SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

The sun had already begun its descent when Damien struck.

Whoooosh…

The movement was clean—refined, precise, a single curved sweep of his blade that cut the air with a whisper.

Lyone barely had time to raise his own sword to deflect, and when he did, the sheer weight of Damien’s motion knocked him back a full two steps, feet skidding across the dirt.

They had been training for hours.

Sweat clung to Lyone’s brow. His tunic, soaked through, clung to his shoulders. His fingers trembled faintly from fatigue, but he held the short blade in both hands like he meant it.

“Again,” Damien said, resetting his stance.

Lyone groaned. “I’m… dying.”

“You’re surviving.”

“I was surviving. Now I’m dying.”

Damien’s eyes were calm. Unrelenting. “Then you haven’t trained enough.”

The boy let out a breath between gritted teeth and lunged. This time, he led with a feint, circling around Damien’s left side.

His movements were sharper now—less sloppy than they had been hours ago.

Paaang!

Damien deflected with a low parry and immediately kicked forward, catching Lyone off balance.

The boy fell, tumbling onto his side in a puff of dust.

“Ground again,” Damien muttered.

Lyone stared at the sky from the dirt. “I hate gravity.”

Damien offered a hand.

Lyone took it, grunting as he rose. “Seriously, how are you still moving like it’s noon? You’re not human.”

“Correct,” Damien said dryly.

“Would it kill you to pretend to be mortal for, like, five minutes?”

“What do you mean pretend to be mortal? I am nortal.” Damien frowned.

“Act like someone who gets tired. Shoe it when you’re tired.” Lyone stated, tossing the weapon aside.

“But I’m not tired,” Damien replied, stepping back. “You were doing fine until… Well, you slipped. Again.”

They reset.

The space around them had grown quieter. Greshan’s scattered torchlights had begun to flicker into view, posted along narrow streets and tucked into the corners of merchant shops. Shadows stretched longer as the sun dipped into a copper haze.

But neither of them stopped.

Lyone swung again, slower now. Damien blocked easily, guiding the boy’s momentum past him and pressing a palm to the back of his neck as he moved. Lyone froze, caught off guard.

“That,” Damien said, “would’ve been fatal.”

Lyone slumped. “I’m improving, though… right?”

“You lasted two more minutes than when we first started.”

Lyone blinked. “Wait, really?”

“No.”

“You’re evil.”

“Also correct.” Damien smirked.

Lyone groaned again but didn’t collapse this time. He stepped back into a ready stance—albeit a crooked one—and raised his blade once more.

Before Damien could respond, a shout rang out from across the nearest row of buildings.

Then another.

And another.

Their rhythm broke.

Damien’s ears caught it instantly—footsteps.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Heavy. Fast. Not a run for sport, but a run for fear.

A group of men and women—most armed, most bearing the visible aura of trained essence manipulators—rushed past the mouth of the training area and continued on toward Greshan’s north section.

More followed.

Damien narrowed his eyes.

“What the hell?” Lyone muttered.

Damien stepped forward, raising a hand to halt one of the running figures—a man with short-cropped hair, dust-stained robes, and a heavy satchel of throwing daggers bouncing against his side.

“Sorry to hold you back but what’s happening?” Damien asked.

The man slowed just long enough to bark back, “A horde’s coming. Demons. North side.”

Damien’s eyes sharpened. “How many?”

“Enough to tear through a city, maybe more. No one saw them until twenty minutes ago.”

The man pointed down the street. “We’ve got two hours at best. Everyone’s setting up an ambush near the outer ring. If you’ve got a sword or a spell, now’s the time.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

He vanished into the streets, joining the others sprinting toward Greshan’s edge.

Damien stood still.

Lyone stepped beside him, watching the flood of warriors and mercenaries disappear into the deeper streets. “A demon horde? From where?”

Damien said nothing for a moment. His gaze was fixed north—where the wind carried a scent that didn’t belong in Greshan.

Ash.

Rot.

Fire just starting to smolder.

“There were no signs,” Damien said under his breath. “No trails. No fields of corruption.”

Lyone swallowed. “So they just… showed up?”

“Not natural.”

“So what do we do?”

Damien exhaled. He looked up—at the dying light, at the quiet city that had thrived on balance and unspoken order.

Then down to the boy beside him.

“I’m not from Greshan,” Damien said. “This isn’t our war.”

Lyone turned to him. “You’re not going?”

He didn’t answer.

He stared forward, jaw locked.

And then Lyone said, quieter, “What if Arielle gets caught outside the walls?”

That did it.

Damien’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his weapon.

A moment passed. Then another.

Finally, he turned to Lyone. “Get your gear.”

“Wait—what, we’re actually going?!”

“Under one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You stay by me. Always.”

Lyone blinked, then nodded rapidly. “I promise. I won’t even pee without asking.”

Damien raised a brow.

“Okay, maybe not that, but—yeah. I’ll be right behind you.”

“If things turn bad,” Damien added, voice steel now, “I will send you out of the field. Immediately.”

“Fair.”

“No arguing. No begging.”

“Double fair.”

Damien gave a final glance to the west, where the last embers of sunlight vanished behind jagged silhouettes of merchant carts and chimera stables.

He turned toward the road, already walking.

Lyone followed fast, gripping his worn sword firmly in his hand.

As they moved, Greshan shifted with them.

The peaceful checkpoint city had changed. No longer a haven of respect and rumor. Now, it was a fortress being born in real-time—mercenaries rallying, battlemages drawing glyphs in dirt, beast tamers summoning familiars, blacksmiths tossing spare arms into waiting carts.

There were no captains. No lords. No orders shouted from atop city walls.

Just action.

Fast.

Sharp.

Unified.

“Guess the rumors were true,” Lyone murmured.

“What rumors?” Damien asked.

“About a hidden force running this place. Keeping it balanced. Invisible. I heard someone murmur it to another during your fights when we went out last night.”

Damien gave no reply.

But he noted something.

For a city with no leader…

It sure knew how to prepare for war.

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