E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn't Exist
Chapter 171: Crimson Scale Join The Fray

Chapter 171: Crimson Scale Join The Fray

Chapter 171

"Tenth Jungle Art: Falcon Dive," a calm voice muttered.

A heartbeat of silence passed—

Then—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion echoed through the corridor, followed by several agonized groans.

"Ahhh..."

"This guy’s a monster..." one man panted, barely able to breathe.

"He’s on a completely different level..." another wheezed.

"He has to be an S-Ranker," a third muttered, disbelief heavy in his voice. The remaining two could only nod, trembling.

Out of the eight head executives sent to eliminate Han, five were already down—completely unconscious and out of commission. The remaining three could barely stand, their legs trembling with exhaustion and fear. Retreat crossed their minds more than once, but they knew better. Disobeying Lord Crimson meant incurring his wrath—and none of them were ready to gamble with their lives like that.

"We can still do this... everyone," one of them tried to rally the others, though even he didn’t believe his own words. His voice cracked under the pressure.

Han let out a sigh, clearly unimpressed. "This is becoming a waste of time."

He began walking forward, calm and collected.

The three flinched instinctively, then clenched their teeth and charged in desperation. Han didn’t even blink.

They were barely holding it together—and Han could see it. At this point, they might’ve been weaker than a B-Ranker. This wasn’t a fight—it was cleanup.

With effortless grace, Han sidestepped the first attacker, grabbed both of the man’s shoulders, and gave a slight twist. In the same motion, he drove a heavy jab into the man’s face. The executive flew backward, slammed into the wall, and crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

The second charged, his arm morphing into a hardened earth-fist. But it wasn’t enough.

Han tilted his head, dodging the strike with ease. He retaliated with a clean punch to the man’s jaw, lifting him off the ground. A moment later, Han launched himself upward and unleashed Gorilla Smash, raining blows down like a hammer. The man was out cold before he hit the floor.

Only one remained.

Han descended quietly, his eyes falling on the last executive standing just a meter away.

He threw a casual punch.

But before it even landed, the man collapsed to the floor, eyes rolled back in feigned unconsciousness.

Han paused, eyes twitching.

"...How the hell did this guy become a head executive?" he muttered.

He hadn’t even touched him.

A dry smile tugged at his lips, but it vanished quickly. His expression returned to its usual composed indifference as his gaze shifted toward the massive doorway ahead.

There, standing tall and exuding terrifying confidence, was a man with a burly build. He had short black hair, jet-black eyes that radiated danger, and wore a jet-black Enforcer uniform. A gleaming platinum badge sat on his chest, marked with a single, ominous letter: S.

The atmosphere shifted sharply.

Both Han and the newcomer locked eyes. The air crackled with tension.

"I know you," the man said, his tone skeptical but intrigued. Unlike the rest of ARC, he had seen a few matches from the Tournament of Power. He recognized the so-called "infiltrator"—because the man standing before him was none other than the champion of that tournament.

Although... for a moment, even he seemed unsure.

"You’re the Fire God, aren’t you?"

Han blinked, slightly thrown off. He didn’t expect that title to follow him here.

There was a short pause—then he shrugged nonchalantly.

"I guess that’s what they call me."

Instead of looking annoyed, the man smirked.

"I have to admit... your fighting skills are impressive. Precise. Refined. You’d be a great asset to ARC—and your reputation would soar alongside ours."

He paused.

"But that possibility is gone now."

His smile remained, but a dark shadow crept into his eyes.

"You dared to infiltrate ARC. For that alone... you’re an elite-class criminal. And you must be taken down."

Han blinked, unimpressed. What was with the long speeches? Why not just start the fight already?

"As the champion of the World Tournament of Power," the man continued, lifting his chin, "I’ll grant you the honor of kneeling. Apologize, beg—perhaps, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll spare you."

He looked directly into Han’s eyes. "So. What do you say?"

Han stared at him for a long moment.

Then he grinned.

"Yeah, I’m gonna have to decline."

The man’s smile didn’t fade—but something in it shifted. Twisted. His head dipped for a second, casting a shadow over his eyes. When he looked back up, the expression on his face was no longer charming.

It was sinister.

"In that case..." His voice dropped an octave. "You’ll take your beating like a man."

No more words.

Crimson Scale surged forward.

The ground cracked beneath his feet as he closed the distance in an instant, launching a brutal punch at Han’s face.

Han caught it with an open palm—but his calm expression faltered. The sheer force behind the blow shocked him. His feet slid back a step.

That brief moment was all Crimson Scale needed.

With a follow-up punch, he drove his fist into Han’s chest, sending him flying across the corridor. Han slammed into the wall, denting the steel with his body.

He grunted, pushing himself to his feet, a rare grimace on his face.

For the first time in a while... he had lost HP.

That wasn’t something he thought possible. Not after breezing through ARC’s entire enforcer squad—though he admitted not all of them were present. Still, the man standing before him now was unlike any opponent he had faced inside ARC.

Han dusted himself off and narrowed his eyes. "You’re strong. You must be one of the top executives here."

The man gave a short, cold laugh.

"Executive?" he echoed, shaking his head. "Kid, I run this entire damn facility."

Han’s eyes widened slightly.

The man pointed to himself, pride etched into his voice.

"You’re standing in front of Crimson Scale, Class S Hero... Rank Seven."

Han’s eyes widened further.

Well... crap. What were the odds of facing a Class S hero on his first infiltration?

---

Meanwhile, in Serenya...

Metallo’s eyes glowed with cold fury as he stared down at the kneeling figure of Nathan. The rage bubbling inside him was nearly uncontrollable.

He, one of the most powerful Dark Emissaries, had almost been killed... by this insolent nobody from some upstart guild.

Unforgivable.

A long, glimmering dagger formed in his palm—its edge vibrating with raw dark energy. Every step he took forward radiated anger, a pressure so suffocating it made the ground tremble.

Nathan didn’t move. He couldn’t. His body was paralyzed from injuries—and helplessness.

Metallo raised the blade, preparing to finish the job.

But then—

He froze.

His instincts screamed.

Danger.

He whipped around—but he was a second too late.

A massive sphere of frost exploded across the battlefield, instantly engulfing the entire area in a blizzard of freezing mist. The ground hissed as ice spread rapidly outward—then, with a deafening crack, a towering glacier formed at the center.

Inside, completely encased in solid ice, was Metallo.

Nathan, barely conscious, forced himself to lift his head. His vision was blurry, his limbs trembling—but his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

A white-haired girl with fierce, glowing blue eyes stepped into view, walking through the frost as if it obeyed her will. She knelt beside him, giving a sharp nod.

"I’ll handle this," she said, voice cold with conviction.

But Nathan weakly shook his head. His lips trembled as he forced out a single word:

"Run..."

Laura’s expression tensed. She opened her mouth to argue—then froze.

A chilling sensation swept through her spine. Something was wrong.

Her instincts screamed a split second too late.

A searing yellow beam blasted through the cold mist—ripping through her side.

"AHHHHHH!"

Laura screamed, blood spraying from the brutal wound. She twisted and stumbled, barely managing to halt the bleeding with a rush of ice energy. Her breath grew shallow, her skin pale. Her hand clutched her side as she turned toward the source of the attack.

Perched atop the ruins of a half-collapsed building stood a tall figure clad in black armor. A third eye, glowing ominous yellow, pulsed on his forehead.

Her heart dropped.

Freakeye.

There were supposed to be two of them—the elite of cursed organization . She had hoped her previous ice attack had neutralized one. But her hope crumbled instantly.

The glacier behind her began to crack.

Then shattered.

With a violent boom, Metallo burst from the ice and landed heavily on the ground. Two enormous scythes of gleaming metal formed in his hands, fury blazing in his now blood-red eyes.

"You damn pests!" Metallo roared. "You wretches! I’ll wipe you all from existence!"

He lunged forward, charging straight at Laura.

She staggered back, her vision swimming from blood loss. Her heart raced as she looked at the two enemies converging.

Freakeye, his third eye glowing even brighter, was preparing another devastating beam.

Metallo, berserk with rage, was nearly on top of her with deadly scythes raised.

She couldn’t run. Couldn’t dodge. Couldn’t block.

She was going to die.

Then—

BOOM!

A Warhammer crashed down on Freakeye’s face, smashing him off the rooftop and sending his body plummeting to the ground like a ragdoll. Dust exploded on impact.

At the exact same moment, a figure appeared behind Metallo. Without hesitation, he grabbed the larger man by the leg, lifted him with unnatural strength, and slammed him repeatedly into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The earth cracked, forming a crater.

Then with a final swing, he hurled Metallo’s body several meters away.

The stranger raised his right hand, and the Warhammer that had struck Freakeye flew cleanly into his grip. He spun it once with ease and rested it across his shoulders like it belonged there.

Laura’s eyes widened, tears forming in the corners.

A man stood in front of her, clad in a rugged brown overcoat. Short black hair. A strong, battle-worn frame. The Warhammer behind his neck made him look like a god of war descending from the heavens.

Her breath caught.

"...So you really came," she whispered. A smile, weak but filled with relief, formed on her lips.

"Ron..."

Ron had arrived.

To be continued...

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