SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

The battle was over. The fields outside Westmont were littered with the bodies of mercenaries, broken weapons, and the smoldering remains of the enemy’s failed conquest.

Damien stood among the wreckage, the weight of the battle pressing against his shoulders, but his heart remained steady.

They had won.

Lord Raegon had been defeated, his forces scattered, and now, his humiliating escape would weaken his hold over Velthorne. His reputation as an unbeatable warlord had been shattered by Damien and the forces of Westmont.

But Damien knew it wasn’t over. Not truly.

Lord Ellian turned to his soldiers, his expression grim.

“We’ve won this battle, but we must not forget the cost,” he said, his voice firm. “Gather our fallen brothers. We will bury them with honor.”

The warriors of Westmont nodded solemnly, stepping forward to begin the grim task of retrieving the bodies of their comrades.

However, when it came to dealing with Raegon’s fallen forces, Lord Ellian’s gaze hardened.

“As for them,” he said, gesturing toward the corpses of the enemy, “gather them as well. We’ll ensure their ashes return to the wind.”

Damien sighed. “This is a job best left to Luton.”

He turned toward his slime summon, who had been standing silently, watching the battlefield.

“Luton,” Damien commanded. “You heard the Lord of Westmont. Do as he says.”

Luton grinned mischievously before her form began to shift. The humanoid shape melted away, her body expanding into a massive gelatinous mass. The ground trembled slightly as she slithered across the battlefield, consuming everything in her path.

Bodies, weapons, even pieces of shattered armor—everything vanished into her form.

As she worked, a strange glow emanated from within her, and Damien could tell she was using her (Universal Space) ability.

This skill allowed her to store and separate everything she devoured, ensuring that their fallen allies would not be mixed with their enemies.

It was a gruesome but efficient process.

Within an hour, the battlefield was completely empty—no signs of the carnage that had taken place except for the disturbed earth and traces of blood.

Luton then moved toward an open clearing and began to expel the corpses of Raegon’s forces.

The bodies poured out, forming a massive pile, but something was off.

They were all naked.

Damien rubbed his temples. “Luton… why?”

Luton giggled, her slime body rippling with amusement.

“They won’t be needing their clothes anymore,” she said, her voice echoing playfully.

Lord Ellian raised an eyebrow but did not question it. He simply gestured toward the pile.

“Burn them,” he ordered.

Before Damien could even summon Cerbe, the Hell Hound stepped forward on its own, his body already shifting back into its true form.

A massive, three-headed hound now stood before them, its fiery eyes locked onto the pile of bodies.

Without hesitation, all three heads took deep breaths, then unleashed a torrent of hellfire upon the corpses.

The flames roared, consuming everything in an instant. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, but the fire was unnaturally efficient. Within minutes, only ashes and smoke remained.

Damien turned to Lord Ellian. “Our fallen brothers are stored within Luton. We should return to Westmont now.”

Damien stood among the wreckage, the weight of the battle pressing against his shoulders, but his heart remained steady.

They had won.

Lord Raegon had been defeated, his forces scattered, and now, his humiliating escape would weaken his hold over Velthorne. His reputation as an unbeatable warlord had been shattered.

But Damien knew it wasn’t over. Not truly.

Damien turned to Lord Ellian, his expression unreadable.

“They’re already broken,” Damien said, nodding toward the retreating remnants of Raegon’s army. “They’ve lost everything. There’s no point in cutting them all down.”

Lord Ellian’s brow furrowed, but after a moment of contemplation, he nodded.

“They’ll remember today,” he said. “And I hope that fear will be enough to keep them from returning.”

He gestured to his soldiers, calling for a halt to the chase. A signal was sent, and the pursuit ended.

As they all gathered together, Lord Ellian nodded. “Then let’s go home.”

Westmont had no desire to waste more lives on an already defeated enemy.

For those who fled, survival was punishment enough.

By the time Damien and the others reentered the town, the streets were alive with cheers.

The people of Westmont had spent the entire battle waiting, fearing, hoping.

Now, as their warriors marched home victorious, the tension in the air erupted into celebration.

“Lord Ellian!”

“Town Lord Ellian!!”

“Damien! Damien!!”

Women and children rushed forward, embracing their loved ones, tears of relief mixing with laughter.

Soldiers who had fought side by side exchanged nods of respect, some even breaking into drunken cheers before the party had even begun.

But not all had returned.

Two hundred lives lost.

A grim silence settled over parts of the town where families grieved. Westmont had won, but it had not been without sacrifice.

As night fell, Westmont came alive.

Fires were lit, ale poured freely, and the streets became a stage for celebration.

Bards played songs of victory, telling exaggerated tales of the battle that had taken place just beyond their gates.

Children danced, mimicking the warriors they had seen from the safety of the town, brandishing wooden swords and shouting out battle cries.

Even Damien, usually distant from such festivities, found himself dragged into the commotion.

Arielle grinned as she nudged him. “I bet they’ll make a legend out of you by morning.”

Damien smirked, shaking his head. “They already have their heroes. I’m just a man who fought.”

Arielle scoffed. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Dragon Tamer.”

Damien sighed, taking a sip from the cup she handed him.

For tonight, he allowed himself to relax.

But he knew this peace wouldn’t last.

~~~~~

Far away, deep within Velthorne, Lord Raegon lay unconscious in his personal chambers.

The wound where his arm had been was wrapped in enchanted bandages, but even magic couldn’t fully numb the agonizing pain of its loss.

The Lord of Velthorne, once feared across the land, had been brought to his knees with an arm taken from him.

Yet his hatred burned brighter than ever.

As his eyes fluttered open, his expression twisted into one of pure rage. “Westmont shall burn to the ground to stone for this!”

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