SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

Wooooshhh!!

The air had changed.

Not just in the arena, but in the crowd itself—no more restless murmuring, no idle cheers. Silence rippled like a held breath as the announcer’s voice cut through the charged tension.

“Let the Phase Three begin.”

The arena began to shift again.

The cliffside terrain from the mission challenge crumbled into itself, stone slabs sinking with deep groans.

Grrrrr…

New terrain pushed up in its place—circular platforms layered like a multi-tiered tower, wide enough for two teams to clash but tight enough to force engagement.

Above each platform, magical glyphs floated, rotating slowly. With the way the star was continuously shifting, some begin to think it was a conscious thing.

Or at the very least, someone very powerful was manipulating it. However, no one could feel a single magic essence coming from the Deans or anyone strong enough to manipulate such a huge space.

‘I’ll probably ask Miss Leana after all this.’ Damon thought to himself seeing how the constructs continued to shift.

Damon leaned forward in his seat, elbows on knees. “They’ve built this for forced engagement. No running.”

“No tricks either,” Anaya added. “Only raw execution.”

Celeste stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on the lower levels where ElderGlow’s Year Ones waited.

Four teams stood apart, eyes fixed forward. Bruises, sweat, determination—all of it carved into their expressions like stone.

“For Phase Three,” the announcer continued, “your task is direct: eliminate the opposing team.”

The words dropped like a stone in a still pond.

“No tokens. No constructs. No mercy.”

A beat of silence. Then…

Feeling like he’d forgotten an important part, the announcer added. “Ah, yes. No killings either. Simply render your opponents unable to continue. We’re here to connect and build relationships, not kill each other.”

“First match—ElderGlow versus Wyrmere.”

Gasps stirred the student sections. Two of the more methodical schools. This wouldn’t be a brawl—it’d be chess at full speed.

Magical light surrounded the two teams, and in a blink, they were teleported to the first dueling platform.

The arena brightened, showing a wide circular ring of polished obsidian, etched faintly with anti-fall runes around the edge. Nothing to hide behind. No high ground. Only the echo of footsteps and the slow hum of rising tension.

Wyrmere was first to move.

Their spellcaster—a thin boy with silver tattoos up both arms—began tracing incantations mid-stride, sending thin sheets of freezing wind across the floor.

ElderGlow didn’t flinch.

Keon gave one sharp whistle. His team fanned out like clockwork.

The girl with wind affinity—Yara—rose upward, using an air current to vault over the frostwave, landing just behind the Wyrmere formation. Her hands glowed green.

Keon charged forward alone, drawing the enemy’s focus.

Swoooossshhh…

Just as Wyrmere prepared to box him in, a ripple of mist burst from Yara’s position, cloaking the rear line.

In the confusion, ElderGlow’s other two fighters—Toma and Nia—closed the distance and flanked.

The battle exploded.

Clang! Clang!!

Sparks flew from clashing blades and deflected spells. Ice arced across the field. Lightning snapped in the mist.

Above, Damon murmured, “They learned from the last trial. Keon’s not bait this time. He’s the distraction and the finisher.”

Anaya watched the motion with a glint in her eye. “And Yara’s become the trap.”

Wyrmere scrambled to regroup, but ElderGlow didn’t give them a second. The coordination was seamless—every time one of them advanced, another locked down an exit or opened a window of attack.

Within seven minutes, it was over.

Wyrmere’s final member dropped to his knees as the spell in his hand fizzled into sparks.

The match field flickered and dimmed. ElderGlow stood panting, alive, unbroken.

“Victory: ElderGlow.”

The applause was thunderous. Even among rival schools, the display of coordination earned grudging respect.

But Damon didn’t clap.

He watched Keon carefully as the boy rejoined his team—his movements slower now, one shoulder bruised and burnt. He was still carrying too much.

He’d burn out if they didn’t adjust.

Before the thought could settle, the arena shimmered again.

“Second match—Crowgarth versus Thornevale.”

Where the last match had felt like a tactical dance, this one promised war as both teams seemed to hate each other. Most likely from what had happened earlier during the testing stage of the contest.

Both teams appeared on the second platform—this one ringed in jagged spires of stone, jutting at random angles. Less clean. Less controlled.

From the first breath, Crowgarth moved.

They didn’t wait for positioning or signals. Their lead fighter—a massive girl with twin axes—roared and rushed, dragging her team with her like a wave of chaos.

Thornevale responded with ice-cold precision.

A diamond formation again, just like before. Frontline rotated with every blow, shields flashing with layered magic. Their support cast constant barriers and pulse-healing, keeping everyone upright.

The two forces slammed together.

Crriiiing! Claaaang!!

Steel screamed.

Booooom!!

Spells detonated mid-air.

Blood hit the floor.

Unlike ElderGlow’s match, there was no finesse here. No tricks.

Just power meeting control and violence meeting fury.

Crowgarth battered and clawed, trying to break the formation by sheer brute force. Their mages launched bursts of concussive flame and stone spikes to throw off the rhythm.

But Thornevale didn’t crack.

Their commander—a tall, silver-haired girl with a crescent-bladed glaive—led from the center, spinning through the chaos, directing with hand signs and short commands. “Knock that scrawny one out first!”

Under her command, her teammates attacked.

A sudden shift—Crowgarth’s spellcaster dropped to one knee, both palms slamming the floor.

The stone trembled.

Spikes launched from every direction.

Thornevale’s formation shimmered with layered wards—and shattered.

Their formation broke. For the first time, the perfect machine hesitated.

And Crowgarth pounced.

The brawler with the twin axes tore through the line, catching one Thornevale fighter in the ribs. A scream.

On the upper platform, Damon sat forward. “They made them bleed.”

“Crowgarth’s not playing for points,” Anaya said darkly. “They’re playing for pride.”

Back in the ring, Thornevale’s leader grit her teeth. She turned to a certain teammate with black hair and gave him a signal with her eyes and then she lunged forward.

She met the axe-wielder head-on, blade against blade, raw force against raw fury.

The air shimmered with heat and arcane pressure. Their weapons locked—muscles trembling, eyes burning.

The platform quaked under them.

And then…