SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

The sky above Ryedale shone with the light of noon, sunlight bouncing off the stone walls that curved like a crescent around the city’s southern entrance.

It was a beautiful city—graceful, tall, and orderly. But beneath that structure was a thin, taut string pulled tight with scrutiny and surveillance.

Damien felt it immediately.

They had dismounted some distance before the city’s edge—Skylar and Aquila dismissed into the folds of spatial magic essence before the towering gates came into view. Luton remained, tucked like a decorative red scarf atop Damien’s shoulder, its gelatinous body barely twitching as it observed everything.

As they approached the gate, the guards straightened. Not from surprise. Not from threat.

From recognition.

Damien handed over his Mercenary card without a word.

The guard, a mid-ranked officer with a thick beard and faded armor, accepted the card and scanned it carefully.

“You’ve passed through before,” the man said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Right before we shut the gates for that lockdown a while back.”

Damien gave a polite nod. “I was just moving through then. No trouble.”

The man’s tone didn’t change. “And now?”

“Buying and selling,” Damien said smoothly. “Supplies, mostly. Maybe lodging for a few days.”

That was a lie.

But he said it with the calm, disinterested tone of someone who meant to stay.

The guard returned the card slowly. Then glanced at Arielle and Lyone.

“They with you?”

“They are.”

Another guard approached and asked for Arielle’s identification. She handed it over, and even before it was fully inspected, the first man nodded to his companion.

“It’s fine. Let them in.”

As Arielle took her card back, Damien gave a slow, measured smile and walked through the gate. The moment they passed the stone arch and the buzz of the outer barrier, he felt it.

The air behind him changed.

The voices of the crowd blurred.

But the whispers of the guards sharpened.

Damien tilted his head slightly—enough to catch them.

“…That’s him, right? The one the nobles were looking for? The one we missed last time.”

“Definitely. You saw the eyes. The hair. They match the descriptions.”

“Should I alert command?”

“Now. Quietly. Go.”

Damien’s expression didn’t change, but a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his internal reaction.

So they were still here. Or at least, they’d left connections here.

The nobles from before—the ones who had tried to isolate Ryedale by shutting its teleportation network down. The same ones who’d gone to look for him at Westmont.

And now, they would soon find out he was here.

He turned his head slightly toward Arielle and spoke low, without stopping.

“We’re not staying.”

Arielle arched a brow. “You just said—”

“I lied.”

She didn’t question him further. She knew better.

“What’s going on?” Lyone asked from behind.

Damien answered without turning. “Eyes are on us. Ryedale isn’t so safe for me and by extension, you guys since you’re with me.”

They kept walking, blending into the slow bustle of the inner market road. People went about their daily movements.

But Damien wasn’t seeing any of it.

He was counting footfalls behind him.

The faint sound of armor—refined. Controlled. Not guards on patrol. Trackers.

“We’re heading for the teleportation array,” Damien murmured. “Now.”

They slipped from the main street into a side path, then through a shaded corridor of stacked stone buildings. Damien moved with purpose, not speed—too fast, and he’d alert them. Too slow, and they’d box him in.

The teleportation center was only a few blocks from where they currently were.

A building made of black granite with a glowing roof of woven essence wires—a neutral zone, protected by merchant and travel laws. Unless Ryedale was under full military lockdown, nobles couldn’t intercept travelers inside it.

Damien’s hearing flared.

Three more guards had broken off.

They were following.

They were getting closer.

He glanced up at the clock glyph floating near the city’s main tower.

They had time—but not much.

When the teleportation center came into view, he nudged Arielle with one hand.

“You two go in. Don’t ask questions.”

Arielle glanced at him sharply. “What are you planning?”

“Buying time. Distraction. Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Lyone’s voice cracked. “But—what if they catch you?”

“They won’t,” Damien said flatly. “And even if they do, I’ll be back before they call your ticket numbers at the terminal.”

He turned toward them fully now, eyes clear and cool.

“Get the tickets. Get ready to leave and I’ll meet you there.”

He was already walking away before they could argue.

Arielle pulled Lyone forward as they crossed the glowing threshold. The magic of the place pressed lightly against their skin—safety seals, warding runes, anti-aggression charms.

Once inside, they approached the front desk and requested three tickets to Greshan, one very large city to the east. “I’ll need three tickets for the next batch going there.”

The attendant raised an eyebrow. “There’s a flux cost if you intend to use the platform within the hour.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Arielle said. “Just print it.”

They paid. Received three rune-stamped tokens.

But Arielle didn’t sit.

She stood near the glass wall, watching the streets beyond, fingers twitching toward her dagger.

She hated this.

Waiting.

Not fighting.

Not knowing.

He let the first set of guards trail him down a wide alley between the cloth merchants and the gem stalls. Then—vanished.

His steps were light and almost untraceable.

He reappeared on a lower rooftop, cloak fluttering behind him. Luton extended itself into the red scarf around his neck, camouflaging against the tile.

Two of the guards passed beneath him, confused.

The third looked up.

Damien dropped.

Bang!

One punch to the stomach, one to the jaw. The man collapsed.

The other two turned, but Damien was already moving—sliding between shadows and side streets, heading back toward the teleportation center’s west entrance.

The higher-ups were watching for a runner.

They weren’t expecting a ghost.

Ding!

A bell rang softly.

“Array Seven: Ready for transfer. If you’re moving to Greshan, please make your way to Array Seven.”

Arielle grabbed Lyone’s hand and stepped onto the platform. Around them, travelers adjusted bags, children huddled together, and some lovers even kissed goodbyes.

Still no Damien.

Lyone’s lip quivered.

Then—

“Miss me?”

Damien slipped onto the platform from the crowd, wiping his gloves clean of dust. His breathing was smooth. His hair, windblown but intact.

Arielle didn’t ask.

She just nodded.

And when the light took them, the city of Ryedale vanished behind them.

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