E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn't Exist
Chapter 151: You Will Die

Chapter 151: You Will Die

Bonus Chapter – Ultra

From the moment Ronan laid eyes on Buster, it felt like his entire life was flashing before him—every loss, every scar, every nightmare. That face, twisted in a maniac’s grin, had haunted him for years.

Buster was the architect of his pain.

He was the one who razed the Steele Clan to the ground. He obliterated cities, slaughtered innocents, and left a trail of ruin in his wake. Ronan’s master... his friend Pio... everyone who had ever mattered to him—gone. All because of this monster.

Ronan’s fists trembled as he stared Buster down. For a brief moment—just a moment—he had wondered if Buster might’ve changed. The world hailed him as a protector now, after all. But that illusion had shattered the instant Ronan witnessed the brutal, merciless death of Blazer.

Buster hadn’t changed.

He was still the same merciless devil in human skin.

"You die today," Ronan growled, raising his twin blades, crossing them in front of him as his aura surged.

Buster’s grin widened as he stepped forward, his presence suffocating. "Unlucky day for you," he said casually. "You killed one of my Smashers. Argon, was it? A waste of flesh, really—but he was still mine." His tone was amused, not an ounce of grief in his voice.

Then, to Ronan’s disgust, Buster added, "But I’ve been thinking... I watched that fight. You’re strong. Stronger than Argon ever was. How about this? Join me. Become a Smasher—and I just might let you live."

Ronan’s stomach churned. The very idea of working under Buster... It was an insult worse than death.

"Over my dead body," he spat.

Without hesitation, Ronan activated his Eyes of Precision. A deep purple glow lit up his irises as he reached into his pouch and hurled a flurry of floating needles, spreading them through the air like glinting stars. Then, gripping a single sharpened needle, he flung it at Buster’s head with deadly speed.

Buster tilted his head slightly, dodging it effortlessly. But behind him, the air distorted—the needle shimmered, vanished—and Ronan appeared in its place, blade already raised.

His glowing eyes scanned Buster’s form, searching for weaknesses. Red highlights flickered across Buster’s body, but they were faint, scattered—meaning one thing:

Buster’s defense was monstrous.

Still, Ronan refused to back down.

"Vibrant Slash!" he roared, his blade arcing toward Buster’s neck with a streak of light.

CLANG!

The impact rang out like a bell.

Ronan’s eyes widened in disbelief.

The strike—one of his strongest—had done next to nothing. Not even a cut. Not even a dent.

How?! The thought screamed through his mind. How could he be this durable!?

Then—danger.

He looked up.

Too late.

CRACK!

Buster’s fist slammed into his right arm.

SNAP. CRUNCH. BAM. BOOM.

Bone shattered. Muscle ruptured. The force of the punch didn’t stop there—it demolished his entire right side and sent his body flying like a broken doll, crashing into the ruins of a half-collapsed building.

Buster didn’t even chase. He just stood there, chuckling. "Tch. I thought you’d be more fun."

He turned, starting to walk away.

Then he paused.

"Oh?" he said, turning back with that same twisted grin. "Still breathing? Looks like you’ve got a few more tricks after all..."

Meanwhile, Ronan was trembling—not from the cold, not from pain—but from sheer, suffocating terror.

He had come horrifyingly close to death. If Buster’s last strike had landed just a few inches to the left—on his heart—he wouldn’t be standing. He’d be dead.

Ronan had always known Buster was strong. But with years of grueling training, sleepless nights, and the burning desire for revenge, he had truly believed he was ready. That he could kill the monster who had taken everything from him.

But this short exchange had shattered that illusion.

Buster wasn’t just strong.

He was on another level entirely.

Ronan’s body only held together thanks to the Restoration Pill he had used moments earlier. Without it, he would’ve bled out or died from shock. But that came at a cost.

He only had two pills left.

And once they were gone... that was it.

If only they could be stored in stacks. But they couldn’t. The Restoration Pills were incredible—capable of regenerating injuries that would kill ordinary warriors—but their flaw was cruel. The system, or any physical container, only allowed a maximum of three at a time. No more. No exceptions.

Ronan inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, forcing calm into his nerves.

Buster might be too strong... maybe impossibly strong. But he wasn’t invincible.

And even if he were—Ronan had already made up his mind.

He would not let Buster leave this place alive.

In a blur, Ronan vanished again, launching himself forward like a storm unleashed. His speed doubled, and with each slash, his momentum grew. Every strike was sharper, heavier, fiercer than the last. His blades sang through the air, each one fueled by raw desperation and righteous fury.

But Buster just grinned, that twisted, gleeful smile never leaving his face.

"You still have a long way to go," he murmured.

Then—he moved.

A punch flew out like a cannon shot.

Ronan raised his blade just in time to block—but the force was too much. The blade was knocked aside, and the punch connected squarely with his chest.

Air left his lungs. Pain shot through every nerve.

But before he could even scream—

Buster’s fingers jammed into his eyes.

POP.

Ronan screamed. Hot blood poured down his face. Agony unlike anything he’d ever known exploded in his skull.

Buster grabbed him and smashed him into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

On the fourth—Ronan’s body vanished again, replaced by a decoy needle.

Buster paused, glancing to the side.

There Ronan stood—bloodied, broken, panting—but still standing.

"What will you do now?" Buster mused aloud, his grin unwavering.

Ronan couldn’t see. His eyes were gone. The pain was unbearable. But he didn’t hesitate.

He swallowed another Restoration Pill.

Warmth surged through his body. His wounds closed. His vision returned—new eyes, unaccustomed to the light, forced him to squint.

And there he was.

Buster.

Still smiling.

Still mocking him.

Still not even taking the fight seriously.

Ronan’s heart dropped.

If Buster had been fighting seriously from the start...

He’d already be dead.

He couldn’t win. Not like this. Not with this gap in power.

And if there was anyone who could defeat Buster... it wasn’t him.

It was Han.

Han—the one man Ronan believed could kill monsters like Buster.

Maybe I should leave this to him... Ronan thought.

But as soon as the words crossed his mind, shame flooded in like poison.

He looked at the ground, eyes trembling.

He hated himself.

He felt disgust.

Was this what it had all been for?

All the blood, sweat, and pain—just to retreat again when it mattered most?

He had dedicated his life to this moment. Trained harder than anyone. Suffered more than most. He was supposed to avenge his parents. His siblings. His friends. His master. Everyone.

And now, in the face of the enemy, all he could think about was running?

"I’m just a spineless coward..." he whispered in disgust. "All my life I’ve been running... while the people I love died... while monsters like him laughed... I just kept running... and running..."

His grip tightened on his blade.

"But not anymore."

Ronan’s voice rang out as he looked up, eyes blazing with raw, unshakable resolve.

Buster still hadn’t moved.

Ronan lifted one of his swords and pointed it at the grinning monster.

His voice was steady now.

"I will keep my promise to them. All of them."

His aura surged—stronger than before, sharper than steel.

"And I swear to you, Buster..."

"...Today, you will die. Even if it costs me everything.**

You. Will. Die.

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To be continued...