My SSS-Rank Skill and System is too OP in Modern Cultivation world

The twilight sky casts long shadows over the city as Miss Elena Rivers races through crowded streets, her heart pounding urgently. Still reeling from her earlier rescue, she pushes herself to catch up with the Tier‑3 Watcher. As she rounds a corner, she notices a surreal sight—a swirling mass of spiritual energy gathering in an abandoned square, its eerie glow illuminating shattered glass and crumbling concrete. Without hesitation, she quickens her pace, determined to uncover the source of the disturbance.

BOOM!

The sound echoes off nearby buildings as she arrives at the scene. There, in the centre of the chaos, a desperate robber is engaged in a dangerous act: he is forcefully straining against the limits of his cultivation in a bid to break through to Level C. His eyes burn with both fear and reckless determination.

"Damn it—I'm late! This guy is trying something extremely dangerous. If he fails, he'll become a human bomb," he shouts, his voice trembling with both adrenaline and dread. The weight of his words hangs in the air as the unstable spiritual energy threatens to surge uncontrollably.

The energy radiates from his body like an ominous aura, its pulsating force ready to burst forth and obliterate everything within an entire city block. The raw power suggests that nothing beneath the threshold of a Level‑D cultivator would survive—not even those with modest abilities would be spared from its devastating impact.

Elena's eyes narrow as she scans the scene. "It will be incredibly difficult to stop him now," she thinks, her mind racing with strategies. "Wait, who is that guy? Why can't I see his face?" The mysterious figure's hooded silhouette suggests he is from the notorious Dark Alliance—clearly, a deliberate attempt to conceal his identity.

Not far from her, Kent stands between the Tier‑3 Watcher and the robber, his muscles tense and his eyes locked on the unfolding confrontation. He internally muses. This guy is tough, but he's pushing himself to level up. How am I supposed to defeat him if he succeeds? The tension in the air is palpable, punctuated by the relentless churning of spiritual energy.

Amid the chaos, dust and shards of broken concrete swirl in the wind—a testament to the raw power unleashed in this battle. The sound of the wind, carrying with it the echoes of destruction, fills the space.

Wind! Wind!

A Tier‑3 Watcher member, his face etched with determination and fatigue, brushes the dust from his eyes. "Damn it—I was pushed far back by that force," he curses under his breath. "No one in this metro city will defeat him if this continues."

His gaze falls upon Miss Elena, whose arrival has added a spark of hope to the dire situation. "Cover me, Elena! We have to stop him at all costs!" he shouts, urgency lacing every word. With that, both he and Elena surge forward into the fray.

Without missing a beat, Elena hurls her talisman paper with practised precision. "Roger that, comrade!" she calls out, her voice steady despite the chaos.

Whoosh!

The robber reacts with equal speed, swinging his hand—now wreathed in a fierce, flickering aura of spiritual energy—to deflect the incoming talisman papers. They scatter into the air and explode in brilliant bursts of light.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

"Just a little more, Elena—I'll finish this. Hold on," declares the Tier‑3 Watcher as he shifts his stance. "I'm going to use my blood manipulation superpower." His tone is grim; he continues, "It's extremely exhausting, which is why I rarely resort to it. It only works with my own blood—I had to cut myself. Give me a second!"

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small, worn knife. With swift determination, he makes a deep incision on his hand. The pain is evident on his face, but his focus never wavers. With his other hand, he makes a precise gesture to control the blood flow as it gushes out like a fountain. The scarlet liquid gathers around his head, coalescing into a shimmering ball that splits into five distinct parts. From each part, he forms a blood spear—deadly projectiles aimed squarely at the robber's head.

Wizz! Wizz! Wizz! Wizz! Wizz!

The robber instinctively adopts a defensive posture, his eyes widening as he scoffs, "Do you think this is enough to defeat me? You must be joking. What can a few blood spears do to a strength-type user? My body is as hard as iron." His voice carries both confidence and a hint of defiance, even as he braces against the incoming attack.

Simultaneously, another Watcher executes a cunning manoeuvre. While distracting the robber, he channels his own blood toward a concealed sword. In a display of swift alchemy, his blood transforms into the shape of a hand. This newly formed blood hand slips silently behind the robber, finding its mark by piercing an earlier wound on the robber's shoulder.

Stab!

"ARRRGGHHHH!" the robber bellows in agony as he crumples to his knees—blood streams from his wound in torrents, resembling water gushing from a broken tap.

"Pouring!" cries the Tier‑3 Watcher, now barely holding onto consciousness as he sits on the ground. "Elena, attack him quickly—I can do little more now. Most of my blood is gone, and I might collapse at any moment."

Before Miss Elena can launch her next move, the robber's gaze fixes on Kent—our main character—who has been observing the chaotic struggle. "What the hell! I'm going to die here, and that guy from the Nexus hasn't done anything until now. He must be too weak to intervene," the robber jeers bitterly.

Kent, taken aback by the unexpected accusation, thinks, Why is he directing his anger at me? I haven't even attacked yet! His confusion is momentary, for in the blink of an eye, the robber suddenly charges directly at him.

"Get out of my way!" the robber bellows, his voice laced with madness. "Have you lost your mind because you couldn't complete your level-up? He's the one who attacked you!" He points accusingly at the fallen Tier‑3 Watcher, his gesture desperate and erratic.

Barking furiously, the robber continues, "I'm going to die soon—but before I do, I'll kill one more government watchdog. My final act will be to take down a weak ant!"

With that, he charges at Kent, and his fist is enveloped in a swirling mass of spiritual energy. "Die for me—give me one last moment of pleasure!" he roars, unleashing the full force of his attack.

Kent's mind races as he assesses the oncoming blow. Damn, this attack... this momentum—it might be a Level‑C cultivator strike. I have to counter, or I'm as good as dead! Every muscle in his body tenses in preparation.

In that crucial moment, Kent recalls the invaluable teachings of the old man Xian Yu. The voice of his mentor echoes in his mind: "That's the wrong stance, Kent! Stand firm—press your feet into the ground, channel your strength through your legs, waist, and arms. Only then can you strike or defend with full power. Make everything fall under your control!"

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kent murmurs to himself. My control is the key to success. He channels the ancient wisdom into his very being and gathers his spiritual energy until his fist begins to glow with a flash of radiant, sun-like brilliance. "Come now, criminal!" he shouts, his voice resolute as he steps forward to meet the charge.

In a synchronized moment of violent beauty, Kent bends forward and unleashes a powerful punch at the robber's hand just as the latter's fist meets his own. The collision of their strikes sends shockwaves through the air, and the clashing spiritual energies merge into a shimmering barrier that encases both fighters.

BOOM!

The impact generates a sudden, forceful gust that momentarily blinds Miss Elena, who is still poised with her talisman paper. "What a strong airflow," she exclaims, marvelling at the raw power on display. "If I weren't a Level‑C cultivator, I'd have been blown away!"

At the same time, the struggling Tier‑3 Watcher clings desperately to the ground, his strength nearly spent as he fights against the wind's relentless pull. "Damn it… what just happened?" he mutters, barely audible over the fading roar of energy.

As the turbulent winds finally subside, the Watcher's eyes widen in disbelief at the sight before him: the robber's hand lies shattered on the ground, with a significant portion blown clean away. His wrist is entirely obliterated, leaving only exposed, jagged bone in its wake.

The robber's cry of pain is guttural and heart-wrenching, "ARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH! My hands… you bastard!" His voice, now a mix of fury and agony, reverberates through the silent aftermath of the battle.