[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-sss-ranked-awakening-all-my-skills-are-at-level-":3,"chapter-sss-ranked-awakening-all-my-skills-are-at-level--sss-ranked-awakening-all-my-skills-are-at-level--chapter-7":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","SSS Ranked Awakening: All My Skills Are at Level 100",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":20,"prevChapterSlug":21,"totalChapters":22,"novelImage":23},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":16,"volume":17,"translator":18,"content_hash":19},511656,769,"Chapter 7: Goblin Attack and Testing Strength","sss-ranked-awakening-all-my-skills-are-at-level--chapter-7",7,"\u003Cp>Chapter 7: Goblin Attack and Testing Strength\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Time, as it turned out, wasn’t just strange in the vault. It was ’silent.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon stepped through the veil of reality into the gray, endless expanse of the Dimensional Hourglass. The world outside would tick forward three hours.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In here?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Four months and three days.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More than a hundred days of nothing but himself, the floor, and a pair of steel blades that didn’t care how tired he felt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There were no targets. No dummy to stab. No glowing XP bar or dramatic transformation scene.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just Leon. Alone. Moving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And the silence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At first, he flailed. Clumsy strikes, awkward footwork. No opponent to parry. No real feedback. Just the echo of his own breath and the chaotic rhythm of his uncertainty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Am I improving?’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Is this even working?’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Doubt crept in like mold. Some days he trained with focus. Other days, he argued with the void. He lost track of time inside time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No injuries. No soreness. No way to ’measure’ growth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only motion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But slowly—gradually—something began to shift.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His footwork grew tighter. His balance steadier. He no longer swung wild; he cut. He no longer stumbled after pivots; he flowed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He couldn’t see change. But he could ’feel’ it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each time he stepped, he knew where his weight was. Each turn of the blade, he felt control.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Instinct layered itself over repetition. Muscle memory born not from brute strength, but from obsession.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The vault didn’t test his body. It tested his will.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And somehow, he’d passed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>---\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he blinked back into the real world, it was like surfacing from a long, quiet dream.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Three hours.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His room was the same. The soup still faintly steamed. The floor still creaked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon stood still, letting the silence settle around him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No new muscles. No glow-up. Still a skinny seven-year-old.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But when he moved—just a small pivot, a shift in stance—he felt it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Control.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Precision.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Confidence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not the kind you shouted about.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The kind you ’carried.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He dropped onto the bed and passed out cold, mind exhausted in ways his body couldn’t understand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>---\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sun was climbing when Leon finally stirred.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stretched, blinked blearily, then let a slow grin creep across his face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Last night, just before collapsing, he’d tested something on instinct.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The daggers?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They’d slipped back into his soul-inventory like they belonged there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seamless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clean.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His cheat menu was officially working overtime.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I love this world,\" he muttered, rolling off the bed with a stretch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He washed up, threw on his gear, slung the soup pot over his back like it was sacred cargo—and stepped outside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Same streets. Same stalls. Same world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this time?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He moved like he had ’options.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The soup stall was booming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Grayridge’s finest source of infinite warmth had drawn its usual line—ragged workers, exhausted mothers, scrawny kids clinging to coins like lifelines. The scent of savory broth wrapped around the square like a safety net.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon worked fast. Ladle. Bowl. Coin. Nod. Repeat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was his routine now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wasn’t glamorous, but it was working.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Until the screaming started.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A single, piercing shriek tore across the street—high-pitched and ’wrong’, the kind of sound that made you freeze before your brain caught up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then came the shouting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then the stampede.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People scattered like someone had pulled a fire alarm on reality. Market stalls flipped. Baskets flew. A wheel of cheese went rogue and took out a child’s leg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon blinked, bowl still in hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"What the hell—?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he saw it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A goblin. Pale green, short, snarling. Filthy blade in one hand. Blood on the other.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind it, more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dozens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Flooding in from the cracked southern barricade, shrieking with joy and murder in their eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The guards?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nowhere.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The vendors?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Running.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A woman tripped in front of his stall, clutching her bleeding arm. \"My son—my son’s still—\" She didn’t finish. A goblin lunged from behind and dragged her down, blade flashing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon flinched as her scream was cut short.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another goblin laughed—wet and broken like a choking crow—and started toward the next closest human: a man trying to protect his stall with a broomstick.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It didn’t work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon stepped back, eyes wide, ladle gripped like it could somehow help.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’No.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Usually during monster attacks, he was tucked away—sewers, alleys, places too forgotten to bother raiding.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was here. In the open. On the main street. And he’d drawn attention.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One of the goblins paused mid-sprint. Sniffed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Its red eyes locked onto Leon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not the stall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not the soup.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Him.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon’s stomach twisted. The goblin hissed—and charged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The goblin charged—snarling, low, fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People screamed around him. Stalls toppled. Blood painted the cobbles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Leon didn’t move.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t ’panic.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Instead, a grin broke across his face—tight, sharp, electric.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Finally. Let’s see if I’m all talk or just trauma with knives.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He reached inward with practiced ease.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fwip.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Twin daggers shimmered into his hands, pulled clean from the soul-vault like extensions of his will.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cold steel. Familiar weight. No hesitation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The red Ring of Minor Regeneration pulsed on his finger—warm and steady, like a promise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Minor injuries? Covered. Major ones? Don’t get hit. Perfect system.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His feet shifted into stance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I’ve been waiting Four months and three days for this,\" Leon muttered, eyes locked on the goblin. \"Let’s dance, sewer gremlin.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The goblin lunged—blade-first, shrieking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clang!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon sidestepped, blade scraping past his shoulder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Fast, but not trained. Just rage and instinct. I can work with that.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He ducked under the backswing—whoosh—and rolled to the side, coming up with a jab at the goblin’s ribs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thunk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dagger connected—but shallow. Not enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Damn. No real power behind it. Seven-year-old arms aren’t built for killshots.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The goblin shrieked and spun, slashing wide.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon twisted away—fluid, tight, deliberate. All reflex.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Buddy,\" he said breathlessly, \"you’re gonna have to try harder than—\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>CLANG!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The goblin’s blade clipped his forearm—just a nick.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ring flared warm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wound gone in seconds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"—that,\" Leon finished, grin still intact. \"God, I love insurance.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another overhead slash. Wild. Desperate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon danced sideways—scrtch!—boots sliding on stone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He countered—low and clean—blade sweeping beneath the goblin’s arm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shlick.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood sprayed. The goblin reeled back, screeching.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon stepped with it. Tight. Controlled. ’I’m not running. Not today.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"See? This is why you don’t rush the boss fight without reading the patch notes.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The goblin snarled, limping, panicked now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It lunged again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon pivoted—skrrt—let it pass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned. Fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One dagger to the back of the knee—crk!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The second, to the neck—shhk!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The goblin froze. Twitched.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dropped with a thud.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon stood over the body, breath light. Not from fatigue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From ’clarity.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked at the blood dripping from his blade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’I can do this. I’m not useless. Not anymore.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He exhaled. \"Okay. Training montage? Worth it.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another shriek echoed from up the street.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon’s head snapped toward the sound. Another goblin, charging.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t hesitate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Daggers twirled in his hands as he stepped forward, eyes locked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Let’s make this one cleaner. No panic. No luck. Just control.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’I’m not the prey anymore.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And just like that—he was moving again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon didn’t wait.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another goblin was sprinting his way—drool hanging from its teeth, cleaver raised, murder in its eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leon twirled his daggers, stepping forward to meet it head-on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>he thought, eyes gleaming. ’I trained for this. Time to carve it into muscle memory.’\u003C\u002Fp>",1225,"2026-05-30T12:44:03.262Z","2026-06-01T04:31:15.240Z",1,"novelbin.me","ffa6558a83c0dfe944af8071119694a0a506d722b752e55d67a9e9c08502457f","sss-ranked-awakening-all-my-skills-are-at-level--chapter-8","sss-ranked-awakening-all-my-skills-are-at-level--chapter-6",427,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fsss-ranked-awakening-all-my-skills-are-at-level--cover.jpg"]