SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

By the time Damien and Lyone reached Greshan’s north section, the city’s illusion of neutrality had burned away.

There was no chaos. No barking of orders from confused guards.

Instead—structure. And Order.

Swift, clean movements formed battle formations along the perimeter roads and alleys closest to the open grasslands north of the city.

Wards were being carved into stone with glowing chisels. Magic circles flared to life across rooftops, and summoned creatures—some ghostly, some scaled and snarling—waited in crouched silence.

Every individual here, whether Mercenary, Dunter, Mage, or Swordsman, moved like they knew exactly what to do. There were no matching uniforms. No banners.

Just intent.

Just survival.

Damien slowed near the outer ring, his eyes scanning the makeshift defensive line as Lyone stopped beside him, wide-eyed.

“Who’s coordinating this?” Lyone asked.

“No one,” Damien said. “And everyone.”

They moved toward the main staging area—an open yard where a dozen essence manipulators were gathered around a glowing map projected over an earth-tethered rune.

The projection shimmered with a magical pulse, showing the approaching storm: glowing red pings traveling in tight formation, closing in fast from the north ridge.

One woman, bald with glowing tattoos lining her arms, adjusted the image with a twist of her hand.

“Estimated ten thousand confirmed,” she said, her voice cutting across the murmurs. “Multiple classes. Mostly Tier Six and Tier Five. One possible Tier Two reading near the center of the swarm.”

“Two hours away?” someone asked.

“Closer to one-fifteen now. They’re moving faster.”

Damien stepped closer.

Another mage glanced at him. “You joining in or just sightseeing?”

“It depends. I just might.”

“You from a guild?”

“No.”

The man opened his mouth, but then another nearby voice whispered something to him. His expression changed.

He turned back to Damien. “Right. Good to have you.”

Lyone blinked. “What just happened?”

“They recognized him,” someone whispered nearby. “That’s the Silver-haired brat from last night’s brawl games.”

“Seriously?”

“I thought he was just a passerby…”

“Everyone get to your sectors!” the tattooed woman barked. “Perimeter defense is now active. Rune enforcers take your sides, ranged fighters hold upper line. Close combat, you’re center front. Don’t get fancy—just hold.”

As the map dimmed, people began moving with sudden purpose. No arguments. No hesitation.

Damien reached into his coat and tapped a stone on his wrist—an activation rune. His newly acquired staff extended from a compact rod into its full crescent shape, charged with a pale electric aura.

Lyone drew his short blade again.

“This is insane,” the boy whispered. “They’re treating this like a city under military command.”

Damien watched a nearby group snap into coordinated rows, synchronizing their magical resonance.

“No,” he murmured. “They’re treating this like it’s happened before.

Elsewhere…

Arielle stood beneath a wooden canopy, a soft wind curling through the open glade at the edge of an abandoned outpost.

They’d arrived an hour earlier—Zeke, Lira, and Aquila leading her past a winding forest trail until the trees opened to reveal a small collection of stone buildings overgrown with moss and thorned vines. The remnants of an old Traverser hideout. Not grand. Not protected.

But familiar.

The others had been waiting. Five of them—three girls and two boys, all older than she remembered. Their expressions had changed with time and battle. But their eyes lit up when they saw her.

“Arielle?” one asked. A woman with long white hair tied into braids down her back. “Is it really you?”

Arielle stepped forward.

“It’s me, Deyna.”

The moment that followed was full of tension and warmth. Not hugs—Traversers didn’t hug. But a subtle handclasp, a nod. A moment of mutual recognition.

However, one of them rushed in to hug her. “We are not Traversers anymore so I’m sure we can share hugs.”

“Haha… True.” Arielle smiled, pulling the girl closer and hugging her back.

Deyna turned to the others. “She’s alive.”

“I thought you were dead,” another murmured. “You vanished. No sign. Not even a whisper.”

“I had to,” Arielle said. “You know what they do to deserters.”

“They said you sold us out.”

“I didn’t.”

“We knew that,” Deyna replied quickly. “Just… we needed to hear it from you.”

They gathered inside one of the cleared buildings. The others—Tarn, Elian, Kirra, and Rom—took turns sharing how they’d fled after Arielle disappeared. They’d split into smaller Mercenary groups, hiding in plain sight. Some sold information. Some protected caravans.

Most just survived.

And for a time, they all just talked.

Laughed.

Reconnected.

It was the first time Arielle had smiled without reservation in weeks.

That was when the tremor hit.

Vrrrooommmmm…

A distant vibration in the dirt.

Arielle stopped mid-sentence, frowning. Aquila—still in human form—immediately shifted her posture, stepping toward the door like she’d heard a ghost whisper her name.

“What is it?” Zeke asked.

Then came the sound.

Low.

Wrong.

A guttural howl, barely a whisper on the wind—but unmistakably inhuman. Followed by another. And then another. Layered, echoed, like beasts responding to one another from miles away.

Arielle stood. “That’s not possible.”

Kirra moved to the outer edge of the building. “I’ve never heard that sound before.”

“It’s a demon horde,” Aquila said, her voice calm but tight. “I can feel them. They’re moving in fast.”

“Here?” Lira asked, stunned.

“They’re not far,” Aquila continued. “At most… fifteen minutes.”

Zeke stood. “We didn’t see any signs. No corrupted trees. No dark mist. No signs of portal residue.”

“Same as Greshan,” Arielle muttered. “Damien heard that they just… appeared.”

“You can hear what he hears?” Zeke asked Aquila with slightly widened eyes.

“Well… Only when he lets me.” Aquila nodded, affirming his question.

Elian cursed. “It’s a trap. The demon horde.”

Arielle looked to Aquila. “Can you carry anyone?”

“Only two. Maybe three.”

Zeke was already moving to gather the others, checking weapons and reactivating mana runes etched into his arms. “We’ll have to scatter. Split and regroup. Just like old times.”

Arielle stared out into the growing dusk, her jaw tight.

“No,” she said.

They all turned to her.

“We stand together this time.”

Rom stepped forward. “You want us to fight?”

“They’re going to Greshan,” she said. “We’re the only ones in their path.”

She unsheathed a hidden dagger from her side, its edge glowing with subtle blue runes.

“If we can slow them—even by ten minutes—it might save lives.”

Aquila stood at her side. “Then we hold.”

The group formed a loose circle.

A family once more.

This time, with something to lose.

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