SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

Chapter 381: ElderGlow’s Victory

Three pulses exploded from the triangle behind Elias — one horizontal, one vertical, one spinning like a sawblade — all shaped, tight, and precisely timed.

Cedric responded like a veteran duelist. He dropped low, swept his blade into a deflection arc that redirected the vertical blast, then rolled into a pivot behind the sawblade to escape the spin.

The horizontal wave still nicked his back.

“Shit!” He hissed.

Then he came at Elias like a shadow set on fire.

Woooooong…

Steel clashed with air.

No, not air — a condensed barrier, folded into threads that vibrated like harp strings.

Each time Cedric’s blade touched it, it sang.

Elias spun backward, one hand raised.

This wasn’t overwhelming dominance.

It was performance.

Miss Leana watched from above with crossed arms, eyes glinting.

“He’s dancing.”

“Is that bad?” Damon asked, grin already twitching.

“No,” she murmured. “It probably means that he respects him.”

On the stage, Cedric’s aura shifted — just slightly.

His blade blurred as he moved into a full-speed sequence.

Eleven cuts in five seconds.

No filler.

Elias blocked eight.

Dodged two.

The last one?

It hit.

A shallow slash across his shoulder.

The crowd exploded.

Cedric didn’t hesitate.

He tried to follow it up with a disarming strike, sliding under Elias’s extended arm—

But Elias used the momentum.

He fell into the spin.

Pivoted on one foot.

And cast.

Three spells this time.

Simultaneously.

The first was a wind trap behind Cedric’s feet — pushing him forward, too fast.

The second? A kinetic snap above his head — forcing him to duck.

The third one was a mirrored pulse from the side — catching him while mid-adjust.

The triple spell was too fast to dodge.

It hit.

Hard.

Cedric was launched sideways across the platform.

He crashed and skidded near the boundary barrier, one hand gripping the floor to stop himself.

But he stood.

Wobbling.

Shoulders trembling.

Sword still in hand.

Elias lowered his palm. “You done?”

Cedric raised his blade again. “No.”

Elias smiled faintly. “Good.”

The last exchange came in a blink.

Cedric lunged and Elias stepped into it.

And raised his hand one final time.

A combo spell snapped together midair — a layered blast of pressure, sound, and shifting force, spiraling from his palm like a vortex.

Cedric tried to parry.

Bang!

The first layer knocked him sideways.

Bang!

The second crushed his balance.

The third — a pulse of sound that struck like thunder — made him black out.

Thud!

He hit the floor like a stone.

Still.

Silence.

Just for a second.

Then…

“Combatant unable to continue. Victory: Elias Verdan!”

The Colosseum erupted.

Cheers, screams, pounding feet, roaring students from ElderGlow, Thornevale, even Crowgarth.

Not because of favoritism.

Because they’d just seen a match that deserved it.

Elias stood over Cedric for a moment, watching the healers rush in.

He didn’t gloat.

Didn’t bow.

Just turned — and walked off the platform.

Above, the announcer’s voice cracked with excitement:

“This year’s champion of the Final Year Trials — Elias Verdan of ElderGlow Academy!”

Damon didn’t wait.

He didn’t high-five Daveon.

Didn’t check if Anaya or Celeste were following.

He just bolted.

Miss Leana blinked as a Damon-shaped gust of wind left the box. “Where—?”

“He’s off to get his money,” Anaya muttered, rubbing her temple.

Daveon sighed. “I told him to wait until the crowd clears.”

Celeste grinned. “You know he won’t.”

Damon zipped down the eastern ramp and out through a side door before the crowds had even finished cheering.

He pushed past two celebrants from Wyrmere, jumped a wooden crate, and nearly tripped over a wine barrel in his sprint toward the Bet Pavilion.

His coat flared behind him like a flag.

His grin?

Wider than the damn Colosseum.

He crashed through the pavilion doors like a storm.

The Betkeeper looked up from the ledgers.

“Back already?”

“Where’s my payout?” Damon demanded.

“You placed… let’s see…”

The man pulled a set of slips, flipped through them, and whistled.

“Well I’ll be…”

“Damon Terrace,” the man said aloud, just loud enough for the others in the tent to hear. “Payout on five slips. All on Elias Verdan to win — final odds: 5.4 to 1.”

The whispers started.

“Terrace?”

“As in the Terrace?”

“Wait, isn’t that—”

The man counted it out: coin after coin after coin.

Neatly stacked into velvet pouches.

Six in total.

“Your total winnings, Lordling, come to two hundred and thirty gold coins.”

Damon tried to look composed.

He failed spectacularly.

He raised both fists in triumph and shouted, startling everyone. “YES!!”

Then collapsed onto a nearby bench, laughing like he’d just won a war.

“I knew it,” he muttered, eyes shining. “I knew that freak would pull through.”

A younger boy in the betting tent leaned over. “Hey, uh, sir—who is Elias?”

Damon turned slowly.

Then smiled.

“You’ll find out. You all will.”

Back at the arena, Elias returned to the prep zone.

Renna was there waiting.

So was Cael.

Even Reiz, who’d been sitting quietly, gave a small nod.

“You good?” Cael asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t go all out.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Elias shrugged. “He didn’t need to lose. He needed to grow.”

Renna stared at him. “That’s not how tournaments work.”

“It is to me,” Elias said.

Then he walked past them toward the stairs.

Up in the Dean’s box, Oryll’s jaw was stone.

Dethrein smirked into his wine.

And Godsthorn simply leaned back, satisfied.

“This,” he said, “is just the beginning.”

High in the observation tower reserved for dignitaries and upper-circle board members, Lord Terrace rose slowly from his seat.

His silver-long hair draped down his neck and his sheated sword lightly tapped once against the marble floor as he turned to Dean Godsthorn.

“I trust you can handle any remaining formalities.”

Godsthorn didn’t even look up from his teacup.

“You’re excused,” he said calmly. “Give the boy my regards.”

Terrace smiled faintly. “I will.”

And next to him, Lady Reyla, his younger sister, adjusted the cuffs of her embroidered sleeves and stood with smooth grace.

“I’ll be joining him,” she said in that clipped, elegant voice of hers. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen my nephew.”

Godsthorn inclined his head. “A shame you missed his sprint to the betting center.”

Reyla arched a brow. “A sprint, you say?”

“Like a bat out of magic essence.” dean Godsthorn grinned. Even though he’d been focused on the finals, he had managed to watch Damon run off.

Minutes later, escorted by a uniformed guide bearing ElderGlow’s crest, Lord Terrace and Lady Reyla descended through the stadium’s private lifts and down to the ground floor — where the participating teams were housed in temporary waiting zones under thick canopy tents.

The guide stopped just outside the ElderGlow pavilion and bowed lightly.

“They’re inside. Student Damon should be among them, I believe.”

Reyla cast a glance toward her brother. “Shall we?”

“Lead on,” Terrace said.

Inside the pavilion, the atmosphere was casual.

The tournament was done. The final battle still echoed in everyone’s memory, but the tension had ebbed.

Celeste leaned against a support post, sipping a cold tonic.

Daveon was sitting cross-legged, reshaping his personal blade with tiny threads of molten essence. Beside him, Anaya looked relaxed for the first time in hours, boots off, braid loosened.

And Leana, as always, stood like a pillar just to the side, her arms crossed, eyes watchful.

She felt them before she saw them.

The shift in essence.

The soft thrum of condensed will — not magic, but presence.

She turned just as the flap opened.

Her eyes widened slightly.

Then she dipped into a formal bow. “Lord Terrace. Lady Reyla. An unexpected honor.”

The others snapped upright — not panicked, but startled.

Daveon quickly stood, blade vanishing in a wisp.

Celeste bowed shallowly. “Sirs.”

Anaya blinked once — then quickly got to her feet as well.

Lord Terrace stepped inside with that calm, slow grace of nobles used to commanding rooms.

His presence didn’t need to be loud.

It spoke.

Beside him, Lady Reyla scanned each face with a kind of scholarly precision — eyes cool but not unkind.

Terrace’s gaze stopped on Leana.

“Lady Leana. Still overseeing?”

“Always.”

He nodded. “Your students?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s my son?”

A pause.

It wasn’t cold. Just direct.

And that’s when Anaya stepped forward — only slightly — and offered a respectful dip of the head.

“I’m Anaya Stokeshorn, sir,” she said, her voice firm but respectful. “Damon’s girlfriend.”

There was a silence that lasted exactly two heartbeats too long.

Lord Terrace blinked.

Lady Reyla’s head tilted slightly, just enough for her long earring to swing.

“His… girlfriend?” Lord Terrace asked, voice light but unreadable.

Anaya didn’t waver. “Yes, my lord.”

Leana cleared her throat quietly.

Celeste raised her eyebrows, impressed.

Daveon looked away, trying not to smirk.

Lady Reyla blinked slowly. “You’re a Stokeshorn?”

“Yes, Lady Reyla.”

“Of the direct lineage?”

“Correct.”

Reyla turned her head toward Terrace.

“Oh.”

And just then the tent flap flew open again.

Damon strolled in, whistling, swinging a satchel over one shoulder that clinked with gold coins like a bard’s purse after a week-long festival.

“Guys!” he called. “You won’t believe what—”

He stopped.

Mid-step.

Saw Leana looking at him like she was silently screaming.

Saw Daveon’s grin fighting for its life.