SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

The town of Velthorne stood as a powerful presence just beyond the reach of Westmont.

It was three times the size of Westmont, though smaller than Ryedale, and governed by a ruthless yet respected leader—Lord Raegon.

Before settling into his role as a town ruler, Raegon had been a conqueror, a warrior whose name had once spread across battlefields and kingdoms alike.

His strength and tactical mind had won him victories in many wars, and now, even in retirement, his ambition remained—to conquer and rule.

When news of Westmont’s recent attack by demon hordes spread, Raegon saw an opportunity.

A town that had barely survived such devastation would be weak, vulnerable, and in need of leadership.

Westmont may not have officially belonged to the kingdom where his own town resided, as it lay at its outskirts, but Raegon didn’t care.

He had no desire to follow rules—he wanted control.

And now, he had decided to take it.

The morning air was cool but there was tension in the air, thick enough to suffocate a person.

A massive army of warriors, mercenaries, and trained soldiers stood gathered a few dozen miles from Westmont’s gates.

They were armed, ready, their weapons gleaming under the early morning sun.

At the forefront of this army, atop a massive black stallion, sat Lord Raegon.

His armor was worn yet polished, a reminder of the battles he had fought. His scarred face held a look of calculated confidence.

He raised his sword high, addressing his men.

“Westmont,” he declared, his voice booming across the open field, “is a town without direction! A place that has been left to fend for itself, with no kingdom to guide it, no king to protect it and a ceremonial leader who leads it nowhere!”

His soldiers roared in agreement. “Yeahhh!”

“It has suffered, weakened by the demon hordes, and now it struggles to rebuild!”

Raegon’s cold eyes scanned his army.

“We are not here to destroy them,” he continued. “We are here to claim them—to bring them under our rule, to give them protection, to make them stronger.”

He tightened his grip on his sword.

“If they surrender, they will be welcomed as brothers.”

A pause.

“But if they resist—”

The air went still.

“—then we will show them why I was once known as the Butcher of the Northern Front!”

“We will show them!” A thunderous cheer erupted from his army.

“Now, let us march forward and claim the opportunity provided before us!” Lord Raegon commanded his troops, his voice drowning every other one.

The march toward Westmont was about to begin.

While Raegon’s army prepared for battle, a mercenary was making his way back to Westmont.

He had just completed a mission escorting a high-profile merchant from Westmont to Ryedale and was returning home.

It had been a long journey, and he was looking forward to resting.

But then, he saw them.

A sea of warriors.

An army gathered in the fields, readying for an assault against his hometown.

His heart slammed against his chest. “No! This can’t be! Not while I live!”

He didn’t stop to think—he ran.

With every ounce of strength in his body, he sprinted toward Westmont, his legs burning as he pushed himself faster, harder.

‘If I don’t make it in time, the town is doomed.’ Dirt and dust kicked up behind him as he ran through the open plains.

His lungs burned, his body begged for rest, but he refused to stop. “Westmont must be informed and ready to face them.”

“Westmont must be ready!” Those were the motivational words that kept him pushing as he sprinted without a second of break.

The moment his feet hit the cobbled streets of Westmont, he didn’t slow down.

He barreled through the town, startling civilians as he rushed toward the Town Lord’s manor.

“Move!” he gasped. “Get out of the way!”

People turned, watching in confusion.

By the time he reached the manor gates, his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

The guards stationed at the entrance raised their weapons, alarmed by his sudden approach.

One of them stepped forward. “State your busi—”

“An army—!” the mercenary choked out, panting heavily. “An army is coming!”

The guards froze.

“A what?”

The mercenary forced himself to straighten.

“Lord Raegon is marching an army toward Westmont! They’re preparing to lay siege to the town!”

The guards’ faces paled.

“Get the Town Lord,” one of them ordered. “Immediately!”

Within seconds, one of the guards rushed inside the manor.

The mercenary’s chest heaved as he leaned against the gate, trying to catch his breath.

He had done his part.

Now, it was up to Westmont’s leaders to act.

Inside the Town Lord’s manor, chaos erupted.

The moment the message was relayed, the Town Lord of Westmont, the man named Lord Ellian, gathered his advisors, captains, and the strongest mercenaries in town.

“How long do we have?” Lord Ellian demanded, pacing back and forth.

“A few hours at most,” one of his advisors responded, the same mercenary who’d seen the army coming to attack. “The army is moving swiftly.”

Lord Ellian cursed under his breath.

Westmont had just begun recovering from the demon attack—they weren’t ready for another battle.

“They outnumber us,” another advisor added grimly. “By the time they reach our gates, it’ll be too late to mount a proper defense.”

“Then we must prepare,” Lord Ellian said. “Gather every able fighter, fortify the town’s entrances, and send word to the guild.”

“To the mercenaries?”

“Yes,” Lord Ellian nodded. “They might be our only hope.”

Back at the Mercenary Guild, Damien was just beginning to relax after his long hunt with Arielle.

He had just woken up from the night’s rest and his body was sore, his muscles ached, and he was finally enjoying some peace.

Then—

Bang!

The doors of the guild slammed open.

A breathless messenger rushed in.

“Everyone!” he yelled. “All available mercenaries are to report to the Town Lord’s manor immediately!”

Damien and Arielle exchanged glances.

“What now?” Arielle muttered, standing up.

Damien sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to be good.”

And he was right.

Because Westmont was on the brink of war.

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