SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

Chapter 471: Galandra Is Yours

Damien had grown used to eyes following him wherever he went, but Galandra was something else entirely.

The moment he stepped through the gates, everything halted. Not because of him alone, but because of the creatures that followed at his heels.

Fenrir padded behind him with silent, predatory calm.

Luton… the slime had found a way to balance itself on his head, humming and wobbling contentedly like the ruins of a battlefield weren’t still cooling behind them.

To the people of Galandra, this wasn’t just new.

It was unprecedented.

“He’s a tamer,” someone whispered.

“Not just any tamer though. Did you hear what he did out there? Haldric’s unit would’ve died.”

“His connection to those beasts… I bet that’s no ordinary skill.”

Damien heard them all, and for once, he didn’t bother correcting the misconception.

If believing he was a tamer made them comfortable with Fenrir and Luton staying out, then he wouldn’t complain. Besides, keeping his summons around made things simpler.

“You handle attention surprisingly well,” Haldric muttered beside him as they approached the inner district.

Damien gave a faint huff. “You get used to being stared at when you travel with creatures like these.”

“I can imagine,” the older warrior chuckled. “Still… I’m glad your beasts are visible. If you had dismissed them, half the city guard might have thought you were some demon in disguise.”

Luton wobbled indignantly.

Fenrir snorted.

Damien smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone assumed that.”

Only Haldric could tell that he’d summoned his beasts.

They continued into the main city. The buildings grew taller, the crowds thicker. Merchants eyed Damien’s cloak. Children whispered behind their parents. A few guards parted the street ahead.

Galandra was bustling, alive, and incredibly disciplined. It reminded Damien faintly of Delwig, before it had crumbled. But on a greater scale.

“What did you say your profession was again?” one of the younger warriors asked timidly.

“Mercenary,” Damien replied.

The word landed like a stone in still water.

Even the bystanders reacted.

“Mercenary…?”

“He looks too calm for that.”

“A mercenary with this kind of power…?”

Haldric chuckled. “Mercenaries are closer to death than any soldier. They survive battles most militaries would never touch. It’s no wonder he fights like a demon himself.”

The respect in their eyes sharpened. Damien didn’t care much for admiration, but he recognized the effect it had.

People treated you differently when they respected the risk you carried.

He could use that.

Haldric cleared his throat as they turned onto a stone path leading uphill. “You said earlier that you still have a long journey ahead.”

“I do.”

“But at least for tonight,” Haldric continued, “stay in Galandra. Let us properly thank you. The men you saved need to rest… and so do you.”

Damien opened his mouth to refuse.

Then closed it.

A rest was hardly a bad idea. He’d fought nonstop for days. His summons were recovering quickly after feeding, but his own body was still carrying the backlash of unleashing so many high-powered attacks.

And more importantly, he wasn’t in a rush.

He had a destination, yes. But he also had to arrive strong, not half-conscious.

“Fine,” Damien said. “One day.”

Haldric grinned broadly. “That’s all we need.”

Fenrir exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and amusement.

Luton spun in a tiny circle atop Damien’s head.

The group moved toward the military district, the heart of Galandra’s martial might. Large barracks lined the roads, training fields echoed with the clang of swords, and armored sentries saluted Haldric as he passed.

The man held authority here.

He may not have bragged about his rank on the battlefield, but the respect was unmistakable.

“Commander Haldric!” one of the guards barked, fist to chest.

Haldric flinched. “I told you already! Call me General outside the battlefield.”

The guard reddened. “Y-Yes, sir! Apologies!”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “General?”

Haldric sighed. “Technically. Though my men call me commander because I’m the oldest idiot who hasn’t retired.”

One of the younger warriors snorted.

Damien huffed. “General Haldric. That explains the instinctive formation earlier.”

“Ah. Yes,” he said. “Old habits.”

They approached a large marble building at the center of the district. Two armored guards straightened instantly when Haldric appeared.

“Announce us,” Haldric instructed.

“Yes, General!”

They pushed the heavy doors open, revealing a grand hall with banners lining the walls, polished floors, and torchlight dancing across polished armor stands.

Inside, a man in ornate military robes rose from a desk littered with maps and reports.

He wasn’t old, but he wasn’t young either. Weathered eyes. Strong gait. A man hardened by decades of warfare.

He blinked.

Then blinked again, eyes falling on Damien… then Fenrir… then Luton.

Then back to Damien.

“What,” he said flatly, “have you brought into my office?”

Haldric coughed. “Commander… we’re back.”

“I can see that,” the man said slowly, “but why is there a massive wolf in my hall? And… what is on his head?”

Luton jiggled proudly.

Damien lifted a hand in a small gesture. “Summons.”

The commander stared. Then, to Haldric. “…Explain.”

And so Haldric did.

Every detail.

The ambush. The outnumbered warriors. The demon horde.

The new variants. The near-death experience. Damien’s sudden appearance. His impossible fighting style.

His chase through the plains. The ravine. The hole pouring demons out. And Damien’s beasts that had dealt with it all.

As Haldric spoke, the commander’s expression shifted from disbelief… to shock… to stern contemplation.

When the general finished, silence settled.

The commander stepped around the table and faced Damien directly.

Then bowed.

Deeply.

“Galandra owes you a debt.”

Damien frowned. “A bow isn’t necessary.”

“It is,” the commander insisted. “You ensured the survival of one of our primary field units. Without you, we would be mourning dozens of sons and daughters.”

Damien dipped his head in return.

Luton copied him, nearly falling off Damien’s head.

Fenrir just… stared.

The commander straightened.

“Now then… Damien, was it?” he said. “You have my gratitude. But forgive me for asking. Why have you come to Galandra? What brings a mercenary with… beasts like these… to our doorstep?”

Damien met his gaze without hesitation.

“I’m looking for something.”

The commander’s brows drew together. “Something?”

“A location,” Damien said simply. “A place I need to reach.”

“And that place would be…?”

Damien shook his head. “Not something I can share. But it requires traveling through several kingdoms. Galandra is the nearest.”

The commander studied him quietly.

Then he smiled faintly.

“A man with secrets, are you?”

“Everyone has them.”

The commander chuckled. “True enough. Well, Damien, whatever your destination is… you are welcome in Galandra for as long as you wish.”

“One day is enough,” Damien said. “I leave at dawn.”

Haldric groaned. “You can’t be serious. A single day? At least two—”

“No.”

The answer was gentle, but firm enough that Haldric shut his mouth.

Damien continued, “I have people waiting for me. And enemies who aren’t.”

That seemed to settle things.

The commander nodded. “Very well. For today, Galandra is yours. General Haldric will provide whatever you need. Food, rooms, supplies, maps.”

Maps.

Damien’s eyes sharpened faintly.

Good. He needed those most.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’ve earned it.”

Haldric clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.”

They left the hall, Fenrir’s footsteps echoing behind them, Luton bobbing happily atop Damien’s head. The moment they stepped back into the outer courtyard, soldiers paused mid-training, staring at the strange group.

A few whispered, some saluted, and others simply gawked.

Damien exhaled through his nose.

“Is it always this noisy?” he asked.

Haldric snorted. “You saved half their friends. They’ll be talking about you for weeks.”

Fenrir gave a low rumble.

Luton hummed again.

The barracks were close. Haldric led Damien through a row of dormitories and into a spacious chamber usually reserved for special guests.

“You can rest here,” Haldric said, opening the door.

Damien stepped inside. The room was simple—clean bed, sturdy table, small wash basin—but it was enough.

More than enough.

Haldric hesitated at the door. “…Truly only one day?”

Damien nodded. “I have a long path ahead.”

The general sighed. “Then we’ll make this day count.”

He stepped back.

Fenrir found a corner and lay down calmly.

Luton hopped off Damien’s head and bounced onto the bed, as if claiming it first.

Damien stared out the window at the training fields, the city beyond, and the horizon far past that.

One day of quiet and then he would move again.

Toward his destination.

Damien slept better that night than he had in days.

Even with Fenrir sprawled in one corner of the room and Luton humming lazily on the bed beside him, drawing thin currents of magic essence from his core to stay summoned, his rest was deep and unbroken.

His body had grown used to the quiet pull from his summons. It was nothing compared to the drain he suffered in battle.

He could keep them out for days if he wanted and that was what he planned to do. At least till he finished his mission in Galandra and left.

They believed he was a beast tamer rather than a summoner and he would have them hold on to that belief until whenever. But for now, he was a beast tamer.