SSS Ranked Awakening: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 30 – Not Alone—Mysterious Girl

The spear flew like a comet. A streak of howling wind and shimmering ice tore across the dungeon corridor, moving so fast it left afterimages in the air. The red wolf turned its head mid-sprint, sensing the danger far too late. It tried to dodge. Fate had already chosen its end.

CRACK— The spear slammed straight through the wolf’s side, tearing a gaping hole clean through its body. Ribs shattered. Flesh split. Blood erupted in a violent arc, and the beast didn’t even have time to scream. It dropped mid-step. Dead before it hit the ground. The spear kept going, trailing frost and force, until it collided with the far wall with a deafening BOOM, sending a shockwave pulsing through the chamber.

The five blue wolves trailing behind their alpha stumbled—legs buckling, balance shattered. They skidded to halts, ears pinned back, eyes wide with primal terror.

Leon exhaled softly, eyes fixed on the corpse. One down. No mercy. Leon was already moving. Before the blue wolves could recover from the shockwave, his figure blurred—motionless one instant, unstoppable the next. Wind screamed around him as he activated his Adept Rank Body Enhancement, channeling condensed air across his limbs like armor wrought from a storm.

He didn’t draw his daggers. He didn’t need to. Around his fists, wind compressed tighter and tighter—becoming visible, solid, like gauntlets of raw force humming with lethal energy. They shimmered faintly, razor-thin spirals coiled into dense impact cores.

He hit the first wolf mid-leap. The punch didn’t just land—it detonated.

CRACK—WHUD. Bone shattered. Flesh burst. The beast’s body was flung sideways like a ragdoll, dead before it even touched the ground.

Leon didn’t pause. He was already on the second—then the third. Each strike was precise, brutal, and final. The wind around his fists shrieked with every blow, rupturing skulls and snapping spines in a single hit. By the time he stopped moving, all five wolves had collapsed. Slain without weapons. No effort. No mercy.

Leon turned toward the shattered wall where his ice spear had embedded itself. Despite the explosive impact it had caused—ripping through flesh, cracking stone, and scattering mana like a shockwave—it was still there. Still whole. Still perfect.

He blinked. You’ve got to be kidding me. The spear hadn’t cracked, chipped, or even dulled. Its surface shimmered faintly, the ice gleaming like polished crystal, smooth and pristine. A weapon born of magic, pressure, and will—and somehow, it had endured all of it. He stepped forward, gripped the shaft, and with a firm pull, tore it free from the wall. The stone groaned. Dust fell. The weapon remained untouched.

Leon gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. ”You’re coming with me again.” With a thought, he stored the spear back into his inventory—its presence like a quiet promise waiting for the next execution.

Leon moved steadily through the winding paths of the dungeon, calm and focused. His steps echoed lightly, his hands never resting. Every monster he felled, he took the time to retrieve its mana core, storing them in a neat mental tally. When he came across larger beasts—especially the bigger wolves—he stored their entire corpses. The rest, he left behind.

He didn’t keep track at first. Somewhere along the way... he lost count. How many had it been? Thirty? Forty? More? At some point, the numbers blurred into motion. Movement. Breath. Instinct.

And now, as he stepped into a long corridor, he slowed. Because everything about this place—the shift in air, the stillness, the hum in the stone—told him one thing: the boss was ahead. It wasn’t just instinct. The space itself announced it. The kind of ominous silence that came before something massive. Dangerous.

His heart beat a little faster—not in fear, but anticipation. He was ready.

Something else tugged at his thoughts. He glanced to the side, and his expression shifted—just slightly. Along the way here, he had seen them. Corpses. Not human. Not fresh either. Small wolves. The same blue-tinged lightning beasts he had fought before. Two of them, sprawled in different corners, cut down by something sharp. Clean. Precise.

I didn’t do that, he thought, eyes narrowing. They weren’t burned. Weren’t frozen. There were no signs of stray elemental backlash—no crackling residue of lightning, no lingering frostbite, no scorched stone or frozen blood. And yet, something lingered. A trace of some other element—subtle, unfamiliar, almost like static under his skin. He couldn’t identify it. Not yet. Just... clean kills. Which meant— he wasn’t the only one here.

That realization settled in his mind like a quiet weight. Not fear. A new calculation. Because if someone else had gotten through this deathtrap of a dungeon... then the real question wasn’t whether the boss was still ahead. It was— Who would reach it first.

Leon quickened his pace. He didn’t activate the cloak’s invisibility. Not this time. Too risky. If someone was ahead—or worse, watching—he didn’t want to be caught mid-transition between seen and unseen. Especially not while using an artifact-level treasure. That kind of thing drew eyes. Questions. Greed.

And right now? He was still only wearing his underwear beneath the cloak. It wasn’t about modesty anymore. His old armor and clothes didn’t fit his new body—his frame had changed too much after the Orb’s fusion. Too tall. Too lean. Too... different. So the cloak stayed on. Not as a relic. Not as a defense. Just as clothing. His only layer.

The hallway narrowed as he moved, its carved stone lit by soft, blue crystals embedded in the walls. The quiet hum of mana ran beneath his boots, steady and faint like dungeon breath. Then—he saw it.

A massive gate at the end of the corridor. At least three times his height, sealed shut, with ancient carvings winding across its surface like a map of veins. It radiated power.

That wasn’t the first thing he noticed. Because sitting at the base of the gate—was a person. Draped in a dark cloak, hood pulled low, posture casual yet still. They were seated on the cold stone, back against the gate, one arm resting on their knees.

Leon stopped a few paces short. Silent. Alert. ”...Well, looks like I’m not alone after all.”

And he didn’t know yet—whether that was good news... or a problem.

Leon didn’t rush. His steps were quiet, measured, deliberate—more out of instinct than caution. He didn’t need to see the person’s face to know what this meant. Someone had made it to the final gate.

I thought I would be only one to reach here. That thought burned sharper than he expected. This wasn’t about pride. Or ego. It was about opportunity. The boss room was more than just a final fight—it was a threshold. And defeating the boss alone could dramatically increase his chances of awakening a rarer, stronger Class. That was the whole point of the Trial Dungeon. Effort. Risk. Reward.

If he shared that room now... He clenched his jaw lightly. No. I’m not splitting this. He stepped closer, stopping a few meters away from the figure at the gate. The person shifted slightly—head turning, body adjusting—acknowledging his presence without speaking. Their cloak was thick, worn but high-quality, the kind issued to trained adventurers. A simple, emotionless mask covered their face, obscuring all expression.

Leon studied them carefully. Their posture was relaxed, not lazy. Balanced. Resting—ready.

Then he noticed something else. Her stature. Lean. Compact. Shoulders slightly narrower than his. The angle of her wrists, the way her legs crossed—details most people wouldn’t catch.

But he’d trained under Seraphine. And Seraphine didn’t let small details slide.

...She’s a girl. That much was clear now.

Everything else? Still a mystery.

Leon kept his hands at his sides, not drawing his weapons, not turning his back either. Not yet. Not until he knew why she was here. And whether she planned to stand in his way.