SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

The air was no longer charged with battle.

Instead, it carried something heavier—expectation and anticipation from everyone around.

Above the colosseum, the sky remained a dull gray-purple, still pulsing faintly with the remains of the collapsed arena’s mana field. The floating rankings shimmered overhead like judgment etched into the heavens, cycling slowly through names, numbers, and affiliations.

In the center of the ring, two figures stood side by side.

Damon Terrace.

Kaelis Dorne.

He has been victorious.

While she was defeated.

Behind them, the arena was still. Hundreds of students, spectators, nobles, and guardians held their breath. Not because the duel had ended, but because the consequences of it hadn’t.

Dean Oryll descended slowly from the platform above, his robes drifting like smoke as he hovered to a stop before the two top-ranked combatants.

“Now,” he said, voice calm, but edged with ceremonial gravity, “comes the burden of power.”

He turned slightly toward Kaelis.

“Kaelis Dorne of Thornevale,” he announced. “You fought valiantly, with strength and strategy. But as the rules state, defeat comes with its own decisions.”

He folded his hands behind his back. “You may demote up to three individuals by one rank… or demote no one. The choice is yours.”

Kaelis didn’t hesitate.

“Two,” she said clearly. “I will demote Tavros of Crowgarth… and Seren Halveth, also of Crowgarth.”

A ripple of gasps echoed through the stands.

Seren, a secondary mage support, hadn’t made much impact—but Tavros had. His reputation as Crowgarth’s rising juggernaut had taken a blow after his beacon misfire and unrelenting aggression.

And now, he was falling further.

Dean Oryll inclined his head. “So noted.”

The ranking board shimmered, and a red arrow appeared next to Tavros’ name as he was dropped from fourth… to sixth. Seren dropped out of the top twenty entirely.

Kaelis bowed slightly and stepped back into the holding circle behind her.

Oryll now turned to Damon.

“Damon Terrace of ElderGlow,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “By right of victory, you may promote three individuals by one rank. Additionally, you may choose two to demote by one rank.”

Damon stood still for a heartbeat longer, then lifted his head toward the floating names.

Eyes sharpened.

First, he spoke without turning toward Kaelis.

“I promote Kaelis Dorne.”

Gasps again, louder this time.

Even Kaelis blinked.

From the side booth, Celeste muttered, “Didn’t see that coming.”

“She nearly beat me,” Damon said aloud, addressing the entire arena now. “She deserves more for that final strike.”

Even Dean Oryll raised a brow.

“Second?”

“Daveon Acheon.”

From the ElderGlow stand, Daveon nearly choked. “Wait, what?”

Anaya smirked. “You’re getting soft.”

Damon didn’t look back. “His support fire disrupted more enemy formations than any of us.”

Oryll nodded. “Third?”

Damon turned now, meeting Anaya’s gaze.

“Anaya Stokeshorn.”

Her eyes widened—but she said nothing.

She didn’t need to.

Damon’s expression said everything.

You earned it.

Dean Oryll’s voice was quieter now.

“And for your demotion?”

Damon’s gaze slid upward toward the projection again.

“Tavros,” he said without blinking.

The crowd exploded into murmurs.

“Again?” someone whispered.

Even Kaelis glanced sideways at him.

“Tavros was already demoted once.”

Damon turned his head, slow and deliberate. “And he earned it twice.”

Oryll didn’t comment.

He simply raised a hand, and the glowing board rippled as Tavros’ name slid further—from sixth to ninth.

Then Damon added, “And the last demotion—Eryk Vale, also of Crowgarth.”

The screen shimmered again.

Far above, in the high chamber reserved for deans and noble guests, the temperature shifted sharply.

Dean Dethrein of Crowgarth stood so quickly his chair screeched across the stone.

“This is an ambush!” he snapped, his eyes flaring crimson. “Targeted demotions! You’re all attacking my students!”

Dean Godsthorn remained silent.

But Lord Terrace, seated beside him, slowly stood as well.

“Dean Dethrein,” he said calmly, his voice lacking any flourish. “Are you implying unfairness in the result of a match whose terms were publicly declared?”

Dethrein scowled. “It’s obvious they plotted this—”

Terrace cut him off, his tone cooling. “As obvious as Tavros and his team specifically hunting my son through the second test?”

The room fell silent.

Lady Reyla leaned forward, smirking behind her fingers. “Careful now, Dethrein. You’re bleeding hypocrisy.”

Dean Veyra of Thornevale waved her hand, adding, “You can’t throw your hammer and cry when it gets thrown back.”

Dean Dethrein clenched his jaw.

He muttered something under his breath—but said no more.

The arena floor shimmered.

All eyes turned as the final rankings were displayed for Year Three.

Final Year Three Rankings

1. Damon Terrace (ElderGlow)

2. Celeste Varin (ElderGlow)

3. Kaelis Dorne (Thornevale)

4. Sereth Valen (Thornevale)

5. Daveon Acheon (ElderGlow)

6. Anaya Stokeshorn (ElderGlow)…

The reaction from the students was immediate.

Cheers from ElderGlow.

Quiet acceptance from Thornevale.

Seething fury from Crowgarth.

And disappointment from Wyrmere—though they had expected little from the start.

Dean Oryll floated higher, lifting his staff.

“The Trial of Collapse is complete and so is the third test.”

“The final rankings are now recorded.”

“This concludes the examinations for Year Three.”

He turned his head slowly toward the far edges of the arena, where some students still stood, whispering among themselves.

“Tomorrow… the Year Four Representatives will stand before us.”

“And the final stage of this year’s Grand Evaluation will begin.”

As the crowd began to disperse, and the sky slowly shifted from magical storm to calm twilight, Damon stood still on the field.

Kaelis passed him once more on her way out.

She didn’t speak.

But as she passed, her fingers tapped twice against the handle of her newly reformed glaive—

A warrior’s thanks.

And Damon?

He nodded once, barely noticeable.

But it was enough.

~~~~~

The road back from the Greshan markets had grown unusually quiet.

Even the wind felt different.

Damien noticed it first—not the footsteps, not the flicker of movement—but the faint ripple of magic intent, curling just beneath the surface of the cobbled path. Barely perceptible. But not to him.

Arielle was speaking about potion pricing and travel packs when he raised a hand.

She stopped mid-sentence. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

His silver-blue eyes narrowed.

“They’re following us again,” he murmured.

But this time, clearer. Closer.

He wasn’t going to wait. “Time to catch some stalkers.”

He turned on his heel—and vanished.

The first figure didn’t even see him coming.

Damien landed behind the masked man like a whisper, grabbed him by the back of the collar, and slammed him into the alley wall hard enough to dent stone.

The man gasped—but before he could summon essence, Damien’s knuckles struck his temple with surgical precision.

The body slumped. Out cold.

One down.

The second—feminine, fast—made a break for it.

She darted through the alley, cloak flaring behind her, leaping over crates and scaling the edge of a broken fence.

But Damien was faster.

He didn’t run.

He simply appeared ahead of her, his body wreathed in flickering shadow. She froze mid-step, backpedaling—too late.

She struck first, a swift arc of wind-blade magic slicing the air.

He slipped under it, grabbed her wrist, spun, and swept her legs out in a blur of movement. The woman hit the ground, hard, breath flying from her lungs.

One knee pinned her. Her arm twisted behind her back.

Then—

Stillness.

Damien stood over the two unconscious bodies. Their masks were matte black, etched with faint red lines.

Professional.

Not local.

He crouched, pulled the mask from the first.

A young man, barely older than himself. Maybe twenty. Clean jawline. Pale scar across the cheek.

Unfamiliar.

Then he turned to the second.

The girl.

He pulled her mask free.

And froze.

Arielle, who had been watching silently from behind the alley’s arch, dropped the bag of supplies in her hand.

Clatter.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Her breath hitched.

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped.

Her fingers clenched.

“…Arielle?” Damien called, his voice steady but low.

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes were glued to the girl.

“Do you know them?” he asked again, sharper now.

Arielle slowly nodded.

Damien’s expression didn’t change.

But his thoughts shifted.

He glanced down at the girl’s face—soft lines, short hair dyed with a streak of violet, a small tattoo under her left ear in the shape of a broken moon.

His eyes narrowed.

She was no ordinary pursuer.

And from Arielle’s expression, this wasn’t just some enemy agent.

This was probably personal.

Damien stood upright, brushing dust from his shoulder.

He extended a hand toward the red slime perched on his shoulder.

“Luton.”

The slime pulsed in acknowledgment.

“Storage.”

The gelatinous creature leapt from Damien’s shoulder and landed beside the two bodies with a soft thud. It stretched wide—too wide—and with a shimmering fold of its body, swallowed both targets whole, compressing them into its spatial interior like it was packing supplies.

They vanished without a trace.

Luton crawled back up Damien’s leg and slithered lazily to his head, flopping like a sentient hat.

Damien turned to Arielle, who hadn’t moved.

Her arms had folded, her brows low, jaw tense.

“You okay?”

Arielle blinked twice, then finally looked at him.

There was a storm behind her eyes, but she gave a tight nod.

Damien didn’t press her.

He could see it clear as day:

She wasn’t ready to speak.

Which meant the answers would have to come from the mouths of the captured.

They returned to their inn without speaking much.

Lyone had fallen asleep across the bed, one foot dangling off the edge, a book cradled to his chest.

Damien set Luton gently on the floor.

The slime shimmered.

Two unconscious bodies slid out, cushioned by a soft bounce.

Damien rolled his neck.

“We’ll wake them soon,” he said.

Arielle leaned against the far wall, arms crossed.

“You’re going to interrogate them?”

He nodded. “Carefully.”

She said nothing.

Just watched the girl with that same look.

Like a memory had been dragged from the depths and made to breathe again.

Damien couldn’t read people well. But he could sense intentions very well. Sometimes too well.

Arielle knew these two.

Not just as enemies or as allies, either.

He didn’t know how she knew them but he was certain she knew them.

She wasn’t ready to tell him but he’d wait.

She’d speak when she was ready and he would be ready to listen.

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