Ex-Rank Awakening: My Attacks Make Me Stronger-Chapter 89: EX . Instincts

Fortunately for Leon and his squad, the section of the border they were deployed to wasn’t currently facing any major skirmishes. If it had been, they would have been thrown straight into the thick of war the moment they arrived, no preparation, no orientation, just blood and fire.

But war wasn’t the only thing soldiers of the Attack Military Branch handled.

Another critical part of their duty was the dismantling of Demon Strongholds, strategically placed enemy bastions scattered across the outer territories. These weren’t just demon camps or temporary outposts; they were reinforced structures designed to act as launchpads for breaches. If left alone, a single stronghold could weaken an entire region’s defense and become a doorway for destruction.

And so, it was the Attack Division’s responsibility to destroy them, one by one.

Normally, a single squad would be assigned one stronghold at a time, carefully chosen to match their current rank and power. Missions like these could take days, sometimes weeks.

But Leon Kael?

He wasn’t interested in "normal."

He had declared that his squad would clear thirty strongholds in one week.

To Adrian, Eleanor, and Eden, it sounded like madness. Not just ambitious, but outright suicidal. Strongholds weren’t some hollow caves with monsters, they were fortresses of death, guarded by organized demon forces, sometimes even led by rare-ranked commanders.

But Leon?

Leon wasn’t fazed.

Because to him, impossible was just a word people used when they lacked resolve. When they feared failure more than they desired success.

And besides...

He was the boy who had come back from the dead.

What were a few demon forts going to do to him?

As the sun.rose from the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, the outer walls loomed in the distance, cold, silent, and unyielding.

Beyond them, thirty strongholds awaited.

And Leon planned to knock.

Hard.

****

It didn’t take long for Leon and his squadmates to gear up and leave their accommodation. After all, clearing thirty strongholds in one week wasn’t the kind of goal you slept in for.

They moved fast, knowing time was their greatest asset.

During this period, the frequency of demon skirmishes had diminished. The outer territories were relatively calm, for now. And with fewer active battles, the number of available strongholds had dropped drastically. In fact, they were in such high demand that squads were now required to reserve them in advance just to secure a mission.

It was simple supply and demand.

So Leon wanted to beat the rush.

He led the way, walking a few paces ahead of his team as they neared the dispatch office, a squat, steel building at the edge of the inner base perimeter. Outside, soldiers loitered, chatting, filing reports, or waiting their turn. Inside, four separate counters managed mission assignments based on stronghold rank—F through C on regular days, with B-rank and above reserved for special deployment.

Leon turned briefly to his squadmates.

"Wait here. I’ll handle the reservation," he said coolly, before striding inside.

The dispatch hall wasn’t too crowded, only a few people scattered at each counter. Leon made a beeline for the D-rank counter, the one with the lowest threat level that still offered decent rewards.

"If I want to clear thirty strongholds in one week and keep my squad alive, D-rank is perfect,"

Leon thought to himself.

Of course, if his squadmates could hear that thought, they’d probably drop dead on the spot, D-rank was supposed to be a challenge, not a speed run. But Leon wasn’t planning to die anytime soon. He was confident that for his squad, it was the perfect balance between safety and grind.

But just as he was a few steps away from the counter, a sharp voice cut through the air behind him.

"Wow... it seems getting that shiny combatant badge has gone straight to your head. Hate to break it to you, but the F-rank desk is over there. Now be a good little dog and crawl back where you belong."

The tone was laced with venom. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

Leon stopped mid-step.

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in surprise, but in amusement.

Whoever this was clearly didn’t know who they were talking to.

As Leon turned around, his gaze landed on the source of the arrogant voice, and he immediately recognized the man.

It was one of the combatants he’d seen during the squad assignment, the one with the perpetual sneer and overinflated ego.

Leon tilted his head slightly, squinting in mock thought.

"Ah... what was your name again?"

He struggled to remember the name before

snapping his fingers in realization.

"Yes. You’re Daniel Prick, right?"

The smirk on Daniel’s face vanished in an instant, his features twisting into a flush of rage.

"It’s Price," he snarled, fists clenched. "And you better remember that."

Leon just waved a hand dismissively and turned away, his voice light and unbothered.

"I prefer Prick. It suits you more."

He continued toward the counter without sparing another glance.

Behind him, Combatant Daniel Price’s body trembled, not from anger, but from something else entirely. He took a step forward, hand twitching, ready to put the upstart brat in his place,

But he froze.

His legs wouldn’t move. His body refused to respond.

A bead of sweat trailed down his temple as his instincts screamed in warning, louder than they ever had on the battlefield.

’If I move from this spot... I’ll regret it.’

Daniel’s heart pounded. He didn’t understand it, not completely, but his seasoned instincts, the same ones that had guided him through blood-soaked trenches and ambushes, were flaring like sirens in his skull.

Warning him.

Telling him that boy wasn’t safe.

’Isn’t he just a newly awakened trial taker?’

But even as that thought crossed his mind, Leon had already reached the D-rank counter, calmly placing his reservation without so much as a glance back.

Only then did the invisible pressure release.

Daniel stumbled slightly, gasping as he regained control of his limbs. His pride burned, but the fear in his gut was louder. Much louder.

Straightening his beret with trembling fingers, he muttered weakly,

"Tch... I’ll just come back later. My cadets aren’t ready anyway."

With that, he turned and left the dispatch office in a hurry, muttering excuses to himself as if that would cleanse the shame.

But deep down, a single thought echoed:

Who the hell is that kid?

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