SSS Ranked Awakening: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 128: Epic Rank Skill—Slave Mark
The woman with long black hair and red eyes, sharp features, and a defined face—looking no older than her mid-twenties despite her true age—gripped the armrest of her chair so tightly that deep cracks splintered through the wood.
Her lips trembled as she wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, her eyes blazing with barely contained hatred.
"SERAPHINE, YOU BITCH! I’M GONNA MAKE YOU MY PET FOR KILLING MY TAMED BEAST ONCE I HAVE THIS KINGDOM IN MY HANDS!"
Suddenly, a voice rang out from behind, smooth and mocking.
"Haha! If the castle walls weren’t built to muffle sound, the crown prince or the queen would’ve already had you assassinated for running your mouth like that."
"Shut up! You dirty bastard!"
---
Leon walked up to the center of the room, the old man following behind. The floor beneath his boots creaked faintly, echoing in the dimly lit, hollow chamber.
With a wave of his hand, the metallic cover sealing the manhole flew to the side—CLANG!—crashing into the stone wall, the sound sharp and final.
There was a straight metallic ladder leading down, its rungs slick with condensation. A faint draft wafted up, carrying the dank, musty scent of the underground, mixing with rust and wet stone.
"Old man, can you go down and tell them what’s happening so they can come up without worry?"
"Of course, my lord. Even though I’m 40 years old and my joints aren’t in the best condition, I can still move around," the old man replied confidently, his voice coarse but unwavering, carrying a scratchy rasp that hinted at years of shouting into the wind.
Leon looked at the man—his white beard frayed like old rope, barely hiding a mouth with chipped teeth. His height barely reached Leon’s shoulder, and his skin, stretched thin over brittle bones, was marked with scars and old burn patches. His breath carried the stale stench of hunger and damp stone. Leon could almost feel the heat radiating from the man’s aching joints as he stood with quiet dignity. He had assumed the man was in his 60s or 70s—but he was only 40.
Poverty doesn’t just age the body—it withers the soul, poor old man.
He then turned to the knights and ordered,
"Two of you should go down too. Help those who aren’t capable of climbing up."
"Yes, my lord."
Leon noted the change. They used to call him "young master," but now, it was simply "lord." A small shift in words, but it carried weight. Respect, perhaps. Recognition of something greater. He let it pass without comment, merely nodding and watching as they moved toward the manhole, their armor softly clinking with each step.
The air in the chamber was thick with the sharp, biting scent of rust and filth. From the open manhole rose a putrid draft, heavy with the stench of rot, urine, and something unmistakably dead. It clung to the nostrils like a wet rag. Leon stood still, breathing it in, his fingers twitching faintly—not from thought, but from the sheer repulsiveness of the underground stench curling up to meet him.
He had to enter the Time Dimension in his conscious form quickly. One of the assassins was still inside. Leon had sent him hundreds of kilometers away, dropped in an unfamiliar location to ensure separation, yet the possibility of a chance encounter couldn’t be dismissed.
He doubted the man would act recklessly. That kind of assassin didn’t survive long. But Leon had learned never to trust confidence alone.
Still, he didn’t move.
Not yet. He was waiting. Something had to prove itself first.
The old man, on his next step, slipped and started falling from a height of 7 meters.
"ARRGGH!"
"Forgive me, my lord! This old man underestimated himself..." There was a faint smile on his face, and a droplet of tear around his eyes as he fell, making it seem like he was going to die on a valiant mission—with no regrets on his face.
The knights saw him falling, but there wasn’t much space, and the angle was difficult to catch the old man. If they tried to help, it could make the fall even worse.
Water was being formed by one of the knights to at least ensure he didn’t get too injured—if not completely avoid injury.
However, before the knight could do anything.
Nothing but with a wave of Leon’s hand, the old man’s figure vanished—and then appeared at the ground. The velocity was still there, but the distance was only inches, so the only thing the old man felt was a slight sting in his butt—nothing more.
If he died from a ladder fall after surviving a slum riot, I was going to be annoyed.
Leon was no longer standing near the manhole; he had already done what he intended. He could have teleported the old man down, but he wanted to see whether the man would truly attempt the descent, knowing the risk of falling was high.
And he did—without hesitation—just because Leon had asked him to, and that fall was not small for a frail man like him.
The old man’s faith in him was almost blinding. It was hard to believe how much had come from such a small encounter.
Still, it felt good. He now had one of the potential candidates to manage the Spoon of Infinite Soup inside. He would soon see what the others had to offer.
As for that beggar assassin, Leon had never trusted him—not even for a second. His only role would be as a laboring slave inside the dimension.
He knew that man was a crafty one. He would place the Slave Mark on him as soon as possible.
The man inside was several times denser than in the outside world. The spoon could function without any active mana supply. And with the current number of people, it wouldn’t even need extra mana from someone to keep up with the demand to begin with.
At least for now.
He stepped beside Seraphine, the cold air shifting slightly around him as mana surged through his body.
With a slow, commanding gesture, he shaped a throne of ice—elegant, intricate, and unmistakably inspired by the one he’d seen in the royal palace. Frost crackled along the floor, the throne glimmering with a frosted sheen under the dim light.
He hoped no one noticed he’d copied the king’s throne. It wasn’t copyright—it was unpaid promotion.
He sat down with effortless composure, the chill beneath him ignored completely, and turned his gaze toward Seraphine.
"I am going inside the Time Dimension to take care of the people inside. I’ll leave things here for you to manage, my lovely wife."
Seraphine had heard him use the word "wife" in private, but now—before others, openly and without hesitation—her already soft heart melted entirely. Her breath caught, and the warmth that flooded her chest nearly made her knees buckle.
My Leon loves me so much.
With a foolish giggle on her face, she nodded her head repeatedly.
One knight present averted his gaze, and Kaela’s mouth twitched seeing her proud master like this, but she said nothing.
My lady is lost cause
Leon, sitting on the icy throne, closed his eyes and arrived inside the Time Dimension.
He had entered near the space where he had sent the assassin earlier, but the man was nowhere in sight.
Which meant that after arriving here, sensing Leon’s presence wasn’t nearby, he had tried to escape.
Leon would keep this in mind.
But before doing anything else, he had decided to find the skill stone of Slave Mark and learn the skill.
The thought of him being in conscious form and not being able to meet the already present people inside didn’t even cross his mind, as he had experimented with this with Seraphine before.
At that time, she wasn’t the only one who was shocked—even he was.
As they were to meet inside, his conscious form was no different from his real body, and the effect of the Time Dimension—like resurrection—was present too, besides the fact that he couldn’t feel the increased mana density like he could in conscious form.
And his training speed was the same. Still, being immortal was too good of a perk, as in that form, he could interact with real people inside the Time Dimension.
After taking out the skill stones, which he had collected from the royal palace, from his inventory, it wasn’t hard for him to find the skill stone. There was only one skill stone whose color tone was much darker—and it was completely black.
Leon picked it up in his palm and stored the rest of the skill stones back in his inventory.
He did check with his Cosmic System just to be sure, as a shimmering golden transparent screen appeared in front of him, revealing the details to him.
> [Skill Stone: Slave Mark]
> [Rank: Epic]
> [Details: Put a mark of slave on the soul of any living being who submits to you.]
Leon’s grip tightened.
Good. This is where it begins.
And by the time the outside world realizes what he’s building in here—it’ll already be too late.
