. Vibration nullification. Impact negation. Shockwave manipulation. Repulsion. Attraction. Even floating...

And that was just with his hands.

Leon slowly lowered his arms, letting out a slow breath as he ran tests, simple actions.

A punch toward the ground, he didn’t even touch it, yet a spiderweb crack appeared in the metal tiles.

A slow kick toward the wall, the compressed air alone left a dent.

He grinned, eyes glowing with fierce excitement.

"So that’s what this affinity really is..."

The system had been right. This wasn’t just a fit, it was the perfect match.

Force Affinity didn’t simply increase power, it defined it. It took what was already monstrous and weaponized the very laws of motion themselves.

And it wasn’t just offensive.

Leon flared the affinity inward. He could feel it, how it dampened incoming energy, how it softened the invisible push of the world around him. If he focused, he could reduce the force of an incoming punch... or survive a fall that would shatter bones.

It was defense. It was offense. It was limitless.

And this was only Tier I.

A slow smirk curled on Leon’s lips.

"Who knows what it’ll look like at Tier VI..."

He stood up and stretched his arms, the thin aura vanishing at will as he turned toward the door.

"Well, I better get a hang of this before the skirmish starts."

With that, he headed for the training ground, eyes sharp and spirit steady.

He had ranked up.

He had forged a new art.

He had awakened an affinity.

If the demons were still planning to come for him...

They better say their prayers first. Because their next stop... was Leon’s blade.

****

In the suffocating black of a subterranean chamber, the air reeked of sulfur and blood. Pulsing veins of corrupted flesh twisted through the walls, their rhythm echoing the faint thud of a monstrous heart buried deep beneath the stone. A thick, unnatural fog drifted low across the ground, tainted, sentient, and humming with demonic essence.

At the center stood the demoness, draped in tattered shadows that clung to her body like loyal pets. Her black hair flowed like smoke, and her eyes glowed with a sickly violet light. Behind her, countless demons loomed, silent, obedient, and watching.

The chamber pulsed with dread.

She raised her arms slowly, as if commanding the very darkness to kneel. Then, her voice rang out, low, guttural, and twisted with ancient power:

"Soem sorebil iriro."

The walls shivered. A tremor rippled across the chamber floor.

She spoke again, louder this time, her voice scraping across the ears like claws:

"Soem sorebil iriro."

A deep, unearthly groan resounded from the fleshy walls as bulging pouches began to twitch, squirm, and swell, the forms inside stirring violently.

Then her third cry came, not a chant, but a roar, sharp and inhuman, laced with centuries of malice:

"SOEM SOREBIL IRIRO!"

The chamber exploded in motion.

The walls responded like a womb awakening. Pouches ruptured in wet bursts, dark crimson ichor splashing across the stone as hundreds of grotesque forms fell to the ground, hissing and growling. Each one rose with eerie coordination, eyes blazing and bodies radiating the sheer pressure of A-rank demons.

The demoness stood before them with a wicked, reverent smile.

"My children..." she whispered, her voice now smoother, more regal. "You shall be the spearhead that brings down the Federation’s walls. You... shall bathe in glory."

She took a long pause, her crimson gaze scanning every snarling face.

"And you shall be the reason..." she said, a twisted smile curling her lips, "that we acquire the vessel for our god’s resurrection."

At that declaration, a chorus of shrieks, howls, and violent stomping erupted, pure demonic ecstasy, a song of death and war.

But the demoness’s attention wasn’t on them.

Her gaze drifted to three pouches that remained untouched, larger, darker, pulsing slowly like hearts not yet awakened.

She approached them like a priestess approaching a sacred altar, extending a clawed hand to rest gently on the thick membrane of the first.

"You three..." she whispered, reverent and hungry. "You will be my trump card."

Her eyes narrowed, lips curling into something cruel.

"And with your help... I’ll put that bitch in her place."

The chamber trembled in response.

The war was coming.

And the true monsters hadn’t even awakened yet.

****

Two days passed in a blur, a flash of steel, sweat, and preparation.

Time always moved strangely when war loomed near. It never crawled. It never waited. It simply vanished, as if devoured by the tension hanging in the air like the calm before a thunderstorm.

But the soldiers of the Federation did not tremble.

They stood tall.

They did not cry or curse their fate.

They sharpened their blades.

Because this was what they had been born for, not peace, not comfort, but the crucible of war. Each of them had stepped into the trial world once and survived. And now, they stood again, this time not as survivors, but as defenders.

Warriors. Soldiers. Federation’s steel.

They had trained for this moment. Bled for it. Dreamed of it.

This skirmish would not break them.

It would define them.

The vast open field that stretched out from the center of Base One was packed with soldiers from every rank and squad. Tens of thousands strong, a tide of armor, weapons, and resolve. Unit flags fluttered in the rising morning wind, a sea of colors beneath a sky painted gold by the rising sun.

In front of them, atop a raised black platform lined with reinforced steel and aura-sensitive speakers, stood three figures, each emanating a pressure so heavy, it made the very ground beneath them feel dense.

The Vanguards had arrived.

Three S-Rank titans of war.